Please Don't Make Me Go

by Fenton, John

  ‘Where’s all the girls?’ Taffy whispered to me. ‘Dancing with her will be like dancing with my old lady.’

  I shrugged my shoulders and looked across at Bernie. He was silently laughing at us and swayed his shoulders in time with the music. I mouthed the word ‘wanker’ at him and he laughed aloud, which got him a disapproving look from Brother Michael.

  Mrs Lloyd stopped the music and said, ‘I’d like a volunteer to stand up and be my dance partner.’ She looked around hopefully, and Pete, Taffy and I pointed over to where Bernie was grinning.

  ‘He knows how to dance, Miss,’ Pete said. ‘He told us before we came in.’

  Bernie’s face was a treat. He looked horrified as Mrs Lloyd reached for his hand and led him into the centre of the room. All the boys were enjoying his obvious discomfort and laughed openly at the redness in his cheeks.

  Pete said laughing, ‘That’ll teach the wanker.’

  ‘The first thing I’ll show you is how to hold your partner.’ She looked at Bernie and said, ‘Put your right arm around my waist and rest your right hand gently against the small of my back. Take my right hand and hold it firmly in your left hand. My right arm should be slightly away from my body and our hands should be at shoulder height.’ She guided Bernie’s hands and arms into position and told us to memorise the way they were standing.

  We all nodded our heads as if we were past masters of the delicacies of dance.

  She smiled and said, ‘Now split into twos and take up this position in the centre of the room. I’ll come to each couple in turn and make sure that you’re standing properly.’

  None of us moved. I looked at Pete Boyle, sheer horror written on my face.

  ‘Did she say we’ve got to select one of us for a partner?’ I said. ‘She must be having a laugh. There’s no way I’m dancing with any of this lot. I’m not a poof.’

  Pete and Taffy nodded their heads in agreement. ‘That’s enough of this shit,’ said Pete. ‘I’m out of here.’ He stood up and started walking towards the door. Taffy looked at me and I nodded my head in agreement before we stood up and followed him.

  Mrs Lloyd intercepted us before we reached Brother Michael.

  ‘What’s wrong, boys?’ she asked. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘As far away from here as possible,’ said Pete as he stepped round her. ‘Do you think we’re a bunch of queers?’

  ‘Of course I don’t,’ she replied. ‘Just because you practise dancing with another boy doesn’t signify that you are homosexual.’

  Pete grimaced. ‘It does in this school. You won’t find any of these lads prancing around holding onto each other. We don’t do things like that. We only came here because we thought we’d be learning with girls.’

  Mrs Lloyd appealed to Brother Michael. ‘Can you assure them that after they have mastered the waltz and ballroom jive they will get the chance to show off their prowess to the college girls at a social dance.’

  Brother Michael came over to where we were standing and said, ‘I have no intention of making any of you boys do something you don’t want to do, but I believe you should give Mrs Lloyd a chance. She is giving up her own time to come here and teach you. She has said that when you’ve mastered two dances she will bring girls from the college to dance with you. I think she is being very fair. If anybody in the school questions your sexuality, I will deal with them. Think how envious they will be when they see you all having a social evening over here with Mrs Lloyd’s girls.’

  ‘I’m staying, Bro,’ Bernie called. ‘How about you, John?’

  I felt trapped. I hated the thought of looking like a queer, but I had an overwhelming urge to stick it out until we had our social evening. I looked at Pete Boyle and said, ‘Shall we give it a go? It’ll be a laugh.’

  Mrs Lloyd spotted the wavering in our ranks and stepped forward to speak directly to Pete. ‘I promise you that no one will think you’re homosexual. I can see that you are as straight as a die.’

  Pete pointed his finger at Taffy Jenkins. ‘If I stay, I’m only going to dance with him. At least I know he’s straight.’

  Instead of answering, Mrs Lloyd said authoritatively. ‘Right, boys. Pair up in the centre of the room.’

  Jimmy Johnson, a fourteen-year-old with an unruly mop of jet-black hair and a face covered in acne, came hurrying up to me. ‘Can I partner you, John, as then I know that no one will take the piss out of us?’

  I nodded. ‘I’ll partner you, but I’ll never practise as the woman. I’ll always be the man.’

  ‘That’s OK by me.’

  Self-consciously we made our way to the centre of the room and stood in pairs. Mrs Lloyd worked her way around the group, putting us in the proper stance and laughing at our clumsiness when she made us hold hands. I held Jimmy’s hand in a vicelike grip; he had to know that I was a man and not some stupid fairy. Satisfied that she had the whole group standing properly, she went over to the record player and turned Jim Reeves back on.

  ‘I want all the boys playing the man’s role to take a step forward with their right leg. The boys playing the girl’s role will move their left leg backwards with the movement of their partner’s right leg. Right men, move your right leg forward.’

  I stepped forward with my right leg and Jimmy moved his left leg backwards. We took great care to make sure our legs didn’t touch. We stood in that position until Mrs Lloyd was satisfied that everybody had made the right movement. She smiled, pleased with us.

  ‘Now, men, move your left leg forward so that your legs are slightly apart. Boys playing women will move their right legs backwards so that they are in the same position as their partner. Men move your left leg.’

  I moved my left leg forward and Jimmy moved his simultaneously. I grinned at him. This was a piece of cake. Mrs Lloyd smiled. All the boys had done exactly as she had asked.

  Again we moved our legs in unison and were back into our starting positions. Mrs Lloyd gave us a round of applause.

  ‘The next movement is easy. I want the men to move their right leg sideways so that their feet are together. The boys playing the women will move their left legs sideways so that their feet are together. Move your legs.’

  ‘Well done, boys. Let’s try the three movements together without stopping. Are you ready? On my command start the movements. Start.’

  We all moved forward as we had before and not one of us made a mistake. Mrs Lloyd was in high spirits and clapped enthusiastically. ‘You all made that look so easy. It looked like you’ve been doing it for months.’

  For the next two hours Mrs Lloyd guided us through several different movements. She was delighted as we mastered the simple steps. At the end of the evening she sat down next to Brother Michael and watched with pride as we all danced around the classroom to the strains of Jim Reeves. We had lost all our self-consciousness and, like everything in Vincent’s, it had become a competition as to who was the best pair. Occasionally one of the boys would make a mistake and would be loudly berated by his partner. Jimmy Johnson was a quick learner and could keep perfect rhythm in his movements, and though he was playing the woman’s role he would often pull me through my steps. I was pleased I had him for a partner and decided that he would definitely be the only one I practised with.

  Flushed with success we left the classroom at the end of the lesson and planned how we could practise some more before our next lesson. Brother Michael had agreed that we could use the classroom of an evening. It was decided that every evening between six and eight we would assemble in the classroom for practice. There would be no excuses for not turning up.

  Brother Michael astonished us all by showing us some fancy manoeuvres on the floor. It was obvious that he was an accomplished dancer. We all managed to learn these moves before our next lesson and Mrs Lloyd shook her head in disbelief as we glided around the floor. She burst out laughing when John Page and Michael Smith did a perfect double turn in a figure of eight movement. She clapped her hands in delight as the dance ended
and we turned to face her.

  There was a minor dispute between us about the music for the jive. Every boy had his favourite rock ’n’ roll singer and wanted to dance to their music. Mrs Lloyd solved the dispute by telling us that she only had two records for practising with and they were Cliff Richard’s ‘Move It’ and The Big Bopper’s ‘Chantilly Lace’. There were groans of disappointment, as most of the lads wanted Elvis Presley or Bill Haley.

  The jive was easier to learn than the waltz as most of us loved beat music. There were so many variations of twisting and turning that Mrs Lloyd allowed each pair to choose two or three moves they liked the best and inaugurate them into their dance. Jimmy Johnson was already good at the jive, as he had been taught by his sister before he had ever come to Vincent’s. He showed me the moves and we soon became very adept and quite flashy dancers. By the end of three weeks, all of the class were ready to perform for real and were anxious for Mrs Lloyd to fulfil her promise of a social. She told us that it would take place the following Monday.

  Inside the school our little dance class was ridiculed and we were soon referred to as ‘The Queers’. Pete Boyle and Taffy Jenkins were caned for kicking seven bells of shit out of one of the stupid lads who said it within their earshot. Jimmy Johnson suffered a lot of verbal and physical abuse so he spent most of his time hanging around me and Bernie. Nothing was said in my hearing as everyone knew what the outcome would be – a fight and a trip to the small dorm. All the aggravation was bringing the dance class into a tight niche and we ended up sitting in a group. This stopped the piss-taking and bullying.

  Excitement was intense on the day of the social. All the boys felt sure that a great sexual encounter was just around the corner. Brother Michael had arranged for each of us to be issued with a pair of black trousers and a white shirt. We either owned or borrowed modern slim ties and, wearing our own shoes, we looked relatively smart. Taffy Jenkins had bought a bottle of Old Spice aftershave and assured us that just a small amount on our necks and chins would have the girls eating out of our hands. They would stand no chance and their knicker elastic would immediately loosen with lust. We all bought a little sprinkle off him and Taffy made a huge profit. He then produced a jar of Brylcreem from his locker and sold us all a small dab, making an even bigger profit. When at last it was time to make our way over to the classroom, the smell of Old Spice permeated the air and, with our slicked-back hair, we arrogantly sauntered over to get our hard-earned reward.

  The classroom had been spruced up. The wooden floor shone with newly applied polish and two large tables proudly displayed a mixture of sandwiches and cakes and large jugs of different squashes. Mrs Lloyd was waiting at the door as we entered and nodded her head with approval at our appearance. Sitting in the chairs were at least thirty beautiful girls, all dressed in the most wonderful ballgowns. Chiffon, lace and shimmering silk bedazzled our eyes and the glitter of sparkling costume jewellery shone out from all parts of the room. I couldn’t help my mouth dropping open. I stood staring with amazement at so many gorgeous girls.

  ‘They’re too fucking old,’ Bernie said quietly. ‘The youngest must be at least twenty.’

  I think I must have been the only one who hadn’t spotted the age of the girls as the rest of the boys’ faces all betrayed their disappointment. Pete Boyle took Mrs Lloyd to one side and said, ‘I thought the girls would be the same age as us.’

  Mrs Lloyd smiled sympathetically. ‘There are no girls in our college as young as you boys. The youngest we have is eighteen.’ She put her arm comfortingly around his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. All of my girls are nice and are looking forward to seeing how well you boys can dance. Relax and have a good time.’

  Pete came over to where we were standing and said, ‘There are no girls our age. We stand no chance of getting any tush. The best we can hope for is seeing their tits as they dance.’

  Taffy laughed and said, ‘None of the lads in the school will know what went on over here so we can tell them we all scored. As long as we agree to keep it a secret, we can make them as jealous as hell.’

  Elvis Presley singing ‘Love Me Tender’ started up on the record player and Mrs Lloyd stood in the middle of us.

  ‘Now go and ask a girl to dance,’ she told us. ‘Don’t be shy. Just walk over as we have practised and say “May I have this dance, please?” Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’

  I had never imagined that a small walk across a classroom could be so difficult. Gone was the arrogance. The Old Spice and Brylcreem meant nothing any more and my legs were having great difficulty walking in a straight line. I self-consciously headed in the direction of a pretty girl who was dressed in layers of light-blue chiffon. She watched my approach with interest and smiled up at me when I reached where she was sitting. I held out my hand and said nervously, ‘May I have this dance, please?’

  Her straight white teeth gleamed as she smiled and stood up from her seat. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I would love to.’

  She walked with me to the centre of the room and then turned to face me. I had an inward struggle to stop my hand shaking as I slid my arm around her waist and put my hand gently in the small of her back. She held onto my other hand and all of a sudden we were waltzing around the room. She was a very accomplished dancer and guided me through the more difficult turns. I knew that I was blushing and felt sure she could feel the heat from my face.

  ‘You’re doing very well,’ she whispered to me. ‘I find you very easy to dance with.’

  I stammered a ‘thank you’ and promptly missed a step and stood on her foot. I would have felt better if the floor had swallowed me up. I looked at her apologetically and was amazed to find her giggling.

  ‘That was my fault for speaking to you,’ she said.

  When I got back to where the lads had congregated at the far end of the room, I was on a high.

  We carried on dancing for three songs and by the end of the third, we were gliding around the floor chatting and laughing as though we had been partners for years. Her name was Daphne and she came from Canterbury. She was twenty years old and in her second year with Mrs Lloyd. I would have been happy dancing the waltz all night with her, but all too soon the music ended and she thanked me and returned to her seat.

  ‘How did you get on?’ asked Bernie.

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘She is a great dancer and a real looker.’

  ‘Do you think you stand a chance?’

  I found myself getting annoyed. Why the fuck couldn’t Bernie see beyond tush?

  ‘Shut the fuck up, Bernie. You know darn well that none of us stand any chance with these girls, but there’s nothing to stop us having a good time. Don’t tell me that you got anywhere with yours. I’m not an idiot and I wouldn’t believe you.’

  Bernie grinned. ‘You soft fucker. You’ve fallen in love with her.’

  Now I was annoyed. ‘Don’t be silly. One more word out of you and I’ll forget we’re best mates. Leave me alone and let me enjoy myself without any of your stupid yack.’ Bernie shook his head and wandered away.

  Mrs Lloyd announced: ‘Take your partners for a ballroom jive.’

  I watched with dismay as a young lad called Graham Dodd led Daphne into the centre of the floor. I made a mental note to deal with him later. I hurried over to where another girl, dressed in a bright yellow silk gown, was scanning the room hopefully for a partner. I held out my hand and she stood up and nearly dragged me into the dance area. There was a loud cheer from a few of the lads as Bill Haley and the Comets’ ‘Rock Around the Clock’ blared out from the speakers.

  It soon became apparent that we were far better suited to this way of dancing than the girls. They knew how to jive but were not at all adventurous in their movements and looked bemused at some of the twists and turns we led them through. On several occasions, we had to stop dancing and show the girls how we wanted them to move. They loved it. It was obvious that at last they were going to get something positive out of the night.

  For
the next two hours it was all jive and nothing else. The girls begged Mrs Lloyd to let them learn these new movements with their partners and she was only too happy to oblige. She watched with interest as her girls enthusiastically took on jiving with the boys of Vincent’s.

  The night was over too soon and we all groaned, both boys and girls, when Mrs Lloyd announced the last waltz. Jean, my jive partner, asked me if I would do the last waltz with her. How could I refuse? This was a first for me and my head swelled with pride at having been asked. Whether for a joke or for sentimental reasons, Mrs Lloyd put on Jim Reeves’ ‘He’ll Have to Go’. Instead of waltzing we all just swayed and chatted to our partners until the music faded and died. We boys made our way along the line of girls and politely thanked them for a lovely evening and were rewarded by each one with a kiss on the cheek. We left the room having had a wonderful evening of just dance and more dance. I can truthfully say I didn’t hear one of the lads mention the lack of tush. They had all experienced the same wonderful high that I had, including Bernie.

  I walked up to the dormitory with Pete Boyle and he said he needed to have a shower before he went to bed. The other lads in the dorm all assumed that we had conquered the wonderful and mysterious world of tush. We never told them otherwise. That night, I had the most beautiful sleep and when I awoke the next morning, I was still smiling.

  Chapter 18

  It was late November 1959 and my second winter in Vincent’s. I had been away from home now for twenty-one months and I knew I had changed considerably both in size – I was 5 ft 8 in tall and weighed 9 st 7 lb – and temperament. Occasionally boys still tried to bully me but I always fought back. I must have taken the long walk up to the small dormitory a dozen times. Brother De Montfort had increased the number of strokes of the cane I received to eight. It was the maximum he could give, as any more would do too much damage and I would possibly need hospital treatment. I was becoming hardened to the beatings and my hatred was like a bubbling vent of volcanic lava, hidden from view but bursting to get out. Bernie and I were still best friends but we were drifting apart because of my obsessive determination to look after myself, no matter what the cost. I no longer offered him any sympathy when he got hit or bullied. I believed he should do the same as me and look after himself. It was his choice.