Great Granny's Ghost

by Griff Hosker

  This time the head did not come for Wayne and he left at the normal time at the end of a geography lesson. Maggie warily looked at his face as he came into the entrance hall. She hoped the day had gone better. As soon as she saw the smile she knew it had. “How was it pet?”

  “It was good. I enjoyed it. Did you get to the bingo today?”

  “Yes and I won!”

  “Fantastic! How much?”

  “Just a tenner but you know what they say better than a slap in the face with a wet herring!”

  The two of them walked through the car park laughing and chattering. Both thinking the same thoughts, ‘we’re half way through the first week and it is going well.’

  Chapter 6

  The next day Wayne didn’t look as happy as normal. Maggie noticed this. “What’s up Wayne?”

  He swallowed a mouthful of porridge and then said, “It’s PE.”

  “Don’t you like PE? That’s games and such isn’t it?”

  “Yes but… I’m so little and the bigger kids pick on me.”

  “You tell your nice Miss Tozer if they do to tell me and I will go up and sort it out.”

  Wayne just nodded. Nana didn’t understand how schools worked. Oh sure, the bullying would stop for a while but then it would become sneakier, more devious and more vindictive. He would become isolated, even more so than he was at that moment and he would find his bullies increasing not decreasing. He would have to find a way to deal with it, on his own. At least he always had the sanctuary that was Hope Street. “You going to the bingo again nan?”

  “Yes might as well. I get out just in time to pick you up. I’ve told all my friends about you. They can’t wait to meet you.”

  When Anna came she was as bubbly as ever. Inside she was pleased with herself and the school. A difficult transition had been achieved. Only one more day until the weekend and once they had made that milestone it would be safe to say that Wayne was embedded in Spion Kop and she could focus on her other cases. She had spoken with the teachers who had taught Wayne and received favourable reports, all apart from the monstrosity that was Tony Lancaster. She couldn’t understand why Dave tolerated such a bad teacher. She knew he got good results with the top classes but at what cost? There were more damaged children after he had taught them than there were successes, it just wasn’t worth it. She saw the sports bag. “PE today.”

  “Yes, this afternoon.”

  “Well that’s a nice end to the day eh?”

  ‘If only you knew.’

  The morning started badly with a maths lesson with its daily dose of humiliation, although to be fair to Mr Lancaster he humiliated every child in the class. It was their set which offended him. They were set 88 and he only achieved results with the better students. He believed that this class would never learn. They were a waste of his time and the school’s time. He yearned for the days of grammar schools when a teacher like him would have only taught the best children not the ‘scruffs’ he had to deal with on a daily basis.

  Wayne had history and found another oasis. Mr Green was a really good teacher and Wayne recognised it straight away. Although a youngish man he wore his hair in an old fashioned way and had a habit of bouncing around the room on the balls of his feet giving him the affectionate nickname of ‘Tigger’. More importantly for Wayne, he judged you by what you did not what the SATS said. He made Wayne’s day by being the first teacher to comment on his penmanship. “What lovely writing Wayne. That is really nice work. Have a merit.”

  He handed Wayne a slip of paper which Wayne looked at blankly. “What’s a merit, Sir?”

  Mr Green looked at the young boy. “You mean you have been here for almost a week and no one has given you a merit?” Wayne shook his head. Looking at the class he asked, “Has anyone else had a merit this week?” Not a hand went up. Inside he was fuming but he went on, “Mr Campbell has a system where, if you do good work, you get a merit. At the end of each month the three students with the most merits gets a prize and at the end of each term there is a draw in each year and those who have the most merits are entered. The prize is an I-pod for each year.” Once again he was met by a sea of blank faces. These were the bottom set, who would give them a merit? “If you think you have done good work or a teacher doesn’t give out merits just ask the teacher if they are giving out merits.” The whole class inwardly groaned at the thought of asking Mr Lancaster for a merit. For a start it would break the ‘Don’t ask me a question’ rule and secondly it result in a rant against stupid systems rewarding children for doing what they ought to be doing anyway.

  Mr Green shook his head and went back to the whiteboard. He would have to bring the issue up at the next staff meeting. He knew that he would be preaching to the converted, many of the younger staff but all of the dinosaurs would sit there with arms folded and faces that looked like they had just swallowed a whole lemon.

  Wayne enjoyed the rest of the lesson which was about local issues, the Heugh battery and the shelling of Hartlepool in World War One. It was far better than the history he had done in London. That had been about the political struggle of workers to form trade unions. This was real history, history he could actually see. Mr Green had taken them to the eastern window of the classroom and showed them where the German ships sailed and he pointed out where the shells hit. It was the best history lesson Wayne had ever had and even his ever silent companion, Stephen, seemed to enjoy it. Wayne couldn’t wait to get home and tell Nana Thomson all about it.

  After lunch he went to PE with a heavy heart. He had a sense of impending doom. He wasn’t good at PE and PE teachers always liked the good footballers, the ones in the school team and the ones with the good hands. He could run and run fast but they only seemed to bother with that when the school’s sports day came and they always picked their footballers for the actual competitions because they had seen them run. It just didn’t seem fair. Trying hard didn’t seem to be valued. As they queued up out side the changing rooms Wayne noticed, with sinking spirits, that there were a lot more boys he didn’t know. They were all in the bottom half of the year group but in higher sets than Wayne for his lessons. He shrank visibly when he saw Michael Roberts, who drew his finger across his throat and mouthed, “You’re dead!”

  The teacher they were going to have was Mr Jennings; a young teacher popular with the boys and adored by the girls for his good looks. He had been a pupil at the school and returned a couple of years earlier. He had an engaging smile and an easy manner. It was no wonder he was popular. Wayne’s spirits rose a little when he saw who his teacher was to be. Perhaps Mr Jennings wouldn’t be like every PE teacher he had ever known. Perhaps he would be more like Mr Green or Miss Lennon. The door was unlocked and Mr Jennings said, “Right lads go in and get changed. It’s football. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Wayne tried to shrink against the wall. This was his worst nightmare. Trapped in a changing room with a mob of lads most of whom wanted to hurt him. He tried to get changed as quietly and inconspicuously as possible. He was just pulling his shorts up when the first blow cracked into his kidneys. His breath was taken away as a cigarette fume filled voice whispered in his ear, “Now we’ll show you what we do to little Cockneys who leave London.” He was spun around to face Michael Roberts and two other boys Wayne recognised from the technology lesson. Michael pulled his fist back and hit Wayne in the solar plexus so hard it took his breath away. He couldn’t breathe! He felt like he was drowning. The two boys held his arms and Michael pummelled Wayne’s stomach and ribs. The blows came in with a rhythm which would have impressed Miss Lennon and a power which would have pleased Mr Carr had they been delivered by a hammer to a nail. The assailants assiduously avoided his face and they continued until a boy, keeping watch by the door, shouted, “Watch it! Jenners!”

  Mr Jennings’s voice shouted, “Come on boys out on the field.” To Wayne the voice seemed disembodied as if in a tunnel far away.

  “As he left the room Michael spat out, “And keep your mout
h shut or next time it will be worse.” Wayne wondered how it could be worse?

  Wayne sucked up his tears and pulled on his shoes. Stephen was concerned, although his face was still the blank canvas it always was. “You all right?” Wayne still couldn’t speak and he was afraid of actually crying out if he tried to speak and so he just nodded.

  The game itself was everything Wayne had dreaded. Mr Jennings, Wayne learned his first name was Andrew, when the young female PE teacher came over and they flirted while the boys played, just let them play, occasionally refereeing. What was worse was that Michael was a good footballer and Mr Jennings kept praising him. Wayne couldn’t go to him about the bullying. When Wayne did get the ball, which wasn’t very often; the other boys would slide in and take his legs away. He soon learned not to be where the ball was.

  Because Mr Jennings spent so long flirting they were late back in the changing rooms and he said, “The bell is going to go so give the showers a Miss.”

  Wayne breathed a painful sigh of relief. That meant he would not have to suffer another beating. He got changed in a world record time and ran as fast as he could to the sanctuary that was the entrance hall. His spirits rose when he saw his nana talking to Mr Campbell.

  “Well I think he has done really well Mrs Thomson. Settled in really quickly considering. Miss Tozer and Mr Green speak highly of him. I think you can be proud of him.”

  “Of course I am proud of him. He is a good lad. Ah there you are bairn. Good day?” Still not trusting himself to speak Wayne just nodded and took her hand, gripping it tightly. The rain had just started and they had to rush through the damp streets the drizzling drops of water flying in their faces. Wayne looked at poor nan, she looked very flushed and out of breath. He sometime forgot how old she was.

  “Eeeh I’ll just have a sit down.” She rubbed her arm. “I’ll have to see the doctor about this arm you know it aches like mad some times. Don’t know why. Must be the damp. It’s probably arthritis.”

  “Shall I make you a nice cup of tea?”

  “That would be lovely. I’ll have a little rest and then start your tea.”

  “No hurry nan. I want to change my library book. I have finished the first one in the series and I want to start the next.”

  After he had made her the tea he ran to the library. He felt safe in the library as it was the one place the thugs wouldn’t go and he was a fast enough runner that he could outrun them if they saw him. He wondered what he could do about the situation. In his experience telling the teachers only aggravated the problem. The only thing he could do was develop an injury which would stop him having to have PE. He could cut his leg; that would get him out of next week’s lessons on Monday and Thursday. He would then think up something else the following week. Maybe he would revert to the strategy from Ken Livingston Academy, he could play truant. What did they call it up here? Nick off. He could nick off and get his nana to write him a note. At least Friday meant he wouldn’t be in the same class as his tormentors. There were some advantages to being in a special class. Of course Monday was a totally different problem. He would be in the yard at lunchtime and break time. How could he get out of that? He had Sunday to come up with a plan and to injure himself.

  When he returned, Nan had cooked tea and although she still looked a funny colour she was much more cheerful and asked him about his day. “Who is this Mr Green? What does he teach?”

  “He teaches history. We did about when the Germans shelled Hartlepool.”

  “My mam told me about that. She was only a baby but it killed some of her relatives. Very famous is that.”

  “And he liked my writing. He gave me a merit.”

  Looking delighted she said, “Did he? Can I have a look?””

  “Sorry nan, we hand them in to our form tutor and they file them. You can win prizes if you get a lot.”

  “Well done you. Right let’s have our tea and then you can get a bath. Your legs are still dirty from playing football.”

  The memory suddenly cast a shadow over the happiness he had briefly felt. “Okay nan.”

  The bathroom had been an add-on downstairs when there were grants available to bring these nineteenth century homes into the twentieth century. It was just behind the kitchen but that did not seem strange to Wayne. He liked a bath, it was warm and comfortable and nana had bought him some bubble bath which made it feel even more luxurious; the bubbles seemed to rise like clouds from the water. There was no lock on the bathroom door but this was a minor inconvenience. When the door was shut the bathroom was in use when open it could be used. The bath was feeling particularly good to Wayne with his aches and bruises from the beating. His ribs were already a greeny black colour and there were purple wheals all over his body. He found it hard to wash himself as his body was so tender. In the end he just let the bath soak off the dirt.

  In the kitchen Maggie was just finishing drying the dishes. She was feeling her age and was looking forward to a nice sit down in front of the television. As she put the tea towel over its rail she noticed Wayne’s bath towel was still hung up outside the bathroom. Wayne had forgotten to take it in. Picking it up, she tapped on the door and opened it. “It’s only me Wayne here’s your towel.”

  When the door opened Wayne was already out of the bath with his back to the door and all his gran saw were the bruises. Giving a little cry she turned him around and saw them all over his body. “What happened? Who did this?”

  Grabbing the towel Wayne covered himself up. “It’s nothing nan. Let me get dressed.” She saw the pleading his eyes, his nakedness was as embarrassing as the bruises and she went out shutting the door with a heavy heart. He hadn’t said anything when he came home; how could this have happened? She felt confused and she slumped down heavily in the chair. It was times like this that she felt like taking up smoking again.

  The door of the bathroom opened and a very sheepish Wayne came out. “Come here Wayne.”

  He stood there in his pyjamas and dressing gown, looking at the floor. “Sorry nan.”

  “Sorry? What have you to be sorry for? You didn’t do this to yourself did you?” he shook his head. “Now look at me.” She lifted his chin and noticed the tears coursing down his cheeks. She threw her arms around him and began to cry herself. “You poor bairn! What have they done to you?” When his sobs had subsided into hiccoughs she drew back to look him in the eye. “Now Wayne tell me what happened and who did this. And I want the truth mind. I know when you are lying. I always did with your mam.” She shook her head, her eyes filled with resolution. “I’m going to nip this in the bud. This is not going to ruin your life like it did your mam. So come on son, tell your nan.”

  He looked up at his nana and saw a face he had never seen before, a serious face, firmly set and with purpose in the old lady’s eyes. He fell to his knees and told her the whole story from the technology lesson, through the corridors to the PE lesson. When he had finished there was a silence and Wayne buried his face in her shoulder. Had he looked at her face he would have seen a silent rage and an outrage that such an innocent and harmless boy should have been the victim of bullying.

  “Right well it’s too late now to do anything, the school will be closed. If you had told me straight away… well no point crying over spilt milk. First thing in the morning we are going to see that headmaster and get this sorted out once and for all. I am not having you in fear of your life. And I know the Roberts family they are a bad lot. Always were, even when your mam was at school. Now you go up to bed, I have some liniment to rub on and I’ll bring you some hot chocolate. Off you go pet; you read your new book and don’t you worry Nana Thomson will sort this lot out first thing in the morning.”

  She was calmer by the time she returned with the tray of cups. As Wayne sipped the hot chocolate she removed his pyjama jacket and gently put the liniment on the bruises. Even though she was gentle Wayne could not help wincing. “I think they might have broken a rib. We’ll go to the doctor’s after I have sorted that hea
dmaster out. Caring school indeed! If those teachers spent more time teaching and less time gallivanting all over, it would be a safer place. How’s that?”

  “Much better Nan. Thanks.”

  “Sleep tight. Hope the bedbugs don’t bite.” Leaning down she kissed him gently on the forehead.

  Wayne felt much better having told someone. He felt as though it wasn’t hopeless. Perhaps he should have told her at the end of school and then it would have been sorted out. He knew that she would fret and worry all night over this. He suddenly put the book down. He should have told Anna. She was a social worker; she would have known what to do. He read to the end of the chapter and then slipped downstairs to clean his teeth. As he passed nan’s bedroom he saw that the light was off and he was pleased, she needed her rest.

  He was just coming along the landing when he heard the thump from nan’s room. It sounded as though she had knocked over her chest of drawers or something.

  “You all right nan?” The light was still on but there was just silence. “Nan?” He began to panic. His nana had not looked well earlier, suppose she had slipped and banged her head? She would not be able to answer. He opened the bedroom door and there, in her nightdress and dressing gown was his nana lying on the floor. Her eyes were open but she appeared incapable of speech. She was a horrible grey colour and her breathing sounded raspy. “Nan! Nan! What is it?” He tried to pick her up but he couldn’t. What could he do? Then he remembered the telephone and he ran downstairs and dialled 999.

  Were it not for the obvious panic in Wayne’s voice the operator might have believed it was yet another crank call. He gave all the information and then added, “Hurry please. She looks awful.”

  “Right love you sit tight. Is there anyone else in the house?”

  “No just me.”

  “Right I’ll send the police as well. Don’t worry pet the ambulance is on the way.”

  That was no good. His nana needed help right now. He suddenly remembered Mary Burns and he flung open the front door and hammered on the neighbour’s door. “Mrs Burns. Mrs Burns come quickly.”