When the Sky Falls

by Phil Earle

  ‘Aw, got stuff on your mind, have you?’

  She looked at him with disdain. ‘The last time I checked, this war affected more people than just you.’

  She started to walk, with Joseph slouching behind her.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘there are a few things you need to know about Carr Lane School.’

  ‘The only thing I need to know is why the bloomin’ place is even open. I thought all the kids had been packed off.’

  ‘Most of them were, but then because nothing happened and the bombs didn’t come like everyone thought they would, some parents wanted their kids back home.’

  ‘Even though the bombings would still probably start?’

  ‘Some families didn’t think they had a choice. One boy, Tim, he’s in our class, his dad runs a shop, but when he got enlisted, it was up to his mum and gran to keep it going. But then his gran died so he got brought home to help, even though he’s only nine. Or there’s Wendy, her dad got sent to fight but her mum can’t walk properly, so she had to come back to look after her. It’s awful really, she’s only eight!’

  But Joseph wasn’t great at sympathy. ‘Right. So it’s basically all the misfit kids, shoved together in one room.’

  Syd was aghast. ‘Speak for yourself, Joseph Palmer,’ she said. ‘We all have reasons for being here. All of us. Now, do you want me to prepare you for school, or not?’

  He grunted something that was barely a word, but that was enough for Syd to continue: ‘Firstly, Mr Gryce, the headmaster. Watch him! If he warns you once, he won’t do it again. I promise you.’

  Joseph shrugged, like it didn’t bother him a jot.

  ‘You need to be prepared, Joseph. He was an officer in the last war and acts like he still is. He runs the place like it’s an army barracks. Same things happen every day, every week, every month.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like his Friday tests. Last Friday of every month he comes into class and tests each of us on what we’ve learned. Sets us sums, makes us read out loud. He even invites parents in to watch, like it’s a parade ground. I swear he’s nearly made them cry in the past, never mind us!’

  Joseph felt his anxiety grow rapidly. He didn’t like the sound of the man, and needed to try and work out how on earth to play him. Every school had a teacher like Gryce: in fact, some had more than one. And what worried Joseph was that every one of them had harassed or ridiculed him as soon as they saw what he was capable of – or should he say, incapable of. That was why he’d stayed away so long.

  ‘Are you even listening?’ Syd said. ‘I’m trying to do you a favour. Well, you need to listen to this, in fact, the only thing you need to remember is that every time you walk into school, look above the door of the assembly hall.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because that’s where Clarence hangs.’ She lowered her voice, like someone was eavesdropping. ‘As a warning.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Who’s Clarence? A kid? Why would anyone hang a kid off the wall?’

  Syd groaned, like it was the stupidest question ever.

  ‘Clarence, you fool, is Mr Gryce’s cane. Fifteen inches of birch. Believe me, Joseph Palmer, you do not want to feel Clarence on your backside. Not today. Not any day.’

  ‘Wouldn’t bother me,’ he sniffed, though his palms itched at the memory of something similar. ‘Anyway, you can’t cane what you can’t catch.’

  ‘Ha. Don’t you tell me that you were never caned at your old school.’

  She was right. Joseph had known plenty of Clarences in his short school life. And other things too. Some teachers didn’t even bother with a cane, they preferred a belt. Belts without names. And they were only too prepared to risk their trousers falling down if it meant they could punish him for his idiocy. Even if it wasn’t his fault. Even if he really was trying.

  The memories left him sweating and falling even further behind Syd.

  ‘Come on!’ she said. ‘Clarence doesn’t approve of latecomers. Anything else you want to know?’

  There was, of course there was. But it had nothing to do with school. The only answer he wanted was to the question he’d asked her at the zoo. The one she’d refused to answer.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got a question. Why did Mrs F want to shoot Adonis?’

  13

  Syd looked at him like he was insane.

  ‘You are joking, aren’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You don’t really think she wanted to shoot him, do you?’

  To be honest, Joseph hadn’t a clue. The woman had been endlessly short-tempered with him, but he’d seen a different side to her when it came to Adonis. She cared for that ape. That’s why it was such a shock to see her pointing a rifle straight at him.

  ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.’

  ‘Well you can take it from me that she doesn’t want to. Ever. I mean, think about it. Mrs F runs that place out of duty to her family. She gets no money, little support, unless you count me and you, and she’s watched it be run into the ground because of those monsters in Berlin. So, do you really think she wants to kill the only real prize left in the place?’

  ‘Yeah but I saw her, didn’t I? She was stood there, while the bombs were dropping, pointing a rifle right into his cage. So yeah, if she didn’t want to kill him, then she was doing a pretty good impression.’

  Syd shook her head. ‘And you still can’t work out why?’

  Joseph shrugged, wishing in part he hadn’t brought it up. He was about to be made to feel stupid the minute he walked into school, he didn’t need her doing it as well.

  ‘She was doing what she has to do,’ Syd continued. ‘Her job. It shouldn’t be like this, but it is. Her job should be keeping the animals alive, but because of Hitler and his raids, well, the rules have changed. Now, every time the air raid sounds, her job, her ONLY job, is to point that gun at Adonis, because when the sky falls, and it will fall, sooner or later, it’ll create carnage in that zoo. Bedlam.’

  ‘So she was going to kill the ape to stop it being scared?’

  ‘No, you fool. If the bomb lands on his cage, and blows the bars out, then there will be a terrified, powerful ape on the loose, one that could rip yours or anyone’s arms clean off in a heartbeat. And nobody, not me, you or even Mrs F wants that.’

  Joseph couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘What, so if Adolf doesn’t snuff out Adonis, then Mrs F has to?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘And do you think she would do it? Do you think she could?’

  ‘Could you?’

  Joseph puffed his chest out like it was the easiest answer in the world. ‘If I had to, yeah. It’s only an animal.’

  ‘Only an animal?’

  ‘An animal that tried to grab me the first time it laid eyes on me. Why should I care about it, when it acts like that? So yeah, if she can’t do it, then she can hand the rifle over to me.’

  Syd’s eyes were wide, like she’d forgotten how to blink. ‘It’s that simple for you? To end a life, like that.’She snapped her fingers.

  Joseph shrugged.

  ‘Well, I hope you never lose anyone close to you in your life, Joseph Palmer. Because to say something like that, you clearly never have.’

  That lit something in him. ‘You don’t know nothing about me, so don’t think you do. You haven’t got a clue what I’ve lost.’

  ‘What, you mean your dad? But he’s not dead. He’s fighting, like everyone else’s round here. So don’t think that makes you any different. You know, I haven’t a clue why you’re so angry all the time, but I do know it’s not nice to watch. In fact, it’s ugly. Anyone else would feel sorry for Mrs F, having to sit there night after night, waiting for the second when she has to pull the trigger.’

  ‘Yeah, well...’ He felt like he was being told off. ‘I�
�m not anyone else, am I?’

  ‘No, you’re not. But maybe you should think about what she’s given you. She’s given you a chance, when you needed one. A bed, and food. Food she doesn’t have. Plus a job, and now schooling. She’s trying to help. Just like she did me.’

  Joseph stood, hand on hip, wanting to fight back. ‘Why did you even need a chance anyway? What’s so special about you?’

  ‘None of your business,’ she spat. ‘But maybe you should think about this. If you continue to push Mrs F away, then where does that leave you? Because from what I can see, she’s your last chance. Without her, you’re on your own.’

  And she stormed on, through the school gates, not realising that Joseph already knew this. He’d felt on his own for a long, long time, and school was not going to make the situation any better.

  14

  Stepping inside a school was not a pleasant experience for Joseph, but while this one smelled the same as the last, and the anxiety it dredged up in him was identical, everything else was markedly different.

  The size was different. It loomed over the boy the second he walked into the yard, and felt no less intimidating once inside, either. As much as he hated to admit it, Syd had been right, too – there was something unnerving about the sight of Clarence hanging menacingly on the wall. It was ridiculous to think that a thin stick could be watching you, but Joseph felt its presence anxiously, under no illusion that they would become more intimately acquainted sooner rather than later.

  He took in the rest of his immediate surroundings: stone walls pocked with holes and flaking grey paint, a wooden floor, dusty and parched, and an honours board, out of date by two years. But there was one thing missing, especially given the scale of the building – and that was pupils.

  Aside from Syd, he hadn’t seen a soul, and while Joseph welcomed this in some ways (no one had irritated him so far by trying to engage him in conversation), it made every footstep slap an echo eerily around the place.

  If he’d thought about it he would’ve also realised that an absence of pupils spelled bad news for him. Fewer pupils meant less chance to hide: both his challenging moods, and his educational shortcomings...

  ‘You, boy, yes, you!’ came a voice, louder than Joseph’s footsteps, and bouncing off so many walls that it took him a few seconds to work out where it was coming from. ‘Come here.’

  The voice came from a man, who on first sight, was clearly the headmaster, Mr Gryce.

  Joseph took him in. He looked a little like Clarence: whip-thin and aged. He must’ve been pushing sixty, and moved quickly across the wooden floor, but without the accompanying footsteps. Joseph found it eerie. Were his feet beneath his gown even touching the floor? Was he some kind of spectre?

  ‘Now,’ he said, voice quick and harsh, ‘you must be the boy. Margaret Farrelly’s charge.’

  Joseph had no idea what a charge was, and so hesitated, which wasn’t appreciated.

  ‘So... You are... ?’

  ‘Well, I’m here.’ The words came without thinking.

  ‘And you will soon be wishing you weren’t, should such insolence continue. Now, name.’

  ‘Joseph.’

  ‘And did your mother deem to give you a surname as well?’

  The boy knew the answer to this, obviously, but was momentarily thrown by the mention of his mum. Right now he hated her more than ever.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Palmer.’

  ‘Palmer, what?’

  ‘Nothing else.’

  ‘Palmer, SIR.’

  Joseph saw a pulse throb in Gryce’s neck. Then the man pointed, without uttering another word, in the direction of Clarence. He’d done it again and he knew it. Alienated someone from the word ‘go’.

  ‘Palmer, SIR.’

  ‘You will do well, round here, to remember one thing, Master Palmer. Manners maketh the man. Fail to remember this and you and Clarence will become the firmest of friends. Now, follow me.’

  Joseph did exactly that, marvelling again at how only his own footsteps could be heard on the parquet floor.

  They swept down a long dark corridor, until they reached a classroom at the end. With a sweeping flourish of Gryce’s arm, Joseph was introduced to the rest of the class. All nine of them. Syd, two older boys, and six younger children, some barely of school age. Syd might have denied it, but from first sight, they were an odd bunch.

  ‘Miss Doherty, children – this is Joseph Palmer. He will be joining you from this point on. You know where both Clarence and I are, should you require our help. And Master Palmer, I shall look forward to seeing your progress during my Friday test at the end of the month.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Do be ready.’

  And with that threat burning itself deep inside Joseph, Gryce ghosted from the room.

  Miss Doherty, in a break from tradition in this city, approached Joseph with a smile. It made him suspicious.

  ‘Joseph, hello, my name is Miss Doherty. You’re very welcome. Why don’t you come and join the others?’

  He eyed the rows of empty chairs. He was going to stand out here very quickly, and it scared him.

  ‘Is this it, then?’ he asked.

  She looked confused. ‘I’m sorry?’

  He pointed at the empty bank of desks.

  ‘Yes, the others were all evacuated – mostly to Yorkshire.’

  ‘Lucky them,’ Joseph said quietly.

  ‘So it’s just we few, we happy few,’ she said.

  There was a singsong quality to her voice that suggested she normally taught much younger children.

  ‘So, Joseph. Tell me about your old school.’

  ‘Nothing to tell,’ he said quietly, fearing anything he said would give away the fact that he could remember little. He’d blanked a lot of it out.

  ‘Well, was it a large school?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Small, then. How lovely. And the teachers there. Good, were they?’

  ‘Mostly like him,’ he motioned in the direction Gryce had left. ‘Only good when they had a piece of wood in their hands.’

  She blushed, and wrung her hands together, as if trying to squash such an unpleasant image.

  ‘Well, Joseph, perhaps you could come and read to me. Just for a minute, so I can see where you’ve got to.’ Her words seemed to lack any kind of certainty, like she already knew she had hit on a sensitive spot.

  And she was right, it sent Joseph into a spin. ‘My glasses are broken,’ he blurted. It was pathetic, but it was all he had in the moment.

  ‘Oh dear. Well, let’s try anyway shall w—’

  ‘I can read.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, surprised by his irritation. ‘Of course you can. I mean, you are clearly, what, eleven years old.’

  ‘I’m twelve.’

  Cue more blushing. ‘Lovely. So, why don’t you pop yourself on that chair over there and read me a page of the book on the desk. That way, we won’t strain your eyes and I can find you something you reallywant to get stuck into.’ She waved her fist encouragingly, like so many did in the war effort posters.

  This was hell. A hell that he had visited on too many occasions already. The classroom was quiet, and he knew it would stay that way if she forced him to read. His eyes scanned the room and the other kids. The smaller ones wouldn’t say a thing, but the older boys? He knew, he just knew.

  Slowly, he walked across the classroom floor, hoping for some kind of miraculous intervention, ignoring the eyes fixed on him.

  He breathed deeply, brain still empty of excuses, but filling quickly with anger at what was about to happen. But as he reached the desk, and made to sit, he heard from behind him: ‘Bloomin’ Northerners. Why don’t he clear off back where he came from?’

  Followed by: ‘No, this should be good. Cos if he reads as well as he speaks, then I don�
��t reckon he’ll be troubling the top of the class.’

  And that was it. The fuse sparked and spat, and so did Joseph. They’d given him everything he expected and feared: and with a simple whip of his arms, the book, the desk and the chair, all went tumbling.

  15

  The second desk went over quickly, but not as dramatically as the third, fourth or fifth. By then, Joseph had found a devastating rhythm, one that saw the other children skittering to the furthest corners of the classroom.

  He didn’t notice, how could he, when the rage consumed him?

  A chair toppled, then two more, the echoes shrieking around the walls.

  Can’t do this, he thought to himself. Not again, not here.

  He’d smash everything, burn every book in sight, before they tried to make him read a word.

  He looked to the windows. They were huge, reachable, and to his panicked brain offered the best chance of escape, as the door would lead him only into the clutches of the headmaster.

  He searched for a chair within reach, unaware that Miss Doherty was moving closer, each footstep slow and cautious, not unlike the movements Mrs F had made when approaching Adonis’s cage.

  The difference was, though, the teacher didn’t know Joseph in the same way, and after a growled response, she abandoned her approach, palms held high, apologetically.

  ‘What is it, Joseph? What is it?’ she asked, panicked. ‘Was it what Bert said? Bert?’ she implored, ‘I think you owe Joseph an apology.’

  But it didn’t come. Bert Conaghan, known for the power in his fists rather than the decency in his character, was cowering behind an upturned desk with Jimmy Rodwell. They’d laugh and mock the situation come breaktime, but in the moment were too shocked to say a word. Unlike Mr Gryce, who had ghosted unseen into the room, Clarence in hand.

  ‘Miss Doherty!’ he boomed. The teacher was the initial, unfortunate focus of his displeasure. ‘I could hear this melee from my office. What on earth is going on in here?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Headmaster. Joseph is a little upset. I can only apolo—’

  But Gryce wasn’t interested in apologies, or in the boy’s welfare, and he sped effortlessly across the classroom, collaring Joseph by the scruff of the neck, as you would a disobedient dog.