Please Don't Make Me Go

by Fenton, John

  The night seemed interminably long and I tossed and turned and got very little sleep. I kept thinking of the boys I’d want with me in the small dorm when it all kicked off. Bernie and Pete Doyle immediately sprang to mind. Taffy Williams and his mate Jack Harker would be good inclusions as they could both look after themselves and were always in De Montfort’s bad book. Jimmy Smith was a bit of a loner but had an air about him that suggested he too could look after himself. I’d link up with him in the morning and try to persuade him to join us. Liam O’Connor would be a definite as he hated the Brothers and had been caned several times for swearing at them. David Brown and Paul Curtis were new to the school but had both been caned recently for fighting and hadn’t stopped griping about it ever since. Smudger Smith would jump at the chance to have another go at Nutty Ambrose – after he had been caned he had tried to attack Nutty but had been restrained by De Montfort. I also asked Andrew Devine, the poor boy who was best known for wetting his bed. Pete Boyle didn’t agree with me. ‘What are you playing at? He’s a wanker, John. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can spit.’ But I felt sorry for Devine and he seemed to be keen to be involved. The list was taking shape and I smirked to myself. If all those lads took part in the riot then we would definitely win. At last my eyes were growing heavy and I settled myself down to catch a bit of sleep before the Kraut called us at six o’ clock.

  A week had passed since I had conceived the idea of the riot. I was amazed by the enthusiasm shown by everybody I mentioned it to. Even Jimmy Smith, who I’d thought might refuse, was keen on the idea. ‘I’ve only been caned once by Nutty Ambrose but I owe him big time,’ he’d said. ‘Count me in.’ The hatred the Brothers had inspired with their cruel treatment of the boys made my task easy. I had found sixteen willing conspirators and now all we needed were the photographs.

  Bernie was enjoying his task of gathering the evidence we would need to convince the Daily Mirror of the cruelty that went on behind closed doors at Vincent’s. He always made sure that the light was bright enough to take a good photograph when he got a boy who had just been caned to drop his trousers. Everything had to be done in secrecy and we took elaborate precautions to make sure our plans were not discovered. Eventually, after twelve days, Bernie had taken photographs of six boys who had been caned and we agreed that should be enough. He went home the following first Sunday with the film securely secreted on his body and returned with nine photographs of excellent quality.

  I looked critically at the photographs and nodded my head in satisfaction. They all clearly showed the bruising and cuts on the boys’ backsides and, much to my delight, in two of them you could clearly see the trails of blood running down their legs.

  ‘They’re great, Bernie. It’s exactly what we want.’

  ‘My dad wasn’t happy about it. He said that what we’re doing is stupid and could get us in deep trouble. I’m supposed to give you the photos and then drop out of the riot. I told him I’d do that, but that was just to keep him quiet. I’m still in.’

  I smiled. ‘Good. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.’ I tucked the photos down the back of my trousers. I’d decided to hide them somewhere nobody but me would know where they were because without them, there would be no hope of us succeeding. It took me hours to think of a suitable hiding place but in a moment of brilliance I came up with the ideal place. First of all, I needed a small pin hammer and a few pins from the carpenter’s shop. I had spoken to Smudger Smith, who worked there, and he agreed to get them for me.

  After that, I had to serve evening Mass with a Franciscan priest who was doing an ecclesiastical retreat with the Brothers. When I finished, I was anxious to get away and hide the photographs I had secreted down the back of my trousers. The Brothers would all be tied up in the chapel for at least the next two hours and I could do what I wanted without any fear of getting caught. I hung up my server’s vestments and looked hopefully at Father Delaney.

  ‘Is it OK if I go now, Father?’ I asked quietly.

  He looked at me enquiringly. ‘You seem distracted, John. Is anything the matter?’

  ‘Nothing, Father.’

  ‘I know you’re rushing off to do something but I don’t think I want to know what it is.’

  I smiled at him. ‘You know me too well, Father. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  I felt his eyes boring into my back as I hurried away. I virtually ran around the outside wall of the graveyard and along the front of the building until I arrived at the small side door that led into into the Brothers’ private quarters. The door was never locked as it was in constant use. Once inside, I crept along the corridor that led to the reception hall and De Montfort’s office.

  I turned the handle to the office and, with my heart pounding, I slipped inside and closed the door gently behind me. I hurried over to De Montfort’s chair and punched out its leather seat base. It popped out easily and I quickly turned it upside down then, with the little pin hammer, I removed a row of pins that was keeping one side of the leather attached to its plywood base. Underneath the leather there was a small amount of padding which helped cushion the seat. I removed the photos from down the back of my trousers and, one at a time, I slipped them between the padding and the plywood. I was careful as I put in the new pins to make sure they went through the same holes in the leather as the old ones had come out of. The seat went back onto the chair and I pushed it firmly into its place. I picked up all the old pins and put them in my pocket with the small pin hammer. My heart was still pounding as I slipped quietly out of the room and back out of the building.

  I sat down behind the graveyard wall and lit a roll-up. I was smiling all over my face as I thought about what I had just done. It was a fantastic hiding place for the photos, somewhere they’d never dream of looking. I leaned my head against the stone wall and in a mood of utter contentment I enjoyed every last lungful of smoke. From the chapel came the muffled sounds of a Gregorian chant and I took that as a cue to have another smoke. Fuck them, I thought; they’ll have something else to chant about in a few days’ time.

  When I walked into the recreation room, Pete Boyle came over looking flushed with excitement. He said conspiratorially, ‘I’ve managed to get four of the bottles filled and ready to go. I’ve put thick paper corks in the tops to keep the fumes in; otherwise they’d stink of petrol. I’ll get another four tomorrow.’

  ‘Where have you stashed them?’ I asked.

  ‘They’re in my locker.’

  I nodded my head approvingly. ‘Put the next four into mine. I reckon we need about twenty. Will that be OK?’

  ‘No problem at all. There’s a ten-gallon drum of petrol in the shed.’ He looked around furtively. ‘How about the photos? Have you got them safe?’

  I smiled. ‘They’re as safe as houses. They wouldn’t be found in a hundred years.’

  ‘So when are we going to do it?’

  I thought for a few moments. ‘Next Thursday night. The Kraut’s on night duty on a Thursday and he’s the one I want to take. Make sure you’ve got all the bottles done by then.’

  Boyle gave a nervous laugh. ‘I’ll make sure my job’s done. Jesus, I’m so fucking excited. I can’t wait for it to kick off.’

  ‘Don’t get so excited that you blab to the wrong person,’ I said. ‘We’ve got to keep it close until it actually happens. I’ll have a big meet with everybody involved on Wednesday night. We’ll go over everything so there’s no mistake. We’ll only get one chance, so it’s got to be right.’

  I walked away from Boyle and went over to where Bernie was sitting. ‘They’re safely tucked away,’ I said.

  ‘Where’d you put them?’

  ‘Safe, Bernie. That’s all you’ve got to know. If nobody knows and they get found, then I’ll know it’s bad luck. If they get found and everybody knows, then I won’t know if we’ve been grassed.’

  Bernie grinned. ‘Listen to you; anybody would think we’re master spies or something.’

  ‘We’ll
get treated worse than spies if we get caught. Take my word for it – worse than spies.’

  Bernie looked thoughtful. ‘Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?’

  I sat down next to him and told him the story about dreamers and doers that Father Delaney had told me. After I finished I said, ‘We’re doers, Bernie. Not dreamers. How we get treated is wrong and the world should know about it. This riot will bring it to the world’s attention.’

  Bernie shook his head. ‘Where’s the frightened kid from St Nick’s gone? I’d never have believed a person could change as much as you have over the last two and a half years. Every kid in the school looks up to you for leadership, including me.’

  I gave him a weak smile. ‘The kid’s still here, but he’s well hidden.’

  The whistle blew and we stood up to go to supper. Bernie said as he walked away, ‘Make sure you look after the kid and don’t get suckered into something you can’t control.’

  I laughed and shouted after him, ‘I’m relying on you to keep me safe.’

  He shouted back, ‘If you rely on me, we’re both buggered! I think I’d rather rely on you!’

  I was chuckling as I went to get my cup of cocoa.

  Chapter 24

  Istood by the open recreation room door and stared out at the rain. My eyes shifted to the main building and up at the windows of the small dorm. It was all lit up and the lights shining out of the windows illuminated the ever-deepening puddles of water in the yard. Tomorrow, I thought; everything we had planned would start tomorrow. I shivered in nervous anticipation. Had I thought of everything? I was sure I had. Were all the lads I’d enlisted reliable? I’m sure they were. Was everything ready and in place? It was. Pete Boyle came to stand next to me. He didn’t say a word and I wondered whether he was having the same thoughts as me.

  I pulled the door closed and looked at Boyle. ‘I wonder if it’ll be raining tomorrow night? Not that it will make any difference. We’ve come too far to worry about a little rain.’

  Boyle was quiet and looking very serious. I guessed he had last-minute nerves, as I’d had all day. What had begun as a harmless remark in the dorm had grown into a well-oiled plan for a riot. Everyone involved was showing signs of nervous tension. We all knew we’d be in deep trouble if it went wrong and that, once it started, there would be no turning back.

  ‘Are you OK, Pete?’

  ‘I’m OK. Just a little nervous.’ He held out his hands and I could see that they were shaky. ‘I just hope that nothing goes wrong tomorrow.’

  ‘So do I. I don’t know what will happen to us if it fails.’

  He shrugged. ‘Does it matter? Things in this school need changing and someone has to do it. I’m proud of what we’re doing. I’ve been in kiddies’ homes since I was eighteen months old and I’ve never been treated as badly as this before. No, everything we’ve done has been worthwhile, no matter what the consequences.’

  I felt better. Pete Boyle had given me the reassurance I needed. We were trying to change a code of practice that was barbaric and cruel, so it was worth any amount of risk. I smiled at him.

  I walked away and sat down on an empty bench, wondering where I would be at Christmas. That night I had a troubled sleep.

  Thursday morning started like any other and I hurried over to the chapel for early morning Mass. It was still raining and the wind had freshened to give the late autumn weather a winter chill. I hurried into the vestry and pulled on my vestments. I wondered whether there would be a service tomorrow morning or whether we would still be barricaded inside the small dorm.

  Father Delaney came in and got dressed in his vestments. I watched him surreptitiously as he changed and felt a pang of remorse. He had been a good friend to me and I hated the thought of letting him down. I knew he wanted me to do well in life and to put all of this behind me when I left. He would not approve of what we were going to do tonight as he was totally opposed to any sort of violence and there would definitely be violence involved. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something different. I needed a clear head when I served Mass as I had a few favours to ask of Jesus. We would need all the help we could get, including spiritual help.

  After Mass, Father Delaney told me that he planned to attend choir practice. He felt that we could do with a little encouragement before the High Mass on Sunday. I thought we needed far more than encouragement to sing the Mass properly; we needed a miracle. I smiled at him and watched him as he hurried off to give communion to one of the older Brothers who was sick and unable to attend Mass. I looked out of the vestry and up to the large hanging crucifix. I knew it was just my imagination but Jesus looked even more brutalised and tortured than he had a few months ago. I blessed myself hurriedly and whispered, ‘Please forgive me. I have to do it.’

  All twelve choir members filed into the television room for our hour’s viewing. It had been a long two hours in the classroom with Brother Michael and he had shown great patience with our attempts to sing the Kyrie Eleison. Father Delaney had shown a little less patience and had returned to the chapel after our tuneless third attempt. At the end of the lesson Brother Michael exaggerated when he said we were improving and I’m sure that he would have to confess that lie the next time he went into the confessional.

  Groans of displeasure echoed around the room as a police series called Z Cars appeared on the screen. None of us were big fans of the police.

  Bernie nudged me and said, ‘Look behind you. We’ve got no-one supervising us.’

  I turned around and the chair that was usually occupied by Brother Michael was empty. I shrugged. He could have gone to the toilet, he could be speaking to someone outside the door, he could be anywhere; I wasn’t really interested.

  ‘Shall I light up a fag?’ Bernie asked.

  ‘Wait a while. He could walk back in here at any moment.’

  Bernie nodded but decided to roll a cigarette anyway. He waited about fifteen minutes then the harshness of a flaring match illuminated his face as he sucked the roll-up into life. After two puffs he handed it to me.

  ‘There’s still no sign of him so we might as well take a chance.’ I nodded my head and inhaled. When I blew the smoke out it was clearly visible in the light of the television screen and it hovered over our heads in a wispy haze. ‘Fucking hell,’ I said, ‘we’ll definitely get booked if he comes back now.’

  Bernie laughed. ‘Who gives a fuck? After tonight, being caught having a crafty smoke will be the least of our troubles.’

  He was right. ‘Give me some baccy. I’ll have my own smoke.’ I rolled the cigarette and relaxed back in my seat to enjoy it. When Z Cars finished I expected the door to open and to be ordered out of the room to line up for our supper. Nothing happened. The door stayed shut and the next television programme started.

  ‘They’ve fucking forgot us,’ Bernie said. ‘What a result.’ He took out his tobacco and made another roll-up. He chuckled to himself and shook his head. ‘What a great result.’ A match flared and another wave of blue smoke hovered over our heads.

  I looked at the door. It had been two hours now and we were still in the television room. The nine o’clock news was starting and we should be having lights out upstairs, not sitting smoking. I stood up and walked to the door and tried the handle. It was locked.

  ‘We’re locked in,’ I said. ‘Something’s wrong.’

  Nobody believed me until they all came over to try to open the door. I said, ‘It’s locked. It’s fucking locked.’ I kicked the door hard to attract attention from anybody who might be around. There was no sound or response from the outside so I kicked it again. Still there was no response. I gave up on the futile attempt and went back to my seat.

  Bernie was nervous. ‘Do you think they’ve found out?’

  Before I could answer, the door was flung open with a resounding crash. Brother Francis was standing outside and he shouted, ‘Everybody out. Get your arses out here now.’

  We filed slowly out into the recreation room. Wh
en I got to the door I was shaken to see all the boys in the school kneeling on the floor naked with their clothes piled in front of them. There must have been at least ten policemen standing along each wall and every Brother and master was searching the piles of clothes. As I stepped into the recreation room I was grabbed firmly by my arm. I spun around to see who had such a firm grip and looked straight into the face of a six-foot policeman. His fingers were digging into the muscles of my left arm and then my right arm was grabbed by another policeman.

  Brother De Montfort appeared in front of me, his face deathly white and drawn. ‘Bring him up to the infirmary. I’ll show you the way but keep a firm grip on him as he’s the main culprit.’

  I was pushed and half-carried all the way to the infirmary and the door was slammed shut and locked behind me. I didn’t realise until I was alone that I was shaking and my heart was pounding. Something must have gone drastically wrong with our plans and now we would all pay the price. I wondered what was happening to the rest of the lads.

  The key turned and the door opened. Brother Francis stood in the doorway and demanded, ‘Where are the photographs? We know it’s you who has them, so you may as well give them to us.’

  I forced a smile. ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’