Spud - Learning to Fly

by John van de Ruit

  I realised that there would be no escape from the vultures, so I agreed, only on the condition that Boggo’s ‘story’ and Vern’s ‘picture’ took up no more than three pages of my diary, and that Vern didn’t draw a picture of Roger, my towel rail, or the naked Garlic covered in Vaseline.

  Boggo reckoned his piece of writing was going to liven up what must be a pretty boring diary. He then said that I was sure to bore my grandchildren to death one day and that judging by the section he read when he stole my first year diary, my writing was well below average and I needed extra lessons. My head was thumping and I still felt dazed so I told the two of them that I needed some rest. Boggo and Vern sped off immediately to get cracking.

  Sunday 3rd May

  I’ve reclaimed my diary. I’m back on my feet and ready to face the world again. Sister Collins says I can leave the san, which is a relief because I was sleeping next to an unhealthy looking first year called Woodrot. (I didn’t ask questions.) Sister Collins has also forbidden me from playing rugby this term for fear that another bang on the pip might result in permanent damage. Despite feeling a little dazed and unsteady, I set off determinedly towards the house and ignored the loud sniggers from the common room as I slowly made my way up the stairs.

  I didn’t care and didn’t stop. Instead I packed up the collected works of WS and headed for the hills. Under a tall pine tree on the edge of the forest overlooking the school, I repeated my audition piece well over a hundred times. I returned for roll call (and a few hundred mocking taunts about being stampeded by a Pig) knowing Lysander’s monologue better than the names of my family.

  BRING IT ON!

  Tuesday 5th May

  THE AUDITION

  16:30 Discovered ten boys standing around the theatre foyer muttering to themselves in Shakespearian verse. I became the eleventh.

  16:45 There was an explosion of shouting from inside the theatre after a West second year repeatedly forgot his lines. Viking clearly wasn’t impressed with the second year’s effort and called him a ‘theatrical disgrace’! The boy charged out of the theatre looking devastated. This didn’t do much for the morale of the waiting boys. It would seem that Viking’s 50th birthday hasn’t been a happy one.

  16:59 ‘Next!’ commanded Viking from the theatre door. I stepped forward and concentrated on keeping my breathing even and my body relaxed.

  ‘Milton!’ roared Viking and led me through the auditorium while ranting on about the dearth of serious acting talent in the school. He then gave me a slap on the back that propelled me up a flight of steps and onto the stage.

  One last deep breath and …

  I nailed it! I think.

  wednesday 6th May

  Feeling splendid. Yesterday’s audition was the best I’ve ever had because I refused to be nervous and intimidated by Viking’s fury and shouting. After the audition he screamed, ‘That’s more like it!’ and told me to keep an eye on the theatre notice board.

  I’ve already checked it twice this morning but thus far there is still only the original auditions notice on which somebody had scribbled Colin/Colon!!! in red ink.

  I found it difficult to concentrate on schoolwork and Reverend Bishop’s confirmation class barely registered a blip on my radar screen. I’m constantly daydreaming about playing a Shakespearian hero and kissing beautiful women dressed in tights in a dark corner backstage.

  22:00 Vern has somehow acquired another box of matches and spent the evening lighting one match after another and staring mesmerised at the flame. Nobody could sleep until the cretin had struck up the entire box and finally called it a night. Even Rambo reckons Vern is a serious hazard with his newfound discovery of fire.

  Sunday 10th May

  WEEKEND DEVELOPMENTS

  Boggo made R250 from hairdressing. His leader-ship/business/scoring manual has sold seven copies thus far, although it’s common knowledge that every member of the Fragile Five bought one after Boggo threatened to hang them out of the window. Boggo denied that this was illegal business practice and called it ‘driving a hard bargain’. The two other suckers were Vern and Norman Whiteside, who demanded a refund after reading it. Boggo refused the head of house his refund, but Whiteside threatened Boggo with hard labour until Boggo eventually coughed up the money. He later accused the head of house of being unethical.

  A rumour is doing the rounds that Simon may be coming back to school. Only problem is that not even Boggo knows who started the rumour in the first place.

  Vern set fire to his duvet and then spent the rest of his Saturday night trying to wash the burns out of his linen with Palmolive soap and a pair of dirty underpants.

  Monday 11th May

  On the way to breakfast I noticed a crowd of boys across the cloister gazing up at the theatre notice board. I raced over and fought my way through the excited crowd – it was the call-backs list of those who had made it through to the second round of auditions. The list was in alphabetical order so it was impossible to know which of the twenty-five names were up for which parts. Seeing my name was more of a relief than a thrill. Seeing Vern’s name was a complete shock. Rambo, Fatty and Boggo also made the shortlist, as did Spike, Runt and Meg Ryan’s Son. I noticed Geoff Lawson’s name above mine along with the irritating Smith, who boasted that he had been offered the role of Oliver in first year before ending up in the chorus line.

  Poor Garlic was gutted that he hadn’t made the cut. This despite Viking having threatened him with death should he ever audition for anything ever again. He just couldn’t understand why Vern had made it through to the second round ahead of him. Garlic, still sporting a puzzled expression and watery eyes, complained, ‘Even Meg Ryan’s Son got in! He’s like barely up to my knee caps!’ Fatty placed a friendly arm around Garlic’s shoulders and explained that there was no shame in being edged out by Meg Ryan’s Son since acting obviously ran in the family and he was also fairly good looking on account of his mom’s excellent facial features. Boggo also pointed out the fact that auditioning for the female part of Hermia had probably not been the best idea on Garlic’s part.

  ‘How was I meant to know I was playing a girl’s part?’ protested Garlic as if it was somehow our fault and not his. After sniggering repeatedly like a machine gun, Boggo informed us that he had overheard Viking telling Mrs Bosch that Garlic had repeatedly referred to his character as Hernia at the audition. To a chorus of loud cackling laughter Garlic shouted, ‘What kind of a name is Hermia anyway? Why can’t we do Grease instead?’

  Viking has instructed those left in the race to keep our entire Friday afternoon free and warned that the final auditions may run through the evening and into the next morning if he is not satisfied with our progress. Boggo was so excited that he performed a mostly Shakespearian speech from the top of his locker, before pulling down his pants and mooning the dormitory.

  Pike bust us talking about the play after lights out and ordered us all to write a five thousand-word essay by Friday as punishment.

  The title:

  THE GREATNESS OF PIKE!

  Not even the vilest primate in history could ruin the mood, and after everything had fallen silent again, Rambo did a Pike impersonation, beginning and ending with slamming the door, that was sheer genius. He had us all rolling in hysterics with Fatty having a near heart attack and Vern crying his eyes out and slamming his fist repeatedly into his locker.

  Tuesday 12th May

  A notice on the board read:

  Old boy G.T. Murray (83-87) has been awarded the Rhodes scholarship to read International Law at Oxford University. In accordance with tradition, tomorrow will be a half-day. Sunday rules apply. Roll call 17:30 strictly enforced.

  Right now GT is a school hero!

  Wednesday 13th May

  It was a fantastic feeling to be packing away my books for the day at 11 o’clock. I wish school were always like this … As is tradition, a vast game of touch rugby spanning two rugby fields sprang to life without any announcement or notice needed. Stand
ing out on the far right wing to avoid any potential head collisions, the ball was eventually flung across to our side of the field. I positioned myself perfectly to catch it but Garlic jumped in the way and the ball rebounded off his forehead before disappearing back to the other end of the field from where it never returned.

  Boggo nearly had a fistfight with Thinny after stealing his bike and driving to Nottingham Road for magazines and supplies. Thinny was seriously steamed up and had to be restrained by JR Ewing and the last remaining Darryl before doing something rash like hitting a senior. Boggo suggested that Thinny should be honoured that he stole his bike, and handed him a business card for good measure. Thinny’s face grew very red but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Boggo returned to the dormitory with a bag full of goodies and accused Thinny of having a serious attitude problem. I asked Boggo why, if he has a new bike of his own, does he still use Thinny’s. Boggo snapped his fingers in front of my face and said, ‘Because mine is a limited edition. By next year it will be worth double the price.’ He then tapped his finger against his temple and told me I had no business acumen and suggested I buy his business manual.

  23:30 Can’t sleep. Worrying about the play. If I don’t make it I have no excuses because I’ve done everything to master Shakespeare. If I can’t make The Dream, then what chance do I have of cracking it in the big wide world? Zip.

  THERE’S NOTHING TO LOSE!

  Thursday 14th May

  Spent the afternoon with Fatty in the archives. Thanks to his scoliosis/peptic heart murmur and my concussion, we were able to kick back, drink tea and talk about ghosts instead.

  ‘I’ve got something mega hectic to show you,’ said Fatty as he bustled across the dimly lit room to a freestanding bookshelf called ‘Old School’. He pulled down an ancient school magazine and collapsed onto the couch next to me breathing heavily through his mouth.

  ‘This is going to blow your mind, Spuddy,’ he said as he furiously flipped through the pages, greedily licking the ends of his fingers at regular intervals. He found the page and thumped the yellowing magazine page down on my lap and said, ‘Check it out. Boggo, Sidewinder and I think this guy is the spitting image of you.’

  Fatty pointed out a figure in his school uniform in an old black and white rugby photograph. I didn’t see any similarity between us, and Fatty looked even more unimpressed when I refused to concede that our chins were identical.

  ‘Anyway,’ Fatty continued, ‘how’s this? Not only do you look identical, but his first name is Milton!’

  His name was Milton Montgomery. The photograph was taken in 1913. He was killed in North Africa in 1918.

  I pointed out to Fatty that there was a university degree in brackets after Milton Montgomery’s name, which clearly made him the teacher seated next to the boy in question. Fatty snatched the photograph back and his face fell as he realised his mistake. Still it didn’t stop him saying, ‘You’ve got five years, buddy. You’d better make the most of them,’ before disappearing into the storeroom to dig up more nasty coincidences. I then settled into a warm shaft of sunlight at the window to write this.

  Friday 15th May

  MASS ACTION

  In the spirit of the struggle against tyranny and evil, all six surviving and resident members of the Crazy Eight stood in line behind Rambo as we waited outside Viking’s office. After a bloodcurdling shout of ‘Come!’ we filed slowly into our housemaster’s office and found him sitting at his desk and poring over the morning newspaper.

  ‘Sir,’ said Rambo in a calm voice, ‘we have come to hand in our punishment for Pike.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Viking. ‘I hear you were having a glorious late night debate on how I might cast my play.’ Viking chortled to himself and folded his newspaper into a neat rectangle.

  ‘Sir?’ enquired Garlic. He then noticed Rambo’s savage glare and hurriedly said, ‘Good morning’ instead.

  ‘Good morning, Garlic,’ replied Viking politely.

  Rambo handed over a pile of punishment pages that were utterly blank apart from our names, signature, and the title of course:

  THE GREATNESS OF PIKE

  Viking wasn’t impressed with the piles of blank pages and demanded to know what we were playing at. Rambo spoke for us in his calm, rational voice. ‘Sir, we don’t deny that we were caught talking after lights out.’

  ‘Good,’ said Viking and nodded at us seriously.

  ‘But,’ continued Rambo, ‘the punishment is undoable because the essay is impossible. In fact after days of thought we have not been able to come up with a single reason for Pike’s greatness. The reason – Pike isn’t great.’

  ‘Well, make it up, for God’s sakes!’ Viking instructed us as he thundered his fist into the picture of a little girl holding flowers on the front page of the newspaper. ‘Tell the man what he wants to hear and move on!’

  Rambo argued that although he was famous for his silver tongue (?) even he couldn’t possibly make up so many untruths about one extremely un-great human being.

  Viking didn’t reply immediately, which meant he was thinking. And if he was thinking then he clearly thought that we at least had a fair point. After a long silence Viking said, ‘I have a decision and there will be no arguments. Am I clear?’

  We all nodded and waited for our housemaster to deliver his judgement.

  ‘I agree it’s a tough assignment,’ he said, scratching away at his beard as if he had been overcome with a series of itches. ‘Instead of writing a five thousand word essay on Pike, I suggest a five thousand word essay on why I should cast you in The Dream.’ We all looked at Rambo for his next move but his eyes never left those of our housemaster.

  ‘Since you were caught talking about Shakespeare, I’ll offer you a reprieve. I shall require no more than three thousand words in neat handwriting.’

  ‘Sir!’ blurted Garlic. ‘How can I write the essay when I didn’t even make it through the first round?’

  Viking observed Garlic for a moment and then said, ‘Garlic, if your essay is persuasive enough, I’ll consider suspending your life ban on auditioning.’

  We followed Rambo out of our housemaster’s office and into the bright sunlight and the buzzing activity of the main quad. Rambo threw his hands into the air and cried out, ‘Follow me, brothers. I am the way, the truth and the darkness!’ There was a brief pause and then we all followed him into the house.

  CALL-BACK AUDITIONS!

  Besides a twenty-minute break for dinner, the final twenty-five didn’t leave the theatre until just before midnight. Every boy had a shot at just about every male role available and we did everything from solo speeches to improvising scenarios and group work.

  All twenty-five boys reckon they’ve made it – I can see it in their eyes. I can’t believe Vern has a hope in hell. He kept everyone laughing with his loony antics, and speaks Shakespearian verse as if it is a foreign language and regularly uses loud Zulu clicks to punctuate his delivery whenever he feels it necessary. Viking gave us absolutely no hint as to who he was favouring and once again instructed us to keep an eye on the notice board. I wish he’d stop saying that, because Fatty is already mocking me about checking the theatre board every five minutes. He reckons if you want something too much you’ll never get it. He called it the first universal truth and said it was more reliable than both Murphy’s Law and Friday the 13th.

  The problem is how do you stop yourself wanting something that you desperately desire? The real universal truth is that there are only nine roles up for grabs so that means more than half of us will be gutted when the cast list finally goes up.

  Have decided to limit myself to three trips to the notice board per day (not counting a quick peek on the way back from the tuck shop).

  Saturday 16th May

  In his obsessive quest to become a prefect, Boggo has signed on as the second team linesman. This, despite the fact that he knows absolutely nothing about rugby and has banned himself from all sport on account of his drastically low iron level
s, which afflict him only during the winter and autumn. (Rugby and athletics?) Boggo’s iron levels have never been officially examined but he reckons they are hovering just above the danger zone.

  14:30 Rambo played a brilliant game against St Giles for the seconds. He scored two tries and made a thundering tackle on the opposition wing directly in front of the delighted school benches. Stupidly, however, the wing pushed Rambo once he had peeled himself off the grass. Rambo grabbed him and dumped him headfirst into the ground. There was a loud roar from the school and then a long argument between the ref, Rambo, our linesman (Boggo), their captain, and the angry winger. The winger had to be restrained by his fellow players because he was pretending to want a piece of Rambo, who by now had his arm on the ref’s shoulder. Eventually, the ref penalised us and sent Rambo to the cooler for ten minutes.

  The first team won easily, but all the talk was about Rambo and how he had turned the opposition wing into a tent pole. Depending on who you speak to, Rambo is about to be banned from playing rugby, expelled, or promoted to the first team!