Please Don't Make Me Go

by Fenton, John

  It was as if an explosion had gone off in my skull. For a few seconds I couldn’t hear or see a thing but I managed to fling myself off the bench and onto Wilkinson. We both crashed to the floor and my frantic movement cleared my head. As I knelt on the floor I could see a stream of blood gushing from my nose and making a small puddle in front of me. I scrambled to my feet and saw Wilkinson doing the same. He looked at the blood running off my chin and smiled triumphantly. He ran towards me and let fly with a vicious kick aimed at my head. As I had done a hundred times before in the locker room with Bernie, I jumped backwards and grabbed hold of Wilkinson’s foot before it landed.

  Wilkinson’s face showed his shock as he was suddenly balancing on one leg. I moved slightly backwards and watched with delight as he hopped precariously forward. His right leg was now held at a right angle and left the bulge of his crotch a perfect target for my boot. Twenty-two months of torment and suffering went into my kick. I am sure no England fly-half has ever kicked a ball harder than I kicked Wilkinson’s crotch. The kick landed with precision and the scream it forced from Wilkinson was music to my ears. He fell over backwards and everything he had eaten for tea spewed out of his mouth. I ran forward and lifted my right boot over his screaming mouth and stamped downwards. I must have stamped on his face at least five or six times before Brother Arnold and Brother Ambrose rugby tackled me to the ground.

  I tried in vain to fight my way off the ground. I needed to finish what I had started and ensure that Wilkinson would never be in a position to come sneaking into my dormitory again. Brother Ambrose held me in a vicelike grip and I was trapped and unable to move. Brother Arnold had run in the direction of the school and I guessed that he had gone straight to De Montfort.

  I could see Bernie from where I was lying and he was staring at Wilkinson and shaking his head. He looked down at me and mouthed the words, ‘You’re fucked.’

  I didn’t understand what he meant. Was Wilkinson getting up off the floor to attack me?

  ‘Let me up,’ I screamed at Ambrose. ‘I have to get up.’

  I heard the sound of running footsteps and tried to turn my head to see who was coming. I could just make out four figures running towards us. The figures stopped in front of Wilkinson and then I saw Brother De Montfort kneeling beside him. He said, ‘Brother Francis, go and get Matron, and be quick about it. I think Wilkinson is badly hurt.’

  De Montfort stood up and walked over to where I lay trapped on the floor. He shook his head slowly from side to side and said, ‘I don’t think you’ll be with us for very much longer, Fenton.’ He turned to Brother Ambrose. ‘Let him up but keep hold of him. Take him up to the infirmary and lock him in isolation. Stay there and I’ll send for him when we’re ready.’

  Matron came scurrying along just as I was being pulled to my feet. She took the briefest of glimpses at Wilkinson and said to Brother Francis, ‘Phone for an ambulance. This boy needs hospital treatment.’

  I had a flicker of alarm. What if I had killed him? I turned my head to look at Wilkinson but found myself staring straight into the face of Brother Arnold. His hand slapped me hard across my face.

  What are you doing?’ he asked. ‘Trying to admire your handiwork?’ He slapped me again.

  Brother Ambrose pulled me out of the reach of Arnold. ‘That’s enough, Brother,’ he said. ‘I think we should allow Brother De Montfort to deal with him.’

  I could feel the blood from my nose still running down my chin. With my free hand I wiped the blood sideways across my face.

  Brother Ambrose pulled a clean white handkerchief out of his cassock and handed it to me. ‘Hold that over your nose.’

  I nodded my thanks and placed it carefully over my nose and mouth. I was led away by Brother Ambrose and Brother Arnold. Bernie had taken up a position by the door that led to the infirmary and winked at me as I was pushed past and up the stairs. I was placed in the isolation room and listened as the door was locked from the outside.

  I sat down heavily on the infirmary bed. It was hard to say how I felt as it had been a hectic fifteen minutes. I wondered what damage I had done to Wilkinson that warranted hospital treatment? I knew I had kicked him in the nuts and had also done my very best to stamp out his teeth, but surely neither of these things would need him to be carried off in an ambulance? If he died, that would make me a murderer, which was a very scary prospect. I’d go to jail for the rest of my life. Had I been older, I could even have been hanged. I took Brother Ambrose’s handkerchief away from my face and stared at the blood that soaked it. I dabbed my nose a few times and threw the bloody rag on the bed then I rummaged in the top of my sock and found a misshapen roll-up and a couple of red matches. I twiddled the roll-up back into shape and lit it. I didn’t care if Arnold smelled the smoke. I couldn’t be in more trouble than I already was.

  Three hours went by before they sent for me. Brother Ambrose led me into De Montfort’s office and it didn’t surprise me when I saw that he wasn’t alone. Standing against the far wall were Brother Arnold, Brother Michael, Brother Francis and Father Delaney. Sitting next to De Montfort was a pasty-faced man I had never seen before. He was definitely someone of importance as De Montfort was fawning up to him. Father Delaney looked stressed. I wondered whether he had been arguing as I’d seen him looking the same way a few months ago when the painting and decorating of the chapel hadn’t been finished in time for Sunday Mass. My stomach clenched with nerves. What were they going to tell me?

  De Montfort looked at me with disgust written all over his face. ‘This gentleman sitting on my right is Mr Davies,’ he said, ‘the Head of our Governors, and he will help in any decision we take as to the punishment you will receive. I can tell you now that it could well be that you will be handed over to the police and taken to court for further sentencing.’ He handed Mr Davies some official-looking forms and a sheaf of blank paper. I surmised that Mr Davies was going to take notes of the proceedings. The seriousness of the situation was obvious. The words ‘court’ and ‘sentencing’ rang in my ears.

  De Montfort sat forward and leaned on his desk looking at me. ‘Wilkinson is in hospital and is being operated on as we speak. There is no doubt in my mind that you knew that you would cause him serious damage when you kicked him. You may well have prevented him from ever being able to have a family of his own.’ De Montfort stood up and turned to look at the portrait of the Blessed Virgin. I felt relieved. Wilkinson was alive. At least I wasn’t going to have the tag of murderer hanging over me.

  He blessed himself and sat back down. ‘Explain yourself and your actions. I want to hear what you’ve got to say about the incident. There’s no use in you saying sorry, it’s too late for that; just tell us what made you do such a dreadful thing.’

  I gave a nervous laugh. ‘Saying sorry never crossed my mind. I’m not sorry for what I’ve done and if I get another chance, I’ll do it all over again.’

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Brother Francis said. ‘He’s no good. He doesn’t know right from wrong.’

  Mr Davies was staring at me, looking puzzled. ‘Is that what you’re going to say in court? “I’d do it all over again?” From what I’ve heard about you, you’re not stupid. So why would you say such a stupid thing?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that in court.’ Suddenly all the emotion of the past two years of nightmares flooded me, all the pent-up shame and sleepless nights and self-disgust. I started to cry and the words burst out in a rush: ‘I’d tell them how Wilkinson stuck his prick between my legs when I was thirteen years old and how I caught him interfering with me when I was asleep. I’d tell them how I’ve had sleepless nights worrying about him coming back to do it again. That’s what I’ll tell them. So fuck you and your threats about me getting another sentence. I really don’t give a flying fuck what you do. I’m glad I did it and I hope the bastard dies in hospital.’

  I wiped my eyes angrily with my hand and stared at them defiantly.

  There was a deathly silence in the room. All th
e occupants were staring at me, not believing what they had just heard and undecided how they should react.

  Father Delaney broke the silence. ‘I told you all there would be a reason why he acted in the way he did. Now you know the reason.’ He walked across the room and rested his hand on my shoulder. ‘Why didn’t you confide in me, John? I would have helped you.’

  ‘I couldn’t, Father. I was ashamed.’ I started to cry again. I was now sobbing uncontrollably and Father Delaney put his arm around my shoulder. I looked at him through my tears and said, ‘I only had any peace when I was in the chapel.’

  Brother De Montfort stood up and once again looked at the portrait and blessed himself. He turned to Mr Davies and said quietly, ‘I think we should take advice about all we have heard tonight and meet up again in a day or so. What do you think?’

  Mr Davies was staring at me and slowly nodding his head. ‘I think that John should be kept in isolation until the matter is resolved,’ he said. ‘It is a very tricky problem and must be handled with some delicacy.’

  Brother De Montfort said, ‘I agree,’ and turned to Father Delaney. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you took Fenton up to the infirmary and spoke to him in private. He may have other things to tell you that he’s too embarrassed to talk about in front of us.’

  Father Delaney led me towards the door. Brother Ambrose reached out his hand and patted me on the shoulder. I was surprised to see that he had tears in his eyes. Father Delaney patted him affectionately on the arm and led me out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  ‘Well, John, we’re all alone.’ Father Delaney was sitting opposite me. He opened his cigarette packet and took out two cigarettes and handed one to me. ‘I think we can forget about school rules for the moment.’

  We sat in silence, smoking our cigarettes, not knowing quite what to say. I had stopped crying and was feeling a little embarrassed at my uncontrolled outburst. There was a soft knock on the door and Matron appeared with a tray with two cups of tea on it. She placed it on a side locker and quietly left the room again.

  Father Delaney sipped from his cup. ‘I want you to tell me everything about Wilkinson’s assault on you when you were thirteen. Don’t leave anything out. I want to know it all.’ He put down his cup and looked at me expectantly.

  I started to speak. At first I was embarrassed and spoke quietly into my tea cup but after a short while I was looking Father Delaney in the eye and speaking with some feeling. I told him in detail about what Wilkinson had done to me in the washroom and how it had made me feel. When I related to him the account about Wilkinson masturbating me in my sleep and Tony Birch doing the same to another boy, Father Delaney muttered the word ‘bastards’ to himself. I told him about how I had been bullied by older boys and how much it hurt me when I was caned. I told him about my home life and how much I hated my father and feared for my mother. It seemed that once I had started to speak about my problems, I couldn’t stop. The floodgates of untold misery had been opened and everything poured out and gushed onto Father Delaney’s lap.

  When at last I had finished, I felt drained of emotion and just sat staring at him. He was looking at me with an intensity I had never seen in him before.

  He noisily cleared his throat and handed me another cigarette. ‘John, you are what is commonly known as one of life’s unfortunates. Everything you have told me touches my heart and makes me want to thank our Saviour that I never had to suffer like you. How you ever got through it and kept any spark of decency in yourself is a miracle. Jesus must have been holding you in his arms and protecting you.’

  He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘Why didn’t you speak to me in confession about it? I would never have told anyone where it came from but I could have tried to put an end to it. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  I shook my head and said, ‘I couldn’t, Father. It would have been grassing.’

  Father Delaney looked annoyed. He said loudly, ‘Grassing! You boys and this stupid code of ethics that you all seem to live by.’ He stood up and paced angrily around the room. ‘If any of you boys had broken the code of silence, the problems of sexual abuse and bullying could have been dealt with. I would have made absolutely certain it was stamped out.’

  ‘How about the physical abuse we get from the Brothers. Would you have got that stamped out?’ I stood up and pulled down my trousers and showed him the fading bruises on my backside from the last time I had been caned. ‘Don’t try and tell me you didn’t know about the canings that go on in this school. They’ve been going on for years and nobody has done one solitary thing to bring them to an end. You told me ages ago that you didn’t agree with them but you’ve done nothing to get them stopped. All you said is that it’s school policy.’ I pulled my trousers back up and sat down again.

  Father Delaney looked taken aback at my little tirade. He said, ‘You’re right in your rebuke. I agree that nothing has been done about the canings but you must believe me when I tell you that I have spoken to Brother De Montfort about them.’

  ‘I do believe you, Father, but I know that it will have done nothing to stop it. Whether you like to believe it or not,’ I went on, ‘the Brothers take a sadistic pleasure out of beating us.’

  Father Delaney spoke forcefully. ‘I don’t believe that, John, and you should stop thinking like that. Their punishments may seem cruel to you but I feel certain that they believe they are teaching you boys right from wrong.’ His voice mellowed, ‘One thing for certain is that there will be no more molesting of boys of a night. I will make sure that there will be a lot more dormitory checks and I’ll be insisting there is a permanent night watch. You need never worry again when you go to sleep; you’ll be safe.’

  I knew that Father Delaney would do what he said and I felt relieved. It had been a long time since I had gone to sleep with an easy mind. ‘Thank you, Father.’

  He nodded his head and his eyes searched mine. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me? Forget about being a grass, forget about adhering to stupid ethics; if something needs our attention, tell me about it now.’

  ‘There’s nothing else, Father.’ I looked at him appealingly. ‘What do you think will happen to me? Will I be going back to court for re-sentencing? Will I be sent to Borstal?’

  For a few seconds Father Delaney looked thoughtfully at the floor. I knew that if it had been up to him I wouldn’t have to go to court. He lifted his head slowly and said, ‘I don’t know, John. I really don’t know.’ He rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache. ‘I’d be surprised if they decide to take you to court as they don’t want that sort of publicity. What you did to Wilkinson was wrong but you had strong provocation. You have put them in a bit of a fix. They are more than likely still discussing it now and waiting for me to return with further information to help them in their deliberations’

  He rubbed his forehead again and raised his eyebrows, giving me a weak smile. ‘I’d like to say you’ve got nothing to worry about, but this is a difficult one and I don’t know how it’s going to end up. Whatever the outcome is, John, you can rely on me to speak up for you. I promise you that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said softly but gratefully.

  My question brought our discussion to an end. Father Delaney was clearly embarrassed that he couldn’t offer me any succour and I suddenly felt very tired. It had been a long, worrying day for me that had culminated in the fight; I was physically and emotionally drained and needed to shut out the worries that were starting to invade my mind. Father Delaney must have seen the tiredness in my eyes, as he went to the door and opened it. He looked at me and smiled and said, ‘Have a good night’s rest. Don’t worry about tomorrow as I am sure that Jesus will look after you.’ He closed the door gently behind him and I heard the click as he turned the key. I lay back on the bed and fell into a deep sleep. I never even took off my boots.

  I was left in isolation for three days. Father Delaney brought me a book to read, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
by Mark Twain, and he also conveniently forgot to pick up his packet of cigarettes when he left. I asked him if he had any news about what was going to happen to me and he just said, ‘Nothing yet, John.’

  I tried desperately hard to get involved with the new book but my mind was uneasy and I found that my concentration was at an all-time low. I had no regrets about what had happened to Wilkinson now that I knew I hadn’t actually killed him, but I had a real fear of starting a fresh sentence in another school or Borstal. I lay for hours on my bed just staring at the ceiling and imagining what I would do if the news was bad. At night I kept waking up and my mind would immediately go back to worrying. I decided that night worries were ten times worse than day ones. It seemed to me at night that the whole world was dropping onto my shoulders and I was being crushed under a mountain of worry and self-pity.

  On the morning of the fourth day I was relieved when Father Delaney came to fetch me and take me down to find out my fate. He looked at me and the relief on his face was evident.

  ‘You’re not going to be charged with any offence,’ he said. ‘I think you’re going to get some sort of punishment but it’s going to be kept in the confines of the school. I think,’ he looked up towards the heavens, ‘that your Friend is still looking after you.’

  Mr Davies stared at me impassively before switching his attention to fiddling nervously with his tie. Brother De Montfort kept staring for another few seconds and then carried on perusing the document he had been reading as I was led into the room. After what seemed an interminably long time he put the document down and peered at me. His whining voice that day resembled the mewling of a dying cat.

  ‘What you did to Wilkinson was reprehensible. It is only through the grace of God that you didn’t do even more damage to him than you actually did. The hospital reports are good and with the help of God he will make a full recovery.’ He stood up and as usual faced the portrait and blessed himself. I wondered idly why he did this. Was he trying to look sanctimonious? He walked around his desk and came to stand in front of me. His eyes narrowed and his lips were a thin blue line under his nose.