Spud

by Unknown

  Monday 26th August

  LUNCHEON WITH THE GUV & THE EEC

  I wasn’t quite sure who or what the EEC was so I was a little apprehensive as I made my way across Trafalgar towards The Guv’s house for our Monday lunch. I found my English teacher fast asleep in his rocking chair with a huge pile of books on his coffee table. I cleared my throat and coughed. The Guv didn’t stir. I didn’t know whether I should shake his arm or call out ‘Sir’. Either way I was certain to give him a fright. I decided to retreat into the kitchen and then out the back door and start again. I waited a few seconds and then knocked loudly.

  ‘Milton the poet!’ came the instant reply. Then The Guv shouted, ‘Speak, friend, and enter!’ I made a second entry through the kitchen and into his living room. The Guv was now standing over his pile of books looking like he had never been asleep. He tapped away at the top of the pile with the handles of his glasses and said, ‘Milton – meet the EEC.’ I grinned like a cretin, not knowing what he was talking about and too embarrassed to admit it.

  Turns out that EEC is actually a poet. His name is EE Cummings but he writes it as ee cummings.

  The Guv began by threatening to shove my head into the fire if I so much as sniggered at EEC’s name. The Guv said, ‘For some unknown and unfathomable reason this school only allows third years and matrics to read his work. It pains me to say that you haven’t met this genius before.’ I asked The Guv if it had sex in it. The Guv said there was no sex in it but he’d had a lot of sex because of it.

  ‘The reason, Milton, why this man’s poetry is deemed dangerous to young minds is because he doesn’t use any punctuation.’

  The Guv was right. ee cummings doesn’t use any punctuation at all and doesn’t use capital letters for his initials or name. The Guv called him a literary pioneer and then told me that if I attempted to copy EEC’s punctuation he’d fail me and have me tortured.

  After lunch he made me read out a poem called in just spring (notice no punctuation). I must admit I found it a beautiful poem but very difficult to read. Because there were no full stops my brain wouldn’t let me stop to breathe. I must have been racing along in my reading because The Guv thumped his spoon into the table and accused me of a massacre. The next time I read it through he repeatedly pinged his fork against his wine glass to indicate where I should breathe.

  I eventually mastered the EEC. The Guv’s right. The man is a genius.

  Inspired by the EEC, I wrote Mermaid a short love poem without any punctuation in it. I then posted it off and immediately regretted my decision. I’m not sure if the Mermaid is a poemy type of girl.

  21:00 At lights out Anderson announced that Fatty had been elected by the matrics and post-matrics to be the junior house tug-of-war captain. The big showdown takes place on Trafalgar on Wednesday and Fatty has to choose a team of six, including himself. Fatty held immediate trials which resulted in Vern and me having an arm wrestle to decide who was going to take the final place on the tug-of-war team.

  The duel between my cubicle mate and me was very evenly matched. Our fists were locked in a shaky standoff and I watched in fascination as Vern’s face grew redder and redder as he strained to overpower my hand. Unfortunately for Vern, he sneezed and Fatty disqualified him on the spot. Vern was bitterly disappointed and marched off to the bogs muttering to himself and stamping his feet as he walked.

  Fatty then woke up the Sad Six and organized a knockout competition to decide who was the strongest first year. In the first round Spike dislocated Runt’s finger and Darryl was too scared of arm wrestling Barryl that he disqualified himself without giving a reason. In the end Barryl easily beat JR Ewing in the final.

  I have to take on Barryl tomorrow night at 10pm.

  Tuesday 27th August

  22:00 Our bout lasted about three seconds. Barryl shook hands with the Crazy Eight and I slunk off to my bed feeling embarrassed and, like Vern, pretended to fall asleep while everyone else discussed tactics.

  Wednesday 28th August

  Thanks to some heavy overnight rain, Trafalgar field was extremely soggy for the tug-of-war competition. (This was according to Boggo’s mid morning pitch report.) Rambo (despite not being captain) called the team together after lunch and changed tactics. The new tactics involved Fatty tying the end of the rope around his waist and digging his feet deep into the ground. He was the anchor man. The plan was then for the rest of our team to wait until the opposition had exerted all their energy in trying to pull Fatty out from six inches below the surface of the field and then the rest of the team would simply reel the opposition in like an exhausted fish.

  Mad Dog took Fatty’s old rugby boots and nailed a metal toe cap onto the front of each boot. He then sharpened each toe cap with a flint stone so that the points could dig deep into the soft ground and make it impossible to move him.

  The plan worked brilliantly and completely demoralized the Larson team, who were hauled in at the speed of a waterskier rather than a fish. Unfortunately, the anchorman sank really deep into the ground and had to be dug out with the help of Rambo, Mad Dog and a spade. Mr Hall banned Fatty’s boots for the semi-final because he had already succeeded in digging a small trench in the middle of Trafalgar, but the Crazy Five and Barryl didn’t need any cunning tactics in the end. We were far too strong for everyone and won the trophy without even breaking a sweat. Sparerib was beside himself with excitement. He has been becoming increasingly worried that our house won’t win a single competition this year for the first time since 1923. He gave Fatty a thump on the back and said, ‘We certainly took our time this year, Sidney, but thanks to you and your good men we’ve avoided disgrace!’

  I wish I could have joined in the dormitory celebrations. Instead Vern and I sat on our lockers pretending to look happy and watching everyone recounting stories of the great victory of Trafalgar.

  Thursday 29th August

  Sparerib called a house meeting so that we could all say goodbye to Julian. The entire house cheered and applauded as Julian pretended to look shocked and then dabbed away at his eyes with an orange handkerchief. Even the Crazy Eight was united for once and agreed that school won’t be the same without him.

  Friday 30th August

  THE END OF JULIAN

  After assembly we all said our final goodbyes to Julian, who flies to London tomorrow to begin his music degree at the Royal College of Music in London. I must admit I was a little choked up as I shook his hand. Luthuli was the last to say goodbye and gave Julian a hug, followed by a thump on the back, while Thinny, Darryl, Spike and JR Ewing carried his trunk across the quad for the final time. Julian gave us all a dramatic wave goodbye that looked like a bow combined with a curtsey. He then strode towards the fountain, removed his shoes and socks, rolled up his pants to the knee, and stepped into the water. He waded out towards Pissing Pete and gave him a big kiss on the lips. Pissing Pete didn’t seem to mind. (If anything his trickle got a little stronger.) Then Julian gracefully sprang out of the fountain and ran out through the archway, leaving his shoes and socks behind.

  Mad Dog took one of his shoes and stuck it under a rock at the bottom of the pond. Who knows – maybe it will last there for ever?

  LONG WEEKEND

  Back home Dad was looking bad tempered and desperately trying to put up shelves in the garage. When I said hello he looked at me like I’d committed a serious crime and said, ‘You see, thanks to you and your commie buddies and their bloody new South Africa, I can’t get decent drill bits anymore!’ I didn’t want to get caught up in a political debate so I apologized about the drill bits and quickly jumped on my bike and freewheeled down the driveway. Blacky chased me down the road, barking loudly and trying to bite my tyres. I brought him back home and locked him in the kitchen. Dad caught me at the kitchen door and accused me of tormenting Blacky and having it in for the animal. (Clearly my father was in a foul mood. According to Mom he’s been working on the garage shelves for over a week.)

  I reached Mermaid’s house an
d suddenly felt very odd, like I should be hiding in the hedge and not standing boldly in front of the garden gate. I had already worked out my plan. I was going to march up the pathway, knock on the door and when I saw Mermaid seize her in my arms and kiss her passionately. I took a moment to catch my breath and tried my best to straighten my hair. I stood with my finger poised over the gate buzzer but terror struck and my finger refused to push the buzzer. There followed a long stand-off between finger and buzzer which was eventually won by the buzzer.

  I decided to think it all through and come back tomorrow.

  I cycled home feeling like a coward.

  WEEKEND NEWS

  Wombat returned home on Monday after a long stay in Brighton with Neville and Dingbat. According to Mom the whole thing turned sour in the end and Wombat has written them off as ‘low class yahoos on the take’, ie Wombat thinks they were trying to steal her money.

  What started as a Sunday afternoon spring-cleaning session turned into a seriously intense family tree examination. Dad brought out a number of old books and yellow papers and said, ‘Johnny, there’s more decent history in here than you get from your bloody leftwing history teachers.’

  While Mom’s side of the family looks fairly decent, it must be said that Dad’s bloodline is a bit dodgy. It turns out that Dad’s famous great-great-grandfather, who went by the name of Sir Ogden Milton, was once the Governor of Griqualand West and according to Dad was a great leader who used to hunt pheasants with the King of England.

  It also turns out that Sir Ogden was one day marching through the Eastern Cape when he discovered a Xhosa chief crossing a river. Sir Ogden captured the chief, tied him up and shot him three times in the head with a Winchester rifle. The poor chief’s ear was then cut off and posted by ship to the King of England as a present. Dad didn’t think Sir Ogden’s barbarism was very serious, though, and said that in those days shooting and maiming Africans was ‘par for the course’.

  After Sir Ogden the Milton bloodline took a nasty turn when a Milton married an Andrew. The name was then changed to Mildew. Dad reckons the Mildews became inbred and most of them died of syphilis.

  Called Mermaid but nobody was home. Secretly relieved.

  Monday 2nd September

  Finally got to see Mermaid but I didn’t get a chance to kiss her because we had to sit in the lounge with Marge and Mom. I asked Mermaid if she wanted to see the garden but she smiled and said she was okay in the lounge.

  She gave me a hug goodbye and told me to stay in touch. (Not exactly very passionate.) Unfortunately, all I could say was ‘You, too.’

  The longer I don’t kiss her the more awkward it becomes. She also didn’t mention the poem. She must think I’m gay or something. Next time I see her I’m going to jump her and stick my tongue down her throat.

  Dad snapped after Blacky vomited in the pool. He chased the poor creature around the garden, hurling half-bricks at the terrified animal who eventually scampered into the lounge, hid behind the couch and wet himself. This made Dad even more furious. He then grabbed an ashtray and hurled it across the lounge, narrowly missing Blacky by about half the length of his ear. Blacky escaped through the french doors and bolted across the lawn and out into the street. Dad shouted at Mom for leaving the gate open and said if Blacky was run over it would be on her conscience. Mom slammed the door in Dad’s face and told him to stop terrorizing the dog and to get over his midlife crisis. Dad muttered something to himself and then stalked out into the street shouting for Blacky in a voice that sounded creepy and psychotic. Blacky didn’t return.

  Thanks to the Dad vs Dog commotion we ran short of time and I didn’t have to visit Wombat on the way to the bus stop. I put a reminder in the memory bank that Blacky’s well-timed pool vomit will be rewarded when or if he returns.

  WEEKEND SCORECARD

  RAMBO Drank 36 beers and never vomited

  SIMON Learned to play the reverse sweep

  FATTY Contracted a severe bout of gastro after eating a sack of Israeli oranges

  VERN Built a wigwam in his garden

  BOGGO Watched videos

  MAD DOG Helped his neighbours put out a forest fire. He said it was the most snakes he’s ever seen in his life

  SPUD Discovered that he has barbarian genes in his family bloodline and still hasn’t grabbed the Mermaid

  I lied to the Crazy Eight and said I’d kissed the Mermaid. Rambo said this still didn’t necessarily prove that I wasn’t a fag.

  Boggo called Thinny into our dormitory and told him his mother was a sex maniac. He then went on in graphic detail about Mrs Thinny’s dark fantasies involving other women and small animals. Thinny got all defiant and said it was impossible that Boggo’d shagged his mom because he was with her the whole weekend. Boggo then accused Thinny of incest and ordered him to shag a pillow and pretend it was his mom. Thinny didn’t put on a very convincing display of pillow shagging so Boggo sprayed deodorant in his eyes and sent him back to bed.

  Tuesday 3rd September

  HOUSE MEETING

  Emberton has been reinstated as a prefect. Anderson tried to start up a round of applause but nobody went along with him. No doubt another million or two of sugar baron money has been deposited into the school building fund.

  Vern tried to give Pike a written warning for pissing in the showers. Pike accused Vern of a false accusation and threw a bucket of water over Vern’s head and then chased after him with a razor. It was quite a sight to see a naked Pike careening through the dormitories after a panicky Vern whose brown Grasshopper shoes were making a loud squeaking noise. Pike eventually caught him at the bottom of the stairs and dragged him into the cop shop kitchen where he tried to grill his face in the snackwich machine. Death Breath eventually broke up the action and gave Pike a warning. Pike told Death Breath to get stuffed and slunk off back to the bogs to continue his shower.

  Thursday 5th September

  I would rather lie in bed being pestered by a mosquito than have to decipher the degrees of a random triangle with Mrs Bishop standing over you like a hawk. The point about triangles is that they are unexplained mysteries and are best left as such. (Examples include love triangles and the Bermuda triangle.)

  22:00 Rambo said he’d organized some brandy and cigarettes for tomorrow night’s Crazy Eight mission to the Mad House. He said it was only right that we celebrate the beginning of spring with a Mad House bash. Nobody said anything which means nobody was brave enough to say no.

  Friday 6th September

  22:30 With the matrics studying for their trials exams the house was like a ghost town. Vern made two trips to the bogs and reported on both occasions that the coast was clear and that the bogs were in mint condition. Rambo gave us the signal and we all began throwing on jerseys, tracksuit pants and takkies. I felt the old shiver of excitement that I always get before a Crazy Eight mission. Vern kissed Roger and shook the hand of Potato’s torso before following me out of the cubicle, pointing his torch at my bum. We stumbled over JR Ewing as he lay asleep in his bed and crept out of the window and onto the vestry roof.

  Fatty had a tight squeeze getting through the chapel window. I could see he was mightily relieved when he finally collapsed onto the chapel gallery floor. Then there was a loud hiss of Shhhhh! Fatty was back on his feet and had his arms outstretched for silence. Somebody or something was kneeling at the altar. With only a single candle burning in the chapel it was impossible to see who or what it was but it definitely looked human. Rambo made us all lie low behind the pews and we waited for something to happen. Nothing happened.

  Fatty nudged me in the ribs and whispered to me with hot breath, ‘My oath to God, Spud, that’s Macarthur.’ I stopped breathing. Fatty leaned in again and said, ‘Rambo, Mad Dog, guys – believe me, that’s supernatural shit. It’s an omen!’

  There was a nervous pause and then Boggo whispered, ‘Good or bad omen?’ Fatty squinted through the gloom towards the kneeling figure. He looked back at Boggo and said, ‘Dunno.’ Ther
e was another long pause. Suddenly Boggo got up and said he thought it was definitely a bad omen and he was going back to bed. Rambo cleared his throat to say something and instantly there was total darkness. I couldn’t even see the hand in front of my face. I could hear heavy breathing to my left and Darth Vader noises to my right so at least I knew where Fatty and Vern were.

  Then out of the silence came Vern’s demented voice.

  ‘Lucky I brought the torch, hey, chaps?’ He then made a strange noise in the back of his throat that sounded like he was gargling on a large marble. There was a loud CLONK followed by more silence. Then we heard Vern’s voice again. ‘Sorry, chaps. Vern dropped the torch.’ Mad Dog found the torch and handed it to Rambo.

  Rambo whispered, ‘Follow me, ghostbusters,’ and led us along the pew in single file. The gallery door creaked open and we made it to the staircase leading upwards to the bell tower and downwards to the chapel. Luckily the moonlight spilled through the stairwell windows so we could at least see where our feet were landing. We reached the bottom of the spiral stairwell and stood waiting at the chapel door. Rambo motioned for silence and slowly opened the huge oak doors. The chapel was dark and ominous. The pale moonlight couldn’t get through the stained glass windows and every shape looked as black as coal.

  Rambo flashed the torchlight over the altar. Nothing there. The mysterious kneeling figure was gone. Fatty turned to Boggo and said, ‘You see. It was Macarthur, you dork.’ Rambo hit Fatty on the shoulder with the torch and told him to shut up. ‘You can discuss ghosts later, you fat shit!’ he hissed. ‘Stop farting around and concentrate. Some of us are on final warning here.’ Fatty fell silent and we followed Rambo down the aisle, past the altar, through the wooden door and then down the tiny staircase and into the crypt. Rambo switched off the torch and handed it back to Vern and ordered him not to switch it on again.