by Fenton, John
All the boys smoked. It was strictly forbidden, but that made not the slightest difference and boys were always being caught having a crafty smoke in some shaded part of the building. The ‘Bosses’ – the name given by the boys to all who worked in ‘St Nick’s’ – tried their hardest to stamp it out, but always failed. I was amazed at the hiding places Bernard showed me to secure my cigarettes so they were not found in the frequent searches. They were taped underneath the table tennis table, or in the potting shed in the garden, or inside the chimneys. Visitors usually smuggled cigarettes in on a Sunday. One of the gardeners would also buy them for you if you had the money. The Bosses were fighting a losing battle and this alone made smoking worthwhile.
I followed Bernard around like an obedient lapdog. He made sure that I sat next to him in the dining room and he showed me how to get a steaming mug of tea out of the silver tea urn on the serving counter. He also advised me what were the best sandwiches to put on my plate and how to sneak food out of the dining room so that I could have a feast later in bed. The only thing he couldn’t do was arrange an exchange of dormitories so that I slept in the same one as him. He patted me on the back as I headed towards my room and said, ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
I walked into my dormitory and looked nervously around me. Bernard had been my support since I arrived, but now I was on my own again. There were eight beds in the room and I didn’t have a clue which one was mine. I looked at a boy who was sitting on the bed closest to the door and asked quietly, ‘Which is mine?’
He pointed to the other end of the room and said, ‘The one under the window.’
Even though all the boys were friendly, I felt ill at ease. I was embarrassed as I slipped out of my clothes and struggled into an ill-fitting pair of striped pyjamas. I had never exposed my body to other boys’ scrutiny and did my very best to hide my willy from their view. I dived into bed and pulled the bedclothes up tight under my chin then watched enviously as my room mates larked around and threw pillows and books at each other. I would have loved to join in but I didn’t have that sort of confidence, so I watched and laughed at their stupid antics from the confines of my bed. Mr Grey, one of the Bosses, soon appeared in the doorway and ordered everyone into their beds. He looked around the room to make sure everything was in order and turned off the light.
‘Goodnight boys and no more noise,’ he said as he closed the door behind him.
I think I half expected the riotous fun to continue and I was surprised when, apart from a few snickers, the room fell into silence. I lay quietly staring up at the ceiling and listening to the muffled sounds of the house settling down for the night. My mind was racing and I blessed my good fortune at having been sent to such a fun place. I closed my eyes and said my prayers and asked Jesus to watch over my mum. Momentarily I worried about her, but without warning the day’s events overtook me and I fell into an exhausted but happy sleep.
The first five days flew past for me. I had never had such a good time. Bernard taught me how to play table tennis, and although I was well and truly thrashed every time, I loved the game. Boys seemed to come and go and Bernard always knew what had happened at their court appearances. Trevor, a ten-year-old, had come back from court crying and was put into the infirmary for a few days. Bernard told me that he had been given three years in a junior approved school and the Bosses were keeping him in the infirmary so he couldn’t try to run away. ‘He’ll be OK,’ he said in his usual matter-of-fact voice. ‘He’s just got to get his head round it.’
I nodded as if I knew what Trevor was going through. ‘It wouldn’t bother me if they gave me ten years. I love the place.’
‘Then you’re fucking nuts,’ Bernard said harshly. ‘This may be a doddle of a place, but approved school’s a completely different ball game.’ He noisily cleared his throat and spat a big globule of phlegm between my feet. ‘It’s full of nasty bastards. They kick the shit out of you for nothing and, if you’re not careful, they’ll put it up your bum.’
‘How do you know that?’ I was staring down at the phlegm. ‘You’ve never been in one.’
‘Everyone knows what goes on in those places. Where have you been? Don’t you know anything about life?’ He seemed to be getting annoyed and I was shocked to see tears in his eyes.
‘I’m dreading it,’ he said, ‘and if you were facing it, you would be dreading it too.’
‘Then why did you play truant? You knew what might happen.’
‘Fuck off, John. You’re starting to piss me off.’ Bernard’s voice sounded menacing. ‘Don’t talk about something you know fuck all about.’
‘Sorry, Bernie. I didn’t mean to annoy you.’ It was the first time I had shortened Bernard’s name and it came out quite naturally. ‘Maybe you won’t get approved school.’
‘I wish,’ Bernie said quietly. ‘I just know in my heart that I’m going down.’
‘Maybe I’ll go down with you. I’m a Catholic and would go to the same one as you. That wouldn’t be so bad. Would it?’ I was trying desperately to reassure my friend.
Another globule of phlegm landed between my feet. ‘You’re getting probation. That’s for certain.’ He cleared his throat and sucked more phlegm into his mouth. ‘There’s no chance of you going down.’ This time the phlegm hit the wall by the side of me and slid down leaving a slimy green trail behind it.
‘I know you’ll think I’m stupid,’ I needed to ask the question, ‘but what exactly is probation?’
‘You really don’t know, do you?’ Bernie looked at me sympathetically. ‘It’s nothing really – a load of piss. I bet you everybody in here, apart from you, has had it. All you have to do is report to a probation officer once a week, usually after school, and listen to a load of bullshit. It only lasts for about half an hour. As long as you pretend you’ll do as he says, he’ll be happy.’
‘Is that all?’ I was amazed it was that easy. ‘You’re kidding me? Right?’
‘No. That’s all there is to it.’ Bernie lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘When your mum comes to visit, get her to get you an ounce of baccy – Golden Virginia – and a couple of packets of fag papers. It lasts longer than fags.’
‘If she’s got the money I know she’ll get them for me.’ I felt embarrassed. ‘But, she might not have the money.’ I had written to her every day since I’d been there but I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask her about the baccy because she might be upset if she couldn’t afford it.
‘It’s no big deal,’ Bernie seemed to understand. ‘I’ll get my dad to get plenty for both of us.’ He put his arm around my shoulder. ‘We’ll be OK.’
I had never felt such an overwhelming feeling of friendship – virtually love – as I felt for Bernie at that moment. I would do anything for him. I would repay his friendship tenfold. I felt ten feet tall as we sauntered over to the table-tennis table.
I awoke early on Sunday, excited because my mother was coming to visit that day. I wondered what time she would arrive and worried that she might not find the place. I was relieved when at last my name was called to report to the visitors’ hall. She hadn’t got lost, so I had been worrying over nothing.
I was led into the hall and hurried over to where Mum sat beside one of the large windows. I was disappointed to see that she was alone as I had hoped she would bring my sisters along so I could show off my new home.
She stood up and hugged me tightly. ‘Oh, my poor little darling. I’ve missed you so much.’ She started crying. ‘How are they treating you? Are you all right?’
I returned her hug and guided her back into her chair.
My mother was thirty-six years old but looked fifty. The unhappiness of her life had left indelible grooves scored deeply in her face. Her eyes had heavy bags under them and the thick lines around her mouth could never be mistaken for laughter lines. Her forehead had permanent wrinkles and her once-bright auburn hair was now streaked with grey. She had generously applied a cheap face powder in an unsuccessful attempt to hide a fa
ding bruise on her cheekbone. Her clothes were shabby and her beige raincoat was at least one size too small. She had on a thick pair of stockings with a visible ladder running from her right shin to where it vanished under a scuffed pair of brown shoes.
She reached under the table and picked up a carrier bag which she handed to me. ‘I’ve brought you a few little treats.’
I opened the bag and looked inside. There were three apples and two comic books. She took out her purse and handed me a shilling piece. ‘And here’s something for you to buy some sweets during the week.’
I took the money reluctantly. ‘Are you sure you’ve got enough to get home?’
Mum smiled. ‘Of course I have. I want you to have it. Now tell me how you’re getting on.’
The next two hours flew past as I related everything that had gone on since I arrived at St Nicholas’s. Mum was very interested in my new friend Bernie and asked lots of questions about him. ‘Don’t admire him. You should really feel sorry for him,’ was the advice she gave me, but I didn’t understand why she was saying that. I thought he was the bee’s knees.
When I asked about my sisters and home, she was a little vague and only wanted to talk about me. Then when I asked how my dad was, she replied, ‘Forget about him. Tell me more about how you’re getting along at table tennis.’
All too soon the visit was over. I knew that Mum had very little money so I didn’t ask her for any cigarettes or baccy. It would only upset her if she couldn’t give me any. I decided that I would lie to Bernie and pretend that I had asked but she had no money. As she walked away and out of the main doors, I found myself crying and ran to the toilet so that no-one saw my weakness.
That night, for the first time since I had arrived, I found it difficult to sleep. My mind wouldn’t let me rest. I missed my mother badly. I worried about her. For hour after hour I lay awake thinking about my home and my old life there.
Chapter 4
February 1958
In February the whole country was gripped by icy winds and freezing fog. It was an ordeal to get out of bed in the morning as the coldness seemed to bite into every exposed part of me and left my flesh sporting a blueish tinge. The rest of Europe was experiencing the same cold spell and it was during this weather front that England was plunged into mourning. On 6 February in Munich, Germany, the plane carrying the Manchester United football team crashed on take-off. The news spread around the remand home like wildfire. Seven of the famous ‘Busby Babes’ were killed and England lost some of its finest players. Duncan Edwards, a shining star and one of England’s finest young players, died of his injuries fifteen days later. The tragedy of the air crash affected every boy in St Nicholas’s and united the country in grief.
I reluctantly climbed out of bed the day after the plane crash. I could hear the rain lashing against the dormitory windows and the howling winds shaking their sturdy frames. In places that were invisible to the naked eye the wind found apertures and whistled noisily into the already cold room. I shivered as an icy blast of air swept over my feet. As I hurried out of the dorm and down the hallway, my footsteps made a hollow sound on the polished floorboards and I regretted not putting on my socks because my feet were exceptionally cold. I threw open the washroom door with such ferocity that it crashed noisily against the wall, and hopped across the stone-covered floor to a hand basin on the far wall.
The cold water I splashed on my face stung me with the ferocity of a thousand bee stings and my teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. I spent very little time cleaning my teeth and could taste the peppermint flavour on my lips all the way back to the dorm. I reached under my bed and pulled out the wicker basket that contained my own clothes and, still shaking, hurriedly put them on. My two weeks in St Nicholas’s were over and it was the day I was due back in court. I hurried to the dining room because I wanted to have as much time as possible with Bernie before we went our separate ways.
Bernie sat hunched over our usual table. There wasn’t the usual cheery greeting; he looked dejected and lost in thought. We had become firm friends over the last two weeks and the other boys affectionately called us Pinky and Perky. Bernie looked up and gave me a weak smile. He reached into his tunic pocket and handed me a slip of crumpled paper.
‘It’s my address. My mum or dad will let you know where I am.’
I felt despair washing over me. I would be going home today but Bernie was facing an uncertain future. This boy had given me loyalty and friendship at a time when I needed it most and I was profoundly grateful to him.
‘Bernie, I wish I was staying with you,’ I said. ‘I promise I’ll come and see you, wherever you are.’
‘When you do come, make sure you bring plenty of baccy.’ It was obvious that Bernie was holding back tears. ‘Can I have your address?’ He produced a scrap of paper and a small stump of a pencil.
I scribbled down my address and handed it back to him. ‘If you get a chance to write, please make sure you do. I’ll write back.’ I spoke with such conviction that Bernie at last managed a warm smile.
‘I know you will.’ A serious look followed. “Don’t forget to say sorry when you speak to the judges today. Tell them that you’re ashamed of the way you behaved and that you will never do it again. They love all that shit.’
‘Did you say that when you went to court last Tuesday?’
‘I didn’t get the chance. They gave me three years before I could open my mouth.’ I remembered how Bernie had come back from court the previous Tuesday. He had just walked nonchalantly into the recreation room and said, ‘I told you I would get three years.’ Then, as an afterthought: ‘Bastards. I hope they’re all dead by Christmas.’
‘Do you think I’ll get a chance to speak?’ I enquired.
‘How many times have I got to tell you? You’re getting probation. They’ll give you some bullshit lecture and send you on your way.’ Then with an embarrassed look, ‘I’m really going to miss you. You’re a bit of a wanker, but a nice one.’ He grinned. ‘You’d never have survived in an approved school. You’re too soft.’
The door to the dining room swung open letting in a cold blast of air from the hallway. Boss Lewis stood in the doorway with two uniformed police officers. ‘OK, Fenton. Time to go.’
I stood up slowly and, with a despairing glance at Bernie, walked towards the waiting officers.
As the two large doors were closing behind me I heard Bernie shout ‘See you soon.’
I sat quietly in a small room that was an annexe to the much larger courtroom. I was not alone. There were three other children in the room: two girls and a boy. I wondered if I had looked as terrified two weeks ago as they all appeared to be now. One of the girls had been crying, and though she had stopped, every few seconds she sniffed loudly. I would have liked to tell her that she had nothing to worry about but we had been told we had to be completely silent so I didn’t dare.
The door opened and a very tall police officer signalled with one finger for me to follow. My heart was beating rapidly as I walked into the courtroom and it was hard to stay calm. I spotted my father immediately. He was sitting in the same seat as when we were here the last time. All of the seats were occupied. I wondered briefly which of the adults were the parents of the sniffing girl. The three judges were already in their seats and were looking at me intently. The policeman walked me over to the table and stood me in front of the same grey-eyed woman as before. She and her companions looked down at some papers and spent several minutes reading. More than once they huddled together whispering. Occasionally they looked in my direction and then resumed their secret discussion. At last they sat up and looked directly at me.
‘Well, I think we have all the necessary facts now.’ The woman sounded friendlier than the last time she had spoken to me. ‘It was for your own good that we sent you on remand and after reading your reports it would appear that it has done you some good.’ She smiled. ‘You must remember that your parents only brought you here for your welfare. They woul
dn’t want you to stay in a place like that for an indefinite amount of time.’ She paused briefly. ‘I am sure you wouldn’t want to either.’
‘Yes I would. I loved the place.’ The words were said with sincerity. ‘It doesn’t frighten me. It was great.’ The respite from the life I led at home and at school had been welcome. I had slept peacefully for two weeks. I had heard and witnessed no violence. No one had teased me about the clothes I wore. I had a friend. A real friend. I felt good about my experience. I felt good about myself.
The woman was astounded. ‘What did you say? It was great – you loved the place – is that what you said?’ She was looking at me with amazement. ‘It would appear that these reports are wrong. You haven’t changed. You’re still as brazen with defiance as you were before.’ The three judges once again went into a huddle then raised their heads and glared at me.
‘You’ve got your wish,’ the woman said. ‘Three years’ approved school.’ She looked towards a police officer. ‘Take him away.’ The woman barked to the police officer. ‘We have heard enough.’
I was led away to the holding room. The same green-painted surroundings, the same green linoleum, the same black plastic chairs greeted me.
‘I’m going to tell you your future, sonny, whether you want to hear it or not,’ the tall policeman said, scowling down at me. ‘When you’ve done your three years in the approved school, you will only be out a short while and then you’ll go to Borstal. After Borstal you’ll end up in prison and after prison,’ he grinned, ‘I have no doubt you’ll kill someone and then we’ll hang you. I wonder how smug you’ll be when the judge puts that black cap over his wig.’
I didn’t understand what he was saying. ‘Thank you, sir,’ I murmured quietly and flinched as the policeman lifted his arm as if to hit me.
