by R. W. Hughes
Geoff adapted quite quickly to the basic rules of the school, that if you did as you were told, kept a low profile and you were not a troublemaker or a gang leader, life in the institution was not too bad. The teachers had their hands full with the rest of the unruly element in the classes, regularly dishing out their own form of physical rough justice to the boys placed in their safekeeping.
The only form of education that he retained in this secure accommodation was not maths or English, but how to break into a car and hot wire it without the ignition key and drive it away. He soon learned how to force open a window without making a great deal of noise which would only cause undue attention, to check whether a building had a burglar alarm or just a dummy box and make sure that there were no noisy dogs in that or adjacent properties. He could tell the difference between genuine and poor quality imitation jewellery, where to sell the proceeds of your illegal endeavours, but more importantly, to obtain a reasonable price with no awkward questions being asked.
The discussions held after lights out between the members of the group in his dormitory, with himself as a silent observer, were far more educational to his chosen path in life than that set by the education department. He was amazed at how much detail he remembered of the experiences from the bragging of some of the older occupants who shared the same dormitory. He paid more attention to this information than anything the weary teachers tried to enforce on their unruly, disinterested and overcrowded classes.
Chapter Three
It was during this long period in the school that Geoff struck up a relationship with two of the other long-term residents. They were two brothers, John and Derek Bolton; both were quiet and shy like him. They were forced together by circumstances after an incident in their dormitory after lights out one evening. There was a form bully called Sidney Locket, otherwiseknown as Sid, the same lad that Geoff had had the confrontation with in the railway station toilets.
Sid was now much bigger and heavier than Geoff last remembered him and he was always picking on either Geoff or one of the two brothers. This bully had a liking for jam pudding and, if Geoff or the other two lads would not give him their pudding at dinner, he would go out of his way to make their life at the school a misery. His favourite trick was to wait until night time when they were asleep in their bunks, and then he would urinate over them, usually over their hair and faces.
The victim would awake, stinking and cursing, while the other occupants of the dormitory would be shouting at them to be quiet. Meanwhile, the perpetrator would sidle off back to his own bunk, laughing to himself at the power he had over these smaller boys.
One night, Sid was preparing to perpetrate his usual degrading action against one of the brothers for not doing what he had demanded during the previous day or for not doing it fast enough.
As the bully was about to urinate over the form in the bottom bunk, the body suddenly came to life throwing back the bed covers and swinging out with a tennis racket, catching Sid Locket on the end of his penis.
‘Take that Locket; bloody well leave me alone!’ Derek Yelled. At the same time, his older brother, John, kicked out at the bully from the top bunk, catching him with his heel on the side of his ear. Leaving Sid Locket screaming.
‘Take that as well, you bastard!’
He did not know which was the most painful. He had one hand holding his throbbing penis while passing urine uncontrollably through his fingers leaving a dark, damp stain on his pyjama trouser legs, or his painful ear, which he covered with his other hand.
Meanwhile, the dormitory was in an uproar of jeering and shouting attracting the attention of the live-in teacher. Someone had turned on the lights and several of the older boys were poking fun at the bully as he hopped around the room obviously in great discomfort. The look on Sid Locket’s face as he cursed the brothers, along with the evil glint in his eyes, did not bode well for them in the future. It was obvious they would now be targeted, and would not be allowed to get off lightly for their spirited resistance.
The following day was Thursday. It was jam pudding day and Geoff knew that it was more than likely that Sidney Locket would make a point in front of the rest of the school to recover his reputation by demanding his pudding.
Geoff had a plan forming in his mind and he was prepared to put it into practice in the event of the confrontation with Sidney Locket, which would no doubt take place. He was gambling, after the previous night’s incident, that he could call upon, and receive, the help of the two Bolton brothers.
True to form, Sidney Locket was first in the queue for the jam pudding. He gulped his food down in great mouthfuls, quickly finishing his before some of the others at his table had even started theirs.
As Geoff, after collecting his sweet, sat down on the wooden form at the dining table, he was aware of the large overpowering presence of Locket standing behind him.
Locket did not say a word. He just leant forward over Geoff, took his plate containing his portion of pudding and custard, and slipped his own empty plate in its place. He then stepped back and prepared himself for some reaction from Geoff. Those on the table on either side stopped eating, waiting in expectation of a scuffle or perhaps a fight, even though it would be a one-sided contest considering the size of Sid Locket and the puny frame of his opponent.
Geoff did nothing; he just sat there looking at the empty plate in front of him. Locket made a sneering remark, ‘Scared little runt!’ as he smirked at those watching him nearby then strutted back to his own place several tables away.
Geoff looked up. The Bolton brothers were leaving their table with their empty dishes and taking them to where all the dirty plates were collected. Taking the empty plate left by Locket, he moved to join the queue behind them.
He had only just placed himself behind John Bolton when there was a tremendous scream from the table where Locket sat. The bully had delved with gusto into the second helping of his favourite pudding. He had already scooped up four great spoonfuls of the sticky pudding into his mouth; the sweet flavoured jam had hidden the taste of the extensive amount of mustard Geoff had pumped into the jam roly-poly, until the extreme fiery feeling suddenly exploded in the bully’s stomach, lungs and tongue.
The scream that followed was not a long one; because Sid Locket was busy gulping water straight from the jug on the centre of the table in a vain attempt to quench the feeling of being on fire that had spread through his intestines.
The large amount of water that he swallowed had little effect on the intense burning sensation he was experiencing. His face was now bright red and his eyes seemed as if they were bulging from their sockets. When he tried to shout all that he could manage was a faint croaking sound. The rest of the lads in the canteen were rolling about with laughter at the antics of the dormitory bully, as he scrambled amongst the dining tables looking for more drinking water, in a last ditch attempt to ease the terrible pain he was now suffering, it was if the inside of his stomach was ablaze.
Sid Locket had been severely humiliated twice in the last few days in front of the boys from his dormitory. There was a danger he would lose his hold over this group, which was based on fear and intimidation. His eyes had been reduced to fine slits from the effects of the mustard. Through this misty haze he picked out the perpetrator of his present situation standing with the two brothers who had also recently dared to challenge his authority.
Sidney Locket was the biggest boy in the school; he was even bigger and heavier than most of the teachers. Something had snapped in his brain.
All Sid Locket saw through the mist of pain were three boys who he was going to give the biggest kicking they had ever had in their short lives. There was murder in his heart as he made for the group at the dirty plates table.
The rest of the boys scattered as Locket, his face now a deep purple, wheezing and gasping for breath with tears streaming from the fine slits where his eyes had once been, headed in the general direction of Geoff and the Bolton brothers. He was like a wild
bull, kicking to one side several chairs that he happened to stumble against, in his headlong rush to make physical contact with the three younger boys whose images were growing dimmer by the second through his rapidly closing eyes.
Geoff bolted one way and collided with the Bolton brothers who were going the other way. They parted as Locket, arms outstretched, charged to where all three had been a split second before. He missed the boys by inches but his impetus carried him forward until he collided with the table holding all the dirty dishes. The combined weight of all the crockery and a big thirteen stone lad was too much for the frail timber supports of the fold away piece of furniture. It snapped in half sending all the dishes onto the floor of the canteen with a resounding crash, leaving the figure of Sidney Locket floundering in the centre amongst the broken remains of crockery, greasy plates, knives, forks, spoons and portions of left-over food.
By now there were several teachers trying to regain some form of order by sending the rest of boys, including Geoff and the Bolton brothers, most of whom were laughing hysterically, from the canteen and into the school playground.
Geoff was standing with the Bolton boys as the ambulance took Sidney Locket away. He was laid out on a stretcher covered with a blanket, a mask over his face and tubes connected to a gas cylinder bottle that had OXYGEN written in large letters on the side. Via the school grapevine Geoff heard Sidney Locket was kept in hospital for three weeks with severe blistering of his mouth, a badly swollen throat and some minor problems with the lining of his stomach. When he recovered he did not return to the young offenders’ institute. By then he was eighteen so he was released into the care of a social worker where he was allowed to mix with the unsuspecting general public.
*
‘Bullies are always cowards,’ murmured Geoff to himself, recalling one of the sayings of the old tramp who he had not seen for several years. When he had been on the run from the social workers he had been to the old house on several occasions but Sir Reginald was never there. He knew that he had been there though because the cigarettes and the bottle of cheap booze had been removed from their own special hiding place.
The last time he had visited the property it was fenced off with all the ground floor windows and doors securely boarded up with large signs warning, ‘Unsafe – Keep Out!’ Geoff managed to gain entry by removing an iron grid in the rear yard then sliding down into the basement; this was where the coal was delivered for the original occupants.
There were several inches of water in the cellar that he hadn’t noticed in the poor light. It came over his shoes and soaked his socks. He squelched up the stone basement steps forcing open the flimsy wooden door at the top to give him access from under the stairs into what had been the kitchen.
Their hiding place for his valuables was in an old iron boiler with a heavy iron lid at the side of the fireplace. Sir Reginald had told him that in here things were safe and dry from insects or vermin, if the boiler had been copper or brass he said, it would have been taken long ago for its scrap value. He had also told him that it was here that people used to boil and wash their clothes before automatic washing machines appeared.
He was full of information; there was nothing Sir Reginald didn’t know, thought Geoff. He missed their long conversations and the patience the old man had shown when explaining to him the things he did not quite understand.
There was only one item at the bottom of the boiler, wrapped in a brown paper bag. It was the large spoon with the fancy engraving at the end of the handle that the old man had used to stir and share the food when Geoff was there.
It’s been left for me by Sir Reginald as a kind of keepsake for our friendship, he thought as he replaced the spoon back in the paper bag then into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Many months later when he was again in the Offerton area on the outskirts of Stockport he went to the old cottage, it wasn’t there any more, it had been demolished.
The site had been cleared; all that was left was a piece of waste ground. There was nothing to remind him of those few happy occasions that he had experienced in his adolescent years in the company of the old tramp. He often wondered what had become of the old man who he had fondly known as Sir Reginald.
*
After the Sid Locket incident Geoff and the two Bolton boys were held in awe by a large number of the other pupils. They were also the only group left alone by the various gangs that were always manoeuvring for positions of dominance and power in the school.
The only other person who could not be intimidated by these gangs was a lad named Harry Sutton, or ‘Sooty’ as he was nicknamed, after a famous puppet TV character whose old black and white series was being re-shown on the TV. This nickname did not seem to bother Harry Sutton. In fact he seemed to enjoy being named after a TV celebrity.
Harry had been sent to the reform school, not because he had been involved in any petty criminal activities like some of the pupils, but because the authorities did not know what to do with him or where to send him.
Harry Sutton had a stubborn streak that went beyond belief. If Harry did not want to do something, nothing or nobody could change his mind. He would sit for days in the classroom, refusing to do any lessons at all, no matter what the teachers attempted. He just sat in the classroom or stood in the corner where he had been sent, seemingly in a world of his own, just smiling to himself! Harry was a big lad, nearly as big as Sid Locket, but he never threw his weight around like the bully. He was, if the truth be known, a quiet lad really, quite happy in his own little innocent world.
One day during lunch break Geoff was in the toilets of the playground having an illegal smoke using some dimps he had collected. He was using the tobacco from these to make a home rolled cigarette. A commotion taking place outside the old, red brick building attracted his attention. He placed the roll-up in his top pocket before hurrying outside to join the Bolton brothers who were also there; they too did not wish to miss anything that would break the monotony of the daily drudgery of the detention centre. ‘I think something is about to kick off,’ Derek said in an excited whisper.
The gang that was prominently in power in the school at that particular time was led by two lads, Wilf Norton and his cousin, Dave Higgins.
Dave Higgins was a sadistic, small young thug. He had a mop of bright ginger hair and a temper to match. He was the type that would start trouble then slide into the background to let his bigger cousin and the cronies that made up his gang take the flack.
Apparently, Dave Higgins along with four more of their team had been strutting around the recreation area. All the other boys moved out of their way giving them a wide berth.
If Dave Higgins had not been in such deep conversation with Wilf, he might have noticed that Harry was unintentionally standing in their path. They could have deviated slightly to avoid a confrontation but they did not, they then found that their way was blocked. Harry Sutton was standing with his hands in his pockets, oblivious to the approach of the gang of lads.
For Wilf Norton, to move around Harry would have been seen as a loss of face; that could not be seen to happen. ‘Move!’ snarled Norton in his usual threatening manner standing in front of Harry. Harry just stayed where he was, a half smile on his face.
‘Move dummy!’ repeated Higgins, following up his cousin’s remark with a push in Harry’s chest, this however had no effect on Harry’s solid stance.
By now a crowd had silently gathered around the trio, waiting in expectation for the outcome of this encounter, they too were hoping that something was about to happen that would break the monotony of the daily routine.
Another push, this time from Norton and much harder than the first, had the same negative affect on Harry. Seeing there was no reaction from the big lad gave the gang extra courage.
Norton threw a punch at Harry that hit him on the shoulder and another punch from Higgins hit him in the stomach. Harry still didn’t retaliate so the rest of the gang piled in, throwing punches in the general
direction of the still upright Harry Sutton. The gang were really in one another’s way being so close together and could not get a lot of power behind their hail of blows that rained in on the unfortunate Harry.
Harry in the meantime had taken a lot of punches and was slow to react but when he had decided what he was going to do, he did it with amazing speed for such a large heavy youth. His two great hands shot out, grabbing Wilf Norton and one of the gang by the collars of their shirts. Closing his hands Harry banged both of his assailants’ heads together letting the semi-conscious boys drop, then he continued with his arm in a flowing motion back-handing another one of the gang in the nose, who was unfortunate to be the closest to him and not fast enough to move out of the way.
Then, grabbing the surprised Dave Higgins in a great bear hug, he squeezed and squeezed and squeezed! There were only two words Dave Higgins could say before he ran out of oxygen,
‘Help me.’ These were directed at the other two in the group who had quickly stepped back when they saw what was happening to their friends. But now they attacked Harry with renewed fury, punching and kicking at the big lad in a vain attempt to force him to release Higgins, whose face was by now the same colour as his bright red hair, and whose struggles, which initially had been quite violent, had now become quite feeble.
Harry eventually released Dave Higgins who collapsed on the ground gasping for breath. The two remaining members stopped their onslaught as soon as they saw Harry’s arms were free; stepping back to join their dazed friend with the bloody nose standing several feet away, the wind had gone out of their sails and they obviously did not want the same treatment as their leader.
The other two members of the gang were still on the ground in a kneeling position, holding their throbbing and very sore heads alongside Higgins who had now struggled to his knees, still holding his chest and gasping in great mouthfuls of oxygen.
