More fire engines. Norbert and a few others got up to look out of the window.
‘Then there was Pass the Parcel with forfeits. Do any of you still play that? Pass the Parcel with forfeits? It’s the same as Pass the Parcel but every layer of paper contains a forfeit, you know, you had to sing a song or eat a teaspoon of mustard, those sort of forfeits. It was huge fun . . .’
Suddenly Geoff Gower shouted out and pointed.
‘Sir, look at that!’
Everybody looked. The sky was full of black smoke. We all rushed to the window. There were more fire engines now and bells clanging like anything. We couldn’t see any fire though.
‘All right, boys, sit down, it’s only a fire, back to your desks, please.’
Norbert was standing on the pipes to get a better look.
‘Looks like a big one, sir, look at the sky.’
Reverend Dutton made him get down.
‘It’ll probably be one of the mills. The fire brigade are on their way, that’s the main thing. Right, all those going to the roller-skating party can leave. Quick as you can, please.’
Now it was my turn. I went to the front of the class and Tony, Norbert and David followed me. I turned at the door and took one last look at Keith. He looked fed-up. Serve him right!
My mum had said she’d meet us by the school gates around twenty to four. She’d asked if she could leave work early and I was hoping she wouldn’t be late. She’d booked the party for four o’clock and we were going to meet my Auntie Doreen there. We were standing by the gates, waiting for her, watching more fire engines racing up the road. There were police cars as well. The sky was getting blacker and blacker. It was quite exciting. This workman was walking past and Norbert asked if he knew what was going on.
‘Oh, it’s massive, lad, huge fire, must be nine or ten fire engines.’
We asked him if it was one of the mills.
‘No, thank goodness. It’s the Rolarena – went up like a tinder box. All wood, y’see. It’s gone. Burned to the ground. There’s nowt left.’
That’s when I heard my mum. She was running up the road.
‘I’m here, love! Sorry I’m late. There’s been a big fire. No buses. I had to walk. Anyway, we’ll be all right, we’ll get there by four.’
We went to Pearson’s for fish and chips and then to the pictures. Prisoner of Zenda. It was all right. But not as good as roller-skating.
THE TRICK
‘Where are you then, love? I can’t find you.’
We were looking at the school photo. We had it spread out on the kitchen table, it was about three feet long. I was holding one end and my mum was holding the other.
‘Over there somewhere, Mum, at your end.’
‘I can’t find you.’
‘I think I was next to Keith Hopwood.’
‘That’s a big help, where’s he?’
‘I can’t remember, it was ages ago when they took it.’
I leaned across to look where I was on the photo. I took my hand off my end and it rolled back up into a scroll.
We’d got them that afternoon. Mrs Garside, the school secretary, had brought them in during scripture and Reverend Dutton had handed them out at the end of the lesson.
‘Now, boys, you’ll be pleased to know that in this box, kindly delivered to us by Mrs Garside, is at long last the eagerly awaited school photograph.’
‘About time, we paid for ’em ages ago!’
‘Thank you, Boocock, we know we’ve been waiting a while for these, and stop leaning back in your chair like that, take your feet off the desk.’
Boocock stared at Reverend Dutton and slowly did as he was told. As soon as he was sitting up straight Barraclough did the same thing, leaned back in his chair on two legs and put his feet up on his desk. Reverend Dutton looked at him, you could tell he didn’t know what to do. He turned round, picked up the box of photos, then looked back at him. Barraclough still had his feet on the desk. So did Boocock.
‘Stay behind afterwards, the two of you, we’re going to have a little talk.’
They both laughed. They wouldn’t stay behind, they just do what they like in scripture, we all do. You can get away with anything in Reverend Dutton’s class.
He started coming round handing out the photos. They were all rolled up and held together with a rubber band.
‘Now, don’t open these here, boys, wait till you get home. They’re very long, you’ll get into a terrible mess.’
’Course everybody ignored him and started looking for themselves and laughing.
‘Holdsworth, you’ve got your eyes closed . . .’
‘Look at Gower, he’s doin’ a V-sign . . .’
‘You’ll get done for that, Gower . . .’
‘Look at Jackie Parry – he’s fast asleep . . .’
‘Who’s that idiot? You can’t tell who it is, he moved . . .’
The photographer from London had told us we had to keep dead still while the photograph was being taken.
‘This is not like a normal camera, it’s a special camera to take panoramic photographs. It’ll move from one side to the other, so you have to keep dead still . . .’
We were all in rows right across the playground. There were about six rows of older lads at the back standing on different-size tables – it must have taken the caretaker ages to set it all up. Then there was a row of chairs for all the staff and sixth-formers.
‘We use this special camera at schools all round the country. It’ll start taking the picture on my left and move all the way across to my right and you must keep dead still . . .’
First and second years were right at the front. Second years had been told to kneel and we were sitting on our bums. I was between Keith Hopwood and Duggie Bashforth.
‘You mustn’t move a muscle and that includes the teachers . . .’
Everybody laughed, well, those who’d been listening. That’s when Ogden, the headmaster, got up.
‘Quiet!’
We shut up quick.
‘This gentleman has come all the way from London to take our school photograph. It is important you listen to instructions. Carry on.’
He went back to his chair that was right in the middle and the photographer from London carried on.
‘Thank you, Mr Ogden. As your headmaster has just said, it’s very important to listen to my instructions. The camera will move from left to right. When I start the exposure it will take about forty-five seconds. Do you think you can keep still for forty-five seconds?’
‘It’s you, Cawthra, you moved, you couldn’t even keep still for forty-five seconds!’
‘It isn’t me, I’m over there next to Emmott!’
‘Oh. Who is it then? You can’t tell . . .’
Reverend Dutton was still going round handing out the photos. I didn’t unroll mine, I wanted to wait till I got home.
‘One for you, Lightowler, the last one.’
Norbert hadn’t been at school that day. You’d had to wear a school tie and a school blazer to be in the photo. He didn’t have either.
‘Not mine, sir, I’m not gettin’ one. I’m not on it. I was off sick.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame, Lightowler.’
‘Yes, sir, it is, sir.’
Reverend Dutton held up the last photograph.
‘Have I missed anybody out?’
‘No, sir . . .’
‘Well, there’s one left over, it must belong to someone.’
It went quiet. We all looked at each other. It was McDougall who put his hand up.
‘It’ll be Manningham’s, sir . . .’
Reverend Dutton didn’t know what to say for a minute. He went a bit red.
‘Oh yes . . . yes, of course . . . Er, yes . . . I’ll, er . . . yes . . .’
That was the last day Manningham had come to school, the day of the photo.
‘Who’s that, love, holding two fingers up to the camera? That’s not a nice thing to do on a school photograph, is it?’
> I was looking for Manningham. I couldn’t find him.
‘Geoff Gower. He said he was copying Mr Churchill.’
My mum looked at me.
‘I don’t think so. Anyway, it’s Sir Winston Churchill now.’
‘Oh . . .’
Where was Manningham? I was finding it hard to remember what he looked like.
‘Ooh, my Lord, who’s this? Look at his hair!’
‘Who?’
‘One of the teachers. I’ve never seen hair like it.’
She was looking at Reverend Dutton.
‘Scripture teacher. He wears a wig.’
I carried on looking. Where was he? My mum was still going on about Reverend Dutton’s wig.
‘Poor man, someone should tell him, it looks ridiculous.’
There he is! There was Manningham, right at the end of the row – smiling.
‘Take a card, any card . . .’
Norbert was watching out for Melrose while our class stood round in a group, watching Manningham doing another of his amazing tricks.
‘Any card you like . . .’
Boocock pushed everybody out of the way.
‘I’ll choose it!’
He’s always the chooser is Arthur Boocock, we never get a look-in.
Manningham turned away from us towards the blackboard, covering his eyes.
‘Don’t show it to me, Mr Boocock, but remember the card.’
He calls everybody mister when he’s doing his tricks. When he’d first come into our class I didn’t know what to make of him. I’d thought he was a bit barmy, off his head. I didn’t like him. He was a show-off.
‘Memorise that card, Mr Boocock, make sure everybody sees it.’
He’s not a show-off, though, he’s just different. Different from anybody else in our school.
Boocock held up the card. It was the eight of Diamonds.
‘Does everybody know what the card is?’
We all shouted ‘Yes’ except for Norbert.
‘I don’t, I’m over here looking out for Melrose, what is it?’
Manningham still had his back to us. ‘Don’t shout it out, Mr Boocock! Would you please show Mr Lightowler the card?’
Boocock held it up.
‘Has Mr Lightowler seen the card?’
‘Yes!’
We all said it together again.
‘Then please replace the card into the pack that is sitting on the table. Anywhere in the pack, please.’
Boocock picked up the cards and pushed the eight of Diamonds into the middle.
‘Now get on with it, Manningham, before Melrose comes.’
Manningham turned round, opened his eyes and looked at Boocock.
‘You can’t hurry magic, Mr Boocock.’
He took the cards and started to shuffle them.
I wish I could be like Peter Manningham. He’s not scared of Boocock and Barraclough like the rest of us. He’s not scared of the teachers. He’s not even scared of Melrose. You could tell that from the very first day he’d come into our class.
‘Leedale?’
‘Here, sir.’
‘Lightowler?’
‘Sir.’
‘Manningham?’
We’d all turned round to have a look at the lad who had been kept down. He should have been in the year above.
‘Oh dear, Manningham. Relegated, were we?’
‘I’m afraid so, sir, one of those things.’
And he’d just smiled at Melrose.
‘Well, go on at this rate, lad, and you’ll be in your twenties before you leave school.’
Melrose had looked round the class with his lip curling like it does and we’d all laughed. Not ’cos we’d thought it was funny – ’cos we knew Melrose expected us to. Manningham had just smiled again.
‘You’re dead right, sir. But don’t you agree, there’s always two sides to everything, sir? Advantages and disadvantages. Hopefully when I do leave, Mr Melrose, I’ll be better educated, won’t I?’
That’s how he talked to teachers. If it’d been me or Norbert or any of the others, we’d have got clouted or kept in after school, but not Peter Manningham. He seemed to get away with anything. With everything.
‘Not if you get expelled, you won’t, and that’s what’ll happen if you don’t sort yourself out, lad!’
Manningham had just smiled that smile of his.
‘I’m now going to lay these cards on the table, face down. I will turn each card over until I come to the card that Mr Boocock chose.’
We all stood round the table, watching as he started picking them up. King of Clubs, six of Hearts, nine of Spades. How would he know that it was the eight of Diamonds Boocock had chosen? It was impossible. We all leaned in closer. Jack of Diamonds, five of Spades, two of Clubs . . .
‘What may I ask is going on here?’
Stupid Norbert! Instead of looking out for Melrose like he was supposed to, he’d come over from the door and was watching with the rest of us. Everybody ran to their desks. Everybody except Manningham, he just carried on turning over the cards. Norbert looked at Boocock. He knew what was going to happen to him at break.
‘Manningham! Collect those up and get to your desk!’
He didn’t even look up. He just kept turning the cards over, showing each one to the class before he put it into the other pile. Eight of Spades, queen of Diamonds, four of Diamonds. He wasn’t even hurrying.
‘Just give me a couple of seconds, sir. We are coming to the climax of an amazing bit of magic.’
That’s what I mean. You don’t talk to teachers like that, especially not Melrose. You wouldn’t even talk to Reverend Dutton like that. But Manningham did and he got away with it.
King of Diamonds, ace of Hearts, five of Clubs. He stopped turning over the cards and looked up at Melrose for the first time.
‘Just a little bit of your time, sir, that’s all I need. I think you’ll be very impressed with this.’
He didn’t even wait for Melrose to reply. He just smiled his smile and carried on picking up the cards, showing them to us and putting them aside.
Seven of Spades, nine of Clubs, king of Hearts. Still no eight of Diamonds. Melrose didn’t say anything, he just stood there watching like the rest of us. That’s when it dawned on me. That’s how he got away with it. It was the way he always smiled at people after he’d said something. It was like magic. It was the same that day when he hadn’t done his homework for Bleasdale.
‘Frankly, young man, I’m not surprised that you’ve had to stay down a year, this is quite intolerable.’
Manningham had nodded.
‘You’re dead right, sir, but if you remember the weather was lovely last night, really mild and it was either doing my Latin homework or taking my granny out for a walk – she’s in a wheelchair, sir, and she doesn’t get out much and I thought, no, I’ll take her for walk and honestly, sir, it did her the world of good . . .’
And there it was, the smile. And he wasn’t putting it on, you could tell, it’s just the way he is. Bleasdale wasn’t sure what to say.
‘Yes, well . . . er, that’s very commendable, Manningham, it is important to look after your grandmother, but listen, lad, I do want you to do that work for me, perhaps you could do it tonight.’
Manningham hadn’t said anything for a couple of seconds, it was like he was thinking about it.
‘I’ll try, sir. I’ll do my best.’
I’ll try? I’ll do my best? If any of us had said that we’d have been crucified, but not Peter Manningham. People just like him.
‘Good lad, you can only do your best.’
Good lad? You can only do your best? God, I wish I could be like Peter Manningham . . .
He was still picking up the cards. Four of Hearts, ace of Clubs, ten of Clubs . . . there weren’t many left.
‘Well, gentlemen, we are coming to the end of the pack and I haven’t yet found Mr Boocock’s card.’
Boocock snorted.
‘Well,
I put it in there. Everybody saw me.’
Manningham carried on turning the cards over, showing us each one before he put it into the other pile. Seven of Hearts, three of Diamonds, eight of Clubs.
‘Then, Mr Boocock, your card must be here.’
King of Spades, three of Clubs, five of Diamonds. Ten of Hearts, nine of Hearts, seven of Clubs . . . No eight of Diamonds.
‘Gentlemen – there is only one card left. This, then, must be Mr Boocock’s card!’
What a fantastic trick! How did he know which card Boocock had picked? And how did he make it the last card? How could he make sure it was at the bottom of the pile after he’d shuffled them? It was magic. He put his hand on it.
‘So, gentlemen, this is the card chosen by Mr Boocock!’
He picked it up slowly and showed it to us . . . jack of Clubs! Jack of Clubs? It was the wrong card, he’d mucked it up.
‘That wasn’t my card, mine wor the eight of Diamonds.’
Everybody agreed with Boocock. Manningham was frowning, he couldn’t understand it. I felt sorry for him.
‘But that was the only card left. It can’t have been.’
Boocock sneered.
‘You’re useless, Manningham!’
Barraclough, Hopwood, Norbert and some of the others started jeering. They soon shut up when they saw Melrose looking at them.
Manningham was going through the pack of cards. Melrose put his hand on his shoulder.
‘Come on, lad, let’s get this lot cleared away, we’ve wasted enough time.’
Manningham was still looking at all the playing cards.
‘You see, there is no eight of Diamonds here, but I believe Mr Boocock when he says that is the card he put back into the pack.’
Melrose started pushing Manningham over to his desk.
‘Yes, well, I wouldn’t believe everything “Mr” Boocock tells you, now come on, lad, let’s get on with the lesson.’
Manningham held up his hands. ‘The thing is, gentlemen, if Mr Boocock’s card was the eight of Diamonds, where has it gone?’
Everybody groaned. The vein under Melrose’s eye started to throb. If Manningham wasn’t careful he was going to get a clout. I felt so sorry for him.
‘Look, Manningham, you just need to practise a bit more. Now go and sit down before I lose my temper.’
The Fib, The Swap, The Trick and Other Stories Page 32
