Rambo spoke in a steady voice and told our housemaster about how we were being victimised by Pike because of the bad blood that existed from the events of last year. He then informed Viking that we all wanted to play by the rules but Pike was making it incredibly difficult for us. His voice was steady and Viking listened, his head cocked and his large, intense face locked onto Rambo’s.
Viking didn’t make any comment after Rambo had said his piece. He said he would apply his mind to the problem and then left without even saying goodnight. I heard him shouting at Barryl for brushing his teeth on the stairs before striding off across the quad and disappearing into the drizzly gloom.
Fatty immediately charged off to the second year dormitory to find Thinny and his precious stash of grub. After a complete and thorough inventory it was discovered that three 500g packets of mixed peanuts and raisins were missing feared eaten. None of the Normal Seven would admit to the theft, so Boggo and Garlic held Thinny down while Fatty unleashed a ripper of such force that it blew poor Thinny’s hair into a centre parting.
22:06 Fatty found the missing peanuts and raisins in his English file. He said he felt terrible about Thinny and that he would give him a big bar of chocolate first thing in the morning. He said this with such regret that he almost convinced me it was true.
Thursday 30th January
Pike marched into our dormitory after breakfast, mocking us about our meeting with Viking last night. He was all sneers and jeers, but the Crazy Eight remained steadfast and nobody was goaded. Just when it looked like Pike was leaving, he stopped and gazed around the dormitory as if seeing it for the first time. He then announced, ‘This dormitory is worse than a whore’s handbag.’ In truth the dormitory wasn’t looking at its best. This wasn’t helped by the fact that five minutes before Pike’s arrival, Boggo had tied Vern’s laundry bag around Garlic’s neck. Garlic totally freaked out because he thought he was suffocating to death and trashed everything within a five-metre radius.
Pike said he was reporting the deplorable state of the dorm to Viking and strode out, slamming the door behind him.
‘Quick!’ hissed Rambo. ‘Clean! Clean! Clean!’ There was a mad chaotic dash to clean up the dormitory before Viking arrived. Boggo was so desperate that in his panic he hurled the entire rubbish bin out the window.
‘Twenty seconds!’ hissed Rambo as he forced clothes into an already overflowing drawer. ‘The moment we hear someone coming up the stairs, drop what you’re doing and look natural.’
There was an excited giggle from Fatty as he juggled a handful of golf balls into his toiletry bag. ‘We’ve got that slimy turd this time,’ he chortled. ‘When Viking opens that door he’s gonna know Pike’s a fraud.’
Then there were loud footsteps on the stairs. Rambo shouted, ‘Now!’ We all lurched into position. It was generally a good attempt at looking normal from the Crazy Eight. Mostly we pretended to be reading or shining shoes except for Vern who had become so panic-stricken in all the excitement that he slithered under his mattress and hid himself from the world.
The door flew open … and standing in the doorway were Pike and Eggwhite. Pike looked around the dormitory and broke into sarcastic applause. ‘Nice one, retards!’ he shouted, looking as smug as ever. ‘Not only are you siff and untidy, but you’re stupid and gullible as well.’
He then sauntered around the dormitory with Eggwhite following awkwardly behind him. Pike’s eyes settled on the huge lump in Vern’s mattress. Vern’s right foot was sticking out from under the mattress and Roger had strolled out from the underpants drawer to sniff Vern’s toes and rub his face against them. Pike turned to his fellow prefect and said, ‘Hey, Eggwhite, I’m thinking of trying out for the school high jump team.’ He then skipped across to Vern’s cubicle, launched himself into the air and landed with a thump on Vern’s bulging mattress. There was a terrible gasp from under the mattress and then complete silence apart from Roger scrabbling out the window and down the drain pipe. For a moment it seemed like Rain Man had been squashed to death, but then his exposed foot twitched and a crumpled form in khaki slid out from under the mattress and collapsed onto the floor. Pike stepped back in mock surprise and cried, ‘Oh, shit, sorry, Vern. I didn’t know you were under there. Sorry, buddy.’ He then laughed his cruel laugh and sauntered towards the door. He pulled it open and then stopped, still looking out towards the stairs. In a quiet voice he said, ‘Oh, by the way, Rambo, I was only bluffing about telling Viking.’ He then turned and smiled at an ill-looking Rambo and sneered, ‘Gotcha again.’
Eggwhite checked Vern was all right before he left and clearly didn’t look happy with the way things had gone. Poor Vern limped off to class without saying anything and Rambo marched out, carrying a file, his strong jaw locked in an expression of defiance.
16:30 The cricket debacle has gone from bad to worse. The fourth team coach (Mr Cartwright) called me aside halfway through the net practice and said that he thought I was out of my depth at fourth team level. He said I bowled ‘donkey drops’ and that while I may have got away with it at U15 level, it wouldn’t work at fourth team level. The fact that most of the fourth team was made up of last year’s U15B side didn’t seem to worry the old windbag. I tried to educate Cartwright on the art of using flight and guile to deceive the batsman but the old fossil said I didn’t know what I was talking about and sent me off to the fifth team practice.
The fifth team practice was diabolical. The coach, Mr Ashleigh-Meyer, had arrived late and left early. Everybody was running amok trying to hurl cricket balls at each other. I sat on the bank in my cricket whites and didn’t join my new team.
So now I’m playing cricket for the fifths. What with Cartwright coaching the fourths, Norm (I don’t believe in spinners) Wade in charge of the thirds, and Sparerib coaching the seconds, I may as well quit cricket and take up canoeing, tennis or tug-of-war instead!
21:00 A scribbled note on the house notice board read:
PIKE 2 RAMBO 0
Rambo turned slightly pale when he read the notice. He then ripped it off the wall, and marched up the stairs and into our dormitory, where he stuck the notice above the door with a savage smack. He turned to us and said, ‘You telling me this isn’t personal?’ Everybody nodded and looked serious. Rambo’s eyes were on fire but he didn’t say anything else and went off to brush his teeth.
Friday 31st January
11:00 It’s official. I’m playing for the fifths! On a more positive note, I’ve been made vice captain. Unfortunately, we don’t have a game tomorrow because Blacksmith College only have four teams so this means that the fifths and the sixths are having a practice match instead. I still can’t quite believe I’ve gone from the cut and thrust of U15A cricket to spending my Saturdays bowling to Vern and Garlic of the cretin eleven!
My father may well have cardiac arrest when he hears the news.
14:30 Fatty and Boggo both auditioned for the choir. Boggo says that he’s putting down key spiritual building blocks before he begins his big push for prefect. Fatty scored a hat-trick after being rejected by the choir for the third year in a row. Boggo made the tenor section despite using God Save The Queen as his audition piece. I plan to mock Boggo relentlessly for the entire year in payback for first year when he did the same to me.
I didn’t audition. One more rejection could drive me right over the edge.
Saturday 1st February
Cricket practice match against the sixth eleven.
Mr Ashleigh-Meyer arrived thirty minutes late. When he finally sauntered up to the field he told us to ‘Carry on’. Clearly he hadn’t noticed that half the sixth eleven were having a sword fight with the wickets. Our coach then retired to a bench under the trees and unfolded his newspaper. Every ten minutes or so, he would shout for two people to pad up and for a change of bowlers. Then he would return to his newspaper crossword and his smoking. I bowled to a large matric boy called Goat who had no idea of what was cracking. After getting him out about five times in six bal
ls, he marched down the wicket, pointed his bat threateningly at me, and told me to bowl normally and stop showing off. Goat seemed to be under the impression that spin bowling was illegal and unsporting. I then bowled ‘normally’ and took his wicket a further five times before Mr Ashleigh-Meyer shouted ‘Next!’ from the bench under the tree. I took ten wickets in twenty-four balls and my coach didn’t see a single one of them.
Just to rub salt in the wounds I ended up facing Vern’s bowling for the twenty-four balls of my ‘batting’ practice. It was a complete waste of time because Vern only landed two deliveries on the pitch. Other disasters included running into the wickets at the bowler’s end and twice bowling the ball backwards.
Am seriously thinking of retiring from cricket. The only problem is that I’m not any good at anything else.
Monday 3rd February
Garlic approached me after lunch with a worried look on his face and hollered, ‘Hey, Spud, how’s your English oral going?’ I told him my oral was called ‘The Magic of Theatre’. Garlic roared with laughter and said, ‘There’s no such thing as magic!’ His eyes widened as he announced, ‘I’m doing mine on Lake Malawi. Fatty’s doing his on the occult, and Boggo says he’s doing his oral on my mum.’ He then spotted Simon and shouted, ‘Hey, Simon, how’s your English oral going?’ Simon ducked through an archway but Garlic was after him.
21:30 Head of House Norman Whiteside clearly had a big speech planned when he arrived to call lights out. He went on for nearly half an hour about school traditions and taking pride in our behaviour. He obviously realised that he was droning on when Fatty yawned really loudly in the middle of his positive intent bit. After a sour look he said, ‘If I hear a single report from the slaves that you’ve so much as touched them, I’ll thrash you so hard that your pictures at home will be crying!’ He then declared first year hunting season open and switched off the lights.
Boggo slapped his hands together and said, ‘Look sharp, amigos, it’s time Brother Boggo christened the first years.’ He then sniggered loudly and whispered to Fatty, ‘And I’m gonna find out which one of those little twerps has the hot mother who looks like Meg Ryan!’
Boggo’s excited announcement was met with a long silence. There wasn’t any sign of movement from Rambo’s bed. After more of nothing, Boggo pleaded, ‘Come on, lads, you heard the man – first year hunting season is open … It’s time for a first year FUBAR!’
At last Rambo spoke. ‘Good luck, Boggo. Just change the score above the door to 3-0 before you go.’
Nobody went.
Wednesday 5th February
Christine called. At first I thought she was the Mermaid and I may have sounded a little too excited and loving at the beginning of the conversation. Christine took this as a sign of interest and invited the entire Crazy Eight to a party at her friend’s farm next Saturday night. She then asked me to make sure that I brought Vern along because she wanted her friends to meet him.
My Crazy Eight shares are at an all time high thanks to Christine and her party. Even better news is that third years are allowed one weekend leave per term so we won’t have to bunk out either. Boggo says he’s going to demonstrate his new technique for scoring girls and get Fatty and Vern well and truly snogged for the first time.
Thursday 6th February
I passed Norm (I don’t believe in spinners) Wade in the main quad on the way to Geography. He pretended not to see me and looked up at the sky as if he was greatly interested in the weather.
Friday 7th February
Viking stood up at assembly and announced that there would be a NAPAC production of a play called Wild Coast in the theatre tomorrow night. There was loud hooting and excited murmuring when he added that the show contained scenes of nudity and violence. Viking responded by threatening to personally thrash anybody who doesn’t behave in a civilised fashion. Then he dropped the bombshell. Only matrics and post matrics are allowed to attend. Boggo looked up at the roof of the hall and shook his head as if God was playing cruel tricks with his mind.
English Orals!
The Guv was in raucous form during the oral presentations. He interrupted and shouted comments throughout and even made Martin Lesley stop in the middle of his oral and accused him of having the oratorical skills of a dyslexic pygmy. Only after our English teacher had calmed down and carefully reloaded his pipe was Lesley allowed to proceed with his oral on the digestive system of Friesland cows.
When Garlic announced that he was doing his oral on Lake Malawi, The Guv screamed loudly and clutched at his skull like he had a blinding migraine. He then relit his pipe and declared, ‘The oral cannot be done!’
Garlic looked crushed. He began pleading with The Guv to hear him out and let him say his oral, but The Guv was having none of it. He slammed his fist into his desk and shouted, ‘Either the oral goes or I go!’
Eventually, after much muttering to himself in Shakespearean verse, our English teacher conceded defeat and said, ‘Do your damndest, Garlic, and pray, good man, remember, brevity is the soul of wit.’
Garlic launched into his oral with gusto but was brought to a halt after the first line. ‘Good God, Garlic!’ boomed The Guv. ‘Must you insist on shouting? This isn’t a fish market in darkest Africa, and you, my lad, are no Winston Churchill!’
‘Thank God Almighty,’ gasped The Guv as Garlic finally finished his oral to a pathetic ripple of applause. The Guv then asked the class if we had any questions. Rambo surprisingly raised his hand skyward. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Sir, I would just like to ask Garlic the name of the predominant rock strata that exist under Lake Malawi itself.’
Garlic’s eyes swelled, his face reddened and his mouth opened but no words came out. The Guv glared at Garlic in mock anger and said, ‘Clearly, you know very little about your subject. In fact I have my suspicions as to whether you really come from Nyasaland at all. The name Garlic sounds a little queer, too. Have you not considered the possibility, dear boy, that you might not in fact exist?’
Poor Garlic stuttered and pleaded and even offered to run back to the dormitory to fetch photographs to prove his existence. The Guv refused. Then Boggo piped up and said, ‘Sir, I think I have a question that will finally establish if Garlic is a true Malawian or a lying impostor.’
Garlic wiped the sweat off his brow with his forearm and looked like a man facing execution.
Boggo cleared his throat and asked, ‘What is the national snake of Malawi?’
Garlic shouted, ‘Snake?’ as if the question made no sense. A murmur turned into a roar of laughter as it became obvious that Garlic didn’t know the answer. In desperation he shouted, ‘Cobra!’
The Guv rocked back in his chair and raised his hands for silence. He sucked on his pipe and said, ‘All right, Greenstein, please enlighten this herbaceous African as to what the national snake of Nyasaland in fact is.’
Boggo stood up and announced, ‘The one-eyed trouser snake, sir.’
The Guv thought this was hilarious and took some time to gather himself before saying, ‘Garlic, it is clear to me that as a non resident your knowledge of Lake Nyasa is sound and your passion for the topic unquestioned and hitherto unseen.’ The Guv motioned Garlic back to his seat and shouted, ‘Live long Garlic and never allow anyone to question your existence again.’
The Guv seemed very impressed with my oral on the magic of theatre. He even cheered and applauded after I quoted Orson Welles. After I had finished, he said, ‘Milton, your oration has left me itching to tread the boards once more.’ The siren rang for the end of the double, and The Guv ended the class with, ‘If theatre be the wine of love, drink on!’
15:00 After procrastinating for days about phoning home I finally psyched myself up to tell Dad the bad cricket news. Thankfully, Mom answered the call because Dad had just discovered that his garage door was infested with termites and had rushed out to buy poison. Mom said she would try her best to break the news softly and promised that he wouldn’t do anything embarrassing thi
s time.
17:00 I found Garlic sitting on the grass behind the chapel. His eyes were red and it was obvious that he’d been crying. I asked him if he was all right. He nodded but then his eyes filled with tears and he covered his face and turned away from me.
‘I hate it here,’ said Garlic eventually. ‘I’m trying to be friendly like, and everybody hates me. I think I want to go home.’
I explained to Garlic that nobody hated him and that he shouldn’t take the mockery personally. I told him about getting my balls polished in first year and how bad things have happened to everyone along the way.
He looked at me with his huge eyes and asked me why I stayed at the school. I heard myself rambling on about school spirit and the extra facilities the school offered. In truth I didn’t have a good reason to give him.
I suggested to him that he keep a low profile until he knew how the school worked. I also advised him never to mention Lake Malawi again and to stop shouting random questions at people all the time. He nodded and his eyes filled with tears again.
Then we had an awkward few minutes where nothing was said. I eventually got up to leave but he jumped up too. He said, ‘Thanks, Spud. You’re my best buddy.’ I gave him a friendly thump on the back. Garlic grinned happily and said, ‘Hey, what are you doing in the holidays? Why not come to Lake Malawi?’
I ran.
Saturday 8th February
The cricket match against Arlington was a complete waste of time. I took five wickets but it didn’t really feel like much of an achievement because the batsmen were committing suicide by charging down the wicket and swinging wildly. The game ended well before lunch but Mr Ashleigh-Meyer said there would be no second innings and immediately dragged the opposition coach off to the staff room for the rest of the afternoon.
Spud - Learning to Fly Page 5