Barefoot and Lost

by Brian Francis Cox

  Chapter Ten

  The old Morris van spills its load of school kids around the back beside the dining room doors. Jack and Brian are in deep conversation, Toby looks cheesed off. Enid and Doris give me a wave calling me to them, ‘How come you didn’t go to school?’

  ‘I’m going tomorrow; it’s my first time there.’

  ‘Phil, what do you want us to do with the note, about Mam, you asked us to write?’

  ‘Have you done it?’

  ‘Yes we did it at playtime today, so nobody from here would see what we were writing.’

  ‘So, you have it with you now?’

  ‘Yes, I have it’ Doris whispers.

  ‘Don’t hand it to me now, wait until we go through the door into the dining hall, then just slip it into my hand, then no one will see okay?’

  The note is folded up to the size of a plum stone, when I feel Doris’s hand touch mine, expecting something larger I very nearly drop it, just managing to get my fingers around the balled up piece of paper before slipping it into my pocket. Sitting at the dining table I have a moment of panic, is the pocket I have put it in the one with the hole in the lining. Trying to hide my rummaging in my pocket, the boy opposite me keeps giving me a nod as though he is trying to warn me. Suddenly I become conscious of someone standing behind me, turning in my seat I see a man with a stern look, one I have not seen before, peering down at me over his spectacles that are sitting on the end of his nose. ‘What are you doing boy I trust you are not secreting food from the table into your pocket?’

  ‘No sir not at all, I was trying to get my handkerchief.’

  ‘I think we’d better have a look don’t you?’

  ‘No sir, I haven’t got any food in my pocket.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind standing and turning your pockets inside out for us both to see?’

  ‘But I haven’t sir.’

  ‘GET UP THIS INSTANT’ he shouts, grabbing my shoulder, pulling me from the chair.

  Gingerly I pull out the lining but can’t prevent Doris’s note falling to the floor, pointing to the note, ‘What is that?’

  ‘Paper ball sir, some boys were firing them around the class at school today, it’s just a piece of rubbish sir.’

  ‘Now the other pocket let me see.’ I turn that inside out allowing my handkerchief to fall to the floor, bending down I scoop it up together with the note. Satisfied I haven’t any food, Spectacles says with a disappointed look, ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Phillip Snell sir.’

  ‘Carry on with your meal, don’t let me catch you, or anyone else, stealing food from the table.

  ‘Who the hell is he? Toby whispers.’

  ‘I don’t know, but I don’t like him.’

  Our pow wow tonight is about school. Toby is upset because he is still in first year and has only graduated to 1B. He is even more upset when I tell him I am going straight into 1A. I joke with him telling him I can only go down and he can go up or down. ‘Its not fair Phil, I know I started at TSM early, but I’ve had nearly two terms there and thought I was doing okay. The friends I made have moved onto second year and I’m stuck with a bunch of first years; bloody hell, your not even in my class it’s just not fair.’

  ‘Sorry Tobe, it’s not my fault; we can still be together at break times can’t we?’

  ‘Yeah I suppose; hey, what was that all about with that weird bloke?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I forgot about Doris’s note.’ Fishing it out of my handkerchief I start to unravel it. There are two pages, torn from an exercise book, the writing is so big and spaced out they could have quite easily used one page, Perhaps it is a good thing they didn’t, with the large print and spacing the note is still difficult to read. ‘There is nothing here they haven’t already told me, so I will now post it to Pop.’

  ‘Do you think it will do any good, what about your friend Pop, do you think he will do something about it?’

  ‘I know he will Brian, in fact I think he already has, because I haven’t seen Flynn for a few days; have you?’ I look at everyone in turn they all agree he has not been seen.

  ‘Perhaps he is in prison, he could be if your Pop got in touch with the police?’

  ‘I’m sure he would have done Brian, because we has a friend who is a superintendent in the Sussex police, I just know he would.’

  ‘Bloody hope so, serves the pervert right, wonder if he likes bread and water.’ We all laugh, each of us with our own thoughts of what may be happening to Flynn.

  ‘Toby, do you have a school uniform?’

  ‘No, not really, I have an old black blazer and a tie that I wear to school.’

  ‘What about you two, do you have uniforms?’

  ‘Yes and no, we’re like Toby, we have old jackets and trousers which look a bit like a uniform.’

  ‘What about Lion, did he have one?’

  ‘Yeah, he had a very old black blazer from the elementary school, from before the war, before TSM was invented, because all the kids had uniforms, then when they changed the name they kept the same uniform.’

  ‘Lion hated it, he hardly ever wore it, always carried it on his shoulder, he was always being told to put it on.’

  I walk to my locker and bring out my uniform holding it in front of me.

  ‘Is this it, is this Lions?’

  ‘If it has one arm longer than the other then yes, it’s his’ Quickly putting on the school trousers, pulling them up as high as I can, draping the jacket over my shoulder, I start to stroll up and down the dorm like a manikin. The clapping and wolf whistles from the others brings Mr Simmons into the Dorm, ‘What are you doing Phillip?’

  ‘Nothing really Mr. Simmons I am only modelling my uniform.’

  ‘What about the trousers, what have you done to them?’

  ‘They are a lot short but I just pulled them up to make them look worse, that’s all.’ I pull them down onto my hips, ‘that’s them right down now.’

  ‘I see what you mean; do you have other trousers that fit you?’

  ‘Yes, do you want me to put them on now?’

  ‘No, not now; wear them with the jacket to school.’

  ‘The jacket was Lion’s; it is a bit big for me.’

  ‘The jacket you will grow into, unlike the trousers, you could only grow out of them; Okay, it is time for lights out now so settle down.’ Mr. Simmons walks towards the door Brian’s deep voice stops him,

  ‘Where is Mr. Flynn, is he in prison?’ Mr. Simmons swings around with a bewildered look,

  ‘Mr. Flynn, he has had to go away. Prison, why did you ask about prison, why would he be in prison?’ We all look at each other, none of us wanting to answer the question. The long silence is broken by Mr. Simmons. ‘Is there something here I should know about?’

  Brian breaks the silence ‘We don’t know sir, who we can talk to about it; you could all be doing it for all we know, Flynn was and we know Mam is, we don’t know who else, maybe the Reverend is as well.’

  ‘For Gods sake Brian stop speaking in riddles, what are all these people allegedly doing?’

  ‘Child abuse sir.’

  ‘Child abuse, what do you mean, beating them shouting at them, that sort of thing? If so, that is what adults do to children to discipline them.’ Jack speaks for the first time

  ‘No sir, nothing like that Brian means sexual abuse, Flynn was or still is, he was taking young boys, including Phil and Toby, and Lion when he was younger, and wanking them sir, and once he even forced his cock into Lion’s mouth sir, that is why he ran away and died because of it.’

  Mr. Simmons is standing with his mouth open his jaw is moving but nothing is coming out, the colour has drained from his face.

  ‘When Flynn did it to me sir, Lion protected me, he hit Flynn. He ran away then, for the first time, because no one believed him. I wrote a letter to a friend about what Flynn did to me sir, I think he has passed it onto the police; Sir, I think you should read this, it’s from two girls here at St S’s, it’s, about Ma
m sir.’ I hand him the note from Doris and Enid.

  Mr. Simmons reads it slowly; you can almost see his brain ticking over.

  He lowers the note, standing there staring into space, the note in his hands shaking, as he trembles; none of us dares to speak. With a small cough to clear his throat, he looks at each one of us as though trying to read our minds.

  ‘These are very serious allegations, I need time to think, I have to decide whether this stems from an over active imagination, or it is fact.’

  ‘It is true sir, we haven’t made it up, please believe us.’

  ‘First, trust me, I am certainly not part of anything that you say is going on, therefore I need to think and decide what I am going to do about it. We; that is, all of us here need to meet, away from here, to discuss what is the best thing to do. I suggest we get together at lunch time tomorrow, at TSM. I wish to keep this note is that okay?’ I’m reluctant to see it go, I wanted to send it to Pop, but I think we can trust Mr. Simmons. I look at the others, each nods, or replies okay. Mr. Simmons leaves the room then puts his head back around the door,

  ‘Trust me lads, I’m on your side. In the meantime not a word to anybody, goodnight, see you in the morning.’

  ‘How did that happen, I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone here and let Phil’s friend sort it?’

  ‘I think it was me that put my foot in it, asking about prison, I dunno it just came out.’

  ‘It’s probably not a bad thing he knows; now it’s out in the open. I’m sure we can trust him and, if he is not to be trusted, no harm done as Pop already knows. Or I could write again.’

  ‘Phil, do you think we should tell the girls that Simmons has their note?’

  ‘I don’t know, what do you all think?’

  ‘Simmons said don’t tell anybody, so let’s leave it at that.’ We all agree.

  I get off the van, my jacket over my shoulder; I haven’t gone two yards before I am told to put it on. At the entrance there is a notice directing first year students to the assembly hall, there are about a hundred other kids gathered there. Some are talking amongst themselves but most like me are looking lost, looking for a friendly face. The only one I recognize is skinny saucer eyes with the curly hair, I turn away before he recognizes me, and he certainly does not look my type. On three walls are signs, A, B or C a man is shouting “You know your forms go and stand by your respective letter.” After a head count and a brief introduction by our form master, Mr. Cockburn, we are marched in crocodile to our classroom, 1A.

  At random, he selects where we sit, just my luck, as a desk mate I have a kid with a pimpled face and eyes that won’t look at you, they always appear to be looking over my shoulder. Mr. Cockburn turns to the blackboard and writes in large letters MY NAME IS COCKBURN, PRONOUNCED CO’ BURN, TO PREVENT CONFUSION YOU WILL CALL ME SIR! ‘I will call all of you by your first name to assist me I want you to write your names in large print. Inside your desk will find a paper and pencil, on the reverse side you are to spend fifteen minutes in writing a brief history of yourself.’ There is a clatter of desk lids being opened and shut, “I will instruct you when to commence, remember, name first I will warn you at fourteen minutes, then I will tell you to stop. If you are in mid sentence you stop there, turn your sheet of paper over, and place it on the desk in front of you, with your name facing so I can read it. You may start.’

  My desk mate has written Rodney and like me has turned his paper over, and is looking blankly at it. I write, Orphaned, live in a Children’s home. Sussex County 50 metre breaststroke record holder, boxer, which has taken all of five minutes, I can’t think of another thing to write, other kids seem to be writing furiously. Rodney still hasn’t written a thing, Dad in the Navy killed on the Repulse Mum killed by doodlebug. That is not my history; I have to write about me. Lived in Harrow moved to Hastings Gran died- ‘One minute’ came to Pen Dalton, sexually abused, I can’t write that; I’m in the process of scribbling it out when Sir calls, ‘Time.’

  Rodney and I are in the front row, our papers are gathered first. As he lifts the paper he reads the name out aloud and continues around the class, stacking the papers as he goes.

  The rest of the morning is spent explaining the system, how we move to specific rooms for specific classes, we have to copy a chart from the board, showing when and where we should be, we also have to copy a diagram of the school layout. Sir explains that, as well as being our form master, he is also our mathematics teacher, therefore to save moving around, each morning will commence with the first period being Math’s. Periodically Sir walks up to a boy and asks, how are you doing John or Thomas, Frederick or Charlie? So far I don’t think he has any wrong. When he collected our papers he said, ‘Rodney, do you mind if I call you Rod?’

  ‘Actually I do Sir; I don’t like my name being abbreviated.’

  ‘Very well Rodney’ a couple of kids laugh, someone puts on an affected accent ‘Actually Sir’

  ‘That’s enough of that, settle down. What about you Phillip do you prefer Phil?’

  ‘Yes please Sir.’ A bell sounds in the corridor Sir raises his voice, ‘Look at your program, ensure you know where you are going this afternoon. Those of you having school dinners make your way to the dining room; I will see you here tomorrow morning.’

  Mr. Simmons is waiting at the dining room, he tells us to quickly eat our meal and join him in the assembly hall. The meal is good, far better than the stuff they dish up at St S’s but the kids that live at home think the food is terrible the boy next to me hardly touches his, pushing it away. ‘Are you going to eat that?’ I ask, he looks at me as though I have just dropped in by parachute.’

  ‘What that muck not likely.’

  ‘Can I have it?’ He gives me an even stranger look.

  ‘If you want; your mum must be a terrible cook if you like that muck.’

  ‘I don’t have a mum, you should come and eat at Saint Stephens, and then you would change your mind about the food.’ Turning to the boy next to him he laughs and says,

  ‘Ere Fred, we got one of them bloody orphans here thinks he’s bloody Oliver Twist. Please sir, can I---.’ Jack sitting on his other side, grabs the kids hair, cutting him off in mid sentence, slamming him face down into the food he has just pushed aside. ‘There I knew you would like it if you tried. Sorry I’ve ruined your second helping Phil.’

  ‘That’s okay Jack, I haven’t got time to eat it anyway.’

  Mr. Simmons is seated in a corner with four other chairs arranged around him. ‘Come and sit down lads, I have read the note you gave me several times, and found it appalling and, no doubt what you are about to tell me will shock me even more. I want you to tell me your experience with Mr Flynn and any other information you may have, no gossip, only your own experience, bearing in mind we haven’t much time so Toby will you start off, I will make notes

  Between us we tell him everything about PT, and about the other boys that are Flynn’s favourites who are too scared to speak out, I tell him about my experience in detail and how Lion beat him, knocking him into the bath. Brian tells about Lion’s experience over months, and about the in his mouth bit. Whenever I hear or think of that, I can’t help but feel sick; to me it is such a relief to get it off my chest. I felt relieved when I wrote to Pop but, somehow, this feeling is better. The bell sounds ‘Okay you must go now, say nothing about this meeting, I know now what I intend to do. Trust me I will talk to you tonight at lights out.’

  After some difficulty, Rodney and I find 3B for our English period. He seems to want to be my friend, even though he looks past me when he speaks. He is a bit of a drip but is a wizard at maths, so being his desk mate, and now a friend, may be a good thing. Our teacher is a very elderly man, must be sixty five at least. His black suit is older than my blazer and, like mine hangs off his shoulders but, unlike mine he will never grow into his. His baggy trousers sag down both legs to rest on top of his dirty shoes; if the suit had been grey they would look like elephants legs.
Under the jacket he is wearing a fawn coloured, woollen cardigan even though it is September. His scrawny neck protrudes through his butterfly, lapel collar, creating the image of a vulture. His voice booms and each word is very precisely pronounced. If you were unable to see him you would assume the voice was coming from a much larger, younger man. ‘My name is Mr Royale with an EEE, you will call me Sir. I will refer to you by your family name.’ Pointing to the boy on my right he says, ‘What is your name boy?’

  ‘Alec Coulter Sir.’

  ‘Very well Coulter you, and everyone else, when you ask a question, precede the question with your surname for example, in Coulter’s case it will be; Coulter how many I’s are there in Mississippi Sir. Is that clear?’ a mumble of Yes Sir, rumbles around the classroom.

  ‘Dickens, Charles Dickens, the nineteenth century author, born in eighteen hundred and twelve, lived, as a child, not so very far from here, in Chatham. We are going to read his novel, ‘A Tale of Two Cities,’ it will be our study book this term for English literature. You will each, in turn read a passage aloud, I will ask questions about that passage, you will digest it, make notes about it and fully understand its content. Learn it well, is that understood?’ Yes Sir mumbles around the room. Pointing at Rodney and me, ‘You two, boys take fifteen each of those books stacked on my desk and distribute one to each boy.’ Rodney gathers up his pile and promptly drops them on the floor, with a fluster he gathers them up amid the laughter from most of the class.

  The books are about seven by five inches, very old, the red hardback covers have broken corners, and spines, the pages are very thin, almost like tissue paper, the print is extremely small. Mr. Royale, once again, points with his ruler at Rodney, ‘Boy, read the first few lines of chapter one, aloud, so everyone can hear you.’