by Fenton, John
I was becoming a student of life. I would often sit alone in the schoolyard and watch the rest of the boys as they went about their business. New boys to the school would generally huddle in corners and whisper quietly to each other. Occasionally I would see an older boy walk past one of them and hit or kick them for no apparent reason. The new boys’ eyes always betrayed their fear and they cowered like frightened rabbits in their corners. The older boy would walk away with a swagger and join his friends who were usually leaning against one of the school walls having a crafty smoke.
I grinned when I saw Liam Donovan returning to the yard after visiting the small dormitory for fighting. He was one of the worst bullies in the school. He walked slowly towards his friends with a sullen look on his face. He certainly wasn’t swaggering now. David Todd was sitting by the classroom wall as Donovan went past. I shook my head in disbelief as he flinched and cowered when Donovan pretended he was going to kick him. I heard the ripple of laughter from the boys sitting close to Todd and wondered why he let everybody have the satisfaction of seeing his weakness. His problem was fear. He was afraid of everything and everyone.
Todd was a month younger than me and had been in the school three weeks longer than me. He was a good-looking lad with jet-black hair that was always neatly groomed. Over the last few months he had started to develop a nervous twitch that made his head move sideways like a twitching muscle. It only happened occasionally but just recently it seemed to be getting worse. He had become a target for ridicule and also for frequent bullying.
I watched him follow Donovan with his eyes and saw his head shake in an uncontrolled spasm. I idly wondered what he thought about. His life was one of abject misery and humiliation. Why didn’t he learn to fight? He was big enough to look after himself, so why didn’t he? I watched him stand up and walk to one of the porches and disappear inside. I knew if I went over to the porch I would find him huddled in the corner, alone and friendless. It just confirmed for me that my decision to fight back against all the bullies had been the right one. At least I had my self-respect.
The shrill blast of a whistle summoned us into the recreation room to queue up in houses for lunch. I walked to my place in line and stood patiently waiting for my house to file into the dining hall. Brother Arnold was standing on a bench seat looking angrily all around. He stepped from bench to bench until he had traversed the whole room. Boys were eyeing him warily as this sort of behaviour usually meant trouble. He occasionally stopped walking and stood looking down from his lofty position, swaying from side to side, fists clenched firmly and eyes seeking out anybody who might be stupid enough to attract his attention.
He sniffed loudly through his nose and shouted in his strong Irish brogue: ‘You’re all bastards. You’ve been smoking in one of the porches because I smelt it as soon as I walked through the door.’ He stepped onto another bench. ‘You all deserve to be punished, not rewarded. If I had my way none of you would be going home on Sunday.’
Sunday would be 6 December and the first Sunday of the month.
He stepped onto another bench. ‘None of you would be going home if your mothers and sisters hadn’t sold their bodies to get you your fares. They’re all prostitutes and whores. They’re scum, just like you.’
I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. That piece of shit was standing on a bench calling my mother a whore. I turned to look at him. He was standing on a bench directly opposite me and scanning the room. He spotted me looking at him and fixed me with a triumphant stare.
‘Face the front,’ he shouted. ‘Who the hell do you think you’re looking at?’
I couldn’t stop myself, I had to say something. I spoke slowly and deliberately: ‘My mother is not a whore and nor are my sisters.’
Arnold screamed, ‘I said face the front.’
I repeated myself: ‘My mother and sisters are not whores.’ I watched him as he began stepping from bench to bench. He was working his way around the room in my direction. My heart was racing but my resolve was firm. I couldn’t let him insult my mother without defending her. All of a sudden I sensed his presence and turned my head. He was standing on the bench next to me. I looked up at him and said, ‘My mother is not a whore.’
The kick would have been hard enough to knock out a few of my teeth but I managed to turn my head before it landed. It hit me on my left cheek and the force of it sent me tumbling across the floor. I pulled myself onto my knees and stood up. He was still standing on the bench but he was now swaying from side to side in his usual challenging stance.
‘My mother is not a whore,’ I said loudly. ‘So what are you going to do now? You don’t frighten me. You’re just a cunt who enjoys hurting boys. One day I’ll be a man and then we’ll see who will hurt who.’
His face went white and pinched with anger. He jumped down from the bench and grabbed me by my jumper. I stared defiantly into his eyes. He pushed me towards the end of the room and in the direction of De Montfort’s office, saying, ‘This time you’ve gone too far.’
Brother De Montfort listened to Brother Arnold’s account of what I had said to him and his eyes never left me. When Arnold told him that I had insulted him by calling him a cunt, just for a moment his eyes flickered. He couldn’t control his anger when he heard about how I had threatened to hurt Arnold when I was older. He held up his hands in a gesture of resignation. He stood and faced the picture of the Blessed Virgin. He must have stood staring at the portrait for at least five minutes and the silence in the room was deafening. I knew that this was just a lull before the storm.
He started to speak before he turned around to face me. His voice was low and threatening. ‘Just tell me what gives you the right to speak to Brother Arnold in that manner. Do you think that I won’t punish you worse than I’ve ever done before?’
He spun around. His face was so close to mine I could feel tiny droplets of his spittle bouncing off my cheeks. ‘You were put in this school for being out of control and it is my job to put you firmly in control. So far I have failed miserably but that is going to change. You don’t respond to caning alone so I will give you another punishment on top of it. You have lost your Christmas holiday. You will not be going home but will be working in the chapel for the whole Christmas period. I hope that when you see all the other boys going home for Christmas you will start learning what is good behaviour and what is bad.’
He turned back to face the portrait and blessed himself. ‘Have you got anything to say to Brother Arnold before I take you up to the small dormitory for the first bit of your punishment?’
Brother Arnold was looking at me with a smug expression plastered all over his ugly Irish face. I said slowly and deliberately: ‘My mother isn’t a whore.’
De Montfort looked at me in open-mouthed amazement. For several seconds he was completely lost for words. After an apparent struggle within himself he said, ‘I suppose you think that’s a clever thing to say. Well, that remark has cost you your summer holiday as well.’
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘No one calls my mum a whore.’ I looked at Arnold and I was glad to see that he knew he hadn’t achieved anything in getting me punished. I smiled at him and confirmed, ‘I meant everything I said.’
Brother De Montfort pushed me towards the office door. He said to Brother Arnold, ‘Tell Brother Ambrose I require his services.’
I headed for the small dormitory with a feeling of pride engulfing my whole body. Nothing could hurt me today. I was defending my mum.
Chapter 19
22 December 1959
Bernie looked embarrassed as he came towards me. He was dressed in his own clothes: sky-blue jeans, a black shirt with black mother-of-pearl buttons, black suede chukka boots and a short leather jacket. He was ready to leave to catch the early morning train to London. It was Christmas and most of the boys were anxious to be on their way. Brother Cassius stood by the main door that led into the school and was issuing travel warrants to boys who did not have any money in their accounts.<
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Bernie slipped an ounce packet of Golden Virginia into my hand and a packet of Rizla cigarette papers. ‘I wish you were coming too, John,’ he said.
I grinned at him. ‘I dare say I’ll have a better time here than if I’d gone home. My mum has sent me two books and a load of fruit. I’ll have a great time.’ I put my arm affectionately around his shoulder. ‘You have a good time and if you get a chance give that girl Janice a seeing-to.’
‘That’s for certain,’ he said with a wicked grin. ‘She’s promised to be round my manor when I get there.’
‘OK, lads, it’s time for you to go.’ Brother Cassius had opened the main door and boys were pushing their way through. Bernie hugged me and said, ‘Happy Christmas, John. I’ll see you when I get back.’
I watched until every boy that was due to go had gone and then trudged over to the chapel. Just inside the door was a lovely nativity scene which had been made in the woodwork department. Father Delaney had supplied the small models of the baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, the three wise men and the different animals. I always lingered by the entrance as the nativity scene made me feel good. I stood and admired it and when at last I’d had my fill I walked into the centre of the empty chapel and looked up at the large wooden crucifix.
‘Well, Jesus, we’re alone again,’ I said quietly. ‘I know I’ve been a bad lad but I just had to do it. Anyway, it allows me to serve Mass for you on Christmas Day, so it’s not that bad a thing is it?’
Brother De Montfort and Brother Francis came into the chapel and knelt in silent prayer in front of the altar. I watched them quietly. To any outsider they would have appeared to be devout members of the Brotherhood. To me they were the epitome of blasphemy and corruption. I walked quietly into the vestry so I did not have to witness any more of their hypocrisy. I rolled myself a cigarette and stashed it away. I would light it up when they had gone.
I heard the catch on the door click so I stopped talking and pretended to be putting the prayer books back in their places on the pews.
The vestry door opened and Father Delaney walked in and gave me a benign smile. He was carrying a profusion of flowers he had acquired from the gardening department. He laid them on the vestry table and said, ‘We have to make sure that the chapel is at its best for Jesus’s birthday.’
I smiled. To me Father Delaney was the best man I had ever met and I idolised everything he said and did. ‘Do you want me to help you decorate the manger, Father?’
‘No, John.’ He winked at me. ‘You work in the vestry for a few hours today. I’m sure you can find plenty of things that need doing. Maybe you could clean out the thurible and put some fresh incense in it. Don’t forget to light it and burn the new incense down a fraction.’
I nodded and tried not to smile. ‘I can manage that, Father. Is there anything else you’d like me to do?’
Father Delaney sat down at the table and signalled for me to sit next to him. ‘I’d like to have a little chat with you, John. It’s Christmas and a time most people spend with their families. I know the reason why you’re not being allowed home and I don’t want you spending the whole of Christmas thinking evil thoughts about Brother Arnold. Christmas is a time of peace and goodwill.’
‘I don’t think about him at all, Father,’ I said. ‘He is what he is and my God will punish him. I just hope that one day I have the pleasure of seeing him in his coffin in front of the altar and then I’ll know he is burning in Hell.’
Father Delaney shook his head slowly. His face looked sad. ‘I wish I could soften your heart. You’re just a young boy in the wrong place and you’re too young to get eaten up with hatred.’ He put his hand gently on my arm. ‘I’d like to think we are friends, John.’ I nodded. ‘And as a friend I would like to ask you to do me a favour.’
‘Anything, Father. You know that.’ I looked at him with sincerity. ‘You’ve done more for me than anybody in my life has done before. I wish you had been my father and then I wouldn’t have been in here.’
He squeezed my arm tightly. ‘Thank you, John. That is a wonderful compliment. So you should have no problem in doing what I ask?’
I said, ‘No problem at all, Father.’
Father Delaney stood up and took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and placed them on the table next to me. ‘Enjoy your Christmas and have no wicked thoughts.’ He picked up the flowers from the table and walked quietly into the chapel. For no apparent reason tears sprang to my eyes.
For the first two days of the Christmas holiday there were several other boys with me in the school. They had lost odd days off their holiday entitlement for not achieving the required amount of points every week. On Christmas Eve these boys all left the school and I was totally alone.
Brother De Montfort came into the vestry after Mass to speak to me. ‘For the next few days you are going to be alone in the school. I am not going to make any of the Brothers miss the Christmas celebrations by having to look after you. You will be called in the morning by one of the Brothers and then you’ll be left to fend for yourself. Matron is preparing all the meals over Christmas and she will provide meals for you also. Breakfast will be at the usual time of eight o’clock. Lunch will be at one o’clock and tea at six o’clock. When you are not required to work in the chapel you may use the television room or the recreation room. You will be in bed with the lights off by nine o’clock. Do you understand what you have to do?’
‘Yes, Bro.’ I felt like jumping for joy. No supervision meant I could do what I wanted whenever I wanted to do it. Father Delaney had told me already that he only wanted me to sweep the chapel floor daily and that task would take me about fifteen minutes.
Brother De Montfort must have sensed my glee. He said, ‘Occasionally one of the Brothers may check on you. So don’t be misbehaving.’
I swept the chapel floor with lightness in my step. This could be the start of an absolutely fabulous holiday. I looked up at the crucifix and smiled. ‘Thank you, Jesus.’
I hadn’t seen Father Delaney standing by the font and I was taken by surprise when he spoke. ‘That was music to my ears, John. If only other boys in the school had the same relationship with Jesus that you have.’
I smiled at him and hurried on with my sweeping. I wanted to get back to the school and start reading the books my mother had sent me. They were by an author called John Wyndham and were called The Day of the Triffids and The Chrysalids. I didn’t have a clue what the stories were about but I trusted my mother’s judgement. I was sure she would choose the sort of book that I would enjoy reading.
I settled myself comfortably in the television room with my feet up and opened the first of my novels. I lit one of the cigarettes that Father Delaney had left on the table and coughed as the smoke assaulted the back of my throat. Then I started to read.
In no time at all I was lost in a world that had spectacular green comets flashing overhead and the populace all going blind. I could clearly picture William Masen (Bill), the hero of the book, who had not seen the comets because his eyes had been bandaged. I felt his horror at finding himself one of the only sighted people left in the country and having to fight off the large, genetically modified, carnivorous and intelligent plants called Triffids who were uprooting themselves and attacking humans. I reluctantly closed the book and went to lunch. I was five minutes late and found my meal waiting for me on the dining room counter. I gulped it down and quickly washed up after myself. My book was waiting. I was anxious to find out what was going to happen to Bill.
The whole of the afternoon flew past. By teatime Bill had rescued Rosetta from her horrible blind captor and was fleeing out of town with her. I sat quietly eating my tea. My mind was not quiet though; it was filled with images of huge plants walking around the countryside and blind people stumbling into their paths and dying. I had become an enthusiastic science fiction reader.
Brother Michael woke me at six o’clock on Christmas morning. I climbed out of my bed and slowly made my way
to the washroom. The corridors and other dormitories were all in darkness and the absolute silence was a little unnerving. I switched on the washroom lights and hurried through my ablutions. I could hear rain beating against the window by the wash basin and I immediately thought about the Triffids. I knew I was being stupid but I imagined there was a Triffid outside and it was trying to get in.
I scampered back to my dormitory and hurriedly dragged on my clothes. Every noise was playing on my nerves and I ran scared along the corridor and down the stairs into the recreation room. I put on all the lights and the large room was suddenly filled with welcoming light. My hands were shaking as I rolled myself a cigarette and lit it. I sat down on one of the benches and puffed nervously. It must have taken five or six minutes before I had composed myself enough to make my way over to the chapel.
I entered the chapel. Father Delaney was lighting the altar candles and called out, ‘Happy Christmas, John.’
I hurried down the centre aisle and said, ‘Happy Christmas, Father.’
I went to the vestry and pulled on my server’s vestments. Father Delaney was singing ‘Adeste Fideles’ and his melodic voice soothed my fractured nerves. I found myself humming along with his singing. His voice seemed to grow louder and then he appeared at the vestry door. He handed me a festively wrapped parcel, saying, ‘Happy Christmas, John.’
I felt embarrassed as I hadn’t anything to give in return. He said, ‘Open it. I want to see if you like it.’
I carefully pulled off the wrapping paper and looked down at a leather-bound English Dictionary. I selfconsciously opened the first page and read the inscription he had written. It read: