Please Don't Make Me Go

by Fenton, John

  Brother Francis’ face showed his annoyance. ‘Tell me where the photographs are,’ he said impatiently. ‘We will find them and then you’ll be in even worse trouble.’

  I looked innocent. ‘What photographs, Bro? I haven’t got any photographs. Honestly I haven’t.’

  His face was twisted and red with anger. ‘Don’t you come smart with me,’ he growled. ‘I know you’re lying and I’ve a good mind to beat the truth out of you.’

  ‘You could try, Bro,’ I said quietly, ‘but I will be a little bit tougher to beat than I was when I first came here. You might not find it so easy.’

  His face got even redder and he seemed to be having trouble standing still. He slammed the door shut and fumbled with the key as he locked it.

  I shouted, ‘Fuck off, you sick cunt.’ I knew he had heard me as I listened to him stamping angrily down the stairs.

  I sat down on the bed with an ever-growing feeling of trepidation. Our plans had been found out and someone had told them that I had the photographs. I felt relieved that I alone knew where they were and that they had no chance of finding them. Who had broken the code of silence? Whoever it was had definitely dropped me in the proverbial shit. I sat quietly on the bed growing ever more disillusioned. One of the boys must have grassed.

  After about an hour the door was unlocked and Tom Banks and Eddie Lawson came in. Tom looked at me and shook his head sadly. ‘OK, John. They’re ready for you now.’

  I walked apprehensively towards them.

  Tom said, ‘You’ve never given me any trouble, John, so please don’t give me any now. We’ve got to hold on to you as there’s a lot of police downstairs and we have to be seen to be doing our job.’

  They each took hold of one of my arms and led me out of the room. Tom said, ‘Before I take you downstairs I want to tell you that I don’t agree with what’s going on tonight. I think most of what Devine told Brother De Montfort is a pack of lies and it was made up so he could get his licence. I’ve got his measure and if I can stop him getting it, I will.’

  Andrew Devine. It had been Andrew Devine. I thought about the way I’d included the smelly, bed-wetting bastard because I felt sorry for him and cursed myself for being too soft. I should have listened to Boyle’s misgivings.

  I was led down the stairs and out into the recreation room. Much to my surprise all the boys were still kneeling naked on the floor and most of them turned to look as I was led through their ranks. Bernie held up his thumb in a gesture of solidarity. I shouted loudly, ‘It was Devine. Devine grassed us.’

  Tom Banks held my arm tightly just in case I tried to kick Devine, who was kneeling just to my left.

  ‘It’s sorted, John,’ Bernie shouted. I was rushed through the door into De Montfort’s office, but not before I heard the loud hissing noise all the boys were making behind me. Devine was fucked. He would have to be put in isolation or face their wrath. I hoped he’d face the boys as I knew then that justice would be done.

  I was amazed how many people were in De Montfort’s office. De Montfort and pasty-faced governor Davies were sitting behind his desk. Along the back wall was Brother Francis, Brother Arnold, two burly policemen and a police inspector. Standing in the far corner was Father Delaney, who was looking at me sadly. Tom Banks and Eddie Lawson stood on either side of me. De Montfort stood up and leaned over his desk to get as close to me as he could.

  ‘What you planned tonight was wicked and evil,’ he said, ‘and if we hadn’t intervened when we did Brother Arnold could have been seriously injured or even murdered.’

  I smiled. What a crock of shit. We had no intention of murdering anyone.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ De Montfort’s voice sounded hysterical.

  ‘Devine’s a fucking liar,’ I said, ‘and you’re fucking stupid for believing him.’

  De Montfort looked taken aback. ‘What’s Devine got to do with this? Who said anything about Devine?’

  I grinned. ‘Only a piss-bed like Devine would even speak to you. The rest of the school would be only too happy to piss on your grave.’

  De Montfort’s eyes narrowed. ‘Such great bravado. Did you know that Boyle has already been taken out of school and is at this moment languishing in a cell in Dartford Police Station?’

  All of a sudden I was brought face to face with the seriousness of my situation. My heart seemed to jump into my mouth. What the fuck did they intend to do to us? I’m a doer, I thought, not a dreamer. I must be brave and face up to what we started. I must keep believing I was right. I looked round the room at the faces staring at me. I was pleased to see that Arnold wasn’t looking smug and I couldn’t resist giving him a knowing smile. He broke eye contact and looked at the floor. Good, I thought, you know how fucking lucky you were.

  De Montfort said, ‘I want the photographs. I know you are the only one who knows where they are. So, where are they?’

  I shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’ I looked at the police inspector. ‘Aren’t you interested in why he’s so worked up about a few photographs? Do you think he’s got something to hide?’

  The police inspector turned his head to show his lack of interest in what I had just said.

  I said, ‘That’s why the kids don’t talk to the filth. You’re as bad as he is.’

  This remark got a response from the inspector. ‘I take it from that remark that you’ve been reading some tacky crime novel. The only filth in this room is you.’

  ‘Not me, inspector; I’ve got an IQ of 95. I can’t read.’ I pointed at De Montfort. ‘Ask him. All of us boys have the same IQ. We’re as thick as two bowls of shit.’ I smiled. ‘We’re thick enough to join the police force.’

  De Montfort interrupted our exchange of pleasantries. ‘I want the photographs. Tell me where they are so we can bring this to an end.’

  ‘I told you. I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’ I smiled. ‘Anyway, where would I get photographs showing the cuts on kiddies’ arses from the caning you’ve given them?’

  De Montfort was losing his temper. ‘Don’t come smart with me. You’ve just said that you know what’s in the photographs, so don’t tell me you haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about. Where are they?’

  I smiled again as I knew I was irritating him. ‘I haven’t a clue and, if I did, I wouldn’t tell you Jack Shit.’

  De Montfort shook his head angrily. ‘That’s enough. I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth.’ He turned to the police inspector. ‘You can take him away now.’

  Father Delaney stepped forward. ‘May I have a few words with him in private before he goes, inspector? He’s been my altar boy for over two and a half years.’

  The inspector shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Father, but I daren’t risk it.’

  I smiled at Father Delaney. ‘Do you remember our conversation about the poor pensioners in America? Well, I’m a doer.’

  Father Delaney shook his head and I saw tears well up in his eyes. ‘I wish you well, John. I’m sure your Friend will look after you.’

  A policeman took my wrists and shackled me in large metal handcuffs.

  I hadn’t actually been arrested. I was to be held overnight in Dartford nick at the request of Brother De Montfort. If a boy ran away from the school he would be detained by the police and held until he was collected by the staff. An approved school was a place where you were sentenced to go to by the court, and the Brothers at Vincent’s could also be called guards: the police and the different juvenile establishments worked hand in hand.

  I called to Father Delaney, ‘Thanks for everything, Father. I’ll never forget you.’ I looked at Tom Banks and said, ‘You’re the only good one in this entire place.’

  Tom acknowledged my remark with a wink.

  Then I looked at De Montfort sitting in his chair. I’ve beaten you, I thought, you didn’t break me. And wouldn’t you be pissed off to know you’re sitting on the photos? Two burly policemen led me to the door. I tur
ned around and shouted, ‘I hope all you bastards are dead by Christmas.’

  I was led out of the main doors and put in the back of a police van. I looked out at the school, which was silhouetted in the moonlight, and I thought how quiet and peaceful it seemed. It was difficult to believe that it was in fact a sanctuary for cruelty and misery and, even at this moment, young boys were kneeling naked on rough wooden floors as hooded monsters walked amongst them disguised as Brothers of the Catholic church.

  Bernie often said to me that he thought I got more out of control during my time in Vincent’s than I had ever been at home, but this wasn’t the case. I just grew out of the school and their barbaric customs. You can only hurt a person so much and then he doesn’t feel the pain any more. A hard man can take a kicking and not whine about it. Vincent’s taught me to be hard.

  The van pulled away and St Vincent’s approved school faded from my sight.

  Chapter 25

  Dartford town centre was in darkness and the streets deserted as the van pulled through a side gate and into the courtyard of the police station. The back door of the van was opened and a police sergeant ordered me out. A policeman held my arm and led me up three steps and in through the station door and stood me in front of a counter where another sergeant wrote down all my details.

  I was ordered to empty my pockets, which took no time at all as I had nothing in them. My laces were removed from my boots and put in a large brown envelope and I was led through another door and into a holding area. The sergeant opened a cell door, removed my handcuffs and pushed me into it. The door banged shut with a resounding crash and the clinking sounds of a key turning in the lock took away my cloak of bravado. As I looked around me, I was very scared.

  The cell was about ten feet in length and eight feet across. The walls and ceiling were all bare brick, which had been distempered in a sickly yellow colour. There was a window made of reinforced panes of glass and three bars embedded in the outside wall that prevented any chance of escape. In the left-hand corner of the cell was a white porcelain toilet without any seat. On the floor was a toilet roll. Attached to the right-hand wall was a sturdily built, thick wooden bunk. There was no mattress or pillow but there was a thick blanket folded neatly at the head of the bunk. I sat down and fumbled in my sock to retrieve a crumpled roll-up and a red-tipped match. I scratched the match along the wall and sucked my roll-up into life.

  I could put on a front for other people but in the loneliness of the cell there was no audience and my bravery evaporated like a snowflake on a summer’s day. My hands were shaking and I had difficulty putting the cigarette in my mouth. I had to rush to the toilet, suddenly bursting to pee. My stream squirted erratically around the porcelain until I realised it was the shaking of my hand that was causing the problem. When I’d finished, I sat down again suddenly awash with self-pity.

  Self-pity is the most useless emotion given to us by the creator. It serves no purpose at all and instead of helping us through a problem it makes everything so much worse. I cursed loudly at being such a moron. The only way I was going to get through this ordeal was to stay positively focused on what we had attempted to do. There was no place for tears in my present dilemma. Did the Jacobites cry at Culloden? Did Jesus cry at his trial in front of Pontius Pilate? They certainly did not. So why should I cry at this minor bit of misfortune?

  I angrily wiped my eyes and knelt on the floor with my arms resting on the bunk bed. I clasped my hands together and closed my eyes and prayed quietly so that no one could hear but me and Jesus.

  ‘Jesus, please help me. Everything has gone wrong and I’ve been put in this awful place. You know why we planned the riot and what we wanted to achieve. Please protect me and the rest of the lads as we tried to do a good deed. There was nothing evil planned except for Brother Arnold having a good slap and you know how much he deserves that. Let Father Delaney know that I meant well and that I’m truly sorry if I hurt him.

  ‘Jesus, that’s about all I want to say except that I need you to give me plenty of strength over the next few days to last out whatever they have in store for me. Thank you, Jesus, and forgive me all my sins. Amen.’

  I slowly got up and sat on the bed. I felt better. My Friend was helping me again.

  I tried to figure out how I was supposed to sleep and decided that the best thing was to get undressed and pile my clothes together to make some sort of pillow for my head. I wrapped myself tightly in the blanket and lay down on the bunk with my head on my clothes. The wooden base was far from comfortable and it took me several attempts to find a bearable position to lie in but at last I was semi-comfortable and I shut my eyes to black out my miserable surroundings. My mind was racing with thoughts of my predicament and no matter how hard I tried not to, I was sinking into an ever-deepening well of despair. Mercifully, a veil of darkness was drifting over my tired eyes and I fell into a troubled sleep.

  I was awakened in the morning by a policeman opening the small food hatch in the cell door. I lifted my head and stared blearily at him.

  ‘You have a visitor,’ he said. ‘Get up.’

  I heard a key turning in the lock of the cell door and then a loud clank as the handle was pushed down. The door swung open and the policeman stood to one side to let Father Delaney in. I couldn’t believe my eyes – the one person in the whole world I wanted to see. I quickly sat up and swang my legs onto the floor.

  Father Delaney handed me a brown paper package. ‘It’s your own clothes, John, I have to take the school clothes back with me. You’ll also find all the tobacco you had hidden in the vestry.’ He sat down beside me and shook his head sadly.

  ‘Why did you do it, John? You only had a few months to go and you’d have been released. God only knows what’s going to happen to you now.’

  I started to dress myself in my own clothes. ‘If you had seen John Lacey’s arse, then you would understand why I did it. The amount of time I had left never entered my head.’ I pointed my finger at him. ‘You, and you alone, knew my feelings on the canings and you also knew what I thought of Arnold and his beatings. Nobody was willing to do anything about them, including you, so we decided to do it ourselves.’

  ‘But where has it got you, John? I’ll tell you.’ He stood up and walked over to the toilet and peered disapprovingly at the bare bowl. He shook his head. ‘It’s got you into deep trouble, and to cap it all, nothing was accomplished.’

  He handed me a cigarette. I took it gratefully and relished the smoke I sucked into my lungs.

  ‘The photographs were a good idea. I would have understood it if you had sneaked out of the school and delivered them to the Daily Mirror. Why didn’t you do that? Why did you have to concoct a plan for a riot? It was plain stupid.’

  ‘I wanted a bit of payback, Father,’ I said. ‘I wanted to give a bit of hurt to Arnold like he’s given to me over the last two and a half years. What’s wrong with that?’

  He looked deep into my eyes and said very quietly, ‘If you don’t know what’s wrong with that, John, then you’re not the boy I think you are.’

  I felt saddened that Father Delaney couldn’t see why I wanted to hurt Arnold. I could still see the fear in Arnold’s eyes when I was in De Montfort’s office and it gave me a warm feeling that we had scared the shit out of him. Was that so wrong? ‘Isn’t it written in the Bible somewhere, an eye for any eye? If that’s the case, then God will approve our actions.’

  Father Delaney replied, ‘It also says turn the other cheek. But I don’t think our last few minutes together should be used up in theological debate. Let me tell you about what’s happening to you next.’ He stubbed his cigarette out on the sole of his shoe. ‘The police will be moving you today to Stamford House in London. It’s a secure remand home for older boys. I don’t know how long you’ll be kept there but I should imagine it will be a week or two while they decide what to do with you. You’ve created a real panic in St Vincent’s with those missing photographs. Until they have them in their hands t
hey won’t make any decision about your future.’

  He gave me a knowing look. ‘I’m not even going to ask you where you’ve hidden the photographs as I know you wouldn’t tell me. I will give you a word of advice though; don’t give them up to anyone as they are what is commonly known as your “ace in the hole”. While you have them, Brother De Montfort’s hands are tied.’

  The cell door clanked open and a young spotty-faced policeman stood in the doorway. He said, ‘Time’s up, Father. We’ve got to get him washed and fed before we move him.’

  Father Delaney nodded and put both his arms around me in an affectionate hug. He whispered quietly, ‘Good luck with the photos.’ As he left the room, he stopped and smiled warmly. ‘God bless you, John, and good luck for the future.’

  The door was slammed shut and my friend, my confessor and the best man I had ever known in my life was gone. I put my head in my hands and cried bitter tears.

  I was taken out of Dartford Police Station just before midday and put in the same van they had brought me in. The journey out of Kent and into London was just a haze of houses flashing past and stopping and pulling away from numerous sets of traffic lights. I stared out of the window but I was seeing nothing.

  My mind was back in St Vincent’s with the other boys. I smiled at the thought of De Montfort turning the school upside down in search of the photographs while all the time he was sitting on them. I thought fondly of Bernie and remembered all the good and bad times we shared together. I wondered where they had sent Pete Boyle and how he was coping. I thought of John Lacey and recalled how he had looked at me with complete trust in his eyes when I asked if he would drop his trousers and let Bernie take a photograph of his backside. Images of boys’ faces I had come to know over the last two and a half years were flashing through my mind along with the barbaric cruelty of the hooded Brothers.

  When the van stopped, the driver got out of his seat and opened my door. We had arrived at Stamford House in Shepherd’s Bush. I was led into a large Victorian building.