by Fenton, John
The policeman holding me handed a sheaf of papers to a tall, well-built man in a grey tweed suit. He nodded his head and led us through a door and then down a flight of stairs to a spacious room in the basement.
The room was large and had several long trestle tables laid out symmetrically and approximately twenty wooden chairs behind the tables. Against the side wall was a smaller wooden table that had lots of different packets of cigarettes on it with the owner’s name scribbled on a piece of paper next to each of the packets.
The man pointed at the table. ‘Put any tobacco or cigarettes you have in a pile on that table.’
I emptied my pockets of two packets of Golden Virginia, and my matches and cigarette papers. The man tore a piece of paper out of a small notebook and handed it to me with a small stub of a pencil.
‘Write your name on it and put it with your tobacco.’
I quickly wrote down my name and put it beside my small pile of contraband.
He nodded. ‘Right, you can go and join the others in the yard.’
He led me out of a small latched door and up a flight of stone steps into a small, paved yard. The first thing I noticed was that it had metal mesh stretched above it which was firmly attached to the high yard walls and to the back wall of the house. There was no chance of anyone being able to climb the walls and escape.
In the yard there were about twenty young men who looked roughly eighteen to twenty-one years old. I was pretty sure that, at sixteen, I was by far the youngest. None of them took the slightest notice of me and I went and sat on the ground against the far wall. I thought it would be best not to stare at any of the boys so I stared up at the mesh and the billowing clouds in the sky instead.
A short stocky man with a handlebar moustache and an unruly mop of brown hair appeared at the top of the steps that led into the small yard. ‘Fenton. John Fenton,’ he shouted.
I held up my arm and he signalled for me to come over. I walked apprehensively across to where he stood. He looked me up and down with a critical stare and said in a soft Scottish accent, ‘You have a visitor. Come with me.’
I followed him back down the stairs and into the basement room. Sitting at a table and looking very uncomfortable was Mum. I was overwhelmed with emotion. As soon as she saw me she rushed up and held me close. She squeezed me tightly and whispered, ‘What have you done, son? Why are you here?’
I sat her down and over the next twenty minutes I told her everything. I told her about the damage done to John Lacey, the photographs taken by Bernie, the petrol bombs Pete Boyle had stored in our lockers, the plans we had to get the Daily Mirror to expose the cruelty and how I had hidden the photographs so that they would never be found. When at last I had finished my account she looked at me with an expression that was both understanding and sympathetic.
‘Are you certain they will never find the photographs?’ she said.
‘I’m absolutely certain. If they were going to find them they would have found them by now.’
She offered me a cigarette and I signalled to the man sitting at the far end of the room for permission to take it. He nodded and she lit two cigarettes, handing me one.
‘Trust me, Mum; they have turned that school upside down looking for our photographs. They will never find them.’
She nodded her head and puffed thoughtfully on her cigarette. ‘I just need to know where we stand when your Brother De Montfort comes to visit me tomorrow. He rang me this morning to tell me where you would be this afternoon and then said that he and another man called Davies would be visiting me tomorrow afternoon. I wondered why they were coming; now I know. They want me to find out where your photographs are.’
I said firmly, ‘I’ll never give them up, Mum.’
She shook her head, ‘I don’t want you to give them up. I wouldn’t do a thing to help those bastards after what they’ve put you through over the last couple of years. They’re evil and all of them deserve to burn in hell. I’m really looking forward to our little meeting tomorrow when I can let them know what I think of them.’
When, after an hour, my mother stood up to leave, there was something reassuring in her manner that made all my misgivings about my future float away like matchsticks in a river. She took my hands in hers.
‘Leave everything to me,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back the day after tomorrow and I’ll let you know how things went.’ She kissed me warmly on my cheek and walked out of the room. Her self-assurance convinced me that she had some sort of plan and I wondered how De Montfort and Davies would react to the unbridled hatred she had for them.
The next two days seemed to drag by. The age gap between me and the other inmates was an obstacle that I wasn’t willing to try to overcome so I spoke to nobody but the occasional member of staff. The only highlight of the day was when, after I had eaten, I was allowed to go to the table and take two cigarettes from my pile. I hadn’t slept well for days and I noticed in the mirror, as I shaved the bum-fluff off my chin, that my eyes had lines of fatigue under them. I was having nagging doubts about what I had done and I had to keep convincing myself that it had been worthwhile. My imagination was running wild with different scenarios and none of them was positive.
My mother, good as her word, arrived mid-afternoon on my third day. She was sitting facing the door that led into the yard and smiled with pleasure as she saw me walk in. I kissed her and sat down opposite. ‘Don’t look so worried, son. I haven’t brought you bad news.’
I leaned forward in my chair and took her hand. ‘Tell me everything that happened. I’ve been worried sick for the last two days.’
She smiled sweetly at Jock Wallace, the man supervising visits, held up her cigarettes and pointed at me. He returned her smile and nodded his head. She lit two cigarettes and handed one to me.
‘I told you that I’d get it sorted and I have.’ She took a long puff on her cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke up in the air.
‘They arrived at eleven o’clock yesterday morning. I didn’t like De Montfort at all and his attitude annoyed me straight away. He came with a little weasel of a man called Davies and another brother; I think his name was Francis. I took them into the living room and made them a cup of tea. De Montfort looked around the room as if it wasn’t good enough for him. I told him straight away that if it wasn’t good enough for him to sit in he could talk to me through the window from outside. That took the wind out of his sails and from then on it was outright war.
‘He told me all about what you’d been involved in and what a horrible boy you were. I said if he was rude about you one more time I’d throw him out the window. He said that you had some photographs and he wanted them. He wouldn’t tell me anything about what was in the photographs except that they were school property and he wanted them back. He told me, the cheeky bastard, that I had to come here today and get you to tell me where they were. He said it would make the difference between you getting nine months to three years Borstal, or three to five years.’
She stubbed her cigarette out in an ashtray. ‘The bastard was threatening you with five years if you didn’t hand over the photos. That really got my rag up. I told him that you couldn’t give him the photos as I had them. The little weasel asked me to give them to him. I told him to keep out of the conversation or I’d throw him out. De Montfort then demanded that I give them to him. I told him that they could lock you away to keep you quiet but they couldn’t do sweet Fanny Adams to me. I’d got De Montfort on the run and he knew it.
‘I told him what was in the photos and where I would take them if he didn’t do right by you. That really annoyed him but I could see it also terrified him. He said that he could see where you got your bad attitude from and I should be ashamed of myself. I told him that the next time he had the cheek to criticise me, my feet wouldn’t stop running until I was standing in the Editor’s office of the Daily Mirror. The weasel whispered something in his ear and they said that they would go away and discuss what should happen next.’
&nbs
p; She lit another cigarette and puffed on it hungrily. ‘They returned after about an hour and De Montfort’s whole attitude had changed. He grovelled around me like the rat that he is and said that they’d had a rethink about what should happen to you. He asked if I’d be happy for you just to be transferred to another school to finish your sentence. I told him I would agree to that as long as it wasn’t one run by his bunch of wicked bastards. He didn’t like that but he agreed without any argument. He said that you would be transferred to a new school in a few days. He then asked me for the photos and I told him that I was keeping them for security in case he didn’t do what he had promised. He didn’t like that either but, because I had the upper hand, he had to accept it.’ She smiled. ‘So now you know everything. Are you happy?’
I sat there stunned; so that was it. I knew Mum was clever – De Montfort wasn’t even in the same league as her – but I had never in my wildest dreams expected her to bluff him so cleverly.
I shook my head and exclaimed, ‘Wow, Mum!’ and we both burst out laughing as if we had nothing in the world to worry about.
Tom Banks arrived at Stamford House three days later along with Eddie Lawson, Brother Francis and Brother Michael. I had been warned of their arrival by Jock Wallace and I had been looking out for them since eight o’clock in the morning. I was looking forward to being on my way, as Stamford House had been an ordeal. I must have spent half of the last three days sitting at a table working out problems from a sheaf of test papers that had been put in front of me.
When, at last, I had solved most of the problems and handed the papers back to a geeky-looking man in a scruffy cardigan, I was told it had been an assessment to decide which school they would send me to. He said I had done well and that I would be going to a school for boys with above-average intelligence. It was called Ardale and was in a place called North Stifford in Essex.
Tom Banks greeted me with a smile. He put his arm around my shoulder and gave me a fatherly squeeze. ‘How are you, John? The old school is quiet without you.’
‘I’m fine, sir. Who has come with you?’ I looked over his shoulder.
‘Mr Lawson, Brother Michael and Brother Francis. They’re waiting in the car. I don’t think they wanted to do this trip. They’re frightened you’re going to give them trouble. I told them I’d take responsibility for you and that made them a bit happier.’
‘I’ll give you no trouble, sir. You’ve always been good to me.’
‘I know that, John. You don’t have to convince me of anything. Are you looking forward to your new school?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t really know. I got used to Vincent’s and now I’m going to have to get used to some new place. I wish I could have finished my time in Vincent’s.’
Tom Banks laughed. ‘I’m sure Brother De Montfort would have loved that.’
Jock Wallace came in with a large brown envelope and handed it to Tom. ‘Everything is in there.’ He looked at me. ‘Take your cigarettes and tobacco off the table as I’m sure you’ll be glad to have them when you reach Ardale.’
I wondered if that meant something ominous? Was it going to be even worse than Vincent’s there? If so, I thought grimly, I’d just have to look after myself using all the fighting techniques I had learned. I stuffed the tobacco and cigarette papers in one of my side pockets and put the two packets of cigarettes my mother had given me in the other. I was surprised when Jock held out his hand and shook mine firmly. ‘Good luck, young man. Look after yourself.’
I had no one else to say goodbye to as in the seven days I had been in Stamford House I hadn’t spoken one word to any of the other inmates. I walked to the car without a backward glance.
Tom Banks opened the back door and I climbed in. Eddie Lawson was sitting in the back seat and moved across to sit staring out of the far side window and Tom Banks squeezed in next to me so that I was securely wedged between them. Brother Francis was in the driver’s seat and was staring at me via the rear mirror with utter hatred in his eyes. Brother Michael sat in the front passenger seat and never gave me a glance. I brazenly stared back at Brother Francis and smiled when he averted his eyes.
Fuck you, you piece of shit, I thought. You’ll never get the better of me.
The car weaved its way out of London and after maybe half an hour it pulled off the road and up a small grassy bank. Tom Banks opened his door and signalled for me to follow. I was surprised when all the others got out of their seats and came to join us on the verge.
‘We’re having a short smoke break so if you feel like lighting up, go ahead.’
Brother Francis stared at Tom in disbelief. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something and then thought better of it. I pulled a packet of cigarettes from my pocket and offered Tom one. He shook his head so I just took out one cigarette and lit it. The only non-smoker in the group was Brother Michael and he stood a little distance from us as we all smoked. I found it strange standing smoking in front of them all as it had only been a week since I had left Vincent’s, where smoking was a bookable offence. Brother Francis kept giving me sideways looks of disgust and every time I caught his eyes I smiled contemptuously at him and blew a cloud of smoke in his direction. He hated it and I’m sure he would have loved to have given me one of his famous beatings but he knew that I was beyond taking any more of that sort of treatment. He would have stood a better than average chance of getting his head stamped on.
When we got back under way I closed my eyes and dozed off. I don’t know how long I was asleep but I woke up as we pulled off a quiet road and turned through a gate onto a winding driveway. I could see three large detached houses further down the road as we stopped outside a modern bungalow. Brother Francis got out of the car and disappeared inside the front door. He reappeared and signalled for us to come in.
I walked into what appeared to be a very neat and tidy office. Behind the only desk in the room sat a woman of about forty years of age. She was neatly dressed and my first impression was that she looked like a schoolteacher.
She smiled. ‘Mr Shaw is waiting for you.’ She gestured to a door behind her desk.
Brother Francis tapped on the door and I heard a muffled voice say, ‘Come in.’ I was led into the room and saw a friendly-looking man in his early fifties rise from his chair and shake Brother Francis’s outstretched hand. Brother Francis handed the man a large brown envelope and he removed the contents and started reading them. Occasionally he looked up at me and shook his head then carried on reading. I hoped he wasn’t judging me on my reports from Vincent’s. I was apprehensive about what kind of place this was going to be.
After five minutes he pushed the papers to one side and looked at me. ‘My name is Mr Shaw and I’m the headmaster of this school. I’ve read the reports compiled on you from St Vincent’s and Stamford House. The least said about the one from St Vincent’s the better. You will find this school completely different to what you have been used to as we put our emphasis on higher education. Most of our pupils are studying for GCE ‘O’ or ‘A’ levels. We expect our pupils to behave in a dignified manner and at all times to show respect for each other. All of our masters will treat you with respect and they expect the same from you.’
Brother Francis interrupted to say snidely, ‘He’s got cigarettes and tobacco in his pockets.’ He looked triumphantly at me. ‘Put them on the table.’
I removed the cigarettes and tobacco and piled them neatly in front of Mr Shaw. Brother Francis patted my pockets and nodded his head in satisfaction when he felt them empty.
Mr Shaw watched the proceedings with interest but said nothing until we’d finished. ‘What is that for?’ he asked, pointing at my pile of contraband.
‘For smoking, sir.’
He chuckled. ‘I know it’s for smoking. Why have you put it on my desk?’
I didn’t understand what he meant so I shrugged.
‘In this school you are responsible for your own belongings. Why would I want to look after your tobacco an
d cigarettes? Put them back in your pocket; I don’t want them.’
I turned my head to Francis and mouthed the words ‘Fuck you’ as I pushed my cigarettes and tobacco deep into my pockets. Brother Francis couldn’t help letting his mouth hang open at what Mr Shaw had just told me and slowly shook his head in obvious disapproval.
Mr Shaw looked at Brother Francis and Brother Michael and then at me. He asked, ‘What religion are you?’
‘Roman Catholic, sir.’
‘Are you a practising Catholic? I am agnostic myself.’
‘Yes, sir, I am.’
‘There’s a Catholic church in the town. I don’t know what time any of the services are so you will have to take a walk into town later on today or any time before Sunday and find out. I’m putting you into Gordon House and your Housemaster is Mr Reid. Before you go into town you have to let him know when you are going and what time you’ll be back. Is that clear?’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and must have sounded slightly aghast. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘You sound surprised. Well, don’t be. We trust all of our pupils until they give us a reason not to. You’ll be required to visit the dentist in the town and if you need any books for your studies you may have to get them from the library in the town. All we ask of you is that you do nothing to bring our school into disrepute.’
I felt light-headed. Everything I was being told sounded too good to be true. I had never imagined an approved school could be anything but harsh and here I was being told about rules that virtually gave me unlimited freedom.
Tom Banks gave me a thumbs up sign. I smiled back.
Mr Shaw stood up and much to my amazement held out his hand for me to shake. He said, ‘Welcome to our school, John. If you have any problems and need to see me, just make an appointment with Mrs Evans.’
I shook his hand and noticed how firmly he squeezed mine. I had been told by my mother that you could judge a man by his handshake. A weak handshake meant a weak person that couldn’t be trusted. A firm handshake signified honesty and reliability. Mr Shaw was definitely in the latter category. ‘Gordon House is the second big building on the right. Report to Mr Reid and he will fill you in with all the other things you should know.’