Please Don't Make Me Go

by Fenton, John

  My worries about someone taking the piss out of me again were not necessary as the lads in the school were wary of me from then on and kept their distance. They didn’t ignore me but it was obvious they would have preferred me not to be there. All the help they had given me before was withdrawn and I was left to struggle alone with my homework and assignments.

  I’m lucky that I don’t need other people’s company. I guard my solitude like a dog guards his bone. If nobody is around to bother me then I can lose myself in the imaginary worlds and meet the wonderful characters that authors have pulled out of their minds. Time is no longer a problem when I am reading. The only problem is having enough time to finish a novel.

  After a month had passed I was called back into the presence of Mr Reid. He had just finished rollicking Bainbridge for yet another misdemeanour. Bainbridge stood to one side as I came into the room as the last thing he wanted was to break the fragile truce we had established. I nodded at him and went and sat at the table.

  Mr Reid ushered Bainbridge out and returned to sit opposite me. ‘Well, John, the month is up. I’m pleased that you stayed out of any further trouble and am more than happy to restore all your privileges but I want to emphasise the point that I won’t think twice of taking them back if you misbehave again.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, I’ll try not to.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve had progress reports from all of the masters and they have told me that you’re trying hard at your studies but you don’t seem to want to integrate. Why is that?’

  I shrugged. ‘I prefer to keep myself to myself. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing at all if that is what you truly want to do. I just thought that it might be better for you if you developed some sort of friendship with some of the boys.’ He looked at me enquiringly, ‘Is everything OK with you and the boys?’

  I shrugged again. ‘It’s all right. None of them bother me and I most certainly don’t bother them. I speak to Brian Hawkins and he comes to church with me on a Sunday and that’s enough for me.’

  Mr Reid nodded slowly. ‘Brian’s a nice boy. You could do far worse than become friends with him.’ He reached for some papers and briefly scanned them. ‘Mr Pitt is impressed with you. He told me that he is thinking of putting you in for your ‘O’ level English in the spring. Mr Larkin is also entering you for History. Well done.’

  I smiled, pleased at the news. ‘I like English and History.’

  ‘That’s why I saw G.B. and arranged for you to drop all the other subjects and concentrate on the ones you like. In future you will attend only English and History lessons, and Mr Pitt and Mr Larkin will set you work to do in the home study room at the times you would have been in other lessons. I can help you with any queries you have, as I know a fair amount about both subjects. With any luck, you should leave us with a couple of good results under your belt.’

  To me this was the best news ever. I was struggling in Maths and Science and Geography bored the pants off me. Just the thought of not having to sit through those awful lessons again pleased me. I could now concentrate on reading Dickens and learning about the English Civil War. I returned his smile and said, ‘That will be great, sir.’

  Chapter 27

  Brian Hawkins leaned casually against the church wall. He was the same height as me and had recently celebrated his eighteenth birthday. His face was handsome in a boyish sort of way and the self-confidence he oozed could be disarming to people who didn’t know him. He had been put in Ardale for breaking into his headmaster’s office and stealing a copy of the following day’s physics paper then trying to sell copies of it to his classmates. He pointed at two girls walking down the opposite side of the road in Salvation Army uniform and grinned cheekily. ‘I think we could score with those two. Look how they’re eyeing us up.’

  I looked where he was pointing. The girls both appeared to be in their early teens and he was not exaggerating when he said they were eyeing us up. The taller girl had her hair tied back in a ponytail and she had just a little too much makeup on. She wiggled her hips saucily as she stared at us. Her friend was more buxom and her chest pushed her Salvation Army uniform jacket outwards to the point of bursting. Her face was half hidden beneath a Salvation Army bonnet and Brian Hawkins prodded me gently in the ribs.

  ‘You’ve got the bible puncher,’ he said and laughed.

  Brian signalled to the girls to cross the road and they sauntered over. He immediately put his arm around the taller girl’s shoulder. He smiled at her and I could tell she was keen on him.

  ‘My name is Brian and my mate is John. We thought that maybe you’d like to come for a walk.’ He smiled his disarming smile and I saw the girl wilt under his gaze. ‘What’s your name?’

  She giggled at her friend and said coyly, ‘My name is Brenda and her name is Gillian. Where do you want to walk to?’

  ‘Where do you suggest? You must know the area better than us.’ His arm slipped to her waist and she sidled in closer to him, ‘Any place we can be alone and have some fun.’ He squeezed her waist and said, ‘You know what I mean.’

  I couldn’t believe this was happening. Brian was arranging for the four of us to go somewhere and I might possibly lose my virgin status. Just the thought of it brought a stirring to my loins and I put my arm tentatively around Gillian’s waist. She didn’t resist and the two girls started walking us towards the open grassland at the end of the road. Brian and Brenda were going faster than us and had soon disappeared from sight into the heathland beyond some overgrown shrubs.

  Gillian guided me in the opposite direction, towards a small dale that ran alongside a large hedgerow obscuring a major trunk road. I let myself be led along like a lapdog and revelled in the feeling of her thigh touching mine as we made our way into an extremely overgrown part of the little valley. When we reached a spot where we could see nothing but the high shrubs around us, Gillian stopped and removed her stupid Salvation Army bonnet. I was pleasantly surprised when her long auburn hair tumbled out and cascaded over her shoulders.

  She laughed and said, ‘I hate that dreadful bonnet. I have to wear it as my parents wear the full uniform and make me do the same.’

  I hardly heard a thing she said as I was trying to pluck up enough courage to sneak my hand onto those lovely mounds that were straining to break free of her jacket. She must have sensed this as she started unpopping her tunic buttons. I couldn’t resist any longer and eased my hand over one breast and squeezed it lovingly. She grabbed me and pulled my head down so that her open mouth nearly swallowed me up. Her tongue was so far down my throat that I thought I would surely choke. Her hands were all over my body and I was pushed unceremoniously onto the floor. Everything seemed to be happening at once and before I knew it she was underneath me and I was entering her. She writhed around like a wriggling serpent and suddenly the whole world seemed to explode in a feeling of pure ecstasy. I lay on top of her trying to catch my breath as she sucked hungrily on my neck.

  So that was it, I thought. I’ve had my first bit of tush. My thoughts went back to Bernie and I wished I was still in touch with him so I could have told him all about it.

  In the distance I heard a girl shouting out the name ‘Gillian’ and I quickly stood up and pulled up my trousers. Gillian struggled back into her knickers and readjusted her skirt and blouse. By the time she stood up, she had her bonnet back on her head and looked ready for another prayer meeting. I tried to kiss her again but she pushed me away and said, ‘We’ve got to get back to the others.’

  Across the heathland I saw Brian and Brenda standing on top of a small knoll, searching out our location, calling our names through cupped hands. I shouted, ‘We’re over here.’

  Brian held up his arm as soon as he spotted me. Gillian rushed ahead of me and I had to jog to catch her up. As soon as we reached the others, Gillian and Brenda linked arms and started walking back in the direction of the church.

  I looked at Brian in a state of bewilderment. What had we don
e wrong? Where were they going in such a rush?

  ‘What the fuck is wrong with them?’ I asked Brian.

  ‘Who cares?’ he laughed.

  I watched them disappear in the distance, feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable. It had been my first real sexual experience and I hadn’t even found out Gillian’s last name; in fact, I had hardly said two words to her. It didn’t seem right. It was too clinical and impersonal. I had always believed it would be meaningful and unforgettable. Mum had told me to respect women, and that sex was a special experience when you are in love. Maybe Gillian felt the same discomfort as I did about the occasion and that’s why she walked off so quickly without saying goodbye. Whatever the reason, I never bumped into her again.

  I rolled myself a cigarette and switched my thoughts to my approaching mock exams.

  Chapter 28

  7 April 1961

  It started off as just another day. I was sitting in the home study room staring sightlessly out of the window and trying to memorise important dates in the English Civil War. I only had two months to go before I sat my exams and was devoting all my time to revision. I looked around as the study room door burst open.

  Mr Reid stood in the doorway, his face flushed. ‘G.B. needs you in his office immediately,’ he panted, slightly out of breath.

  I closed my book on Cromwell and stood up. ‘Why does he want to see me?’

  ‘He’ll tell you when you see him.’ He flapped his hand impatiently. ‘Hurry up, it’s very important.’

  Suddenly I had an awful feeling that something nasty might have happened to my mother so I ran down the driveway to G.B.’ s office. Mrs Evans stood up as I rushed in. She knocked on G.B.’ s door and, in the same motion, opened it and ushered me in. I nearly stumbled into the office in my haste and said, ‘What’s up, sir? Is my mother OK?’

  G.B. looked worried. His lips were pursed and his eyes were flitting to and fro over a document in front of him. He shook his head. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your mother; it’s you – you shouldn’t be here.’ He looked at Mrs Evans over my shoulder, ‘How did a thing like this happen? I rely on you to check these things. It should never happen. It’s a complete and utter shambles.’

  He turned his attention back to me. ‘Didn’t you know that you were due for release on the 24th of January?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nobody told me, G.B.’

  He read from the paper in front of him, ‘You went to St Nicholas House Remand Home on 24th January 1958. On 7th February you were sentenced to three years approved school. Your three-year sentence began from your first day on remand. It is now 7th April 1961, which is three years, two months and ten days since your sentence began.’ He looked again at Mrs Evans. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘I thought he was a new boy. I forgot he had been transferred here and was near the end of his sentence.’ She seemed close to tears. ‘I know it’s my fault but it was a genuine error.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Write him out a travel warrant and while you’re doing that he can go and gather his belongings from Gordon House.’ He stood up and looked at me. ‘Get your belongings and hurry on back. You haven’t time to say your goodbyes. You have to be on your way.’

  I walked out of the office still trying to comprehend what had just happened. I was going home. I had finished my time. I was free at last. It was happening too quickly for me to appreciate the magnitude of the moment. I hadn’t thought about how long I had been away, as I had been wrapped up in adjusting to my new surroundings and engrossed in studying for my ‘O’ levels.

  I walked into Gordon House. Mr Reid had cleared my few belongings from my locker and put them into a brown paper bag. He handed them to me and held out his hand.

  ‘Good luck, John, and try to stay out of trouble.’ He walked me to the front door. ‘If you get a chance, take your exams.’ He patted me on the shoulder and watched as I walked back down the driveway.

  G.B. was standing just inside the office doorway. He handed me a neatly folded piece of paper. ‘That’s a travel warrant that will take you all the way to West Ealing. I’ve tried ringing your parents to let them know you’re coming but they must be out as there’s no answer.’ He held out his hand and I squeezed it hard. ‘Good luck,’ he said. As I walked towards the bus stop just outside the gates it seemed to me that the sky kept getting bluer and the grass got greener. Everything seemed to be brighter and my senses picked up the fragrances of the hedgerows and flowers. I looked up towards the heavens and said a quiet ‘thank you’ to Jesus. He had helped me survive all the rigours and torments of the last three years and had made me into a stronger person.

  I leaned against the wooden bus stop and puffed contentedly on a roll-up. The smoke drifted out of my nose and I closed my eyes. Father Delaney’s face came into my mind and I smiled. He smiled back at me. A tear slowly trickled out of my eye and I climbed on the bus.

  Epilogue

  Not long after I was released from Ardale, I got in touch with Bernie. He had been signed up to play football for Barnet Town FC and had high hopes for his future. He told me that although the riot never took place, St Vincent’s was never the same after I had left. All canings were stopped and physical beatings ceased. I never told him that this was probably due to my mother’s threat hanging over De Montfort’s head like the Sword of Damocles. I congratulated myself that everything had been worthwhile and that our actions had resulted in a better life for future boys who were sent to serve time under De Montfort and his crew of sanctimonious thugs. Bernie now lives in Canada with his family and, regretfully, I have not had any further contact with him.

  After the intended riot, Pete Boyle was transferred to St Swithin’s on the Isle of Wight, where he was forced to finish the remainder of his sentence under the same conditions he had fought so bravely to get rid of in St Vincent’s. I never had the pleasure of seeing him again and I only hope that he had a successful and happy future. I’ll always remember him as ‘a man’s man’.

  It took me another four years of struggle before I realised that Mr Reid had been right in his assessment of me: I had turned into a violent thug. In the years after I left Ardale I was always getting myself into fights in bars and hanging out with a bad crowd. I had such a poor opinion of myself that I was intimidated by other people and responded with violence at the slightest provocation. My Dad sent me over to Ireland to get me out of the way and I was destitute for a while, sleeping rough on the streets.

  One day I met a young prostitute who said I could come and sleep on her couch. Her twelve-year-old brother was a thief and soon I had agreed to help him sell the goods he nicked to pawn shops. It didn’t take long before I was arrested and sentenced to two years’ in Dublin’s Mountjoy Prison.

  Two things turned my life around in 1964, the year I came out of prison. Within days of returning to England, I met my wife on a blind date, arranged by my sister, and I was immediately smitten by her. I did not hide my past from her and she sympathised and understood what I had been through. Within ten days of meeting her, we were engaged and I joined the army. Eleven weeks later, after my basic training, we were married. We have now been together for forty-three years, so I believe, once again, my Friend was looking after me.

  In 1968 I was interested and pleased to read in the Daily Telegraph that the headmaster of St Swithin’s Catholic Approved School, Yarmouth, Isle of Wight, had been sacked for caning boys, I quote, ‘with excessive severity’. The article goes on to say that he had been reported to the Home Office by an ex-member of staff. Although the Home Office recognised the headmaster’s long service and dedication to the boys, he had, contrary to the approved school rules and over a long period of time, made them wear drill shorts whilst being caned. The report went on to say that the procedure was abandoned as soon as its irregularity was pointed out.

  I returned recently to Dartford in the hope of seeing the places and maybe meeting some of the people I’ve written about in this book. I was d
isappointed when I found that St Vincent’s had been bulldozed and where the grounds used to be a modern housing development had been erected. An ultra-modern church now stands on the site of the main school building and it has retained the name St Vincent’s. The new parish priest was very helpful and gave me the telephone number of Tom Banks, who still lived locally.

  Tom remembered me well and reminded me of the riot and my departure from the school. He emphasised that if he had had the power, I would never have been removed from the school. He disagreed with the way I had been treated over the incident. I asked him what had happened to the Brothers and he told me that Brother De Montfort had died a few years ago. Brother Francis and Brother Ambrose had also died but Brother Michael was alive and in good health. Brother Arnold had left the Brotherhood in 1968 and had got married. He also died a few years ago.

  My friend and mentor Father Delaney is now with Jesus. The world is a smaller place without him and I still mention him in my prayers for the comfort and shelter he offered me, and for his support and belief in me, so freely given in the face of so much wilful hostility, ignorance and cruelty. Even after fifty years I vividly recall his face and can often hear his voice correcting me if I stray from his guidelines.

  When I climbed back in my car to drive home, I couldn’t help but feel sad that so many years had passed. In my head I still feel young and I can clearly see and hear the sounds of yesteryear.

  As I drove out of the development I was sure I could hear Bernie’s voice saying, ‘I hope you’re all dead by Christmas’ and in my head, I answered, ‘Well, Christmas has come at last.’