Suddenly I was alone on the platform, and Miss Newman asked me if I was alright. Perhaps I was looking a bit sad or something, but really I was just hoping that no one would ask me why my dad had gone. I told her that I was feeling fine and that my dad was a very busy man and had to dash straight back to the office for an important phone call—which was very probably true, actually.
I stood there all by myself for a bit while everyone else was chatting away and then I saw a note on the window of the compartment which said ‘Reserved for Courtlands Preparatory School.’ There were some bags and boaters on the seats, but nobody was inside yet, so I decided to settle myself in while the other boys were busy saying goodbye to their parents. That meant I was able to bag the best seat—the one right by the window and facing the direction that the train was going in. I put my blue bag right beside me, then suddenly remembered that I was wearing my boater and Fisheye and Nick Gower had seen me with it on, which is quite a big mistake. I took it off and put it on my lap. Perhaps in all the kafuffle they hadn’t noticed. I didn’t take my blazer off though because that would be four things to remember. Then I checked that my ticket was still in the inside pocket. ‘Boater, bag, ticket’, I said out loud to myself, just to be sure.
When I looked out of the window at the others, it seemed to me that they might be about to miss the train because I could see the clock on the platform said seven minutes till half past twelve—the time the train was leaving. Nick was playing boxing matches with his dad, which I’ve seen them doing before when the term is starting and Major Gower is about to go. They do it all in slow motion, and Nick has a queer smile on his face that I’ve only ever seen just before his dad says goodbye. Latymer’s back was being rubbed very hard by his dad as though someone had hit him, and his mum was picking bits of fluff off his blazer and had a wobbly chin like when you’re trying not to cry, so that means it’s not just Mummy who doesn’t like the start of school.
I was getting more and more worried about what I would do if they missed the train and what I would say to Mr. England at Chepstow about it, but then they started coming into the compartment. Fisheye Latymer sat down opposite me and opened a big red book even though his mum and dad were standing outside looking at him. He is a bit weird, really—one minute upset and the next minute reading his book. Nick came in with his dad and sat beside Fisheye. Nick doesn’t care about looking out of the window and going backwards. Major Gower started putting all the bags and boaters and blazers up on the racks, and Miss Newman looked a bit angry about it, actually. There was plenty of room on the seats because there were only four boys and one matron in one big compartment, but she didn’t say anything. I put my arm round my blue bag but Major Gower suddenly said, ‘Let’s get rid of that for you, old boy,’ and he just about threw it up onto the luggage rack. Then he took my boater from my lap and threw that up as well. I could see it perched on top of my bag and wobbling a bit, and I knew perfectly well that it was going to fall down when the train started. I wasn’t very worried about Jollo because he’s quite squidgy and has had a lot worse things happen, but I did wonder what might have happened to my clock with such a big jolt. Just as well I’d been careful to wrap it in the tissue paper and the towel. I was worried about my Ventolin inhaler and what I would do if I needed it because Miss Newman’s not nearly tall enough to reach right up to a luggage rack. I was thinking it was quite possible that when we arrived at Chepstow, we’d have to tell the station people to stop the train for a bit longer and help us get the things down. Perhaps if Nick and I were very careful and stood on the seats we might be able to drag the bags to the edge of the rack and catch them when they fell down, but that would be another jolt for my alarm clock.
I didn’t say anything to Major Gower because there was probably going to be time on the journey to work things out. Perhaps the ticket collector would be able to take everything down when he came round to see our tickets. Thank heavens I kept my blazer on because otherwise that would be up on the rack as well—with my ticket inside it!
The new boy came in with his mother. She smiled and sat him down right by my side. Major Gower had thrown his bag up too, but when he tried to take away the cricket bat, Webster wouldn’t let go and his mother said ‘Probably best to leave it with him, don’t you think?’ Then she kissed him and said in a shaky voice, ‘Bye bye, Darling; see you in three weeks,’ and quickly went out of the carriage and back to the platform where she could see him through the window. When Major Gower said goodbye to everyone, he went out and slid the door of the compartment shut so hard by mistake that I thought it was going to break all the glass.
Miss Newman took off her jacket and brushed it down using her fingers. She very carefully folded it up and put it on the seat beside her and undid the front of her cardigan. She was wearing a nice white blouse underneath which was very tight on her. The older boys at school always talk about how big her bosoms are, but her matron’s uniform makes it very difficult to see them. I could see them really well when she undid her buttons, though. I smiled at her then, but she didn’t smile back.
Giles Webster, the new boy, got up from his seat and pressed his forehead and hands against the window to look at his mother. She was fiddling with a brooch on the scarf round her neck and her hand shook a little. Her lips moved very slowly trying to talk to him, but he wasn’t able to understand because the glass was too thick. She kept looking towards the engine to see if it was ready to go, and I thought that if it didn’t move soon she might start to cry. It was a bit like me waiting for the taxi at home. She wanted the train to go, and she didn’t want the train to go—all at the same time.
The whistle blew, all the doors started slamming shut, and some soldiers with great big rucksacks on their backs ran past in a hurry. When the train’s really big like this one, it starts moving so slowly that there’s a tiny moment when you’re not quite sure whether it’s going or not. Fisheye’s parents started to wave at him though Major Gower was telling them something and didn’t seem to notice we were about to go. Mrs. Webster began to walk along the side of the train as it started to go faster. I could read her lips, and she was saying ‘Ben will look after you.’ She was pointing to me and waving at the same time. I gave her a little bit of a wave back, but I felt a bit funny about it because I thought I was getting in the way of them saying goodbye.
‘Bye bye, Mummy.’ The boy was whispering so quietly that I could only just hear him. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if he started crying, but Miss Newman was there and she would have to look after him if that happened. He was still pressing his forehead against the window. She walked very quickly to keep up until eventually she blew one last kiss and stopped just before the platform came to an end. He didn’t move from the window for ever such a long time, and in the end I took his elbow and said, ‘Sit down, Webster.’ He picked up the bat that was on the seat and put it between his knees and held tight onto the handle. The cricket bat is the same thing for him that Jollo and the alarm clock are for me—a little bit of home that is going to school with you. But it’s sad for him that it’s the wrong type of thing to have. People will make fun of him because of it. He’s far too young to be any good at cricket, and the bigger boys will be jealous of such a posh new bat. There’s nothing I can do about it, though.
I don’t read on the train like Latymer. I never do. I don’t even have a book in my bag. I want to see the world going by and watch it changing. I love the rumbling sound of the wheels crisscrossing the tracks when we leave the station. It’s as though the train is searching for its way out of London, and you know it’s found the right course when the rhythm becomes all steady. It made the train jiggle around even more than usual, and my boater fell down from the rack like I thought it would; Miss Newman smiled at me as I put it back on my lap.
We passed offices and blocks of flats with windows dirtied up by the railway and tall old houses with flat roofs and clothes hanging out to dry so close you could
just about grab them. Quite quickly there were rows and rows of smaller houses with long gardens down to the railway. Later there were parks and playing fields with white clouds above and bigger houses with huge trees in between. Soon we were whizzing along by the River Thames with Windsor Castle in the distance and then out into the countryside with the train going as fast as fast can be.
Luckily, the ticket collector came round very soon after we were outside London and Miss Newman asked him if he would help get our bags down because it would soon be time for us to have our lunch. He was a tall man, and he lifted everything down for us with no bother at all in just a few seconds. Miss Newman took her knitting out of her bag and clickety-clacked away with a happy expression on her face. I think she’d been worried too about how we would get the bags down. I was very pleased to have mine back, especially when I pushed my ear against it and could hear my clock ticking away.
Then I started to think about Miss Newman saying to the ticket inspector that it would soon be time for our lunch. That’s when I remembered about the sandwiches. I was supposed to have my own and Mummy was meant to have made them for me, but it was my fault because it was up to me to remember and remind her of those sorts of things. I started to worry about what Miss Newman was going to say and what sort of excuses I could make, and I stopped looking out of the window.
Just a little while before we got to Swindon when the train was slowing down, she said, ‘Right everybody—I think it’s time you had your lunch. We’re not having high tea till six o’clock tonight, so I do want you to eat now, please.’ Fisheye opened his case and took out a brown paper bag and Nick took a package of silver foil from his. Miss Newman opened Webster’s bag and took out a small lunch tin with a picture of Noddy on the front which had some sandwiches wrapped in grease-proof paper, an apple, a Milky Way bar and a small thermos flask in it.
‘Get your lunch out, Teasdale,’ she said to me.
‘I’m not hungry, Miss Newman…’
‘Come on—I want you to eat, please.’
‘I really couldn’t, Miss Newman. I’m not hungry.’
She looked at me for a long time and then said very slowly, ‘You haven’t got any sandwiches with you, have you, Teasdale? Your mother hasn’t given you any for the journey, has she?’
‘Yes, she has, Miss Newman—it’s just that I’m not hungry, that’s all.’
‘Show them to me.’
I didn’t know what to do so I unzipped the bag and I put my hand in as though I was searching for the sandwiches. Then I remembered the cake and the bananas that I’d packed in the morning and I tried to feel around for the paper bag I’d put them in. My face was getting hotter and hotter and the others were looking at me, and I knew I might start to cry. I found the bag and took one of the bananas out of it.
‘Perhaps I’ll just have a banana for now,’ I said.
‘I told you to show me your sandwiches, Teasdale.’
I looked at her for what seemed an awfully long time and my hand was still in my bag. I didn’t know what else to say and then I started talking to myself to try and stop from crying. I started to shout to myself in my head. ‘Please, please don’t start crying in front of Nick and Fisheye and especially the new boy that I’m meant to be looking after.’ But it was too late because suddenly I could feel my face was getting wet although I wasn’t making a crying noise. There was nothing I could do about it. And then Miss Newman was looking at me with a shocked expression.
‘It’s alright, Teasdale, there’s no need to get upset. You don’t have to eat your sandwiches if you really don’t want to. Try and eat your banana when you’ve calmed down a little.’ I think she was really surprised to see that I was crying. I put the banana on my lap with the boater on top of it and couldn’t eat any of it.
I hate to cry in front of people. I can’t remember the last time anybody saw me crying. Although I didn’t make any noise when I was doing it, the others saw I had tears on my face. I’m sure they’re all going to talk about it.
We stopped for a bit at Swindon, but I had my eyes closed and didn’t see any of it. When the train started moving again, I opened them and Miss Newman was looking at me with a concerned expression on her face.
‘Alright, Teasdale?’
‘Yes, thank you, Miss Newman,’ I said. But I wasn’t really, because I knew that she’d tell Miss Carson that I didn’t have any sandwiches with me on the train, and then they would talk about Mummy.
When we got to the big tunnel that goes under the river to Wales, Nick Gower told Webster to get ready for when we came up on the other side because the Welsh police would be coming along the train to see everyone’s passports. It wasn’t really big teasing. It was meant to be just a bit of a joke but Webster’s face went all red, and he said, ‘My mummy didn’t give me a passport. Will the police take me to prison?’ I don’t think Miss Newman heard Nick because after she’d had her sandwich, she’d started clickety-clacking away at her knitting again.
‘It’s alright, Webster—Gower was only kidding you,’ I said. ‘You don’t need to have a passport to go to Wales. It’s the same country as England, really.’
The train always slows down to go through the big tunnel under the river, which is very wide at Bristol. I think it must be incredibly deep because I’ve noticed that sometimes your ears go pop when you’re halfway through—like when you’re in an aeroplane and the stewardesses have to come round with a tray of sweets. Webster looked frightened again, and I told him not to worry and that just on the other side we would be at Chepstow Station where we were getting off. I said it in a low voice though, because I was beginning to see that he might need quite a lot of looking after, and I didn’t want to make it look too obvious that I was the one who would be doing it. It really was beginning to look like I was lumbered with quite a weedy boy.
‘How old are you, Webster?’
‘Six and a half,’ he said. That means he’s one of the four youngest boys in the school. There’s him and Spencer and Perrington who are six, and Norton who’s only five and whose mother died when he was four. His father couldn’t cope by himself in Swaziland, so he sends him all the way to England and only sees him for the summer holidays. Everyone at school says his father doesn’t care about him, but I’m not so sure because last Sports Day he came thousands of miles to fetch him. When he saw Norton by the cricket pavilion he picked him up in his arms and kissed him in front of everyone!
Just as we came out on the other side of the tunnel I asked Webster why he had changed schools and was starting a new one in the summer term instead of in the winter term, like most people. He didn’t seem to know what I was talking about at first but then he said, ‘My mummy works in shows in the evenings and my daddy doesn’t live with us anymore, so she said it was for the best if I went to boarding school for a little while. But she says I don’t have to stay if I don’t like it.’ I wanted to ask him more questions about it, but there wasn’t time because we were coming into the station at Chepstow.
I always worry about getting out of the train in time. It doesn’t seem to wait for very long before it starts off again, but this time we all got off quite easily. I knew I didn’t have to worry about my ticket because the inspector had seen it on the train and had punctured a hole in it, and I hadn’t taken my blazer off for the journey. So all I had to remember was my blue bag and my boater, which I was holding in my hand because of the not wearing it unless you are ordered to.
Mr. England was waiting for us just on the other side of the ticket barrier. The guard let him through, and he came towards us with a big smile on his face.
‘Hello, everybody. Nice journey?’ He went straight up to Miss Newman and took her bag from her. ‘Oh thank you, Stuart,’ she said. It wasn’t a very heavy one, but she liked being treated like a lady. Mr. England and Miss Newman are quite good friends, actually; very often you can hear them talking in the Matron’s surge
ry after lights out. Then he went up to Webster and said, ‘Hello, young Mr. Webster. My name’s Mr. England, and you’re going to be in my class for Latin, Scripture and English.’ He put his hand out to him, and after a bit of a pause, Webster shook it and gave him a rather shy smile. I don’t think he’s used to having his hand shaken. I was pleased about it, though, because I suddenly remembered how good Mr. England is at looking after upset boys, and I thought that I would have some help with Webster if it got a bit too difficult.
‘Hello, Ben—how are you? Nice hols?’ He smiled and winked at me and ruffled my hair a bit which usually I don’t like but it’s alright when he does it.
Actually, one of the things that’s not so terribly bad about coming back to school is Mr. England being there. He’s by far the best master in the school, and everybody really likes him. He only punishes you if you’ve been incredibly naughty, and then only with things like setting you an essay about manners or a detention or standing in the corner for a few minutes. He makes sure never to send anyone to Mr. Burston because he doesn’t like people getting slippered and caned. Another thing about him that’s really different is that he knows when anybody is unhappy—like when you’re having a bad homesickness day or properly upset about something and not wanting to talk about it. When my granddad died, everyone at school was quite nice to me for a bit, but for a long time after, Mr. England was especially kind. Sometimes when I was sitting all by myself on the bench at the very end of the tennis courts thinking about it all, he’d come and sit with me and cheer me up with a bit of talking about my stamp collection and stuff.
When we got to the little car park outside the station I was looking round for Mr. England’s car but couldn’t see it anywhere. ‘I’ve got Mr. Burston’s car with me—my Mini’s far too small for all of us,’ he said before I could ask him about it.
The House Martin Page 5
