The Fib, The Swap, The Trick and Other Stories

by George Layton

  ‘I don’t want you playing down Horton Woods any more, ’specially near the Mucky Beck. A lad from Galsworthy Road’s been assaulted down there.’

  She gave the paper to my Auntie Doreen and pointed to the bit she’d been reading.

  ‘But I like playing down there. Mucky Beck’s great for frogspawn.’

  ‘You’re not to go, I’m telling you. It’s dangerous.’

  What was my mum talking about? The Mucky Beck’s only about six inches deep. My Auntie Doreen tutted to herself and gave the paper back to my mum.

  ‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to, I really don’t.’

  ‘How can it be dangerous? Mucky Beck’s only about six inches deep.’

  ‘I don’t want you going there, do you hear? A lad’s been assaulted.’

  I wasn’t sure what she meant. What’s ‘a salted’? And why was it in the paper? I knew it was bad. My mum had her serious face on and whenever my Auntie Doreen reads something in the newspaper and says ‘I don’t know what the world is coming to’, I know it’s bad.

  ‘What’s a salted?’

  My mum looked at my Auntie Doreen.

  ‘He was attacked. A man attacked him. That’s what it means.’

  ‘Why?’

  They looked at each other again, the way they look when they don’t want to tell me something. They’re always doing that. They weren’t telling me the truth. They think I can’t tell but I can.

  ‘Why did he attack him? Was he a madman?’

  He must have been mad to attack a Galsworthy Road lad. Galsworthy Road Secondary Modern is where you go if you don’t pass your scholarship to the Grammar and they’re tough. I’ve heard some of them carry knives and things. I don’t know if it’s true but I wouldn’t like to get into a fight with one of ’em. My Auntie Doreen got hold of my hand.

  ‘Listen, love, this man was a bit sick in the head. There are people like that. That’s why you must never go off with strangers. Do you understand?’

  What was my Auntie Doreen talking about? I know all about strangers. My mum’s always telling me. And we had a talk at school about it with Reverend Dutton, our scripture teacher. ’Course I wouldn’t go off with a stranger. I’m not stupid. Anyway what’s going off with strangers got to do with having a fight with someone? I bet the Galsworthy Road lad had cheeked him off or something – they’re always getting into trouble.

  ‘’Course I wouldn’t go off with a stranger. I didn’t go with that bloke in the park who asked me if I wanted an ice cream, did I?’

  It had happened in the Easter holidays. We’d all taken some bottles back to the shop, Tony, me and Norbert, and we’d gone to the park to spend our money at the fair. After I’d spent all mine, mostly on the slot machines and one go on the rifle range, I’d wandered around on my own for a bit while Tony and Norbert were on the dodgems.

  I’d gone over to the waltzer and while I was watching and thinking that there was no way that I’d go on it – it goes at about a hundred miles an hour – this bloke had started talking to me.

  ‘It’s dead good, the waltzer. Best thing at fair.’

  I’d told him it was too fast, that I wouldn’t dare and that I hadn’t got any money anyway.

  ‘I’ll pay for yer, young ’un, I’ve got tons o’ money.’

  I’d watched it whirling round and round. If it had been the dodgems I might have gone – I love the dodgems – but I didn’t fancy the waltzer.

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Do you want an ice cream? I’ll buy you one.’

  That’s when I’d realised he was a stranger. I’d remembered everything my mum had told me.

  ‘No! And if you don’t leave me alone I’m gonna tell a policeman.’

  The man had just shrugged and sniffed and wandered off. Then I’d felt bad. Maybe he was just being friendly, nice. Norbert said I should have gone on.

  ‘I would have. Free ride. And free ice cream. I’d have said yes.’

  Yeah, Norbert would have. He’s stupid. He doesn’t realise about strangers. I don’t think his mum and dad have told him properly. I don’t think they’re bothered. They never know where he goes and what he’s up to. If he wants to go to the pictures and it’s an ‘A’ he gets a stranger to take him in. He just goes up to any bloke who comes along and says ‘Can you take us in, mister?’ I’d never do that. It’s dangerous. And he’s always going down the Mucky Beck on his own. I never do that – I always go with the others.

  ‘I never go down the Mucky Beck on my own, Mum. I’m not daft. I’m not like Norbert Lightowler.’

  She’d leaned across the table and put her face really close to mine.

  ‘You’re not to go down there any more, do you understand?’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Not even with the others?’

  That’s when she’d got her mad up.

  ‘You don’t go down there! Right? End of story!’

  So that’s why I don’t go down the Mucky Beck any more. I’d like to but if my mum found out . . . Well, my life wouldn’t be worth living . . .

  The note was still going round the class. David Nunn was reading it. He nodded at Arthur and passed it on. What did it say? I was dying for it to come round to me. Geoff Gower had it now – he’s only two desks away. He passed it to Normington who sits next to me and then just my luck, Bleasdale stopped marking.

  ‘All right boys, stop writing. You should have finished by now. Who didn’t complete that translation?’

  Norbert put his hand up.

  ‘What a surprise, Lightowler . . .’

  He looked at his watch.

  ‘Right, we’re going to spend the last ten minutes before the bell goes going over those first conjugation verbs . . .’

  He turned round and while he was rubbing the blackboard clean Norbert made a face at him.

  ‘Not one of you got them all correct . . .’

  Norbert stopped – just in time.

  ‘ . . . apart from McDougall.’

  Bleasdale started writing on the board and we all jeered – quietly – and Norbert wrote ‘SWOT’ on a piece of paper and held it up. He always comes top in Latin does Alan McDougall.

  ‘Festino – I hurry . . . Ceno – I dine . . . Conor – I try . . . Not hard enough some of you . . .’

  While he had his back to us I held my hand out to Normington for Boocock’s note and he gave it to me.

  Meeting. Smokers corner. Dinner-time.

  Don’t tell the Pigeon. Pass it on.

  ‘Voco – I call . . . Celo – I hide . . . Postulo – I demand . . . Postulo that you all learn these verbs at home tonight. There will be a test tomorrow . . .’

  Everybody groaned. I looked at the note again. He’d underlined ‘Don’t tell the Pigeon’. That was the new lad. Why shouldn’t we tell the new lad? What was Boocock going to do? He’s a bully is Arthur Boocock. Everybody’s scared of him. Except Gordon Barraclough. That’s ’cos he’s a bully too.

  ‘Pugno – I fight . . .’

  He’ll hit you for anything will Arthur Boocock. He’s got funny hair, tight little curls, and he hates it and once a lad from 3B called him ‘Curly’ and Boocock went mad. He smashed him. He was a lot bigger, this lad, and two years older but Arthur pulverised him. Another time when I was standing in the dinner queue talking to Keith Hopwood I’d tried on his glasses, just for fun and said everything looked a bit fuzzy. I’d had to shout ’cos it was noisy and Arthur Boocock had turned round and said ‘Don’t you call me fuzzy’ and thumped me.

  ‘Oppugno – I attack . . .’

  He’d started on Monday, the new lad. I feel sorry for him. His mum had brought him on his first day. That’s why I feel sorry for him. We have English first thing on a Monday with Melrose. I hate Mondays and I hate Melrose. We have Melrose for English then we have him for football straight after. When we went into the classroom he was standing talking to the new lad and his mum.

  ‘Come along, boys, quick as you ca
n, please, settle down . . .’

  That’s what I hate about Melrose. Any other time he’d be shouting and hitting us but whenever there’s a parent there it’s all ‘Come along, boys, quick as you can, please, settle down.’

  ‘We’ve got a new boy starting today. This is William Rothman. He’s moved here from London. William, would you like to take that desk in the second row, next to Keith.’

  If his mum hadn’t been there it would have been ‘Rothman, sit there, next to Hopwood.’ Just as he’d been about to sit down, his mum had done something terrible. She’d kissed him – right in front of us all. Everybody’d started giggling, and trying to be quiet had made Norbert snort and that’d made us laugh even more. Melrose had looked at us and the vein under his eye had started to throb. That’d made us shut up. The new boy, his face all red, had sat down. I’d felt so sorry for him. If my mum ever kissed me in front of the class . . . well, I’d just want to die. I suppose that’s how he felt. He hadn’t looked at anybody, he’d just stared at his desk. I’d felt so sorry for him. And it had got worse. Just as she’d been about to go his mum had turned at the door.

  ‘Sank you, boys, I’m sure Villiam vill be OK viz such nice boys as you . . .’

  That’s how she talks, sort of funny.

  ‘ . . . But you vill look after my little pigeon, von’t you?’

  Everybody’d tried their best not to laugh, even Melrose. The new lad had just kept looking down and as soon as his mum had gone we’d all burst out laughing. We couldn’t help it.

  ‘All right, all right, that’s enough, calm down . . . You’ll frighten the little pigeon.’

  And that’d made us laugh even more. He’s rotten is Melrose.

  ‘Voco – I call . . . Veto – I forbid . . .’

  I didn’t nod at Boocock, I just passed the note to Keith Hopwood. He read it and I watched the Pigeon hold his hand out to take it. But of course Hopwood didn’t give it him, he passed it to Douglas Hopkinson who sits in front of him in the front row. You could see the Pigeon wondering what was going on. I felt so sorry for him. Everybody called him the Pigeon now.

  ‘Ceno – I dine . . . Indico – I judge . . .’

  The bell went and we started putting our books away.

  ‘Now think on, I want all those learning for tomorrow. I’m going to test you.’

  Norbert started grumbling on the way out.

  ‘It’s not blooming fair. He shouldn’t be giving us any homework. We have Geography and French on a Thursday, not Latin.’

  ‘Are you complaining, Lightowler?’

  ‘No sir . . .’

  Smokers’ Corner is at the top end of the playground in the shelter under the woodwork classroom. It’s where Boocock and Barraclough and all that lot go to smoke their cigarettes during break. I tried it once. It was horrible. It made me cough and I nearly threw up and they all laughed at me. And I got a sore throat. They all think they’re so good, big men puffing away at their fags, blowing the smoke down their noses. They only do it to keep in with Boocock and his gang. I never go up to that end of the school yard, I just keep out of it. But I couldn’t keep out of it now. I had to go. We all had to go. Boocock’s orders. If you didn’t you’d get thumped. I could see the others heading for the shelter. I wondered what it was all about. So did the Pigeon. He was watching them.

  ‘Where are they all going?’

  He didn’t talk like us. He didn’t talk funny like his mum, he talked sort of . . . well, sort of posh. If only he was a bit more like us maybe he wouldn’t get teased so much.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  I didn’t know what to say to him.

  ‘Y’what . . .?’

  ‘Everybody seems to be going to the top end of the playground. Where are they all going?’

  It would have to be me he was asking.

  ‘Er . . .’

  What was I supposed to say?

  ‘Er . . .’

  ‘That note you were all passing round. It was about me, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Er . . .’

  ‘That’s why they’re all going up there, isn’t it? It’s something to do with me.’

  ‘I don’t know . . .’

  It was true, I didn’t know. Boocock’s note had said ‘Don’t tell the Pigeon’ but it didn’t mean it was about him. Maybe he just didn’t want him there ’cos he’s new . . . I didn’t know . . .

  He wears these glasses with really thick lenses and black frames and he took them off and cleaned them with his hanky. He screwed up his eyes and looked towards the top of the playground.

  ‘I know . . .’

  He put his glasses back on and wandered off. I called after him.

  ‘See you later, Pigeon – er, Rothman – William . . .’

  He didn’t turn round, he just carried on walking towards the cloakrooms.

  I heard Norbert calling me.

  ‘C’mon – we’re all waiting!’

  I watched the Pigeon going in then ran up to Smokers’ Corner.

  They were all puffing away at their cigarettes. Well, not all of them, Boocock and Barraclough of course, Geoff Gower, Kenny Spencer, Norbert, Holdsworth, Normington, Duggie Bashforth, Douglas Hopkinson and most of the others. Keith Hopwood looked sick. Alan McDougall wasn’t smoking, he was on guard. That’s why they never got caught – there was always somebody keeping watch. Boocock puffed on his fag. He took a deep breath, held the smoke inside for ages and then blew it out. He didn’t cough. He never coughs.

  ‘What were you talking to him about?’

  Some spit shot out from the gap between his two top teeth. They all do that when they’re smoking. It just missed me.

  ‘Nowt. He was just asking where everybody was going.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nowt. He asked me if the note that was going round was about him.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nowt.’

  More spit. This time it was Barraclough and it didn’t miss me, it just caught my shoe.

  ‘Watch it, Barraclough.’

  He just sneered at me and blew some smoke in my face while Boocock took another puff.

  ‘Well I’ll tell you all summat about the Pigeon . . . He’s a Jerry!’

  We all looked at him. Nobody knew what to say. Keith Hopwood took a drag on his cigarette and coughed and looked at Boocock. He went all red, not ’cos of the smoke, because he was embarrassed.

  ‘It just w-w-went down the wr-wr-wrong w-way, Arthur. Sorry . . .’

  Boocock didn’t look at him. He just wet his fingers, put his cigarette out and dropped it into the top pocket of his blazer.

  ‘A bloomin’ Jerry. In our class.’

  The others started putting theirs out. Norbert put his in his shoe.

  ‘You mean a German, Arthur?’

  ‘’Course I mean a German. Don’t you know what a Jerry is?’

  Norbert grinned.

  ‘Well my gran has a jerry under the bed in case she has to go in the night.’

  Everybody laughed. I laughed even though I’ve got a jerry under my bed ’cos we’ve got an outside lav.

  ‘I don’t care about your soddin’ granny, Lightowler. The new lad’s a German. That’s why his mum talks funny.’

  Nobody said anything. We weren’t sure what we were meant to say. Barraclough put his cigarette out.

  ‘How do you know, Arthur?’

  ‘My dad told me. She came into our shop. Ordered this German magazine.’

  Arthur’s mum and dad have got a newsagent’s and tobacconist’s just off Cranley Street. That’s how he gets all his cigarettes. He nicks ’em.

  ‘His dad talks funny an’ all. They’re all bloomin’ Germans, whole family.’

  I couldn’t see what he was making such a fuss about. The Pigeon doesn’t talk funny.

  ‘Well, I don’t think the new lad’s a German. He talks just like us only a bit posher.’

  Boocock screwed his face up and came towards me. I thought he was going
to hit me for a minute.

  ‘’Course he’s a bloody German. His mum and dad are German, that makes him a German and it’s like my dad says, you fight the Nazis for six years and then they come and live next door to you. It’s not right!’

  They all started agreeing and mumbling to each other, saying it wasn’t right, and Norbert crouched down and started moving about like a boxer.

  ‘You mean he’s a Nazzi? The Pigeon’s a Nazzi?’

  ‘’Course he is. My dad says all Germans are Nazis, and we shouldn’t kid ourselves they’re not. That’s what my dad says.’

  Boocock was talking rubbish. Not all Germans were Nazis, I don’t care what his dad says. A lot of Germans ran away from the Nazis. I’d seen a picture at the Gaumont a couple of weeks back with my mum and my Auntie Doreen. It was all about this family escaping from Berlin. That’s what it was called, Escape from Berlin. It was an ‘A’ film. It was great.

  ‘I think you’re wrong, Arthur. A lot of Germans ran away from the Nazis.’

  Some of the others had seen Escape from Berlin and agreed with me. Norbert had seen it. He’d probably asked a stranger to take him in.

  ‘He’s right, Arthur. A lot of Germans had to escape from the Nazzies. You ought to go and see Escape from Berlin, it’s great. It’s an “A” though, you’ll have to get someone to take you in.’

  I don’t know why Norbert calls them Nazzies when they’re called Nazis. They weren’t called Nazzies in Escape from Berlin. Boocock looked at us all and some more spit shot out from between his teeth.

  ‘All right, the Pigeon might not be a Nazi but he’s a German and we fought them in the war, didn’t we? They’re our enemy.’

  What was Boocock talking about? The war’s been over for nearly ten years. My mum says we’ve got to forgive and forget. He wouldn’t be at our school if he was our enemy. His mum and dad wouldn’t live in England, would they?