Scholarship
Ian John Copeland
ISBN 978-1-4659-2533-6
Published by Cemaes Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Ian John Copeland
All rights reserved
Ian John Copeland’s blog is at: http://thepaintheagony.blogspot.com
*****
Chapter 1 - Michaelmas Term 1963
The Rocks Preparatory School for Boys lived in its own world. 140 odd boys and 16 teaching staff inhabited the school, mostly isolated from the outside world not just by the boundaries but also by the society they formed for themselves. Like all communities, most conformed, but some did not.
The two 12-year-old boys confronted each other across the row of pegs that divided the now busy changing room. The noise of about 150 prep school boys mingled with the smells of wet towels, steam, mud and adolescent sweat in the warm, moist and windowless confines of the long room.
“What do you want Longhurst?”
Christopher Pierce had just returned from the showers soaking wet. A long limbed and lithe boy, a natural athlete, Captain of The Rocks First XI football team, all broad smiles and easy in movement, a summer's worth of suntan apparent on his body. The boy’s short blonde hair plastered into spikes atop his head like a young Caesar.
His opponent, Longhurst, sturdy rather than athletic, suddenly emerged through the clothes hanging on the pegs and now stood facing Pierce, no more than a foot in distance between them, blocking Pierce’s path to the changing room exit.
Even though all Pierce was wearing was a towel wrapped around his middle he remained confident and defiant in the face of this challenge. Not many would be so bold to take him on. All the other boys deferred to Pierce’s status as one of the most senior boys at The Rocks and acknowledged his presence with respect by stepping out of his way as he had made his way back from the showers.
Longhurst, Pierce’s fellow Sixth Former had no intention of showing such respect to his classmate. He now stood in the central corridor directly blocking Pierce into the end cul-de-sac. Longhurst stood in the middle of the corridor in just his football shorts facing Pierce, his towel brandished as a weapon, and already being flicked this way and that.
“About that tackle.”
The other boys sat or standing either side of the corridor of pegs listened intently. Finally there was some sort of an explanation for the confrontation. But Pierce was not going to back down now, as he had not done so on the pitch.
“Oh nonsense, it was perfectly fair. Mr Wallace didn’t blow his whistle did he?”
“He was the other end of the pitch, he couldn't see. You tripped me Pierce, in front of goal. It should have been a penalty, I was clean through.”
“I was going for the ball, fair and square, I kicked it wide and you tripped over my left foot, that's all. So back off Longhurst and go back to your own side.” Pierce moved towards Longhurst, with one easy tug he removed his towel and made to enter into a flicking competition. Longhurst stepped back.
“Come on then.” The challenge came from Pierce. The two boys squared up to each other, staring into each other’s eyes. In fear, eight-year-old Pip shrank into the corner out of the way, making himself small, hoping to avoid any stray towel ends as they hurt, as he already knew to his cost.
Pierce snapped his towel at Longhurst, some of the water sprayed out as Longhurst flinched and moved back another pace. As Pierce drew his towel back for another shot, Longhurst moved forward and flicked his towel in turn, dry, it produced less of a noise as Pierce neatly side stepped this advance and let loose again, this time striking Longhurst on his side.
“Ow!” Longhurst instinctively leapt to one side. Confident Pierce moved forward, his towel menacingly ready to strike again.
“More?”
Pip watched the typical changing room drama from the sidelines, half hidden in the clothes hanging from the pegs. Pierce obstructed his view.
All around, the other boys were in various stages of changing amidst the noise and steam of an early September day. All of the boys were older than him and to Pip's eyes, slightly scary. Pip slowly undressed for his shower, something he did not enjoy, being a naturally shy boy.
In the depths of the changing room, the boys ruled themselves. Out of sight of the masters, the rules of the changing room were unwritten, unspoken, but they existed handed down from one generation of boys to the next.
Smarting Longhurst retreated further to stay just out of reach as Pierce continued to advance. One final flick to halt the advance and then Longhurst made to climb through the pegs to the other side.
“You won’t get me Pierce.” In an instant he was gone, through the hanging clothes to the other corridor of pegs in the changing room rubbing the spot where Pierce had caught him with the towel end.
Christopher Pierce looked at where the other boy had disappeared and considered following but then thought better of it.
“There’ll be next time Longhurst, just you wait” Pierce turned and called over his shoulder as he went back to his own peg.
The windowless labyrinth that was the changing rooms at The Rocks was situated on the ground floor of a converted barn, long rows of pegs and footlockers either side of three corridors. There was an entrance and exit at the front of the room and at the back, there was a communal shower sometimes used after games like today when it was muddy. The two external rows were for outside wear, the uniform duffel coat, and a shoe locker to keep smart shoes and outdoor shoes. The four interior rows were for games kit and PE kit, gym shoes and football boots. Each boy was assigned a peg when he joined the school and kept it throughout his school career. Pip always felt lucky, he had been given peg number one. That meant his duffel coat was right by the entrance door and his games kit was right at the back in the centre, the warmest spot to change.
With Longhurst now safely the other side of the row of pegs, Pierce lorded it over his end of the corridor where he had peg number two next to Pip. The boy was still glistening. Water drips, shower warm, cascaded from his hair as Pierce dried himself. His hair, now towelled into finer spikes was bleached tow-blonde by the hot Cornish sun of last term. Pierce began to rub himself dry, his back to Pip, as he rubbed himself down from head to feet before finishing by rubbing the area under his arms dry. Pierce’s body was a contrast between the brown of his suntan and the paler, unexposed areas of his skin.
By contrast, Pip was conscious that he had only the faintest of tans, fading rapidly from just a brief two weeks on the beach that summer. Along with many other things: his age, his small size, his comparatively pale complexion, Pip felt that he did not fit into his new school with its army of sun treated boys.
Trying to remain inconspicuous, Pip examined Pierce at close range. Pierce was interesting to him in a way that he did not even partly understand. Pierce's body was that of an adolescent, he was part boy, but part something else a balance between athlete and something more intriguing. A dancer perhaps?
When Pip looked around the humid semi darkness that was the changing room at the other boys, his was an expression of open-eyed awe, fear even. Their bodies were changing, their limbs longer, their muscles now defined. In contrast the younger boys like Pip, were still soft and pale and yet to reach the grace of movement of some of the older boys.
Despite the changing room supposedly operating in monastic silence, the room was now filled with the noise of boys. Pierce, now sitting down to dry the balls of his feet, decided to up the stakes with Longhurst. He tipped his head back and shouted another challenge over the barrier created by the clothes.
“I’ll get you, Longhurst. Just you wait until later.”
“I will be waiting Pierce, if that's what you really want.”
The other boys grinned; another battle would be fought shortly, if not in the changing room itself, then probably just outside in the Quad that marked the centre of the school.
As Pip was a new boy, Christopher Pierce ignored the First Former sitting beside him for the most part. Another Sixth Former, perhaps goaded by Pierce’s display of omnipotence flicked his towel at Pierce.
“You're a fine one Pierce.”
Caught unawares, Pierce instinctively moved sharply sideways until he pushed up against Pip, now firmly trapped in the corner.
“Mind your own beeswax Hawkins.”
Pip felt the warmth of Pierce's wet body brush against him as Pierce used his purchase to push himself back up. Pierce turned briefly and smiled at Pip.
“Sorry Cox.”
Pip hated being called by his surname even if it was being used in a friendly way.
Pierce went after Hawkins, the other boy. A brief flurry, a whirl of limbs and the other boy surrendered his towel, which Pierce promptly threw on the floor.
“Now clear off.”
Pierce returned triumphant, sat on the lockers and started to dress. As he did so, he turned to Pip.
“You'd better get into the shower, otherwise, you’ll catch a cold.”
Pierce was, like most of the older boys, naturally kind to new boys. After all, they too had been new boys only a few years earlier.
The skirmish between the Sixth Form boys was over in an instant and was the only time Pierce ever acknowledged the younger boy in the one term they were neighbours in the changing room.
With Pierce now engaged further down the corridor, Pip was left alone to contemplate this all too brief encounter before joining his other class mates in the shower. That left Pierce and company to dress in the now enforced silence that Mr Barnes, the elderly master in charge decided to enforce. Exasperated by the rising din Mr Barnes blew his whistle and shouted for silence.
“Boys, cut the noise, I can hardly hear myself think! The next boy who makes so much as a single squeak is going to find himself outside the Head's study, dressed or undressed. Now silence the lot of you.”
The threat from Mr Barnes did its trick. The changing room rapidly descended into silence apart from the sound of dressing and undressing.
“Black lace shoes for going outside of school, brown sandals for inside, brown lace up shoes for playing outside on the grass, white gym shoes for PE, football boots for outside sports and a pair of slippers for bedtime in the dormitory.”
Pip listened as carefully as he could and tried to take in what Matron was telling him and the other First Form boys. So many pairs of shoes for Pip to remember but he knew he would soon got used to it. He was good at that, getting used to things, like moving to a different house or to a different town with his family. He was what they called 'adaptable'.
Boarding school was something that Pip knew was coming. Eventually, that hot September day almost a week ago, he had bade his parents goodbye and started on his first day at Boarding school.
His Father shook his hand in an encouraging grown up way.
“Good bye Pip, you will get used to it in no time at all. Believe me, I did.”
His Mother at least kissed him.
“Goodbye son, do look after yourself and do write to us.”
“Don’t worry Elizabeth, he has to. It’s compulsory, isn't it Pip?”
“I suppose so.”
Pip didn’t really know but he looked up to his father as expert in all things. That was what fathers were to their young sons, infallible.
Within a few days, Pip found himself becoming used to his new school and its rituals and practices. The Rocks Prep School was situated aloof and alone off the St Ives to Lands End road on the north coast of Cornwall. The converted farm buildings of the estate surrounded the main schoolhouse. The playing fields in turn extended down to the coast to the headland known locally as Parson’s Leap. Between the School and the sea lay the coastal path from St Ives to Zennor.
The grand main building had been the home of the local Squire until his premature death in the sugar plantations of the West Indies. The house was then purchased by a local parson who swiftly became involved in a local scandal. After the death of his first wife, the Parson found a young and pretty second wife. Unable to consummate their relationship, the marriage failed when the second wife sought the comfort and attention of one of the Estate’s stable lads. When this relationship was uncovered, the lovers fled the country. They were last heard of catching a boat to Newfoundland, a baby on its way. Shortly afterwards, ruined by drink and unable to bear the shame, the Parson decided to end it all. Fortified with whisky he leapt from the headland, which was now forever to bear witness to his fate as ‘Parson’s Leap’.
Following the Parson’s suicide, the estate fell into ruins because of a dispute over the Parson’s will. Eventually, two generations later, the estate was finally sold in 1938 just before the beginning of the Second World War. The purchaser was a Hampstead based school, whose headmaster saw Cornwall as a safe place to escape the looming threat of a war in Europe. The buildings were refurbished and in September 1939 the estate reopened as a school called St Finian's, taking its pupils from the dangers of wartime London to the comparative safety of Cornwall.
After a successful incarnation as St Finian’s, the school slowly declined after the war in the hands of an increasingly grim fixed-faced headmaster. In the late 1950s, after over a decade of decline, the old headmaster admitted defeat and put the school up for sale. This sale attracted the attentions of a young naval captain looking for a new challenge. Captain Porter aimed to turn the school into one that he would have wanted to attend himself as a boy. Freed from the constraints placed on such schools in the competitive market in London and the South East, Captain Porter set about making the school an attractive option for parents seeking something slightly less formal than the schools they remembered from their own childhood. To start with, he chose a new name, ‘The Rocks’. Then Captain Porter set out his ambitions in the prospectus.
“Our location on the North Cornish Coast has been chosen to provide the best atmosphere not just for learning but also for adventure surrounded as we are by landscaped grounds and the stupendous site right by the sea.”
The brochure was full of promises of ‘adventure, exploration, and self development’ and the like. It was designed, successfully, to attract those parents who wanted something slightly different for their sons – sufficient to justify the undoubted inconvenience of a day's journey by train from London and the Home Counties.
The conversion of The Rocks into its new more easy-going atmosphere was much aided by another important event in Captain Porter’s life, his marriage to his new young French wife, Annette. With his new wife taking responsibility for the domestic side of the school, Captain Porter worked hard to change the school from its austere post wartime existence into something more welcoming. With the advice of his wife, Captain Porter shrewdly gambled that he could attract the approval of mothers looking for something more genteel than the schools their husbands had attended. As a result of their endeavours, The Rocks began to attract the sons of all sorts of parents to its slightly non-conformist existence.
The appeal started with the uniform, which was heavily influenced by the navy with navy jumpers standing in for jackets and ties and duffel coats instead of raincoats. The idea was to promote a more informal existence at the school. But more important than the uniform were the staff, recruited not just for academic excellence but also for their abilities to handle the boys entrusted to them with humanity and perhaps something more.
The school, built mainly of the local granite with the exception of the timber-framed barn, was arranged around an open quadrangle facing northwest looking down over the sea across a formal garden. There were playing fields to the west stepping down to the coast path in a series of ever-smaller levels, until the slope ruled out any semblance of a flat field at which point Mother Nature was allowed to take its own course down to the cliff edge. In this wild, untamed area, full of peaty bogs, large boulders, reeds, bracken and the occasional small copse was the area where the boys were sometimes allowed to play the sorts of unstructured but intricate games boys often choose to play. The School’s land went right to the coast. The only other human intervention was the coast path that came inland at Wicca Cove cutting across the headland at Parson’s Leap with its ruined chapel, Celtic Cross and burial mound and skirting inland above Chapel Cove. The inland routing of the path meant that the school controlled the access to the coast at this point and therefore had exclusive use of its own private beach at Chapel Cove before the path returned to the coast at the next cove beyond Star Point.
The rather grand granite built squire’s house was now restored as the school’s offices and senior teaching block directly facing the sea over the formal lawn. To the west side of the Quadrangle was the big wooden and stone barn, the south end with the gym with changing rooms underneath and the north sea facing end with the assembly hall with dining room underneath. The east side of the quadrangle was the junior classroom block, converted from stables where most of the classes were situated. The top two floors of the main house and the junior classroom block were devoted to 12 dormitories for the boys.
Slightly separated from the main school complex, to the east was the original more humble farmhouse now providing living quarters for those unmarried masters who did not have accommodation in the dormitory blocks. In front of the farmhouse were a tennis court and a small changing room. Yet further to the east was a walled vegetable garden, off limits to the boys. Lastly, right at the eastern edge of the estate, perched on its own promontory near the road with its own private garden looking out to sea, was the former estate manager’s house, a fine granite building, now the Headmaster’s accommodation.
The whole site was a wild but friendly place, much loved by boys and staff alike.
“Come on, shuffle over me, we all have to sit in this line.”
Pip felt himself grateful to be guided by Clancy. They sat cross-legged on the floor in the first row in the assembly hall for the school. It was all very strange at first, assemblies, boys called shadows, who followed you about and the various adults who ran the school. Gradually Pip found a few anchors to help guide him through the unfamiliar paths. The bookish Clancy acted as one anchor and the blimpish Owen acted as the other.
Evening prayers were the most formal gathering of the day at school.
The boys gathered by year, First Formers at the front and Sixth Formers at the back. The hall echoed with noise when the boys first entered but soon silenced once the 12 teaching staff arrived and lined either side of the assembled boys.
Captain Porter stood at the centre of the stage, a lectern in front of him. Although not a believer, he led the boys in prayer as always. As it was the beginning of term, his wife Annette, known as Mrs Porter by the boys, was in attendance. Apart from working as the school’s administrator Mrs Porter also acted as part time French Teacher. The junior dormitories were an area Mrs Porter ruled serenely with Matron. Together they worked to make sure the younger boys coped with separation from their parents.
By this time of the day, Pip was not alone amongst the younger boys in blinking with tiredness as he held his hands together in prayer. He went through the words tonelessly, never stopping to think what they meant in the slightly archaic English in which they were spoken.
“Our Father, who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy Kingdom come,
Thy will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory forever and ever.
Amen.”
Once prayers were finished, the boys stood up in a shuffling cacophony whilst announcements were made, either by Captain Porter or Mr Durrant, the Deputy Headmaster.
“In view of the weather, there will be no outside time this evening. Everyone is to stay in their respective teaching blocks where they will be supervised by their form masters.”
Mr Durrant spotted something out of the corner of his eye.
“Phillips keep still boy!”
All eyes turned to the Third Former, who tried to look innocent, fooling no one.
At The Rocks, apart from Mrs Porter there was only one other female teacher, Mrs Prince.
Mrs Prince stood out in her artist’s smock. Pip would develop a soft spot for Mrs Prince, as she was defiantly unorthodox as a teacher. For Mrs Prince, teaching was merely something to pay the rent. Down in St Ives her pottery was being sold in some of the top galleries at very respectable prices. One of these days she was going to be discovered and leave she told herself. But in the mean time, Mrs Prince taught at the school in the morning and spun her potter’s wheel in the afternoons. Pip’s artistic ability was something that she soon picked up. She quickly enrolled him in her art club, keen to develop his skills as a modeller and possibly sculptor in due course.
“Pip dear boy, I have got all these new fabrics to try out, I want you to do a collage of the sea and the coast for me, I think you will be good at landscapes.”
Pip allowed himself to be volunteered, he liked art and he liked stories, mostly told to him by Mr Barnes, the oldest teacher at the school who would teach Pip Latin and English. Mr Barnes was so old his weather beaten face was cracking into fissures.
A life long teacher with an affinity with the minds of boys, Mr Barnes was the sole survivor of the school’s Second World War evacuation from London. Even at the beginning of the War, Mr Barnes was considered a non-combatant in view of a slight limp. True, he missed the Capital, its discrete bars with obliging male companionship, but he had grown to like his peaceful existence amongst the cacophony of boys in Cornwall. Over time, Mr Barnes built a life of tea dances amongst bored divorcees and widows and had set upon regular visits to the cultural delights of Europe as a way of filling the gaps that existed between terms at the school. He had long ceased yearning to return to his native Vancouver as what family he once had had now all died out. As he approached retirement, Mr Barnes acknowledged to himself that The Rocks was his home, the staff and especially the boys his family.
The rest of the teaching staff were made up of men, many fresh from the better universities, sprinkled with older teachers such as Mr Durrant. Third in command was Mr Wallace, the science and PE teacher. Together these two also ran the dormitories. Currently, Mr Durrant as Deputy Headmaster looked after the senior boys and Mr Wallace looking after the juniors with the help of Mrs Porter. With this job came a study and their own accommodation for each in their respective blocks.
The Rocks settled into its normal bedtime routine. The boys were put to bed by age. The First Formers went to bed at 7:30 and Sixth Formers by 9:30. Before lights out, the junior boys were separated into their dormitories where they spent the last half hour with their dorm colleagues before Captain Porter or his wife came up and said prayers.
Mrs Porter always visited Pip’s First Form dormitory last thing at night. She had a calming influence, checking that all was well and looking for any signs of distress or worry.
“Well what have we been up to today?” She would invariably ask. The boys would answer with tales of games or sport or funny things that happened. Listening to their responses, Mrs Porter would cast her eye around the dormitory and look for the quieter boys and gently check. As with most evenings, she sat on the corner of Pip’s bunk and spoke to him personally.
“So what have we been doing today Pip?”
“Lessons Miss and I scored a goal.”
“Oh that’s good isn’t it?”
During the week, the morning bell went at 07:15. With that, the older boys trooped into the first of their two daily showers a day. For junior boys like Pip, they just showered in the evening or after games.
“Come on boys, rise and shine, there is a whole new day ahead of you.” Mr Wallace came in and pulled the curtains and prodded the feet of any boy who still seemed to be sleeping.
For Pip, mornings were an agony having to be prised unwillingly out of bed almost every day. Pip followed the other junior boys to the dormitory washroom, which they shared with 1W. Toilets one side, showers the other with a twin row of sinks facing each other in the middle where the boys had to fight for room or wait for another boy to move out of the way. Pip invariably found himself one of the last boys to find a place at the sinks.
After making their beds, something Captain Porter himself taught them how to do, it was downstairs and across the Quad for a substantial breakfast, probably Pip’s favourite meal if it featured bacon, which it did at least twice a week.
“Yuk! Porridge.”
Captain Porter was keen on porridge, not a food overly admired by others in the school.
“Owen, pass the sugar quick.”
“The Scots put salt on theirs.”
“Well I want sugar if that is all the same to you.”
“Oh as you wish Pip.” Clancy was full of information, even if it seemed useless at the time.
Morning assembly quickly followed breakfast. Assembly was a tedious affair given over to at least one hymn and two prayers, followed by various announcements to the whole school. As an added ordeal, most of the older boys were expected to read a short lesson once or twice a term.
Once the morning ceremonies had been completed, the real purpose of the school came into being. Five lessons before lunch: three before morning break and two after. Captain Porter correctly decided that it was best to get most of the lessons out of the way before lunch.
Lunchtimes followed the lessons; never soon enough for most boys as they were ravenous by the time 12:45 came. It was the main meal of the day, soup or salad followed by a main course and desert or fruit. Mrs Porter made sure it was healthy enough to keep most mothers happy even if the boys complained about the quantities of cabbage and greens they were forced to eat. Pip along with a lot of the other boys, could not stand cabbage or even worse, broad beans.
After lunch there was a brief period of quiet whilst there was a reading period, older boys with their choice of books, the youngest, Pip included, were given reading material suited to their age and progress at reading, some slower than others.
Pip had been identified early on as a slow reader. At home he had only really started reading at the age of six. Twice a week Mrs Porter or Mrs Prince would sit Pip down in an otherwise empty classroom and hear him read for 15 minutes or so. Pip fumbled with his words to begin but he was now beginning to make rapid progress spurred on by the school’s set of illustrated Tin-Tin books.
After the relative peace of the reading period, the pace picked up as all the boys went to the changing room to prepare for an afternoon of sports or at least sports like activity.
The First Form boys bobbled around the team list on the wall in the changing room.
“Clancy, you’re Captain again.”
“That’s because I can at least kick the ball.”
“So can I.”
“Yes but how far and in which direction?”
Pip felt crushed but then Clancy smiled. “Not that I can either, it is all a bit tricky isn’t it?”
Games were followed by biscuits and squash then two further lessons. Once the school day proper finished, there was an evening meal, prep and then a period of free time, often devoted to more sport in the warmer months and indoor club activities in the colder months.
“Pip?“
It was Owen, already slightly plump and pompous. He was sat at a small table in the dormitory one evening, a draughts board set up. Pip not otherwise engaged came down from the bunk above.
“Well?”
Owen was still in his full school garb with his shoes still on, Pip had long since lost his school kit to the locker at the end of the bunk.
“A game of draughts?”
Pip, never one to be unsocial, agreed. Apart from Clancy, Owen was his first proper friend. Pip stuck with Owen even when the other First Formers decided that he was the odd one out.
To Pip, draughts was a new game, he let Owen teach him the rules and the dodges of the game. It was a satisfying way to end the day before Pip ascended to his top bunk, a Tin-Tin comic book in hand, his current choice of reading material.
Mrs Porter came up as usual. Fifteen minutes when she would hurry them into pyjamas and get them into bed before her accented goodnight, always the same.
“Good night boys, sweet dreams.”
“Good night Mrs Porter.”
Would come a ragged chorus. A quick look around the dormitory to satisfy her that the boys would settle and then Mrs Porter would put the lights out.
Silence was absolute to start with, but in time, whispered conversations would start. At the centre of the conversations were the Johnson Twins from Form 1B. Identical and inseparable in everyway, they had the luxury of never being lonely as they were always together.
“Kit, why did you put our books on the second year pile for Mr Barnes?”
“Because he said to do so. He said put them on the left of the desk.”
“He didn’t half get in a bate with you though. You went bright red.”
“Well he meant his left not my left.”
A third voice came in after Kit and Robbie. Clancy was the dorm’s brightest boy, normally quiet but occasionally revealing a streak of mischievousness, which he kept well hidden from the teaching staff. “Since neither of you know left from right, how can you be sure?”
The natural leader of their year was Pip’s Shadow Peter Morgan, another boy from Form 1B a full half year older than Pip. For some reason Pip didn’t like Peter even though he was a fellow member of the art club and could sketch anything in a few deft strokes if he so wanted. “You could always mark yourselves, left and right. A big L and a big R on your wrist, that would do the trick.”
Pip sometimes listened to these conversations but more often than not he was one of the first boys to fall asleep.
That night however, Pip awoke pre-dawn and puzzled over his vision of Pierce in the changing room the previous afternoon. It was a pleasant vision, something Pip could not explain to himself.
Pip suddenly awoke with a jerk from his dream state, all pleasurable thoughts forgotten, drowned out by the ringing of the morning bell and the familiar prod from Mr Wallace.
“Come on Cox, wakey, wakey.”
Pip was now stood at the front of the class reading slowly from a book. It was Friday afternoon, the last lesson of the week. Mr Barnes watched the passage was difficult and Pip was struggling. With increasing frequency, he intervened to correct Pip’s stumbles. The boy was tired and the class was beginning to fidget as Pip was going so slowly. Eventually Mr Barnes stepped in. “Okay Pip, that will do for now.”
“But I haven’t finished the page yet sir.”
“I don’t think we have time today, perhaps on Monday?”
The bell rang, to save Pip, already flushed and flustered, any further torment. As the other boys rushed off, Pip fumbled over his things. Mr Barnes was his favourite teacher and he had failed him. Pip opened the lid to his desk, he wanted to hide, his vision blurred as he felt tears start to well up. Mr Barnes looked up and then came over when he saw Pip rub his eyes.
“Oh Pip, it wasn’t that bad. It was too hard for you. One for Clancy I think. Here.”
Mr Barnes took out his large monogrammed handkerchief. Pip took the handkerchief and dried his eyes. He looked anxious, perhaps he was never meant to be a good reader?
Mr Barnes was upset that he had knocked some of the confidence out of Pip. Taking pity, he decided on a special treat, some cake in his room in the Master’s house. Not strictly allowed but then again not banned either he reasoned.
After tea and before prep started, Mr Barnes caught Pip as he left the dining hall.
“Pip dear boy, I have got something to show you, why don’t you come with me?”
“Oh what sir?”
“It’s a little surprise.”
The word ‘surprise’ pricked the ears of Peter, who was walking just behind with the Twins. He wondered what the surprise might be?
No one questioned Mr Barnes leading Pip towards the old farmhouse. In deference to his seniority, Mr Barnes had a sizeable corner room downstairs overlooking the sea. As well as a bed and sink tucked in one corner, there was a sitting area and a desk. In the opposite corner was a large cage with two budgerigars. The birds were the surprise that Mr Barnes had for Pip. Pip admired the two birds, gently tapping the cage and placing a small amount of birdseed into the cage.
“What are they called sir?”
“Oh the one on the left is called Fimbo and the one on the right Pipsqueak because he complains all day long.”
“Like me then?”
“I named him after you, not that you complain I hasten to add.”
“Well not really, it's Philip, but everyone calls me Pip, even my parents.”
“Well you are not a Pipsqueak, you're Pip. That is quite different, let me assure you.”
“No sir. I mean, yes sir.”
“Come here and sit down, we have a little bit of time.”
Pip’s curiosity satisfied Mr Barnes sat in the more comfortable of the armchairs with Pip in the smaller chair. A half eaten cake sat between them on the coffee table. Pip had been a model of politeness and surreptitiously had even cleared up his crumbs whilst Mr Barnes rattled on about birds, ancient relatives and the like. The boy glowed in his company, his earlier reading agonies now forgotten. Time passed and then Mr Barnes realised that Pip should be elsewhere by now. He groaned theatrically and picked up the plates.
“Come on Pip, you should be in prep, I will have to make up some excuse for you.”
Pip stood up and went ahead to the door. As he turned the doorknob, Mr Barnes did something he had never done before with any other boy. He leant forward and kissed Pip chastely on the top of his forehead, just once, just briefly.
Pip looked slightly surprised, he was not used to being kissed by anyone other than his mother.
“Thank you sir, I mean thank you for the cake.”
Mr Barnes paused as he realised the enormity of what he had just done.
“Come on boy, enough, time for you to be in prep.” Hastily, Mr Barnes opened the door. Pausing he checked to see that no one else was around and then he sent a slightly puzzled Pip on his way.
“Off you go, quickly now.” Mr Barnes turned, his thoughts in turmoil.
“Playing with fire you stupid old fool.” He muttered to himself as he carefully picked up some of the crumbs from the carpet and fed them to the two birds, sitting patiently side by side on their perch.
As Pip raced into Prep, he bumped into Peter Morgan who had been sent to find him. “Well the adventurer returns, does he?”
“What adventurer?”
“You silly. What have you been doing with Mr Barnes?”
“Oh nothing, he just showed me his birds, that’s all.”
“He’s never done that before that I know of.”
Pip didn’t wait but made his way into prep. He felt special.
That same evening Mr Barnes sat in his room in front of the electric fire, a bottle of whisky half drained on the table beside him full of regret at inviting Pip into his room. In over 40 years of teaching he had not done that before.
Mr Barnes talked to himself a lot these days. “After all this time I am becoming a sentimental old fool.”
Mr Barnes thought the matter through. “It mustn't happen again. Indeed I must act as though it never even happened.” He made up an excuse, if the subject came up.
“Oh I was just brushing some crumbs off his forehead, my hand was damp. That's all.”
With that excuse, Mr Barnes hoped that it would not go any further than that, even if Pip did say something. However, Mr Barnes guessed correctly that Pip was not going to say anything about the visit to anyone.
*****
Chapter 2 - Lent Term 1964
The First Year boys in Form 1A ran up the steep slopes of Trendrine, the hill behind the school. The rain had started again, a Cornish mizzle, horizontal and biting in the January cold. A now confident Clancy led the way; he had an objective in mind.
“Come on, if we get up to the next wall, we can see if the coast is clear.”
Clear of Form 1B was the message. The boys in the First Year had already formed into cliques based on Forms. The First Year boys were split into two; 1A had been given a 10-minute start on the 1B boys, who always seemed larger and sportier than the boys in 1A.
That afternoon, with the ground too wet for rugby, Mr Durrant chose a cross-country run to toughen up his young charges. For the younger boys, there was little more than what he termed a ‘scramble’, but for the older boys, the cross-country run had a purpose. He wanted them to develop stamina and speed as at the end of the term there was the contest for the Staffin challenge cup.
Armed with his stopwatch, Mr Durrant had sent the older boys, from Second Form and up, off on a longer run starting along the coast path before heading up the other side of Trendrine before returning to school. That left him with just the First Year boys on Trendrine for now. Being an old hand with young boys, Mr Durrant knew the best way to get the First Year boys running around on a cold and wet January day was to divide the boys up into two teams and tell them to capture the fort at the top of Trendrine.
Clancy looked around his small team of followers, all from Form 1A. He was pleased to be in charge. As they struggled up the steep slope, Clancy told them his battle plan, which he did in the form of a map drawn out in the mud with the aid of a stick.
“While a small group of us takes the East Path, out of sight, we use the main group to lure the others up the direct route, to that narrow bit.”
Clancy indicated with his sweater-covered hand. “The main group is very important, they makes lots of noise and wave their sticks to stop the other group getting past. See, it’s all brambles either side there. It’s a very important role.”
The 1A boys all nodded, Clancy was always right. Clancy turned to the two boys he entrusted with the toughest task as acting as decoy on the West Path. “When they see the main lot blocking the path, they will try and use one of the other paths so that’s where you two come in to play. Jonathan, you look like a stick waver, Pip you go along as anchorman. Your job is to make sure they don’t get through on the West Path. Owen you come with me, we are going to the top and that way we can leave Jonathan and Pip to entrap them.”
“Entrap?”
Owen did not know the word. It was a question Pip had wanted to ask to but had stopped. He did not want to appear stupid.
“Trap, snare, look it up in that dictionary you got for Christmas. I’ll show you this evening if you like.”
“Oh yes please Clangers.”
Down below the boys from 1B were now visible two fields away, starting on the lower slopes of Trendrine. As they split, Clancy gave his orders to the main group once they reached the top of a particularly steep part of the direct path.
“Stay here, look menacing and make a lot of noise to keep them distracted.”
The lead party of four Form 1A boys made it to the next wall, climbed over the ancient stile where they were to split again. Clancy made them shelter from the wind and rain whilst he revealed the rest of his plan.
“We can take the East Path from a bit further along here and still see where the other lot are. You two go on, it’s essential you block them from using the West Path.”
Pip and Jonathan nodded assent and started to set off. Clancy gave more instructions, as they kept low to avoid being seen. “Hide the other side of the stile until the last minute. Make a lot of noise if they come up; bash your sticks then run round the hill to that patch with the gorse. They are bound to chase you. We need ten minutes to get up there, so you need to keep them occupied.”
When Pip and Jonathan reached their allotted hiding place, they hid behind the wall. It was freezing cold and beginning to rain again. Jonathan shivered and tucked his hands in his armpits. “Pip, see anything?”
“No, nothing yet.”
The steam from their breath might give them away. If something didn’t start happening soon, they were going to start getting cold despite the boys wearing two rugby shirts apiece.
From his viewpoint by the coast road, Mr Durrant watched the younger boys through binoculars. Most of the 1A boys were slowly making their way up the main path. Meanwhile a smaller group of four boys from 1A were now heading towards the East Path, out of sight of the Form 1B boys below. Fooled, the Form 1B boys followed the main party of 1A boys on the direct route. That group might not stop them forever, but they would be delayed long enough for the smaller group of 1A boys to capture the flag and win the game. As he watched, the smaller group split again into two pairs. One pair with Pierce went west to a strategic spot by the foot stile, the other pair were making for the top heading east, careful to keep themselves hidden at all times.
Pip risking a look over the wall ever so often, no sign. Where were they? It dawned on him, that despite Clancy’s plan, they may have still have been outflanked by the 1B boys with Peter Morgan in charge and the Johnson Twins as his lieutenants.
“We are not going to let those 1B boys get there first.”
Peter also had a plan, he sent most of the 1B boys up the direct and steepest path where they scrambled and slipped their way up the hill, deliberately making a lot of noise and taking their time. Meanwhile Peter took Kit and Robbie Johnson along the side path to the West and hoped to outflank the 1A boys unaware that Clancy had anticipated that.
“How much longer Pip?” Jonathan looked to Pip as the leader. After all he was older, by almost two months. Somehow that seemed important to Jonathan. Both boys were already enthusiastically covered in mud and scarred with encounters with the brambles and gorse that covered the hill.
“”Shush! I think I can hear something.”
Jonathan remained crouched down and hugged his knees to keep warm. He was the smallest boy in the school having joined at the beginning of term. Pip liked him instantly. Jonathan was always keen to play and always up to mischief, sometimes incurring the wrath of the staff that, despite themselves, mostly smiled at his antics. Matron, often the target of Jonathan’s mischief, could not hide her affection for him even when threatening (and occasionally carrying out) retribution on the little First Former.
The crackling of bracken was getting louder. It was definitely coming from the path below them. Jonathan could hear it now. He looked around him and saw what he wanted, a branch about two feet long half hidden amongst the wet grass. He picked it up and inched up next to Pip. Pip pushed him down with his hand, putting a finger to his lips, to signal silence. “We want to surprise them, keep very quiet until I give the signal.”
Jonathan hunkered down as the noise increased.
“This is the last stile. Let’s check first.” Peter was leading his lieutenants. Shouts and yells were coming from the main path; the main group of 1B boys had just made contact with the 1A boys at their chosen ambush point.
Pip counted with his fingers.
One finger.
Two fingers.
On the third Pip and Jonathan stood up on the stile. Jonathan was waved his stick in warning. Peter was no more than five yards away.
“If you don’t clear off, I am going to hit you with this.”
Despite being caught by surprise, Peter stood his ground, the Twins backing him up. Jonathan was considerably smaller than any of them, comical in a slightly oversized football shirt, mud smeared on his face, two short parallel lines each side.
Pip, was standing behind Jonathan, his hold on a smaller stick less sure than Jonathan, only one hand not two.
“Oh yes?”
Peter hoped the two 1A boys would run off. Instead, Jonathan brandished his stick vertically, two hands holding it securely, the rain was turning to a mist, lighter and no longer cutting into the boys.
“Want to try Morgan?” Jonathan started to taunt the boys below, his voice squeaky with excitement. “Come on, show us how tough you really are, come up here.”
“No, you come down here.” Helpfully, Morgan confirmed that he felt disadvantaged as the 1A boys were standing on the top of the stile giving them a height advantage of at least three feet. The Twins followed Peter’s lead and stood up. They also had war paint on their faces, a line down the nose and a vertical line on each cheek. It looked suitably tribal.
Pip stood slightly behind Jonathan as he began to beat a rhythm of war on the dead tree beside him using his stick.
Jonathan added his own embellishments. Every fourth beat he accentuated and then every fourth bar he doubled up the rhythm using two sticks, he was a natural percussionist. The noise kept the lower group focused on the 1A boys as planned. “Come on Pip, now!”
With an opportunity for a fight beckoning, Jonathan could wait no longer. With a high-pitched war cry, he leapt down from the stile on to the ground and rushed along the path on the upper side of the wall, but only as far as the bramble patch, standing at the top. Pip followed, he climbed half way down the stone steps before judging it safe to jump the remaining three feet and ran after Jonathan to back him up.
It was a challenge that Morgan and the Twins could not ignore. They abandoned their ascent and rushed along the path after the 1A boys only to realise that Jonathan and Pip were now stationed at the top of a steep and muddy part of the path with no sidetracks.
“Come on then!” Jonathan, increasingly confident, threw out his challenge.
“Yes, come on!” At last Pip found his voice and copied Jonathan in waving his sticks.
Peter and the Twins were now trapped into either a fight or a humiliating retreat. Pip and Jonathan stood their ground as Jonathan continued to make threats until Clancy appeared above them, far up the hill, trophy flag in hand.
“They’ve got the flag!”
Peter and the Twins realised not only had they lost the flag but that they were also cornered on a slippery slope with Jonathan and Pip bearing down on them. Given no alternative, the three older boys made a dash through an uncomfortably thick patch of gorse to escape.
“We’ll get you.” Peter shouted in retreat as he scraped and tangled his way through the gorse and bramble, his shirt ripping as he went. The Twins fared no better. Humiliated, they made their way back to school trophy-less. The day had not gone well for Form 1B.
Jonathan was triumphant. “We won the war, in 1964!” He shouted to no one in particular as they too returned to school in search of the warmth of the communal showers, the red flag in his hand, a deserved display of his role in the victory.
Mr Durrant was waiting for them at the bottom of the hill to see all the First Year boys safely across the road. He could see the cuts and grazes and guessed what had been going on. It was something that he normally turned a blind eye to. These days, the boys always seemed to be playing at war. It had replaced cowboys and Indians.
Jonathan had arrived that term. He was the last of four Pierce brothers and the youngest brother of Christopher Pierce who had left at the end of Pip’s first term at The Rocks.
Right from the start, Jonathan stood out. He was instantly one of the most noticeable boys in the school with a shock of almost pure-white hair. Legend had it that Jonathan had been streaky blonde like Pip until he fell out of a tree at the age of seven. Almost overnight, Jonathan’s hair lost all colour and became snow white, contrasting with his tanned complexion.
In the cacophony of the showers the boys played with the jets of warm water. Pip was in the corner with Jonathan sharing a bar of soap between them. The boys set to cleaning off the Trendrine mud and trying to sooth the scratches from the gorse and bramble that covered their legs and arms.
Apart from his hair, Jonathan was a smaller version of his brother Christopher with an athlete's body. His short stature meant he was good at anything to do with gymnastics. Jonathan climbed like a monkey, could do cartwheels, head stands, hand springs and even things which no other boy at The Rocks could dream of like back somersaults and multiple forward somersaults across the gym floor, something he would regularly do without the protection of the gym mats as Jonathan had no fears about safety. In the end, spying other boys clumsily attempting the same manoeuvres, Mr Wallace called a halt to Jonathan's displays. “No thank you Pierce, it's not you I worry about, it's just that some of the other boys might try and copy what you can do and they can’t.”
Jonathan stood in front of Mr Wallace. As always he was perfectly poised in his PE shorts, bare foot, as was his preference, both hands crossed on top of his head. “Yes sir, I'm sorry.”
“Well I hope we can bring some of the other boys up to your level of gymnastics one of these days, but in the mean time, only do gymnastics when I say. Understood?”
“Yes sir.” Jonathan was not a naturally obedient boy; he was more curious and adventurous than that. He took risks all the time and shrugged when sometimes he had to accept the consequences of some of his more rash decisions.
That afternoon as they dressed Jonathan decided that he wanted to involve Pip in a new adventure. It was raining – they were having a wet new year and Jonathan was bored when he could not go outside.
“I’ve got something to show you.” Jonathan ventured when he was sure no one else was listening.
“What’s that?”
“I’ve found a new place, a place where we can hide out.”
“Oh okay.” Pip wondered what Jonathan had to show him this time?
A hideout was a top priority for Jonathan as part of his overall view of their world that saw the school as two secret armies at war with each other. The one side was led by Peter Morgan and the Twins, the other side led by Jonathan with Pip, Owen and Clancy. Pip was not so sure about this version of reality, but mostly he went along with it as this rivalry led to many exciting games, which formed a diversion from the constant round of lessons and sports that otherwise kept the boys busy.
After prep and supper, Jonathan took Pip exploring whilst the older boys were kept occupied with more organised activities. They went in the entrance to the barn that formed the school hall and gym. Their pretext if challenged was to fetch some ping-pong balls.
They went up to the main first floor level. Jonathan held his fingers to his lips to signal absolute silence. Sure that the coast was clear he gently pushed open the doors first to the gym and then the hall. Both were empty, they were alone. Jonathan led the way down the steps to the changing room and dining hall underneath. They did not check the dining area as the clatter of pans told the boys that the catering staff were still clearing up. Pip was nervous; they were surely out of bounds?
The lights were on in the changing room as they made their way along the windowless room to the end where the showers were. The area was still steamy from earlier. In one corner there was a small door Pip had never noticed before.
“This is it, I saw it open the other day.”
Pip hoped it was locked so that they could go back but Jonathan knew better. He turned the handle slowly so it made no noise and gently opened the door. Inside there was a roar from the boiler and the all-embracing smell of fuel oil.
“Come on in.”
Pip followed, a low light coming from a small window. The boys crossed the boiler room to another door, which opened to a set of steps leading up under the stage in the main school hall. As they explored, Pip could see the potential. It was a mostly forgotten storage area, scenery and props from school plays, old broken desks and other miscellany. The boys poked around, exploring the space.
“None of this stuff is ever moved from here, except for the school play which was at the end of last term. It would be a great place for a camp.”
“A camp indoors?”
“Yes, for when it is wet or in the evening.” Jonathan looked at the dark dusty space, illuminated with one dimming torch borrowed from Owen.
“Well so long as no one else knows, even Owen and Clancy.”
“Okay, just our camp, a real secret.”
“We need to rearrange things a bit though, to create a hide. Here help me shift these.” Jonathan indicated two stage blocks each the size of a hay bale. Pip grabbed the other side and helped him move it away from the wall creating a dead space about two feet wide.
Over the next two days, the boys organised the space. Once inside there was a narrow crawling space first to the front of the stage and then left, parallel to the front to what appeared to be a dead end but by pushing the stage block you could enter a passage to the back and then to their den on the far side. It was a perfect space for a den, even heated by the hot water pipes. With a crack clear through to the front it was possible to glimpse what was happening in the assembly hall.
On the first day as they emerged, they checked themselves over in the mirror in the showers. The dust had created smudges on their faces.
Jonathan was more into imaginative games, realised what they looked like. “We look like pirates.”
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-28 show above.)