Please Don't Make Me Go

by Fenton, John

  ‘If the reports had been different you’d be on your way out of here and I wouldn’t be sorry to see the back of you.’ He paused and took a long blow of his nose into a greyish handkerchief. I watched with fascination as he inspected the contents of the handkerchief before putting it into some hidden pocket in his cassock. He wrinkled his nose. ‘We have taken into account all the underlying reasons behind your savage attack and have decided that we can keep this incident within the school’s punishment system.’ He looked at Mr Davies. ‘Mr Davies and I have agreed that eight strokes of the cane will suffice as your punishment.’

  Father Delaney stepped forward from where he had been standing. ‘I think that after the caning he should be made to spend several days in the chapel reflecting on the evil thing that he did and how his behaviour should be in future.’

  Brother De Montfort nodded his agreement. He was staring at me again with a look of distaste on his face. He whined in his hateful voice: ‘He should also reflect on how he can show respect to the Brothers in this school and not use his facial expressions to indicate his contempt for us. We have had enough of his dumb insolence.’

  Father Delaney promised, ‘I will deal with all these issues in chapel.’

  Brother De Montfort said to Mr Davies, ‘Would you like to be present at his caning or shall I handle it?’

  Mr Davies’s face got even pastier. He shook his head. ‘I think that it would be better if you handled it.’ He stood up from his seat and held out his bony hand. Both Father Delaney and Brother De Montfort shook it and watched him as he quietly slipped out of the room. He didn’t once glance in my direction.

  Father Delaney looked at Brother De Montfort and said, ‘Send him to the chapel when you have finished with him.’ He turned to leave the room and patted me on the shoulder as he left. ‘I’ll see you later, John. You should be thankful that you are getting off so lightly.’

  Brother De Montfort pointed to the door. ‘You know the way, Fenton.’

  I led the way up the internal staircase to the small dormitory. I knew what was in front of me and the pain I was about to endure, but I was calm. Fifteen minutes of misery was a cheap price to pay for having my revenge on Wilkinson. I pulled on the shorts with a smile on my face.

  Afterwards, I stepped slowly and painfully into the chapel and found Father Delaney standing by the altar cleaning the chalices. On hearing my footsteps he looked up. ‘How are you feeling, John?’

  I shrugged. ‘I’m OK, Father.’

  He gestured for me to come and stand with him and handed me a brilliant white cleaning cloth. ‘Don’t rub the chalice too hard or you’ll leave smear marks.’

  We polished the chalices side by side for several minutes, then Father Delaney returned them to the tabernacle. I watched as he locked the small door with a beautifully carved silver key. We both genuflected in front of the altar and I looked up at Jesus hanging on the cross above my head. He seemed to be looking back at me.

  ‘What do you think of when you look at our Saviour hanging on the cross?’ Father Delaney asked. ‘What’s going through your mind? You always look so sincere.’

  ‘I’m just checking to make sure He understands what I’ve done. I’m also thanking Him for giving me the strength to take whatever punishment I have just had.’ I looked at Father Delaney. ‘I think of Jesus being scourged when I’m being caned. I think of how He suffered and how brave He was and I try to show the same courage. It helps me.’

  We walked slowly towards the vestry. Father Delaney had his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. ‘I’m sure Jesus is pleased that you understand the suffering he endured. That is why he keeps you close in his arms. He will never desert you.’

  ‘I felt He deserted me when Wilkinson abused me, Father. I prayed really hard but nobody helped me.’

  ‘Jesus may have been testing you. Who knows what plans He has for you?’ He blessed himself. ‘God works in mysterious ways.’

  ‘When Brother De Montfort said that the reports from the hospital were good, what did he mean?’

  Father Delaney said gravely, ‘It was feared that you may have damaged Wilkinson’s testicles so badly that he would never be able to have children. That wasn’t the case. You kicked one of his testicles up into his lower body cavity and they had to operate to bring it back down. The operation was a complete success and he should recover completely. You also loosened a few of his front teeth but they also think that he won’t lose them. So all in all you were very lucky. Things could have been a lot worse.’

  ‘Do you think what I did was wrong, Father?’

  Father Delaney said very simply, ‘I can’t condone violence, John, but the rights and wrongs will be judged at a much later date in mankind’s highest court in Heaven. All I will say is that I understand your actions.’

  I held out my hand to him and he took it in a firm grip. I said shyly, ‘Thank you for standing by me, Father. I don’t know how I would have got through it without your help.’

  He smiled and pointed back towards the chapel. ‘Why don’t you go and thank the real person behind your good fortune?’

  I knelt down in the front pew and looked up at the face of Jesus. I felt sure that Father Delaney was right. My Friend kept me close because I understood his suffering. I stayed kneeling in silent prayer for the remainder of the morning.

  Chapter 21

  It was Easter Monday 1960 and the spring sun felt warm and pleasant. It was three and a half months since the Wilkinson incident and two days before my sixteenth birthday. Bernie and I were sitting on the ground in the yard with our backs resting against the recreation room wall. A group of about twenty boys had formed two teams and were kicking a ball around the yard. Other boys were sitting or lounging in small groups watching the match and having the odd crafty smoke.

  Jack Clarke became a legend on his first day at Vincent’s. He was a small thirteen- year-old with buck teeth and an unruly mop of mousy hair. He had been sentenced to three years’ approved school for being completely out of control at school and at home. He crept quietly into the yard that first day and had gone unnoticed by virtually everyone as he sat in a corner. When the school were called into houses to go into lunch he managed to find his spot without too much bother. He filed into the dining room with all the boys and seated himself at a table near the front.

  We both laughed as we saw Jack Clarke tackle Pete Boyle and run away laughing with the ball at his feet.

  As usual, the duty brother took his position on the podium and commanded silence by booking and slapping any boy who made the mistake of talking. We were ten minutes into our meal when we saw Brother Ambrose signal to someone to come over. Jack Clarke walked slowly to the podium and stared up at Brother Ambrose, who towered above him.

  ‘What’s your name, boy?’ Brother Ambrose called down.

  ‘Jack Clarke, sir,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Well, Clarke, there’s a rule of silence during meal times and you were talking.’ Brother Ambrose reached down and pulled the young lad up by his hair and slapped him around the ear. ‘Now go back to your seat and keep your mouth shut.’

  Jack Clarke put his hand up to the ear that had just been slapped and rubbed it. His whole face went beetroot red and he shoved the podium with all his pent-up anger. The podium began to wobble precariously and Brother Ambrose struggled to keep his balance. With a resounding crash it toppled over and Brother Ambrose flew through the air with his arms and legs flailing wildly. He hit the floor with a resounding wallop and his cassock wrapped around his head. The whole of the school burst out laughing and some of the boys started to cheer loudly. The dining room door was flung open and Brother De Montfort and Brother Arnold rushed in.

  Brother Ambrose was still floundering on the floor like a beached whale so Brother De Montfort rushed over to help him to his feet. Jack Clarke stood perfectly still watching the mayhem he had caused and grinning all over his face. Brother Arnold hit him hard in the face and then Jack was the one on the floo
r. De Montfort looked down at him and instructed Brother Arnold: ‘Bring him to my office.’

  We all watched with sympathy as Jack Clarke was dragged out of the dining room towards his fate. Brother Ambrose tentatively put the podium back into position and took up his sentry stance on it. The school had quietened down and most of the boys were lost in their own private thoughts about the punishment Jack Clarke was about to receive.

  An hour after we had come out of lunch Jack Clarke reappeared in the yard. His face was wet with tears and there were blood streaks on the back of his legs. He was welcomed into our midst like a conquering hero and every boy seemed to want to speak to him. His entry into the school would be talked about for ages and he had earned the nickname of ‘Shover’. Talk about arriving with a bang!

  I was reflecting on how my life had changed since the 4th of January when I had my fight with Wilkinson. After my caning I had returned to the school and found that I had gained enormous respect overnight. The bullying Bernie and I had once faced daily disappeared and we were left alone. Bernie said, ‘Nobody would dare bully you now. They’re too frightened of losing their bollocks.’ Wilkinson had never returned to the school and I was told by Father Delaney that Davies and De Montfort had given him back his licence, thus solving a very difficult problem for them.

  A school choir was formed and both Bernie and I became members. We joined because there were special privileges given to choir members. Twice a week after choir practice we were allowed to watch an hour of television and after singing at High Mass once a month, we were allowed to go to the pictures on a Saturday afternoon. These privileges were too good to turn down so we were two of the first volunteers.

  I found choir practice a laugh from start to finish. Bernie and the rest of the choir didn’t have a clue how to pronounce any of the Latin Mass and listening to them sing words they couldn’t pronounce was one of the funniest things I had ever heard. Brother Michael was the choirmaster and if it wasn’t for his accomplished and melodic voice drowning out the mumblings of the boys, the whole thing could have been a disaster. Father Delaney even laughed when he attended a rehearsal and heard the boys’ attempts at singing the Nicene Creed.

  There had been a lot of licences granted over the last three months and consequently a big influx of new boys. I watched all the comings and goings with interest. I’d see a new boy being pushed around and remember how, not so long ago, Bernie and I had suffered the same kind of treatment. I found myself studying the different ways some boys handled the bullying. There was still brutality being dished out daily by the staff for the most trivial of offences and some boys seemed to handle it well, while others cringed in corners and were not averse to snivelling when they were given the most basic of slaps. Brother Arnold always seemed able to single out the weaklings and revel in the fear and power he had over them. I’d watch him strut his stuff around the school and let it feed my insatiable hatred of him.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the football hitting and breaking one of the large ventilation windows above my head. A few slivers of glass showered down on me and I carefully flicked them off my hair and jumper.

  Bernie commented, ‘You’re lucky most of the glass fell into the rec and not onto your head.’

  I noticed how the football players had suddenly dispersed and were hiding themselves among the various groups in the yard. The schoolroom door opened and Brother Arnold came hurrying out. He immediately came over to where Bernie and I were sitting and stared up at the shattered glass above our heads. He looked down at me and pointed at the window.

  ‘Who did that?’ he asked menacingly.

  I shrugged my shoulders and said, ‘I haven’t got a clue, Bro.’

  Arnold kicked out his right foot and it caught me high on my thigh. ‘You must have seen who did it. You’re sitting right underneath it.’

  I jumped to my feet as I was at his mercy sitting down. ‘I saw nothing at all,’ I said quietly. ‘The first thing I knew about it was when I was showered with glass.’

  My hatred for him must have shown on my face as without any warning he backhanded me across my mouth. I knew he had split my lip as I immediately felt the trickle of blood running down my chin. He was swaying from side to side in front of me and I knew that meant he was planning to hit me again so I quickly moved out of his reach.

  ‘Get back here,’ he shouted. ‘You’re going to tell me who did it.’

  My temper was roused and I wiped the blood angrily off my chin. ‘I don’t know fuck all,’ I said loudly, ‘so piss off and find someone that does.’

  He smiled sadistically at me and stepped forward but I stepped backwards and further out of his reach.

  ‘That just cost you a trip to Brother De Montfort’s office,’ he said. ‘The way you’re behaving makes me think that it was you who broke the window.’

  ‘Think what you like. I know I didn’t do it and that’s all that counts.’

  He pointed at the door that led towards De Montfort’s office. ‘Get going. I’m sure Brother De Montfort will be delighted at the way you have just sworn at me.’

  I turned to Bernie and raised my eyebrows in disbelief. ‘Can you believe this fucking wanker? I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  Arnold ran forward and grabbed my arm and pushed me towards the door. ‘You’ve got a foul mouth,’ he said, slightly out of breath, ‘and deserve everything that’s coming your way.’

  I allowed myself to be pushed along to De Montfort’s office and nearly stumbled as I was pushed through the doorway. De Montfort listened in silence to Arnold’s account and never took his eyes off me. When Arnold had finished De Montfort stood up and walked towards the door.

  ‘Follow me, Fenton,’ he said. ‘You know where you’re going.’

  I followed him out of his office and up the stairs to the small dormitory, riled by the injustice of it all. He slung a pair of blue silk boxing shorts onto the nearest bed.

  ‘Put them on.’

  ‘Not a chance.’ I spoke without thinking. Somewhere in my subconscious I must have decided not to take the cane. ‘I’m not being caned for doing nothing wrong. I’ve been caned at least a dozen times and I’ve always accepted my punishment, but this time I’ve done nothing that deserves a caning so I’m not taking it.’

  Brother De Montfort’s eyes were cold and unfeeling. He was silent for some considerable time, digesting what he had just heard. He eventually said very quietly, ‘Put the shorts on.’

  I shook my head and said, ‘No.’

  We had reached an impasse. He turned around and walked to the open door.

  ‘I’ll give you five minutes to think about what you’re doing. When I come back you had better have those shorts on.’ He closed the door behind him and I was left alone.

  I started to pace the dormitory nervously. My heart was racing and my hands were sweating. I knew I was right in refusing the cane but I was terrified at what might happen now. What could they do? I kept my eyes fixed on the door. Eventually it opened and Brother De Montfort walked in. He saw I was still not wearing the shorts and said, ‘Are you going to put on the shorts?’

  ‘No. I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  I watched him apprehensively as he turned to the door and signalled with his finger. In walked Brother Arnold, Brother Michael, Brother Francis and Mr Lawson. They were followed by Brother Ambrose carrying his usual bundle of canes. They all walked towards me and I backed away until I was stopped by my back pressing against the far-end wall. This was the signal for them to rush me and suddenly I was struggling violently with four grown men who were considerably stronger than me.

  Kicking and screaming abuse, I was lifted bodily off the floor and thrown face downwards across a bed. Brother Michael and Brother Francis each had hold of one of my legs, Brother Arnold and Eddie Lawson each had an arm and I was being stretched and pulled downwards over both sides of the bed. I thrashed my head from side to side in a vain attempt to break loose. Brother Ambrose began lashing a cane down
on my body like a demented person and when I strained my head and neck to look at him, his face had a maniacal expression.

  Suddenly, what Brother Ambrose was doing didn’t matter at all; my right hand was being pushed so hard downwards that my wrist was close to snapping like a twig in winter. My scream of agony reverberated around the room. I looked down and saw Mr Lawson kneeling on the floor pressing hard on my hand and arm.

  ‘You’re breaking my fucking wrist,’ I screamed. ‘Let go. You’re breaking my fucking wrist.’

  He totally ignored my screams and kept the pressure on.

  The pain was excruciating and I screamed again, ‘You’re breaking my fucking wrist.’ There was still no letup on the pressure so I screamed again, ‘OK. I’ll take the cane. Let me up. For God’s sake let me up.’

  My legs and arms were suddenly released. I struggled to get up to kneeling position and Mr Lawson put both his hands under my arms to help lift me. That was the chance I’d been waiting for. I crashed my head into his face and felt my forehead collide with hard bone.

  ‘Fuck you, you ginger-headed cunt,’ I screamed.

  Hands grabbed me and once again I was stretched across the bed and was being lashed unmercifully with the cane. I think all in all I was probably hit fifty or sixty times but I was so angry I didn’t feel the pain. I craned my neck to look at Mr Lawson and grinned through gritted teeth when I saw a massive swelling starting to close his left eye.

  Finally I heard De Montfort say, ‘That’s enough,’ and I was free to move again. I pushed myself off the bed so I was kneeling on the floor and stood up slowly. I noticed that they were all keeping well away from me. They were taking no chances because they could see my temper was up.

  De Montfort pointed to the door. ‘You can go back to the yard now.’ He decided to brave it and came to stand directly in front of me. ‘You will never beat the system. Let this be a lesson to you.’