Spud - Learning to Fly

by John van de Ruit

  All right, now I’m going! I’ll just not think about it until it happens.

  Friday 5th June

  A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

  REHEARSAL 1

  The eight boys of the cast waited patiently in the front row of the theatre. Excitement was bouncing off the walls but everybody was playing it cool as if they had strolled in for a drama prac. It was only then that I realised that Crazy Eight members comprised nearly half the cast. What with Pig, Spike (sort of), Lazarus and Geoff Lawson sitting with us, that left Smith alone and separate. Smith seemed to be learning his lines and didn’t appear to care that he was already being ostracised due to his poor personality and excessive arrogance.

  ‘Hey, Smith,’ said Rambo jovially, ‘what you reading there?’

  Smith took a while to look up from his book and then glared as if he had been rudely interrupted from something important.

  ‘I’m learning my lines,’ he said in a condescending manner, ‘I’m playing the lead, so I have more lines than any of you.’ He then returned his attention to Shakespeare.

  ‘You little fuck!’ hissed Rambo in a loud whisper. Smith’s head shot up once again and met Rambo’s gaze with a look of mild shock.

  ‘What did you say?’ asked Smith, his face reddening.

  ‘I said, are you playing Puck?’ lied Rambo. Smith nodded and said it was one of the greatest Shakespearian roles. He then said he was the only one who was up to the job.

  The gathered group wasn’t very impressed with Smith’s arrogance which seems to have grown exponentially since Oliver two years ago.

  ‘Listen, Motherpucker,’ said Boggo in a sharp voice, ‘I know your mom thinks you’re a great actor, but judging by your feeble effort in last year’s house plays I’d say you’re lucky to have made the cut.’

  Smith showed no emotion and said he had more talent in his little finger than we had altogether. He then said that it was common knowledge that Viking was biased and that Lloyd Creswell was passing around a petition protesting against the one-sided casting.

  ‘I mean, look at Blackadder,’ said Smith with disdain. ‘He’s practically a mongoloid!’

  Admittedly, Smith had a case.

  Thankfully, Viking and The Guv marched down the theatre steps at that moment because Pig had stood up angrily and was advancing on Smith with the intent to damage him.

  ‘Right!’ shouted Viking as he leapt up the steps and came to rest in the middle of the stage. He held his hands out and said, ‘And so it begins!’

  ‘Bravo!’ cried The Guv and burst into applause. We all clapped along and Viking did an elaborate bow. He then leapt off the front of the stage and stood before us.

  ‘Three rules, gentlemen, and three rules only!’ he barked.

  VIKING’S THREE RULES

  Nobody will speak in a poncy voice like Laurence Olivier.

  No farting about in the wings.

  No dilly-dallying or depravity with the girls.

  Viking then acknowledged that there was some controversy regarding his casting selections and said that he was picking up flak from other housemasters.

  ‘But I don’t give a flaming rat’s arse!’ he boomed. ‘I have chosen each and every one of you for a specific reason.’ He then dropped a bombshell. ‘Under no circumstances do I want any of you to act!’ There were some puzzled looks from the cast, especially Smith who clearly thought Viking was joking.

  ‘I want you all to be yourselves – particularly the mechanicals.’ Viking explained that he had cast the mechanicals because of our ‘natural comic rhythm’ that, if replicated on stage, may result in audience hilarity.

  Smith snorted and shook his head.

  ‘Smith, you have a problem?’ enquired Viking with a ferociously raised eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Smith in a smug tone of voice. ‘Fatty and Greenstein are only here to score chicks and have no acting ability whatsoever and Blackadder is basically retarded.’

  ‘I see,’ replied Viking as he vigorously scratched his beard. ‘And what, may I ask, has Master Smith ever done on a stage at this school?’ Smith muttered on about devising the house play and being the most talented actor in the school. His boasting was drowned out by loud laughter and his angular face grew red and angry once again.

  ‘I’ll have you know, Smith,’ said Viking in a threatening voice, ‘that Vern Blackadder’s performance as the prompt in Noah’s Ark last year was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen on a schoolboy stage.’

  ‘It was very Andy Kauffmanesque,’ agreed The Guv, and burst into more applause that was warmly supported by the rest of us.

  Smith didn’t argue and the director moved on.

  Unfortunately, the mechanicals are going to rehearse at school every Friday while the lovers and fairies (and The Guv) are travelling to the dingy Howick Town Hall to rehearse with the girls because the Wrexham Theatre is still only a pile of workmen’s rubble. Boggo and Fatty responded to this news with a loud groan and were severely shat on by the director.

  The good news is that we are spending the entire third term at Wrexham College!! There’s also going to be an English teacher exchange because The Guv will be teaching at Wrexham, and one of their English teachers will move into his house and teach his classes next term. Bad news for the poor sods left behind is that Mongrel is taking over as housemaster while Viking is away, which could mean we return to a house of devastation and a pile of corpses.

  Viking then handed out scripts and explained that he had spent the last week cutting the play down to two hours long. After taking us through his changes page by page it became obvious that Viking had sliced off a good portion of the lovers and fairies scenes and left the mechanicals intact. Smith was appalled to see that half his lines had been chopped. He was still complaining half an hour later when we filed out of the theatre. Once we reached the foyer, Rambo put his arm tenderly around Smith’s shoulder and said, ‘Remember, Smith, there is no such thing as small parts, only small actors.’

  The Guv caught me up just before reaching the main quad. ‘Milton,’ he shouted, ‘are you aware that we have to share a kiss in the fifth act?’ I told The Guv that I was aware of it but was trying not to think about it. The Guv agreed it was a dodgy state of affairs but still seemed thrilled to be leaving the school for a term. ‘I’ve never taught young ladies before, Milton. I intend to blow a good deal of hot wind up their skirts!’ Then he marched off towards the san, complaining about gout in his drinking arm.

  Saturday 6th June

  Boggo and Fatty have waged war on Vern!

  In fact, the situation has become so bad that both Fatty and Boggo have even signed Lloyd Creswell’s petition to have Vern and themselves thrown out of the play.

  The drama began after Spike returned from a hockey match and demanded that Boggo give him a cool haircut before this evening’s St Joan’s Junior Dance. He’s the only member of the Normal Seven to be invited and has been heard bragging about losing his virginity tonight. Boggo charged him 25 bucks, which is the standard rate for wankers/arseholes.

  After the haircut, Spike was deeply upset with the sight that met him in the mirror. In truth his whole head was shaved short apart from a long central tuft that had been shaped into a large penis that pointed proudly at the ceiling. Boggo refused to cut it off and said it was a brand new trend and a powerful artistic symbol. (Since yesterday’s first rehearsal/meeting Boggo has seldom uttered a sentence without referring to himself as an artist.)

  Thinny ran Boggo in to Norman Whiteside, who immediately raced down the stairs in his dressing gown to resolve the crisis. Thinny scampered back into the bogs ahead of Whiteside and pointed at Spike’s head. ‘You see, sir,’ he said desperately, ‘he’s made Spike look like a dickhead.’ Whiteside wasn’t impressed with Spike’s phallic haircut and demanded an explanation from the hairdresser.

  Boggo said the haircut had an artistic symmetry about it and that the style accurately reflected Spike’s personality.

 
Whiteside ordered the offending tuft of hair to be shaved off and gave Boggo a twenty-minute lecture on art being the root of all evils in the world.

  A mere twenty minutes later there was another loud commotion in the bogs. This time Fatty was in trouble for instigating a scrumming competition against the Fragile Five after becoming bored with observing haircuts. According to Boggo, Fatty pushed all five of them right the way across the bogs and into the far wall without breaking a sweat. Suddenly Vern leapt out of a locked toilet stall and gave everybody a blue chit for bad Form in the Bogs and Surrounds. Fatty then lost his temper and ate his blue chit. Vern became enraged with Fatty and ran him in to Meany Dlamini, who then thrashed Fatty, Boggo and the Fragile Five with a plank of wood.

  Boggo was outraged that he had been thrashed because he wasn’t involved in the scrum at all. (Apart from running a small tote on the sidelines.) Fatty accused Meany Dlamini of being a tyrant like Shaka and threatened to drown Vern in the urinal. Further bad news was that Rowdy burst into tears after his thrashing and then blabbed on the phone to his mother.

  The bottom line is that Fatty and Boggo now hate Vern and want him killed or at the very least severely maimed. Vern has said nothing since the incident and was last seen watching the news in the common room with Roger the cat and his toiletries.

  Sunday 7th June

  9:30 Called Dad to wish him Happy Birthday. By the sound of things he and Mom have been hitting the bottle pretty hard this morning. Dad thanked me for the golf shirt (?) and then asked how the rugby was going. I reminded him that I was banned from rugby because of my concussion. Dad grunted and then asked how the play was going. I told him that we hadn’t started rehearsing properly yet. He grunted again and then said he had to turn the sausages over and rang off.

  11:00 The lovers set off for their first rehearsal at the Howick Town Hall. Boggo was in the middle of firing instructions to Rambo through the back window of the minibus when it abruptly drove off. Boggo chased the vehicle down Pilgrim’s Walk and kept shouting orders at Rambo about compiling a list of the hottest girls in the cast and getting names and addresses of all lesbians and potential lesbians.

  Thursday 11th June

  I think I’ve finally worked out what happens behind the scenes in this school. The Glock calls all the staff to a meeting on a particular Monday morning. He then threatens to fire them all if they don’t crack the whip and get the boys slaving for their exams. The staff return to class frothing at the mouth like rabid dogs, and set us enough work to keep Einstein busy for an entire decade. Not only do they set mountains of work, but they issue threatening speeches about us falling woefully behind the syllabus. Obviously they never blame themselves for these delays, but rather our poor work ethic. Then they conclude their lessons by setting unreasonable tests in four days’ time and threatening us with failure/ expulsion/beatings and a dismal future.

  If I’m going to become a professional actor then surely working on my Shakespeare performance rather than my schoolwork makes more logical sense? Not that logic ever really worked in this place.

  Friday 12th June

  1st Proper Rehearsal – The Mechanicals

  ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream involves three intersecting worlds,’ began Viking, looking like he might have said these exact words many times before. ‘The lovers, the fairies and you lot – the rude working class mechanicals who are galvanised to perform a play in the forest for royalty – this is known as the play within the play.’ He glugged desperately from a beer mug of water and continued. ‘At its heart, The Dream is about love, passion and magic – it’s ephemeral.’

  Once again Viking demanded that we didn’t try and act but rather ‘search for authenticity in every word, thought and movement’. We then read through the mechanical scenes with Viking stopping frequently to bark at somebody for gabbling too fast. He also wasn’t very impressed with Vern’s gibberish including Zulu clicks.

  We didn’t rehearse the ‘play within the play’ scene because Viking says he only wants to block that next term when we begin working on the Wrexham stage. This was a relief because the thought of acting like a woman and having to kiss The Guv in front of everyone was creating some panic.

  ‘Right!’ shouted Viking as he moved further upstage, gesturing with his left hand. ‘This is where I envisage the forest clearing where the mechanicals meet to rehearse their play in Act I.’ He then pulled off his spectacles and glared at us before saying, ‘Gentlemen, gather your scripts, it’s time to hold a mirror up to nature.’

  I picked up my script and in just three short paces I was up the steps and standing on the stage looking out at rows of dark, empty seats stretching away in front of me. Even my scalp was covered in goosebumps.

  Saturday 13th June

  10:00 Boggo stole Thinny’s bike and cycled off to Nottingham Road to buy flowers for the social tonight. He refused to buy for anyone else because he said it was his spading idea and called us a bunch of plagiarists.

  12:00 An extremely grumpy Thinny was waiting for Boggo when he returned and a loud argument broke out at the house door. Thinny once again accused Boggo of stealing and Boggo once again threatened to bonk Thinny’s mom. ‘But you’ve got your own bike!’ wailed Thinny desperately. ‘I actually own three bikes,’ corrected Boggo, ‘so you should be bloody honoured that I chose yours again.’ Thinny shook his head like he was dealing with a moron and then marched off in a sulk.

  Armed with his business cards and twelve yellow roses, Boggo reckons he’s got more than enough ammo to start up an orgy later.

  ST CATHERINE’S SENIOR SOCIAL

  I haven’t given girls much thought lately because I’ve had other more worthwhile distractions to daydream about. The hour long bus trip to St Catherine’s presented enough time to think about Amanda, become terrified and nauseous, and then issue myself a stern lecture to silence the gutless coward in my head. By the time we reached the school gates, I had righted the ship and was ready for whatever came my way. I then stepped off the bus and my left leg went lame. Limping into their school hall wasn’t the ideal first impression, but at least I managed to sneak in behind Fatty so as not to attract direct attention to my sudden and unexplained deformity.

  Boggo did a quick circle of the hall and then ordered us outside for a strategy meeting.

  Rambo advised Boggo to take it easy and wait until the party really got going before making his move. Boggo refused, and said by later on all the hot chicks would be taken and he’d be left with large girls with body odour. He then produced a rose and a business card and marched back into the hall in pursuit of the hot blonde dancing next to the DJ box.

  Boggo returned thirty seconds later and without saying a word, unzipped Fatty’s kitbag, withdrew another rose and galloped back to the hall. He was back a minute later with a feverish look on his face and shouting, ‘Come on, Fatty, bring your kitbag, it’s like the sardine run in there!’ Fatty grabbed the kitbag and charged after Boggo, leaving the rest of us laughing and mocking and mostly talking about our visit to Mad Dog’s farm which is now only 20 days away!

  I remained on the bench, even after the others had all gone in to dance. I’ve never once picked up a girl on the dance floor, this despite the fact that everybody else seems to do it all the time. I also didn’t want to bump into Amanda and then have to think of something clever and witty to say.

  ‘Spuddy!’ came the high-pitched shriek from behind me. It was Christine and soon she was sitting next to me on the bench. She said she was freezing and wrapped her arms around me.

  ‘Why is Dorkhead handing out roses and business cards to everyone?’ she asked. I told her it was Boggo’s new spading technique and she roared with laughter. ‘Okay, if he had given one girl a rose it might have worked …’ She giggled and said that Fatty was too shy to approach anyone directly so he was leaving small piles of business cards on the snacks and drinks tables.

  ‘Should we go somewhere quiet and touch each other?’ asked Christine without eve
n changing the tone of her voice. After struggling for breath, I politely declined and said, ‘Perhaps later.’ Christine told me I was hilarious, stuck her tongue playfully in my ear and ran off.

  Back at the dance, it was clear that Boggo’s spading plan had backfired spectacularly. Yellow rose petals littered the dance floor and everywhere people were giggling over Boggo’s and Fatty’s business cards. The two idiots were dancing together towards the far side of the hall and grinning at anyone who looked at them. Poor Fatty was sweating profusely from all the activity and Boggo’s dancing style appeared to be a combination of aggressive head butting and a strip show. Unbelievably, Garlic seemed to be coming right with a girl nearly twice his size, while Vern was solo dancing like a robot near the deserted snacks table. I looked around for Amanda but there was no sign of her. I imagine she thinks school dances are beneath her now that she’s a Matric.

  Then I noticed a girl dressed in school uniform enter the hall. She paused at the doorway for a moment and her eyes scanned the room like a small falcon. She began walking purposefully towards me.

  ‘Are you Spud Milton?’ she asked in a shrill voice.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied in an even squeakier one.

  ‘You were Oliver?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied in a deep and confident manner.

  ‘You look different,’ said the girl.

  ‘I dyed my hair for the part,’ I said rather grandly.

  The girl didn’t look impressed and said, ‘My friends used to think you were hot,’ and then looked me up and down as if I’d gone to pieces. ‘But that was when we were eleven. We’ve grown out of it now.’

  I nodded and didn’t know what to say next.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said as if she’d suddenly grown decidedly bored with me, ‘Ms Lawrence wants to see you in her study.’