‘Me too!’ said Simon.
‘Vern,’ said Ranger Neil in a nervous voice, ‘perhaps it’s best if you choose another group.’
Vern looked directly at me and then pointed at Boggo and Garlic. The Malawian looked thrilled, Boggo less so.
Before sending us off to bed at the ludicrous time of 19:55, Ranger Nicky reminded us once again that although we will now be working in smaller groups, this isn’t meant to be a competition and the manner in which you conduct yourself is more important than the speed with which you complete the tasks. (Good news for Team Fatty/Spud!)
Garlic and Fatty both refused to vacate the bottom bunk and are now officially sleeping in the same bed together.
Saturday 7th November
6:00 Awoke to find Garlic sleeping with his arm around Fatty in the bottom bunk. They both appeared to be smiling. (?)
Rambo and Simon won all three of the morning challenges, which included an obstacle course, a treasure hunt, and a compass and map reading challenge.
Fatty and I came second in two challenges and were disqualified in the obstacle course when Fatty refused to take part and pretended that his scoliosis was playing up. Boggo was livid with Garlic’s poor map reading skills and also said Vern was beyond retarded.
14:00 Simon and Ranger Nicky spent over an hour talking on a rock away from the rest of us. Either it was a long-winded spading attempt or Simon’s on the verge of another setback.
15:00 Rope jumping.
It was Fatty’s worst nightmare. A swinging rope that carries you over the edge of the gorge. Then it’s a leap into the air and a crash into the deep river pool twenty feet below.
‘Noways, hosays!’ shouted Fatty as he backed away from the edge of the gorge. Ranger Nicky was unsympathetic and informed him that there would be no getting out of this one. Fatty shook his head and took a place at the back of the group.
Rambo jumped first and landed safely in the water below. Garlic was next, screaming with delight as he disappeared over the gorge. Boggo followed looking terrified and then it was my turn.
‘Go!’ shouted Ranger Neil and I jumped out of the tree. Then I was flung over the edge of the gorge. I let go of the rope and sailed through the air like a bird before crashing into the freezing water. Luckily, I quickly moved aside because Vern would have landed on my head otherwise. The Crazy Eight gathered on the riverbank below and waited for Fatty to sail off the gorge. Nothing happened. Boggo and Rambo were already making sarcastic comments about Fatty being a coward and said this could be the end of his prefect chances. Time dragged on and there was still no sign of him.
I eventually decided that as Fatty’s partner, I ought to make an appearance and staggered up the bank to the sound of loud slurping noises behind me.
When I arrived at the top, Fatty was crying and pleading with the rangers to let him off because he said he was terrified of heights. Ranger Nicky had no sympathy for Fatty and stood with her fists on her hips and an aggressive look on her face.
The rangers had succeeded in forcing Fatty up into the tree, but now he was refusing to jump and also would not come back down.
I asked the rangers if I could have a chat to Fatty in private. They backed off some distance and seemed to be having an argument about how best to deal with the situation. I raced up the tree to where Fatty was hiding like a nervous gorilla in the foliage.
‘I can’t do it, Spud,’ said Fatty in a quivering voice. ‘My oath to God this rope is gonna snap or the tree will snap, or I’ll let go at the wrong time and kill myself …’
I told him to imagine Penny was waiting at the bottom with all the others. If he didn’t jump, she would forever think he’s a coward and will probably end up going home and snogging Boggo.
I’m not sure if it was my inspiring speech or whether Fatty thought Penny was really waiting for him at the bottom. Either way, he seized the rope, screeched a terrible Tarzan call, and leapt dramatically out of the tree. I watched the vast, screaming figure disappear over the gorge and shouted, ‘Let go, Fatty!’
I scampered down the tree and raced up to the edge of the gorge just in time to see Fatty staggering out of the water with his arms raised in triumph. Just for a moment there, I thought it was the dying season and I’d have blood on my hands.
17:00 Our final task was to cook up a chicken potjiekos. (Ranger Neil insisted on calling it ‘Bush Stew.’) Each group was handed a small black cast iron pot and a bag of ingredients.
‘You have two hours,’ said Ranger Nicky as she noted her watch. ‘May the best chefs win!’
Fatty was delighted, and while I set about making a small fire, he sifted through the ingredients and separated the vegetables from the chicken pieces and potatoes. He looked crestfallen. ‘Only two pieces of chicken,’ he said sadly as he rechecked the bag once again.
Suddenly my partner became a flurry of mad activity. He diced an onion in seconds, although half of it shot off the chopping board and into the sand. Fatty didn’t seem to worry about this and piled the fallen onion pieces into the pot without even washing them.
Once the fire was blazing, I joined Fatty to lend assistance, but he told me to back off and concentrate on the fire. He didn’t seem very impressed with my cooking credentials and instructed me to leave it all up to him.
I shrugged my shoulders and returned to my little blaze, from where I observed Fatty sampling each raw vegetable and nodding his head solemnly as if he was a famous French chef.
18:00 Growing a little concerned with how many tastings and samplings Fatty was conducting. I tried to warn him about our scarce ingredients, but he said it was vital that the chef takes regular tasters.
‘It’s a subtle art, Spuddy,’ he said rather grandly. ‘It all comes down to timing.’
Time ticked on and every few minutes Fatty would plunge his fork back into the cauldron and then scoff something so quickly that he would burn the roof of his mouth. He would then stare out into the darkness and nod slowly as if he was deeply satisfied with the results.
19:00 ‘It’s perfect,’ declared Fatty as he carried his pot into the middle of the circle and plonked it down beside the other two. Rambo and Simon were already looking smug while Boggo appeared decidedly twitchy.
Simon and Rambo won again.
I wish they would lose sometimes, just to have that smugness wiped off their faces.
Unfortunately, there was hardly anything left in our potjie by the time it came round to the official tasting. The chicken leg was now just a bone floating in a sauce, and Ranger Neil had to poke around in our pot for ages before finding anything to taste. Turned out the only thing that was left were brinjals – one of the few things the chef refuses to eat.
The only reason we came second was because Boggo thought he had discovered some wild sage growing behind the ablution block and added a huge clump to his pot. Bad news for him, Garlic and Vern was that it wasn’t sage but weeds, and their potjiekos was inedible. Fatty and Garlic remained steadfast and refused to move from the bottom bunk despite Boggo and Rambo’s mockery and loud rendition of ‘Love is in the air’.
Sunday 8th November
05:30 Awoke for an early morning game walk with our professional tracker Khululani. Despite Khululani showing us numerous spoor and regaling us with stories about leopards that live in the caves, the sum total of the walk was three impala and a zebra, all of which were drinking from the birdbath in the head ranger’s garden.
10:00 Ranger Nicky announced that we were now officially working together as one team again. Ranger Neil led us across to the smouldering fireplace and pointed at four empty barrels, eight poles and a mighty length of rope.
Our task is to make a seven-man raft and then sail ourselves down the river for two kilometres where all the rangers will be waiting for us at the finish line. We are competing against all the other houses with the winning team receiving four litres of Coke at the finish line. This may not sound like much of a prize, but after two days of bushwhacking the thought of guzzling ice c
old Coke was like heaven.
‘Go!’ shouted Ranger Neil in a strident voice.
Immediately an argument broke out between Boggo and Rambo about how to build a raft that could withstand the weight of six boys and a rhinoceros.
10:30 Still arguing and haggling, I try to act as peacemaker but Rambo pushes me away and threatens to hit anybody who breaks his concentration.
10:35 Rambo and Simon build the raft. Garlic pretends to look heavily involved from a safe distance. Boggo and Fatty sulk together under a tree and gossip about Rambo and Simon pushing for prefect. Vern stands so close to me that I can hear the wind whistling in his nose.
11:00 Rambo declares the raft built, and orders Garlic and me to drag it down the slope to the river.
11:08 The raft can’t handle Fatty’s weight and begins to sink.
11:11 The Woodall third years mock our raft and wave goodbye as they sail merrily down the river.
11:12 Boggo suggests that the raft has been poorly constructed. Rambo throws a rock at him, narrowly missing his head.
11:14 The raft capsizes as Fatty leaps aboard for his second attempt.
11:16 Barnes third years float past, and sneer at our comical efforts.
11:18 Barnes third years disappear around a bend in the river giving us a loud rendition of the wanker chant.
11:20 Rambo attaches Fatty to the raft by means of a rope tied to his foot. We set off, dragging an unhappy Fatty behind us.
11:22 Round the first bend to discover numerous rapids ahead.
11:23 Fatty notices the rapids and begins screaming at us to untie him.
11:24 Rambo grows irritated with Fatty’s persistent screaming and nonchalantly lets out close to 60m of rope. Fatty’s desperate hollering merges into the sound of the roaring rapids.
11:25 Vern attempts to untie the rope knot attached to the raft but falls overboard.
11:28 Fatty (still attached to raft) and Vern crash down the rapids screaming in agony.
11:30 Vern manages to stagger out of the river and collapses on the riverbank.
11:55 Our raft comes in stone last, and we are rudely jeered upon crossing the finish line.
11:57 Near dead Fatty crosses the finish line.
After Woodall had finished crowing on about their victory and downing their Coke, we enjoyed a lunchtime braai at the river with the entire third year class of ’92. Had a chat to Geoff Lawson who said he’s been trying his luck with VPH this term but she’s stopped answering his letters. He then asked me if I thought I was going to be a prefect.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘And you?’
‘Definitely,’ he replied.
Monday 9th November
After breakfast Ranger Neil ordered us to find a quiet space to spend an hour reflecting on what we had learned this weekend.
We all went our separate ways and a great silence descended on the red camp and surrounds. I found a secluded spot in the shade and began reflecting on a weekend of disasters and endless bickering.
About twenty minutes into my meditation, Ranger Neil suddenly appeared and asked me if I was all right. I told him I was reflecting. He then asked me if I had any questions that I would like to ask him. I shook my head and returned to my thoughts. Ranger Neil then crept off to bug the next reflector.
About ten minutes later there was a loud scream to my left. Through the foliage I saw Ranger Neil charging back to his tent in a blind panic.
Boggo claims Ranger Neil interrupted him with his pants down having a slash. Nobody believed him.
16:00 It was truly marvellous to be back at school. It takes a weekend like that to realise how good we have it here. The school buildings looked beautiful as they basked in the afternoon sun. Apart from the odd seeping puddle in the grass, you would never have thought a great storm had ripped through here just a few weeks ago.
I showered for half an hour, but still I reek of the Umgeni River.
There’s a rumour circulating that Pike has left school for good, but I’m not letting my guard down.
Tuesday 10th November
Viking hauled the Crazy Eight into the common room and shat all over us for our behaviour this weekend. He said he had received a very poor report from the rangers who rated us the most uncooperative third year group in the school.
‘Now I’m not going to single out individuals,’ roared Viking, ‘but I will be reconsidering the number of prefects I select for next year.’
He then informed us that our leadership duties begin tonight. Rambo and Simon have been selected to take the first and second years for prep. Viking left with a scowl on his face looking like if he had it his way, none of us would be chosen as prefects.
20:30 Rambo had absolutely no trouble with the first years, who kept rigidly silent for two hours. Simon gave Spike and Thinny hard labour for throwing paper jets at each other in the second years’ prep classroom.
Boggo reckons Simon is pushing hard for prefect. He said it was disgusting to witness a good man sell his soul to the devil for a mere position of power.
Wednesday 11th November
One week until exams begin. The slogging has begun.
Reverend Bishop announced that we had eighteen days until the confirmation service, and that we had fallen woefully behind.
What’s new?
18:00 Gloom and doom at the dinner table. Word’s out that Eggwhite is staying for post matric. This means, despite the fact that he’s the most ineffectual prefect in recorded history, he will definitely be a prefect again next year.
‘Why the hell is he doing post matric?’ asked Fatty, looking the most alarmed I’ve seen him in ages.
‘Because he’s as thick as pig shit,’ replied Boggo. ‘He can’t get into varsity on his current results, so he’s gonna try sneak in the back door.’
‘What back door?’ questioned Garlic.
‘The same back door I use when I visit your old lady,’ retorted Boggo, biting the skin around his nails.
‘So one of us won’t be a prefect because of Eggwhite,’ said Fatty.
‘And …’ interrupted Boggo, ‘we’ll have to spend the whole of next year with Eggwhite poking his nose into everything we do.’
Simon shook his head and said that he hated Eggwhite. For a man who claims to not want to be a prefect, he seemed ill at ease. Perhaps it’s a result of the nervous breakdown, but Simon seems harsh and extreme and very quick to anger.
‘Let’s kill him!’ whispered Boggo without appearing to be joking.
Rambo spooned some rice into his mouth and said, ‘Who knows – perhaps Eggwhite will be our next head of house?’
We ate the rest of our chicken à la king in a troubled silence.
Boggo and Fatty have been ordered to take prep tonight. Clearly Viking thinks they are the next most responsible third years. Even Garlic agreed that my chances of being a prefect now are as good as gone.
I’m expecting nothing. Looking down, thinking up.
Thursday 12th November
16:00 Eggwhite emerged from the bogs and appeared to have been crying. I asked him how his exams were going but he didn’t answer and walked sadly out of the house.
Vern and Garlic have been selected to take prep tonight. Either Viking thinks I’m an imbecile, or I received a terrible report from the rangers. Vern managed to keep the first years silent but Garlic lost control of the second year prep classroom, which descended into loud arguments and Garlic threatening to stab Spike in the eye with a compass. Garlic had to be relieved of his duties by Meany Dlamini a mere half an hour into the prep session. He returned to our classroom with eyes bulging with indignation.
‘I guess we can scratch Garlic off the list then,’ sniggered Boggo.
Poor Garlic sank into his chair and buried his head in his hands.
‘Hey, look on the bright side, Garlic,’ said Boggo cheerily, ‘at least you were asked to take prep.’
I ignored him and ploughed on with my revision.
Friday 13th November
> FRIDAY THE 13th!
08:00 Fatty faced a mutiny. Nobody except Vern was willing to call up ghosts in the first year dorm at midnight. He begged and pleaded and tried to convince us that we had a ninety per cent chance of calling up Macarthur. We all remained steadfast and Fatty fell into a morbid sulk.
Lunch: Fatty and Vern have vowed to have their séance without us.
The Guv was on edge today because of Friday 13th. He said it had nothing to do with superstitions, but more about it being his wedding anniversary.
‘Which wife?’ I asked.
‘Haven’t the foggiest,’ replied The Guv and continued to stare out the window like he was waiting for something nasty to happen.
23:57 Whiteside bust Fatty and Vern before they had even reached the second year dorm. He gave them hard labour on the spot and sent them back to the dormitory in disgrace. Rambo and Boggo thought the whole thing hilarious and Boggo took great glee informing them that they had now blown their chances of being a prefect.
‘So that leaves Rambo, myself and Eggwhite still standing,’ announced Boggo struggling to hide the joy in his voice, ‘with psycho Simon the dark horse.’
Simon didn’t reply. Perhaps he was sleeping.
Saturday 14th November
We lost badly in the return fixture against Blacksmith. I made a duck and didn’t bowl. Norm (I don’t believe in spinners) Wade doesn’t like losing and didn’t say a word to the team after the game. Worried I might get dropped again.
Sunday 15th November
Rambo led a twenty-second silence before breakfast to mark the day of Gecko’s death. It should have been thirty seconds, but halfway through Garlic shouted, ‘How long are we keeping silent for?’
Gecko seems a long time ago now. I no longer feel any pain when I think about him, and I don’t think about him as much as I did. Perhaps my brain finally twigged that he wasn’t coming back after all. Or maybe it’s just that life carries on and there’s nothing we can do about it.
Spud - Learning to Fly Page 33
