‘Oh, they had children,’ I told him. ‘I remember playing with them.’
‘Really? I always thought it must’ve been so dull for you there without any friends. That’s one of the reasons we made you go to school.’
And then, recently, my parents were tidying out their attic room when I dropped in on them. Amongst all the rubbish they were throwing out was a box containing some of my old toys and school exercise books.
‘I’m not quite sure why we kept them,’ my father said, ‘but if you don’t want them they’re going to the dump.’
I wasn’t certain that I remembered the battered matchbox cars, playing cards and broken microscope set. I was surprised, though, to recognise the exercise books that we had been made to cover at home to protect them, and I remembered the paper I had used. The work inside didn’t look at all familiar, though. The last book I looked at was uncovered and obviously from a much earlier date. It was tatty and had the word ‘English’, written in pencil in the top corner, only just legible against the dark blue cover.
‘I had a flick through a couple of them,’ said my mother, ‘and they’re not too awful. You got good marks, on the whole.’
I looked inside the blue exercise book, and I wouldn’t have recognised the childish handwriting as my own if I hadn’t written my name, and ‘January 1976’ on the first page. In my mind I was immediately transported back nearly forty years to a large classroom that smelt of polish, glue and disinfectant. It had an atmosphere that seemed absolutely unique to me at the time because there were both boys and girls in it, and I was used to attending an all-boys school. I could also see before me a teacher called Miss Hanratty who was very tall and friendly.
In the exercise book, in the opening sentence, I explained simply that I was staying with my grandparents while my mother and father were building a new house.
‘I’m sure,’ I told my mother and father, ‘that I didn’t have to do some project that all the other children had already started. I was told to write something like a diary in this book instead, and I remember working really hard on it.’
‘I saw that,’ said my mother, looking over my shoulder for a moment. ‘You wrote a great deal, but I couldn’t make much sense of it. Your handwriting and spelling weren’t very good.’
‘He’d only’ve been ten at the time,’ my father excused me.
‘I noticed, though,’ said my mother, ‘that you mentioned friends called Jason and Sarah. And I think you were right; they must’ve lived next to your grandparents.’
The exercise book, as a physical object, had dredged up fragmentary suggestions of the past, offering a glimpse of a colourful and slightly frightening inner-city classroom. But the names ‘Jason’ and ‘Sarah’, mentioned together and in connection with my stay at my grandparents’, brought to the surface memories that almost had the power to make me gasp. Like the fleeting after-images of a powerful dream, the whole atmosphere of that time was almost overwhelming, and just as inexplicable. And then I began to recall the games in the street, I saw Jason and his strange eye, and I remembered that I had made him very angry, but I had never understood why. After more than thirty years the sense of unfairness came back to me absolutely undiluted.
I took the exercise book into the living room while my parents went back upstairs to finish tidying their attic. What I read was simply and artlessly told, and the detail I have added to the story is based on those memories that resurfaced while I read it. The following reminiscence was written later that same evening, while the specifics and the whole atmosphere of the time were still clear in my mind:
I enjoyed staying with my grandparents because they spoilt me, although their house seemed quite austere. My grandmother smoked, but always at an open window, and it smelt of ash and bleach, and rarely felt really warm. My fondest memories were of the evenings when, unlike at home, we ate our meals in the living room in front of the television. Not only was my grandmother a good and generous cook, but she was content for me to choose the programs we watched. It is probably unfair, but they always seemed to have more time for my childish games and ideas than my parents did. My only complaint about staying with them was the injustice of being made to go to bed unreasonably early every night. Even now I can recall what seemed like endless hours lying awake in bed, with my curtains closed against a world that was still awake and going about its business. It was especially frustrating because I could hear other children continuing to play out in the street. I was forbidden to read or play with any toys and I didn’t want to get caught, so I simply lay in bed, bored. I recall distinctly the paisley-patterned eiderdown in red and gold, and I remember how, from the top left corner, I was sure I had once found a way through the pattern, as through a maze, to the top right corner, but I could never do it again.
One evening I became especially frustrated, angry even, at the sound of children playing in the street when I was expected to be asleep. I found the courage to get up, knowing that my grandparents were downstairs at the back of the house and wouldn’t hear any creaking floorboards. I went to the window and saw a half a dozen children outside, playing in the middle of the road. There was a clear sky and nearly a full moon and I could see them very distinctly in the silver light. I wondered that they didn’t get told off, but there didn’t seem to be any adults about, and there was no passing traffic. The lack of cars made me think that it was probably later than I realised, although that made it all the more strange that they were allowed to be outside.
I watched the children for a while, unable to understand what game it was they were playing; there were two different groups and at some shouted command that I couldn’t hear clearly, an individual would run from one group to another. Very occasionally two would run at the same time and if they were from opposing groups there would be laughter. The game was overseen by a tall, thin boy standing at the edge of their game.
I left the window and went back to bed feeling a little left out. I envied them their freedom, and for some reason I decided that they wouldn’t want to play with me anyway. The following night, however, I changed my estimation of them. I had heard them out in the street again, and once more I went to watch them from the window. This time I was spotted by a girl, and I was about to back away when I realised that she was waving and smiling. She pointed me out to the tall, thin boy and he waved too. He beckoned me to come down but, of course, I couldn’t. I shrugged, mouthed the word sorry, and went back to bed.
When I left the house for school the next day I looked out for the children in vain. In the playground at break time I wandered about, but didn’t recognise anyone from the street. Of course, Brighton has many schools and with the special arrangements my parents had made, I wasn’t certain that I was going to the one nearest to my grandparents’ house. The friends I made at school certainly didn’t live at all close to me.
That night I was listening out for the children in the street from the moment I went to bed, but for a long time I couldn’t hear them. Several times I got up and looked out of the window but they were not there. Cars passed infrequently, the moon was obviously behind clouds, and I was disappointed not to see them. Although I was envious of the children, I decided that I preferred them to be playing out there without me rather than not there at all. I lay in bed feeling a little lonely and homesick, wishing that I could meet up again with all my friends from my old school, and resenting having to go to a new one. My thoughts were quite miserable, but then I heard a shout and I jumped out of bed. The moon was now showing in the sky and everything was lit almost as bright as day. The children saw me and rushed over to the edge of the small front garden. They started to call for me to come down and this worried me so much that I nearly went straight back into bed; I was sure that my grandparents would realise what was happening outside, and why. I stood away from the window, worried, but still they called. I realised that I had to do something, and so opened the window.
‘Come out and play,’ called the tall, thin boy who seemed t
o be in charge.
‘I can’t,’ I said, vainly trying to get my whisper to carry all the way down to them. They seemed to understand and there was a quick conference. The boy turned back to me:
‘Then we’ll come up to you! Go to the door on the landing, between your house and ours.’ It took me a moment to understand what he meant, but when they all seemed to be running into the front garden of the house next door I realised the implications and was even more afraid. Unwillingly, I crept out of my room and into the passageway. I went down to where the door between the two houses was hidden behind the heavy curtain and pulled it back. I was relieved to see that it was bolted on my side.
I had seen the door before and it had been explained to me by my grandmother. I had not noticed, though, that there was a large keyhole. I looked through it and could see a dark passageway that was like ours, and a light came on at the far end. And then I could hear, distantly, what sounded like many, muffled feet running up stairs. Lights came on in the passageway itself and a whole gang of children appeared running towards the door. I instinctively took my eye away from the keyhole and moved back just before the children crashed into the door, making everything shake.
I was afraid that my grandparents would have heard them and so I put the curtain back. There was no sound from downstairs, though, apart from the distant sound of the television set. From behind the curtain I could hear the sound of bolts being moved back and I was horrified to think that the children had some way of opening the door from their side. I didn’t dare go near it as I heard the doorknob moved to and fro and then rattled in frustration. When I was sure that they couldn’t get through, I went back behind the curtain and realised that there must be bolts on both sides.
‘Can you open the door?’ came a voice through the keyhole.
‘No,’ I lied, my mouth against the gap between the door and the frame. As I looked I could see the light seeping between the two.
‘My name’s Jason,’ said the voice, ‘Like with the Argonauts.’
I told him my name and he asked if I wanted to come out to play with him and his friends. I was too ashamed to admit that I was meant to be in bed at that early hour; I guessed that the boy was probably three or four years older than me.
I bent down and looked through the keyhole. It was dark at first, then whoever was probably trying to look through it at me moved back and I could see the boy’s face.
‘These are all my friends,’ Jason said, and he told me their names. He seemed to be trying to point them out to me, but most were beyond my restricted view through the keyhole. The only face I saw and could put a name to was a girl called Sarah who was sitting next to him. We talked for a while but then I became worried that I’d be discovered and said that I had to go. I had also started to get very cold in just my pyjamas. Jason made me agree to return to the door at the same time the next night.
I stood up from my crouching position at the keyhole and carefully emerged from behind the curtain. On the other side of the door I heard the rushing, tumbling feet as the children ran away from the door.
I went back to my bed, excited by my adventure, but also worried by it. I was pleased I hadn’t been caught by my grandparents, and decided that I’d been clever not to tell the children that there were bolts on my side of the door that I could have opened if I’d wanted to. I was frustrated, though, that I didn’t know what the time was and wouldn’t know when to go to talk to them the next evening. I resolved that as soon as my grandparents had said goodnight to me and had gone downstairs I would make my bed look as if I was sleeping in it by putting pillows under the covers. I’d then be able to go out in the passageway and hide behind the curtain until the children came.
I followed my plan and was waiting behind the curtain very early that next night. Once again I almost despaired of them appearing. I was cold, although I had remembered to put on my slippers and dressing gown, and I found myself nearly nodding-off from time to time. And then, without warning, I heard a voice through the door. Jason was there with Sarah and they took turns in sitting back and letting me look at them through the keyhole. I tried to do the same but they couldn’t see me properly in the dark behind the curtain.
They decided to sit back and talk loudly while I looked through. Jason said that he was fourteen, and Sarah was thirteen. I was thrilled that these older children seemed to want to be my friends. I lied and said that I was twelve, and immediately regretted it; I was sure that they’d find me out at some point, but they didn’t seem at all concerned about our ages. I explained that I was staying with my grandparents and they said that they weren’t living with their parents either. They seemed a little confused about quite who they were living with and I wondered if the house was a children’s home, like a friend from my old school lived in. If that was the case I decided not to pry.
It was hard to make them out properly through the keyhole because the light was behind them and their faces were in shadow. I had noticed, though, that there was something wrong with Jason’s left eye. It disconcerted me that it was so much darker than his other eye. It actually looked black, and I found myself staring at it, trying to make it out. I could see that he blinked normally, but it was as if the eyeball itself was covered in something which seemed to reflect the light. From my vantage point I found myself staring at it in a way that I’d have been too embarrassed to do normally.
They asked me about myself, my parents and grandparents, and exactly why I was living there. They asked about my new and old schools, and my teachers, and they seemed to find this fascinating, although I thought it all quite boring. I explained that I was used to going to an all-boys school, but was now going to one with girls as well.
‘So your old school only had boys in it?’ Sarah asked, concerned. When I said yes she asked what happened to the girls.
‘I suppose there must be some all-girls schools as well,’ said Jason, and I confirmed this.
‘But why shouldn’t girls and boys be together?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted.
‘Which school do you prefer?’ asked Jason and though I wasn’t sure that I believed it, I said that the mixed-sex school was better. He nodded and they both said they agreed with me, and I was pleased to have said the right thing as far as they were concerned. I really wanted them to like me, and I was flattered that they wanted to know all about me. I could see through the keyhole that they were genuinely interested when I explained what books I liked, and what television programs I watched.
Two other children joined them as we talked, and when one of them left another three came and sat and listened. And then I remembered the danger of being caught not only out of bed, but out of my room, and nervously I said I had to go. I asked what school they went to, wondering if I would see them at mine the next day but Jason said with a smile, ‘Oh, we don’t go to school.’
>The following night only Jason was on the other side of the door when we started talking. He was very relaxed and friendly and managed to persuade me to open the door. I could only just reach the top bolt on tip-toe to push it back, and the lower one was slightly rusty and took several attempts. I was worried about opening the door, but Jason seemed very happy to talk quietly and sit on his side, and for me to sit on mine. I appreciated the warmth that came from his house.
‘You’ll be wondering about my eye,’ said Jason matter-of-factly, almost as soon as we were both able to see each other properly. The passageway on his side of the house was warmly lit but his face was still in shadow. He moved so I could look at his eye properly and I could see that it was very dark but flecked with yellow stuff.
‘Something happened to it before I can ever remember,’ he said. ‘I think it got poked with something very sharp and it got infected. I can see through it, though, in a way.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Does it hurt?’ I was trying to appear matter-of-fact and as though it was quite an everyday thing to see.
‘No, it doesn’t hurt at all. It seems q
uite normal to me…’
At that moment we both heard somebody coming up the stairs behind him. Sarah appeared and she seemed pleased to find us there. She came and sat down next to Jason.
‘I was explaining about my eye,’ he said.
‘Take a proper look into it,’ said Sarah. ‘It seems to go down and down forever.’
So that there was full light on his face he turned back to his house and I moved slightly inside it as well. I looked down into his eye and Sarah was right. The strange flecks were actually golden in the light, and the blackness was mottled and gave an odd suggestion of depth.
‘So, what can you see through it?’ I asked.
‘When I look through both eyes at once I can see through and around things. But if I just look through my funny eye,’ he said, closing his good one, ‘I can see amazing things. I can see great battles, and monsters, and castles and huge ships on stormy seas.’
‘That’s rubbish,’ I protested.
‘You don’t have to believe me.’
‘Prove it,’ I found myself taunting him.
‘How can I? You can’t see through my eye. And you wouldn’t want me to poke yours so that it turns the same as mine.’
‘I believe him,’ said Sarah. ‘Because he tells me what he sees, and he doesn’t describe normal things, not like they’d be in real life; it’s all magical and bright and gorgeous.’
She seemed proud of him, and I didn’t want to argue so I said I’d believe him too if he told me what he could see.
Jason seemed a little annoyed that I doubted him, but he obviously relished the opportunity to tell us a story. He closed his good eye and said:
‘I can see a country that’s rocky and barren and nobody appears to live there except lizards, and scorpions. And then, one day a beautiful river appears and it slowly carves out the land to create mountains, hills and valleys. It breaks up the rocks and seeps into the dust and creates soil that allows grasses to grow. And then there are flowers, and slowly trees appear and whole forests. The soil becomes dark and rich, and the land is so lush that animals move in to it, and birds live there. Then men and women arrive and build huts and grow food, and keep the animals. But the river has even greater ambitions. It flows over and through the rock in the most intricate and cunning ways, and it creates beautiful buildings with great halls and tapered towers. It makes roads and pathways like mazes between the buildings, and a whole wonderful city is created. Other men and women are then able to come to the city and they make wonderful things in exchange for the food that others grow. Some work with metals and make horseshoes and nails while others make clocks and watches. Those that make cloth either produce sacks or fine clothes, and the people who work with glass make bottles for beer or perfume. Everyone is busy and useful and happy. The river is tired from all of its exertions and slowly and lazily flows in a course through a land that does not change for years on end.
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