The Fib, The Swap, The Trick and Other Stories

by George Layton

  Mrs Jolliffe was still holding Keith Hopwood’s hand. I wondered if they’d be partners for the whole week. I reckoned they’d have to be ’cos there was no one else Hopwood could go with. I’d have rather been with Hopwood than Arthur Boocock. I’d have rather been with Mrs Jolliffe than Arthur Boocock. Spencer put his hand up.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes, Spencer.’

  ‘What about us suitcases, sir?’

  Everybody groaned and jeered and Arthur Boocock shouted, ‘Wash your ears out.’ He can talk – his ears are black bright. Spencer went all red.

  ‘Do listen, lad. I just said I will bring all the luggage.’

  Bleasdale stuck his hand up in the air, shouted ‘Follow me’ and we all followed. He kept his arm up all the way, shouting ‘Left’, ‘Right’, ‘Straight on’ and we started giggling. We went into the station just as a train was pulling out and the engine driver let out a great blast of steam making us all jump. We started laughing and talking and Mrs Jolliffe told us to be quiet and to keep our eyes on Mr Bleasdale. You could hardly miss him with his hand stuck up in the air like that. He looked stupid. We got to platform 4 and he turned and held up his hand for us to stop. A whole carriage was reserved for our school. We could see Melrose and a porter coming down the platform pulling a trolley with all our cases on.

  I felt a bit better. I like trains. I like the smell of the coal burning and the noise and the steam. I didn’t like Arthur Boocock though.

  ‘Hey Arthur, will you do us a favour? Will you swap with Tordoff so’s I can be with Tony?’

  Well, it was worth asking.

  ‘What’s wrong wi’ me then?’

  I don’t like you ’cos you’ve got mucky ears and smelly breath and you’re a bully and you stole my Ovaltiney pencil case. That’s what I felt like saying.

  ‘Nowt. Tony’s my best friend, that’s all.’

  He smiled at me. Well, it was more of a sneer really.

  ‘What’ll you give us?’

  He looked down at my blazer. He was staring at my Ovaltiney badge . . . I thought about it but not for very long.

  ‘I’ll give you my Ovaltiney badge.’

  ‘All right.’

  He held his hand out and I gave it to him. He pinned it on his blazer. It was worth it. I could always send away for another one when I got home. All you need is four Ovaltine labels. When I got home . . . Oh I didn’t half wish I was home. He called over to Tordoff.

  ‘Hey, Wing-nut!’

  That’s his nickname. Wing-nut. Melrose had started it ’cos of his sticky-out ears. Now we all call him Wing-nut. He looked round.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Over ’ere – quick.’

  Tordoff frowned.

  ‘Quick!’

  He came over, making sure Bleasdale and Mrs Jolliffe didn’t see.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Arthur was still pinning the badge onto his blazer.

  ‘You’re wi’ me.’

  Wing-nut didn’t know what he was on about.

  ‘Y’what?’

  ‘You’re wi’ me, you’re my partner.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  He started to walk back but Boocock got hold of his arm and showed him his fist.

  ‘Do you want thumping?’

  You don’t argue with Arthur Boocock. Wing-nut looked at me and I shrugged as if I had nothing to do with it. Well, as far as Wing-nut knew, I didn’t. I turned to Boocock, all innocent.

  ‘Er . . . shall I go over there then, Arthur?’

  He was still fiddling with my Ovaltiney badge.

  ‘Yeah, push off.’

  I shrugged again as if I didn’t have a clue what was going on and went over to Tony. I felt sorry for Wing-nut – but not that sorry.

  When we got on the train there were six of us to a compartment. In ours we had me and Tony, Holdsworth and Cawthra and Mrs Jolliffe and Keith who was a bit more cheerful. She’s all right, Mrs Jolliffe. She gave us all a barley sugar to settle our tummies and joined in when we played I-Spy. And after we’d had our sandwiches she gave us an apple each, to clean our teeth.

  And when Keith started crying again she told him if he didn’t stop she’d put him in the luggage rack. Not nasty. She said it in a kind voice and made him laugh.

  ‘I’m sorry, miss, but I keep thinking about my mum and dad and it makes me cry. I can’t help it. I even keep thinking about my little sister and I can’t stand her.’

  Everybody laughed but I wanted to say, I know what you mean, that’s how I feel. And it must’ve been worse for Keith having a dad and a sister to miss as well. I’ve only got my mum. And my Auntie Doreen.

  ‘Of course it’s a bit frightening when you go away from home for the first time. Everybody’s a bit nervous, Keith, but some don’t show it as much as others.’

  He nodded and took a bite of his apple. I put my hand up and Mrs Jolliffe laughed.

  ‘You’re not in class now. You don’t have to put your hand up.’

  I felt myself go red.

  ‘I just wanted to say that I feel a bit like Keith does. I keep thinking about my mum all the time.’

  Mrs Jolliffe smiled.

  ‘You see, Keith. And I wouldn’t mind betting that David and Duncan and Tony are feeling a little homesick. Aren’t you, boys?’

  I don’t think they were at all homesick but Mrs Jolliffe gave them a little wink. She made sure Keith couldn’t see. They looked at each other.

  ‘Yeah . . .’

  ‘A little bit . . .’

  And Tony nodded.

  ‘And do you think the boys from St Augustine’s aren’t feeling nervous? Of course they are. It’s only natural. Now who’d like another barley sugar?’

  We all put our hands up except Keith. He went to the lavatory. After he shut the sliding door Holdsworth told Mrs Jolliffe that he wasn’t really feeling homesick and Cawthra said he wasn’t either. So did Tony . . . So did I:

  ‘No, me neither. I just felt sorry for Keith.’

  Mrs Jolliffe leaned over and took hold of my hand.

  ‘I know. It was very nice of you. Thank you.’

  She squeezed my hand and smiled. I just about managed to smile back. I was such a liar. The others started playing I-Spy again. I didn’t feel like it so I got my library book out. But I couldn’t concentrate. All I could hear were the wheels on the track, talking to me:

  I want to go home . . . I want to go home . . . I want to go home . . . I want to go home . . .

  The coach was parked outside St Augustine’s.

  We were going home. The week was over. All the St Augustine parents were waiting to wave us off. I looked out of the window and I could see Mr and Mrs Jarvis and Stephen, the family I’d swapped with. Mrs Jarvis gave me a little smile and waved and Mr Jarvis took another photo. I smiled. I didn’t feel like smiling though. I felt terrible. And so ashamed. I didn’t want to go home. It had been the best week of my life . . .

  Dear Mum,

  It is terrific here. I am having a great time. Mr and Mrs Jarvis are really nice. They have got a Rover 90 car and have taken me to all sorts of places. They have taken me on a picnic in the country and they have taken me to posh restronts twice. They live in a posh house, it is like a mansion and they have got two bathrooms, one for me and Stephen, Peter’s brother, and another bathroom inside their bedroom for themselves. There are three toilets in their house. I have got bunk beds and I am sleeping in the top one. Tell Peter. Peter’s room is smashing. He has got his own basin in his room and a lovely soft carpet everywhere and his own desk built right across one wall. They have got a lovely garden, it is massive and behind the garden are fields and every night me and Stephen play French cricket and when Mr Jarvis comes home from work he joins in and so does Mrs Jarvis. She is very nice and very pretty . . .

  I stopped writing and read the letter. Then I tore it up and started again.

  Dear Mum,

  We are having a great time. We went to the Tower of London. It was great.<
br />
  And Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliment. They were great. Yesterday we went to Madam Two Swords except that it is not Two Swords it is Tussords and it was great . . .

  It wasn’t as long as the letter I’d torn up but it was longer than the one Peter had sent to his mum and dad. Mr Jarvis had read it out at breakfast.

  Dear Mummy, Daddy and Stephen,

  I am having a good time. We went round a wool factory. It was noisy. Looking forward to seeing you soon.

  Love,

  Peter

  I wrote all about Keith Hopwood being homesick and about Kenny Spencer and Douglas Goodall getting lost in the underground station and how Melrose went mad and that I hoped Peter was having a good time. And I put in another letter for my Auntie Doreen. I didn’t say anything about the lovely house and the massive garden and Peter’s smashing bedroom and going to posh restaurants. I was worried it might upset her.

  The coach started moving off. We were going. Everybody was shouting and waving and Melrose was saying ‘All right, all right, calm down.’

  I looked back and I could see Mr and Mrs Jarvis waving. Stephen was running alongside trying to take a photo. I tried my best to smile but I could feel the tears coming. I was going home and I felt miserable. Why did I feel so miserable? Holdsworth and Cawthra started singing ‘One green bottle’ and a few others joined in. Keith Hopwood was one of them. It was the first time he’d looked happy all week.

  We got off the bus at the end of our road and the conductor handed my mum my suitcase.

  ‘I’ll carry that, Mum.’

  ‘You’re all right, love.’

  We walked towards our house. It felt strange being back. Everything looked different. So . . . dreary.

  ‘Eeh, it’ll be good to have you home. He was a nice enough lad, that Peter, but he was so quiet. He had nothing to say for himself, it was like being on my own.’

  I walked along next to my mum. We got to our gate. Peter would be going home in the Rover 90 . . . to his lovely house . . . I thought about his bedroom and the bunk beds and the garden.

  My mum opened the front door and we went in.

  The hall looked so dark. I’d never noticed that before. And there was a funny smell that I’d never noticed before. A bit like cabbage. Old cabbage. And it felt so cold.

  ‘Are you glad to be home?’

  ‘Yeah, ’course I am.’

  I felt like a real traitor. I wasn’t glad to be home. I was glad to see my mum. ’Course I was. But I wasn’t glad to be home. I kept thinking about Mr and Mrs Jarvis . . . I felt like a real traitor.

  ‘Let’s have a cup of tea and you can tell me all about your holiday.’

  I put the kettle on while my mum unpacked my suitcase.

  ‘What on earth have you got in here . . .’

  She was going through all the pockets.

  ‘Old sweet wrappers, empty crisp packets . . . Do you want these comics?’

  I told her I’d read them so she bundled them all into a carrier bag and asked me to throw it away.

  I went outside to put it in the dustbin. I stood in the backyard and looked around. It all looked so scruffy. Peter would probably be playing French cricket with his dad and Stephen in the garden now . . . I wished I was still there. I wished I had a dad and big brother and a big garden and a Rover 90 – and I wished I could stop wishing these thoughts – and a big posh house and a mum like Mrs Jarvis. No! No! I love my mum. Why was I thinking horrible things like this? Why was I feeling homesick for the wrong home? I went to the midden and threw the carrier bag into the dustbin. That’s when I saw it. An envelope torn in half with the name ‘Jarvis’ written on it.

  At first I thought it was from Mr and Mrs Jarvis to Peter but then I saw half the address and I realised it was the other way round. It was from Peter to his mum and dad. It was half of a letter. I scrabbled around in the dustbin and after a minute or two I found the other half. I put the two bits of paper together . . .

  Dear Mummy and Daddy,

  I hate it here. I want to came home. I am missing you all the time. This house is horrible. It is dark and dirty and cold and it smells. Please come and fetch me, I don’t want to stay here . . .

  And he wrote horrible things about my mum, that she was old and ugly, like an old witch and that he couldn’t understand what she was saying and the toilet was outside . . .

  And there’s no garden and she’s got a sister and they drink tea all the time and she makes me call her Auntie Doreen and I can’t understand her either. Please PLEASE let me come home. There are no carpets here. Daddy can come in the car. Please.

  Love,

  Peter

  XXX

  Don’t be upset when you get this letter.

  I screwed up his letter, threw it in the bin, wiped the tears away with my sleeve and went back in the house. My mum was pouring the water into the teapot.

  ‘Come on, love, your Auntie Doreen’ll be here in a minute. We’ll all have a nice cup of tea.’

  I got the cups and saucers out and put them on the table. My mum smiled at me.

  ‘Are you pleased to be home?’

  I put my arms round her and hugged her as hard as I could.

  ‘Yes, Mum – it’s lovely . . .’

  The Trick

  For Gordon Roddick, with affection

  Acknowledgements

  ‘Happy Birthday’ words and music by Patty S. Hill and Mildred Hill copyright © 1935 (renewed 1962), Summy-Birchard Music, a division of Summy-Birchard Inc., USA. Reproduced by kind permission of Keith Prowse Music Publishing Co. Ltd, London WC2H 0QY

  ‘On the Good Ship Lollipop’ words and music by Sidney Clare and Richard A. Whiting copyright © 1934, Movietone Music Corp./EMI April Music Inc., USA. Reproduced by permission of Sam Fox Publishing Co. (London) Ltd/EMI Music Publishing Ltd, London WC2H 0QY

  ‘We’ll Meet Again’ words and music by Ross Parker and Hughie Charles copyright © 1939 Dash Music Company Ltd. Used by permission of Music Sales Ltd. All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured

  Children are blind to sarcasm – they take it as truth

  – Overheard on a train

  Contents

  The Promise

  The Major

  The Air-Raid Shelter

  The Back Bedroom

  The White Rose: Part One

  The White Rose: Part Two

  The Birthday Party

  The Trick

  THE PROMISE

  ‘This is the BBC Light Programme.’

  ‘Come on, Doreen, it’s on!’

  It’s the same every Thursday night. We have to get our tea finished, clear the table, get the pots washed and put away so we can all sit round the wireless and enjoy ITMA with Tommy Handley.

  ‘Doreen! She does it every time, goes out to the lavatory just as it’s starting.’

  Except I don’t enjoy it. I can’t understand it. I don’t know what they’re talking about.

  ‘Tell her to hurry up, will you, love?’

  I went out the back to call my Auntie Doreen but she was already coming up the path pulling on her black skirt. She’d come straight from work.

  ‘He’s not on yet, is he?’

  He was. I could hear the audience on the wireless cheering and clapping the man who’d just shouted, ‘It’s That Man Again!’

  ‘Just startin’, I think.’

  She ran past me into the house.

  ‘Freda, why didn’t you call me?’

  ‘I did.’

  I can’t understand what they get so excited about. They all come out with these stupid things like, ‘I don’t mind if I do,’ ‘Can I do you now, sir?’ ‘Tee tee eff enn.’ What’s funny about that? Don’t mean a thing to me.

  ‘What’s funny about that, Mum? “Tee tee eff enn”? It doesn’t even mean owt.

  ‘Ta Ta For Now!’

  ‘Ta Ta For Now!’

  They both sang it at me, laughing like anything.

  ‘It’s a catchphrase.
Now shush!’

  What’s a catchphrase? Why’s it funny? Who is Tommy Handley anyway?

  ‘What’s a catchphrase, Mum? Why’s it funny?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when it’s finished.’

  They waved at me to be quiet.

  ‘Turn it up, Doreen.’

  My Auntie Doreen twiddled with the knob on the wireless. Oh, there he goes again: ‘I don’t mind if I do’, and they both laughed even louder this time and my mum started taking him off.

  ‘I don’t mind if I do . . . !’

  My Auntie Doreen had to take out her hanky to wipe away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, stop it, Freda, you’re makin’ me wet myself . . .’

  What’s he on about now, this Tommy Handley bloke? ‘Colonel Chinstrap, you’re an absolute nitwit!’ and my mum and my Auntie Doreen fell about laughing.

  Nitwit. That’s what Reverend Dutton called me and Norbert the other day when we ran into him in the corridor. ‘You are a pair of clumsy nitwits, you two.’ Thank goodness his cup of tea wasn’t too hot, it could have scalded him. If it’d been Melrose we’d run into it would have been more than nitwits, more like the cane from the headmaster . . . Oh no, the note! I’d forgotten all about it. I went out into the hall to get it from my coat pocket. We’d been given it at school for our parents. I was meant to give it to my mum when I got home. I went back into the kitchen. They were sitting there giggling away at Tommy Handley.

  ‘Eeh, he’s a tonic, isn’t he, Doreen?’

  The audience on the wireless were cheering and laughing.

  ‘I’ve got nits.’

  I handed my mum the note. She grabbed it. She wasn’t giggling now.

  ‘What do you mean, you’ve got nits? Who said?’

  ‘Nit-nurse. She came to our school today.’

  Next thing she was up on her feet and going through my hair.

  ‘Oh my God, look at this, Doreen, he’s riddled!’

  ‘Can I do you now, sir?’ the lady on the radio was asking Tommy Handley but my mum wasn’t listening; she was halfway to the front door, putting on her coat.