The Mudskipper Cup

by Christopher Cummings

  ‘Oh my God!’ he groaned. He began trying to wash himself. As he did he was aware of more boys crowding in to look. ‘This won’t work, I need a bath,’ he thought. ‘I can’t go to an exam all wet and smelling.’ Anxiously he glanced at his watch. twenty-five-minutes before the next exam. ‘I’ll have to go home.’ For a few moments he contemplated informing the office but then shrugged. ‘I’ve got no reliable witnesses, and if I dob, the bullies will really have it in for me,’ he decided.

  Sniggering and comments made him blush. At least a dozen faces were jeering at him. He felt tears coming, as well as rage. He let out a savage yell. “Bugger off! Get out of my way!” he shouted as he charged them. They fled, falling over each other in the rush.

  “A shit has escaped! A shit has escaped!” a Year 8 yelled as he ran. Graham caught him at the entrance and shoved him aside as he passed. Once outside he didn’t stop running. People scattered in surprise. He was so humiliated he could hardly see. It was all just a blur.

  Graham went through a side entrance out onto the street. He ran across it, dodging the cars and kept on running. He ran all the way home. Only when he got closer to home did he calm down a bit and start thinking clearly.

  “I hope mum isn’t home!”

  She wasn’t. Graham unlocked the door and ran to the bathroom and stood under the shower fully dressed. After that he stripped, soaped himself from head to toe, washed the soap off, towelled himself and ran to get a change of clothes. The dirty clothes were tossed into a washtub to soak but he had to put the wet shoes back on.

  All the time he was aware time was running out and that he was shaking with emotion. It took a real effort to stop himself crying. He began running back towards the school. But by then he was out of puff. He had to slow down. It was five blocks back to school. To keep moving at a reasonable pace he began the run-walk-run method he had learnt in the Scouts.

  As it was he reached the exam only a few minutes late.

  ‘Not that it will make any difference,’ he thought. It was German, and as Graham had earlier said to Peter, “My German’s only a bit above war comic level. ‘Achtung, Schweinhund Englander! Mein Gott!’”

  The teacher of course wanted to know why he was late. Graham didn’t want to say, but he could tell by the smirks and the sniggers that half the class already knew and were busy telling the other half. He burned with shame, mumbled an excuse about slipping in the toilet and walked to a vacant seat.

  Then, for an hour and a half, he sat and wrestled with the exam; and with his own humiliation. He tried to think of some way he could get revenge.

  Afterwards, as they were walking along the veranda, Stephen said: “I hear you are going to become a sewerage inspector.”

  Graham was horrified. “Get knotted!” he cried, feeling the shame and anger anew. ‘I thought Stephen was a friend!’ Seething with hurt feelings he ran down the stairs out of the school.

  The embarrassment stayed with him as he was sure all the other students were looking at him and talking about him. He put his head down and walked home as fast as he could. When he got there he hurled himself on his bed and cried his heart out. ‘How can I go to school tomorrow! Everyone will be laughing at me! I’ll stay home! I’ll change schools.’ His mind explored this possibility and reality quickly made him discard the idea. ‘I’d have to explain it all to mum and dad. Then Burford and Harvey would get into trouble. Then they will come and get me!’

  Graham shivered from fear. Then he cried some more. “I’ll run away from home!” he cried. But in his heart he knew he wouldn’t.

  Slowly he calmed down. After a while he rolled over on his bed. There, next to him was the model frigate. “I wish you were a real ship. I’d sail away in you,” he said. He reached out and gently touched it. Then he sighed. ‘I must fix that broken stay,’ he thought. He sat up and set to work.

  After that he felt better. He had some afternoon tea and retired to his Ship Room to work on his model. He said nothing to his parents about the incident. At his father’s insistence, he pretended to study for most of the evening.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE BULLIES

  On Wednesday Graham kept a wary eye out for the bullies but did not see them. The morning was taken up by a Physics exam. He actually came out at the end of it with very mixed reactions.

  ‘Maybe if I’d studied, I might have passed that,’ he thought. ‘As it is I might anyway. I understood most of it and only sat there for half an hour.’

  Still fretting about exams he went to the tuck shop, then joined his friends. “Do we have a boat yet?” he asked.

  Peter nodded. “Maybe. Mum says we can hire one to practice on.”

  The friends discussed this and decided it was their only option if they were to get any practice before the holidays. The price would be shared equally.

  “The place mum rang up is at Palm Beach. Can we all get there?” Peter asked.

  “When?” Max asked.

  “Sunday I suppose.”

  “Have to be afternoon,” Graham said. “I’ll have to go to church Sunday morning.”

  “So will I,” Roger added.

  They discussed timings and transport. Suddenly Max pointed up. “Ooo! Look!”

  They all turned and looked up at the ceiling. Max laughed. “Hah hah. Made you look!”

  Roger scowled. Graham punched Max on the arm. Peter shook his head.

  “What exam have you got after lunch?” Peter asked Graham.

  “Chemistry. I’m not looking forward to it.” In fact he was dreading it; and the stormy interviews with the teacher, and his parents which would follow. The thought made him nervous - and that made him want to go to the toilet. That thought of that made him even more nervous.

  “I need to go to the dunny,” he said. “Who wants to come with me?”

  This drew laughter which made Graham blush.

  “We aren’t like that Graham,” Max teased. “We don’t go to the toilet together.”

  Graham didn’t want to admit it was the bullies he was scared of. He tried to tease back. “I’m not one of those,” he said. His stomach churning with anxiety he stood up and started walking.

  “Watch out you don’t meet that Paul character from Year Ten,” Max called out after him. “Remember the slogan: ‘Bums to the wall - here comes Paul’.” He cackled at his own crude wit. Graham gave a wry grin. ‘It’s not queers in Year 10 that worry me. It’s bullies in Year 12,’ he thought.

  This time he was more careful. First he scouted around the building. Only when he sighted Macnamara in the distance did he relax and go to the toilet. Apart from a few Year 8’s near the door there were only two Year 11’s in there and they left as Graham unzipped his fly.

  He was just finished when a scuttle of feet made him turn in alarm. A Year 8 face peeked around the corner and vanished. Graham felt a surge of alarm. He zipped up his shorts and walked quickly towards the entrance.

  Too late!

  Burford, Harvey and Macnamara came barging in, blocking his escape. They advanced on Graham, who retreated until his back was against the wall. In a near fluster of rising anxiety he yelled out.

  Burford snarled: “Don’t yell you little turd, or we will belt ya real good.” He grabbed at Graham who lashed out with his fists, fearing to hit them lest he enrage them and get hurt even more. The three rushed in and grappled. Graham was punched in the face, his arms grabbed and twisted and his shins kicked. Before he realised it was happening hands tore the top of his shorts open, unzipped them and, despite his frantic struggles, pulled them down. Hands clawed at his underpants and they followed.

  Graham felt his mouth flood with bile as utter fear engulfed him. He tried to shout but Harvey had his throat. Suddenly he was hurled backwards, his head striking first the wall, then the concrete floor. The blows stunned him but he was conscious that his legs went up in the air as his shorts and underpants were reefed off. There was laughter and he heard Macnamara say, “He’s only got a little one, poor l
ittle boy!”

  Half-stunned, Graham struggled to cover himself and get up. Behind the bullies was a mass of boys, all attracted by the fight. Graham tried to get up but Burford kicked him in the groin. Luckily Graham had been clutching his private parts and that shielded them to some extent but not enough. White hot agony seared through him and this time, as he doubled up, he did vomit.

  The bullies sprang back. Graham could hardly see for tears and waves of dizziness but he did see his chance. In desperation he groped at the door of a toilet cubicle next to him.

  “Teacher!” a voice yelled above the hubbub. ‘Thank God!’ Graham thought. As the crowd jostled to leave, the bullies elbowing and pushing their way through, Graham crawled into the cubicle and shut the door.

  He slumped on the seat, gasping and shivering. Silence settled. No footsteps came in. Graham painfully straightened up. He shuddered, then unlocked the door and peeked out.

  ‘I need my shorts,’ he thought, ‘where are they?’

  There was no sign of them. The horrible truth dawned on Graham: the bullies had taken them. He tip-toed out and looked in the other cubicles, then went to the rubbish bin. A head poked around the corner, then vanished and there was laughter and Graham heard the words “no duds”. Shame became the dominant emotion.

  ‘What can I do?’ he thought, covering himself with his hands and looking around desperately for some solution. Another head poked around. There was more laughter and two more heads appeared. Obviously no teacher was coming.

  Graham retreated to the cubicle and sat down. He still felt sick and his head swam. Whispers, giggles and scuttling feet added to his embarrassment. Then a face peered under the door: Steyn from 9C. He laughed and called his friends.

  “He’s in here.”

  Graham burned with humiliation. “Bugger off! Leave me alone.”

  That just egged them on. More heads appeared. One hauled himself up on the door to peer over. Others went into the next cubicle and stood on the pedestal to peer down at him. Graham cringed and hung his head, trying desperately not to cry. That would be the ultimate humiliation.

  Then he heard a voice he knew. He stood up and climbed on the pedestal. The Year 8’s in the next cubicle fled. There were at least twenty laughing, jeering boys in the toilet.

  “Hey Angus,” Graham cried. Angus MacDougal looked up.

  “Aye. What do ye want?”

  “Go and get Roger Dunning, or Peter Bronsky please. They’re just along near the front entrance,” Graham asked. It took an effort to keep himself from pleading.

  Angus grinned. He was in the same class as Graham and usually sat opposite him. He had only migrated to Australia the previous year. “I hear ye’ve lost yer jocks,” he said.

  “Yes,” Graham replied shortly.

  “Would ye no like a kilt then?”

  “Just get Roger or Peter,” Graham grated.

  “I’ll no get Roger. Ah’ve heard he’s a bit queer and yer a wee bit vulnerable at the present,” Angus replied. The audience hooted with laughter.

  Graham pursed his lips. He had heard stories about what the gang Roger had been involved with had got up to but he didn’t believe them. Besides, Roger was his friend.

  “Roger is not queer,” he snapped. “He’s got a girlfriend. Dawn in Year Ten, the one with the big tits.”

  “Oh aye,” Angus replied, obviously unconvinced. He turned and pushed his way out. Graham stayed standing, glaring over the top of the cubicle. The crowd began to thin out, although new faces kept arriving as the word spread around the school.

  To Graham’s intense relief Peter, Roger and Max arrived with Angus.

  “Piss off you kids,” Peter ordered. They did so, even the Year 10s.

  Graham described the incident and outlined his plight. “I need some pants.”

  Peter looked at his watch. “I’ve got an exam in less than ten-minutes. There isn’t time to go home.”

  “I’ll go to my place,” Roger offered. “I don’t have an exam.”

  “I do!” Graham wailed. “Hurry please Roger.”

  Roger raced off. Graham found he was trembling. “I’ll get even with those bastards one day,” he vowed.

  More groups of boys kept arriving, running in the entrance full of excitement, then stopping when confronted by Peter. They would then pretend to be just going to the toilet, or run away again. Graham felt a new wave of shame each time. ‘By this time the whole school must know,’ he thought miserably. ‘I will be the laughing stock for a thousand kids!’

  A bell rang. The tempo changed. Peter, Max and Angus had to go. “Sorry mate. Exam,” Peter said. His friends left. Graham sat down and waited. Now he was fretting. ‘I will be late, and get into trouble!’

  At last Roger arrived on the run. “Here,” he panted. “I hope they fit.”

  He passed the shorts in to Graham. Roger hadn’t thought to bring any underpants. Graham pulled the shorts on with difficulty. They were too small but he could just get into them. He noticed with dismay that his penis was clearly outlined by the tight cloth. Biting his lip in indecision he hesitated.

  Then the second bell rang. No time! He had to go! With a stifled sob he stepped out. “Thanks Roger.” Then he walked out of the toilet, and into more embarrassment. There were only a few hurrying figures but they all knew the story and grinned. To Graham’s horror all the girls seemed to stare at his bulging crotch and then whisper behind their hands.

  He ran. First he collected his school bag, then sprinted to the exam room. He was late. The papers were being distributed. After rummaging in his bag for pen, ruler, paper and so on, he hurried to the door. Miss McLeod, the hugely fat and surly Chemistry teacher met him in the doorway. He didn’t want to have to explain anything, but she demanded to know. “You are late Kirk. Where have you been?”

  A roar of laughter swept the exam room. Graham felt sure he would die of shame. They were all looking at him and he tried to cover his front with the writing pad. Miss McLeod turned on the class in fury and that silenced them. Then she turned back to face him.

  Graham cringed. “Please Miss. Can I tell you later?” he pleaded. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. Now.”

  Reluctantly Graham outlined the story.

  “Bullies you say? Year Twelves? Who?”

  “I’d rather not say Miss.”

  “And they took your pants?” She looked down. “So whose are they?”

  “Roger Dunning’s Miss,” Graham croaked in a shame-faced whisper.

  “Hmmm. They’re obviously not yours. Sit down, you disgusting boy.”

  Graham had to walk down an aisle past smirking and giggling faces. He saw Ailsa’s eyes swivel down to the front of his shorts and that just made things worse. Feeling utterly wretched he slumped into a seat.

  Stephen grinned. “If those are Roger’s pants what is he wearing?” he hissed maliciously.

  “Silence!” Miss McLeod bellowed. She proceeded to hand out the exam papers.

  Graham slowly calmed down but it would have made no difference if he had been an hour late as he did what he could of the one and a half hour paper in about half an hour. “I just can’t remember all those formulae,’ he groaned. “S-Os and S threes or whatever.” He sat in silent misery, dreading the end of the period and the walk home.

  At the end of the session he waited till almost last before standing up. Then he fled from the exam room and hid in a corner of the library for half an hour. Only when virtually all the students were gone and there was no sign of the bullies did he venture out.

  Being a Wednesday afternoon the army cadets were having their weekly two hour parade. Graham watched them for a few minutes, trying to pick out Peter and Stephen. Then he hurried sadly home.

  He didn’t tell his mother. He just hoped she wouldn’t notice a pair of shorts missing. By this time he had a splitting headache and felt so dirty he had a bath and changed. Then he lay on his bed and the tears began to flow.

  Hearing Kylie and Margaret
’s voices coming up the stairs he fled to the Ship Room. There he cried for a while before starting to potter around. Soon he was busy working on his model.

  CHAPTER 10

  MORE TROUBLE

  By Thursday morning Graham was in a state of high anxiety. “The only good thing about the day,” he thought, “is that the exams are my two best subjects: History and Geography. At least I will pass something.”

  Still, it took an effort of will to make himself go to school. His reluctance was so obvious his mother asked him what the problem was but he would not say. He set out unhappily, brooding over the humiliations of the last few days and wondering how he could possibly face the other students, let alone hold his head up with any sort of pride or self-respect.

  The History exam was a breeze. Graham wrote and wrote for the whole time and came out feeling he had at last achieved something. At lunch time he joined his friends and even managed to laugh at Max’s silly little jokes. Towards the end of the break Graham looked at his watch. He sighed. Another exam! At least it was the last one; and it was Geography. He was sure he would pass that. It was one of the few subjects he enjoyed and was good at.

  The prospect of two hours in an exam room raised another spectre. “I’d better go to the toilet. I don’t want to sit there for two hours busting for a leak,” he thought. But the prospect of meeting the bullies made him cringe. After the last two days the mere mention of the toilet was enough to cause a phobic reaction.

  After a few minutes he plucked up the courage to ask. “I need to go to the dunny. Does anyone want to come?”

  Max sneered. “What, aren’t you game to go on your own?”

  Graham coloured and pursed his lips. Burning with shame he lowered his gaze. “No,” he admitted.

  Peter stood up. “I’ll come with you,” he said.

  Thankfully Graham stood up and went with him. He was deeply ashamed of his cowardice, and was sure everyone was still sniggering at him. It was an effort just to walk around the school. At the toilet he followed Peter in. There were only two Year 8’s there, one of them that little toad Crane who had been teasing him the day before. The Year 8’s glanced at him and quickly left. The First Bell rang.