by Unknown
I must admit the night swim was one of our worst ever. The night was so cold that our teeth were chattering and my feet were completely numb by the time we reached The Glock’s lemon tree. Then Roger chased after a lizard and disappeared. Rambo said we had to find him now that Roger’s a full Crazy Eight member. Eventually, we discovered the crazy animal in a tree looking wild and hunted. Vern tried to coax him down with his stupid cat language but Roger ignored him and climbed higher into the tree. Fatty tried to lure him down with some biltong, but Roger seemed hell bent on staying up the tree and stuffing up our night swim. In the end Mad Dog hurled a rock at Roger that knocked him clean off his branch and sent him screeching down to earth. Vern dived on Roger to protect him from further cruelty but Roger hissed and lashed out at his master for the first time ever, before tearing off into the night. Rambo eventually let us move on without Roger but the atmosphere was gone and the dam was freezing.
About the only good thing I can say about last night was that we didn’t get bust or thrashed.
Saturday 16th March
We demolished St Christopher’s by eight wickets and continued our unbeaten run. My folks didn’t come up to watch us play – so no horror stories for this weekend.
16:00 I put my name down for the St Joan’s second year social next Saturday. Boggo has opened sex betting and the Crazy Eight are all going. (Except for Roger.)
Sunday 17th March
AFRICAN AFFAIRS: ‘THE THIRD FORCE’
Lennox invited a man from the Struggle to address the meeting. His name was Baba Nangu. (He started off by saying that he wasn’t directly related to the small town called Babanango in Zululand, although he had sampled a few of the town’s womenfolk.) Baba Nangu was a short, wiry guy in his forties and was a local ANC comrade. He had a wonderful smiling face and drank coffee by the cupful while smoking a cigarette wrapped in a banana leaf. He told us some funny stories about growing up in the location just outside Richmond and his early days as a freedom fighter. We gathered close to the fire, all eight of us sitting on blankets, while Baba Nangu held court with some amazing stories.
Linton Austin asked Baba Nangu what his economic policies were. Baba Nangu laughed like a bear and said, ‘My friend, we need to stop the human disease in this country before we talk about money.’ Linton looked disappointed and took no further part in the discussion. Gerald then made another blunder by telling Baba Nangu that the government would never sponsor the IFP to kill ANC members. Baba Nangu paused a moment and then asked Gerald where he lived and what his sources were. Gerald blushed bright red and admitted that he lived in Houghton in Johannesburg and that his source was the SABC news. Even Mr Lennox roared with laughter and poor Gerald sank low into his chair and hid his face behind his coffee mug for the rest of the meeting.
Then Baba Nangu fell silent before shaking his head sadly and saying, ‘A Zulu doesn’t need an invitation to fight.’ He shook his head and made a clicking sound. Eventually, Lennox had to stop our guest and his terrifying stories of murder and bloodshed and closed the meeting. We left the two of them deep in conversation lit by a roaring log fire.
Monday 18th March
Wombat called and accused me of stealing a case of her White Horse whisky. I told her I’d been at boarding school for two months and don’t drink whisky. She then called me a vermin, said she was phoning my headmaster, and hung up.
I called Mom immediately to tell her Wombat was harassing me at school. Mom told me not to worry about it. There was a terrible howl in the background, and then Mom said, ‘Oh for God’s sakes, not again!’ Turns out Dad’s erecting an electric fence around our property and had just electrocuted himself for the fourth time in ten minutes. Mom said she refuses to be sympathetic because the fencing people offered to put up the fence free of charge. Apparently, Dad gave them an ‘over my dead body’. Which, according to Mom, may just be an accurate prediction.
I returned from lunch to find the prefects turning my cubicle upside down. Anderson was rifling through the drawers under my bed, Emberton was pulling things out of my footlocker and Julian was inspecting my underpants. The Crazy Eight had all gathered around like rubber-neckers at a car accident. Death Breath wouldn’t let me near my bed and said they were investigating a report of theft.
My heart sank. So my wonderful grandmother had really called The Glock!
I called Mom and gave her the number for the Town Hill Mental Asylum in case she needed it.
Tuesday 19th March
Looks like Vern has made friends with Runt and two of the Darryls. They all followed Vern around on his afternoon bog inspections. Apparently the third Darryl is too homesick to leave the dormitory.
Julian told me that he is directing the House Play next term and that he wants me to ‘study up’ in the holidays for a leading role. I asked him what play we were doing. He didn’t say but said it would most probably be a classic.
Wednesday 20th March
Mr Hall casually mentioned that our three-day hike next term involves carrying a 15kg backpack over 60km in three days! Even worse is that we have to set up camp in pairs and will have no staff guidance or help. Judging by my lack of camping ability there’s a good chance I’ll die of frostbite or get my face eaten off by a pack of jackals!
Viking gave me a list of classic plays. I spent the afternoon hunting them down in the library. I plan to spend the holiday reading classic plays and preparing for my next great stage performance.
Thursday 21st March
Mom called to say that she had taken Wombat to see a psychiatrist. Unfortunately, the wily Wombat was completely sane as soon as they got there and never once even repeated herself. The shrink told Mom there was nothing wrong with Wombat and that Mom was overreacting. Mom said she then went back to Wombat’s flat and found twelve bottles of White Horse whisky in the fridge. She also found a plate of kippers and mouldy mashed potato under Wombat’s bed. Wombat was outraged, blamed Buster Cracknell, and tried to phone the police.
Sunday 24th March
The social at St Joan’s on Saturday didn’t go very well.
FATTY Was warned for stealing food – the school matron caught him loading up sausage rolls into his tog bag.
SIMON Spent the entire night romping in a matric girl’s room.
RAMBO Got serious bat from a blonde girl and spent the night trying to cause a fight with boys from Blacksmith College.
MAD DOG Was locked in the school bus within five minutes of arriving after pretending to wank in front of a group of girls. He then caused quite a bit of damage to the bus.
BOGGO Reckons he has met the love of his life. Her name is Ali and she’s an 8 out of 10. He says they nearly kissed.
VERN Spent the night dancing by himself. His dancing was so spasmodic that it was too embarrassing to let on that we knew him.
ROGER Missed the social and spent the night in Vern’s locker snuggled in his underpants. (Roger refuses to sleep on anything except underpants. When Vern has run out of jocks he moves onto Vern’s shorts cupboard. Boggo reckons it’s a very controversial sign even by cat standards.)
SPUD Spent the whole night unsuccessfully trying to make eye contact with a beautiful girl with long blonde hair.
The sex auction was a bit disappointing. Simon offered up a 32B black bra which Boggo bought for twenty bucks. Vern offered up a rucksack with a girl’s school books and dirty hockey clothes. Boggo accused him of theft and paid him five bucks for the whole lot.
Mom phoned from a call box to report that the home phone isn’t working. Mom blames Dad who made ‘a complete balls-up’ of the electric fence. I could hear muffled banging and shouting from outside the call box. Clearly Dad doesn’t agree. Mom also reckons she’s taking Wombat to a friend who’s a spiritual healer. I think Mom’s terrified she will have to send Wombat to the nut house and Dad’s petrified that Wombat will come and live with us.
Monday 25th March
Emberton whacked my locker with his sugar cane and told me I had a p
hone call. I rushed down the stairs, picked up the phone and heard some frantic grovelling for coins and angry muttering about Telkom being infiltrated by left wing radicals. Then there was loud tapping and scuffling followed by a huge bang, and then the line went dead. I think it’s safe to say the call box is now out of order as well.
Spent the entire afternoon at choir practice. Julian is behaving like a man possessed. We leave for Johannesburg on Friday and clearly perfection isn’t good enough for him!
Tuesday 26th March
Mom called from Marge’s house. I kept listening for background voices but there were none. I could exactly picture Mom sitting in the dining room talking to me on Mermaid’s phone. She reckons the home phone is still broken and that Dad is considering a violent protest march on the nearest Telkom office. Yesterday she took Wombat to the spiritual healer who said Wombat has Cabin Fever. According to the spiritual guru, Cabin Fever is when you stay in the same place for too long and your cheese starts slipping off your cracker. Unfortunately, the next sentence gave me the worst news since the 15th February.
Mom and Wombat are coming to Joburg to follow the choir tour!
I felt a sharp pain in my head followed by a tidal wave of nausea.
SHIT!
Wednesday 27th March
14:15 I HAVE THREE BALL HAIRS!!!
(In truth only one is a ball hair proper, the other two are further north.)
I sprinted up the stairs and told the dormitory I was no longer a spud. They all rushed into my cubicle and Simon brought his toy magnifying glass. (It was quite funny the first time.) After a thorough inspection Rambo announced that I was still a spud. I tried to argue but then Boggo cleared his throat and said we might be ‘splitting hairs here’. Everyone roared with laughter and suddenly Vern grabbed hold of my willy. There was instant silence. Everybody was watching Vern sniggering like a cretin and holding my willy between his thumb and forefinger. I was too shocked to move so I joined everyone else in staring at Vern.
Vern’s sniggering died away and his moronic face reddened. He let go of my willy and his hand shot up to his head and ripped out a knot of hair. He looked at us like a maniac, said, ‘Spud’ and then ran out the dormitory. Roger didn’t follow.
Rambo called a meeting on the spot. He reckoned that Vern is getting worse and should be in a mental institution and then everybody got all excited and aggressive and the meeting dissolved into a pillow fight. I slipped out of the dormitory and headed towards the bogs to check on developments.
Thursday 28th March
Had a chat to The Guv after assembly. He said he’s going to see his brother in England over the holidays. He wished me luck for the choir tour, shouted something in Latin and sent me on my way.
Practised my solo on Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring. Julian called it ‘a triumph’. I didn’t tell him about my ball hairs. He’s so stressed out he may well have had a breakdown.
Bags are packed. I can’t wait to finish the choir tour and get home to my own bed for the holidays.
Friday 29th March
10:00 After saying goodbye to the Crazy Eight I boarded the choir bus to Johannesburg. On the back of the bus somebody had written FAGS ON TOUR with shaving cream. Julian ordered me to sit with him at the back and he draped me in a blanket to keep out the autumn chill. Actually it was sweltering hot on the bus but I didn’t dare argue.
The entire choir struck up the school hymn as we passed through the school gates. We turned the bend onto the main road and I stopped singing. Parked on the shoulder of the road under a tree was a lime green station wagon with darkened windows. Through the windscreen I could just see a great shock of purple hair. I felt the blood rushing to my face as the school hymn continued around me.
I can’t believe Mom and Wombat are following the choir bus. Even worse, Mom seems hell bent on following as close behind the bus as humanly possible without actually touching it.
I asked Julian if I could sit at the front but he refused. I sank low into my seat and prayed nobody would notice them.
But being my life, it didn’t take long for word to spread around the bus that two old ladies were stalking us. Ntoko (a third year who sings a mean baritone) waved at the station wagon. Mom waved back nervously and Wombat picked up her handbag and hid it behind the back seat. Wombat then pointed at Ntoko and said something to Mom who thankfully dropped back to a more reasonable following distance.
We’re staying in a community centre in Parktown in Johannesburg.
Saturday 30th March
11:00 The entire choir, assembled in our naffy robes and cassocks, marched down the aisle of the St Martin’s in the Veld Anglican Church singing:
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green...
I sang with all my heart. The choir sounded beautiful. Poor Julian was dripping with sweat and looked like a lamb being led to the slaughter. Wombat and Mom were sitting in the front row and waved at me as I walked past. I kept singing and didn’t look up from my hymn book. We performed ten songs and two solos. (My solo’s tomorrow at the Johannesburg Cathedral.) After the final number (a fiery rendition of the school hymn), two old ladies in the second row started to applaud. Wombat looked horrified that somebody should clap in a church. She turned around to face the illegal clappers and let rip with a loud Ssssssssssh! The two old ladies stopped clapping immediately and sat down looking embarrassed. Wombat shook her head and looked appalled.
Our evening concert was at a special home for disabled children. Julian told us to sing like nightingales and not to laugh at them.
I felt so sorry for the disabled children, most of whom were in wheelchairs. They loved our singing and afterwards we gave them chocolates and posed for photographs. I couldn’t help noticing that the mentally handicapped kids share a similar demented expression to that of my cubicle mate.
Thankfully, Mom and Wombat didn’t come along to the concert because Wombat says she finds retarded people very disturbing.
Sunday 31st March
EASTER SUNDAY
Johannesburg Cathedral is huge and magnificent. I was really nervous during the warm-up and I could hear my voice shaking on my solo. Mom and Wombat arrived an hour early and watched the entire warm-up from their spots in the front row. Wombat applauded loudly after my trial run.
08:45 We were ordered to the vestry to get into our party clothes. People were piling into the cathedral and outside the traffic had come to a standstill because of all the cars waiting to park. The old bongo drum in my chest was banging away and I could taste that dry salty taste in my mouth that I always get before singing or acting.
Suddenly a powerful arm yanked me out the door of the vestry into a little rose garden outside. I was face to face with a wild looking Julian. ‘Listen to me, Spud,’ he said, looking intensely into my eyes. ‘Today is probably the last time I will perform publicly in this choir. This cathedral is as good as it gets.’ He breathed deeply and looked to be fighting off tears. ‘Spud, I want you to know that yours is the finest schoolboy soprano voice I have ever heard. In a month it will be gone – forever. This is your last chance.’ He looked at me sadly and placed his hands on my shoulders. ‘You’ve done this before. It’s just a bigger cathedral. But have you heard those acoustics?’ Julian gripped my shoulders tightly and said, ‘I want you to sing like you have never sung before. This is your last five minutes of glory, so go out there and be glorious!’
I marched down the aisle feeling like I was ready to chew metal. Thank God my solo was the last song of the service so I had time to calm myself and make sure my voice was well warmed up. The cathedral was packed and the choir sounded brilliant. Julian was right. The acoustics were the best I’ve ever heard. The dean of the cathedral gave a long sermon about the Ten Commandments and then made us pray in silence for ages. I don’t feel that confident about praying anymore because I’m not sure God has much time for me and my little life. Anyway, because I was feeling terrified and had not
hing to lose, I asked God to keep me calm and make my last solo as a spud absolutely perfect. The prayers ended and then Julian sang I’ll Walk With God while the congregation received communion. He sang with such passion that his voice was cracking with emotion on the high notes.
The end of the service approached. The dean of the cathedral blessed the congregation and said, ‘Our final hymn is Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring and will be sung solo by John Milton.’ I stepped forward as the organ began quietly. I took a deep breath, opened my mouth and my high-pitched girl’s voice poured out. There was no shaking this time. It sounded better than ever. Halfway through the solo the choir started processing out around me. Julian had planned the final procession out to the exact moment. His plan was to leave me alone at the altar as the choir disappeared out through the back of the cathedral. It worked brilliantly because the atmosphere as I sang the final lines alone at the altar was magnificent. And then it was finished. There was dead silence in the cathedral. Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at me. I closed my hymn book and walked slowly down the aisle. The congregation remained standing in utter silence. It felt weird and wonderful at the same time. I walked into the vestry and there was a loud cheer from the choir and a huge hug from a tearful Julian.
Monday 1st April
THE HIP HIGHVELD CHOIR COMPETITION (HHCC)
Julian was outraged when we only came second out of a total of twenty school choirs and called it a hometown decision. (Clearly our head of choir didn’t study geography because the winning school was from Upington.) The choir sang the school song on the pavement next to the bus and then the great choir tour of 1991 was over and the boys scattered in different directions to begin their Easter holidays.
