Miss Clare Remembers and Emily Davis (28 page)

But Manny, as an only child, fared better than most. His father was a boot-maker, and although he did not actually supply all the beautiful riding boots worn by the horse-riding gentlemen of the district, he was generally entrusted with their repair which he did very satisfactorily.

His wife had been laundry maid in good service. Together they saw to it that their only sprig was well-shod and his clothes immaculate.

As much care was lavished on the boy's diet, which was unfortunate for Manny. Whereas the village children carried a homegrown apple, a plum or two, or even a couple of young carrots or some radishes as the seasons supplied them, for their morning 'stay-bit', young Manny would produce a bar of chocolate or a slice of plum-cake for his.

Like most of his fellow-pupils, he ran home for his midday meal and there received much larger and much richer helpings than they could afford. The results were predictable.

Grossly over-weight, Manny soon became the butt of his school-fellows' teasing. A strong streak of savagery runs through every child. Beech Green children, at the end of the last century, could be particularly cruel when roused. After all, it was only the toughest that survived in those days. Weaklings died in infancy, or soon fell prey to consumption, diphtheria and other diseases as yet unconquered by medical science. Those who remained were further toughened by a constant fight against poor food, poor housing, and the stark necessity of competing for work.

Jealousy, no doubt, added to the children's dislike of Manny Back. It is hard to watch a luscious slice of cake vanishing into an already over-sized face when one has only the heel of a stale loaf to satisfy the gnawing pains of youthful hunger. It is hard to see one's fellow-pupil sitting at ease in warm well-fitting boots whilst the damp chill of worn-out soles enflame one's own chilblains.

Manny took his teasing fairly well in the playground, but it was asking too much of human nature for the insults to be ignored completely. Consequently, he vented his outraged feelings on younger children on the way home.

It was unfortunate for Dolly that Manny's house lay beyond her own and that she soon became one of his favourite victims. Fearful of violence, and bewildered by this surprising animosity, poor Dolly began to dread the passage homeward. She watched the great clock on the schoolroom wall with increasing agitation as the hands crept round to four o'clock.

When they stood to sing their grace before leaving, Dolly's folded hands trembled.

'Lord, keep us safe this night,
Secure from all our fears,
May angels guard us while we sleep,
Till morning light appears.

Amen.'

She sang desperately, longing for the angels to be on guard on the homeward way. After all, she reasoned, her parents and Ada could guard her while she slept. Far better to have some assistance, heavenly or otherwise, to withstand Manny's attentions.

If the older Davis boys accompanied her, then Manny did not dare to approach, but more often than not they joined forces with others of their age and vanished on their own ploys in the woods and fields. Emily's presence was a comfort, but no real safeguard from attack. She put up a good fight, using fists, feet and even teeth if necessary, but Manny's bulk could easily overpower her.

Not that Manny took to fighting very often. His methods were more subtle. He was cunning enough to realise that parents would dismiss tale-telling about teasing on the way home. Actual physical harm—a bruise or scratch—might bring a furious parent to his door.

His ways were sly. He would tweak off a hair-ribbon, and hold it too high to be reached by a tearful little girl dreading a mother's wrath. He would threaten the two with stinging nettles. Once, on a hot summer's afternoon, he stirred a wasps' nest, deep in the bank, sending an enraged swarm to follow the girls whilst he escaped over the fields to his house.

He had managed to collect a number of filthy and blasphemous epithets which would have made his devoted parents' hair rise, had they heard him using them. Dolly and Emily found them shocking, and said so. Manny, needless to say, was only encouraged by his success, and used them all the more.

All in all, Manny Back was a menace to Dolly's happiness and, short of telling tales, which she had no intention of doing, there seemed to be no way in which she could take action.

But Emily did.

A day or two after the incident of the wasps, and while her arm still smarted with the stings, Emily vowed vengeance.

'It's not fair!' she said indignantly to Dolly. 'Not fair!'

'But what can we do?'

'I've thought of something to pay him back.'

'Oh Emily,' quavered Dolly, 'it will only make him worse.'

Emily's face took on a look of grim determination, but her eyes sparkled.

'I'll teach him,' said Emily.

'What will you do?' asked Dolly fearfully.

Emily surveyed her timorous friend.

'I shan't tell you,' she announced, 'because you'd be upset, and maybe tell your mum.'

'I
wouldn't!'
shouted Dolly, much hurt by this slur on her integrity.

'Well, all the same, I'm keeping it to myself,' said Emily, a trifle smugly. 'You'll know in good time.'

She began to laugh, and danced dizzily about the playground, her dark plaits bouncing. Dolly, recognising defeat, watched her friend rejoicing in her secret, and trembled for her future downfall.

It was the custom at that time at Beech Green School, for the boys to cultivate a large kitchen garden.

It was worked communally, under Mr Finch's keen eye, and the vegetables were bought very cheaply by the boys. By the side of the communal patch lay a narrower strip, divided into a dozen or so small plots, for any boy who wanted to till a little garden of his own, providing his own seeds or plants.

Manny owned one of these, and had devoted the entire plot to the growing of marrows. Perhaps it was the affinity between the bulbous marrows and his own stoutness which made Manny's marrows grow so remarkably well. They certainly throve, and Manny plied them with manure and rainwater and watched them swell into sleek striped maturity.

The pick of the crops from the school garden went to the Beech Green flower show in September. The school had a special display, and it was considered a great honour to have something on show for parents and friends to admire. Manny was determined to put in his largest marrow.

There was one in particular which was his pride. It was dark and glossy, with a sheen on it like satin, and it was destined to be a perfect beauty. Beside its splendour, its striped brothers looked positively peaky although, in truth, they were very fine specimens as marrows go.

Early in its life, Manny had taken a stout darning needle and scratched his name neatly along its side.

MANSFIELD BACK
it said, in tidy capitals, and as the weeks passed the letters grew larger and plainer as the marrow increased in girth. Manny had no doubt that it would be chosen for display, and the thought of his signature emblazoned there for all Beech Green to see and admire gave him the keenest satisfaction.

After the show, the school's produce was carried to the church for Harvest Festival which always took place on the Sunday following the show day. With any luck, thought Manny, his marrow would be placed in the porch, or perhaps below the pulpit, there to dazzle the eyes of the devout.

Later still, the produce would be taken to Caxley hospital, there to be devoured by properly-grateful patients. The thought of his marrow being assailed by a sharp knife, plunged into boiling water, and finally eaten, gave Manny acute pain. He turned his mind from the marrow's ultimate fate and concentrated instead on the glory which was to be his.

One evening, just as dusk was falling, a small figure might have been seen, entering the school garden through a hedge at the rear. It advanced stealthily through the gathering gloom and knelt down among Manny's marrows.

A small hand, bearing a penknife, lifted the vine-shaped leaves beneath which the prize beauty lay hidden. For three or four breathless minutes, dreadful work went on in the silent garden.

Then, back through the hedge crept Emily, revenged and unrepentant.

A week of heavy rain followed, and Manny had no need to pay much attention to his marrow bed. It was some ten days later that he went to water the beauties and, as he was in some hurry, on that occasion, he did not disturb the leaves which covered the prize exhibit. The dark glossy end protruded like the polished barrel of a cannon. At this rate of growth, it should be the largest marrow in the whole show, let alone on the school stall. Manny's spirits were jubilant.

Four days later, whilst he was digging with his fellows on the communal patch, two breathless children rushed up to him.

'Seen yer marrer, Man?'

Manny looked at them with distaste. There was a gloating excitement about them which made him apprehensive.

'What's up with it?'

'Someone's bin and written on it.'

'I know that,' said Manny huffily. 'I scratched my name on it weeks ago.'

'It ain't just yer name,' retorted one of the boys. He waved his arm expansively, beckoning the group to come and see for themselves.

Mr Finch had gone into school for a few minutes leaving the boys to get on alone. Carrying forks and hoes, the boys now drifted across the private plots.

The more vociferous of the two discoverers knelt down by Manny's marrow and lifted the leaves aside.

There, plain for all to see, were die words:

MANSFIELD BACK

and below, in smaller capitals the one word:

BULLY

Grins split the faces of the watching boys as they observed Manny's face. It changed from pink to scarlet, then faded to a greyish pallor. And then, to everyone's horror, Manny burst into tears.

'And what,' said Mr Finch, returning, 'is the meaning of this? Get back to your work.'

'Please, sir,' said the vociferous one, 'somethinks happened to Manny's marrer.'

Mr Finch's sharp eye fell upon the tearful owner.

'Let me see, boy.'

Snuffling, shaken with sobs, Manny parted the leaves and displayed the outrage. Mr Finch looked stern. He then bent down to finger the added word
BULLY.

'Done recently,' he said. 'Within the last week or two.'

He straightened up and surveyed the little crowd around him.

'Well, come along, boys,' he said peremptorily. 'Own up now. You are the only people to come in this garden. Who's to blame?'

There was an unhappy silence and much foot-shuffling. Manny's sniffs grew more frequent.

'Blow your nose, child,' snapped Mr Finch. Manny unfolded a beautifully clean handkerchief and did as he was bid.

'At once, boys. Who's done this mean thing to Manny?'

'I never,' said one quaking red-head, known as Copper-knob.

'Not me,' whispered several more.

Mr Finch's experienced eye travelled over them all. There seemed to be very few guilty looks among them.

'Who's away today?'

'Only Jim Potts, sir. He never done it.'

'And how do you know what Jimmy Potts done? Did?' Mr Finch snapped, correcting himself briskly.

Silence fell again. Mr Finch's moustache was bristling, a sure sign of danger.

'File into school as soon as you have cleaned your tools and put them back,' ordered the headmaster. 'We'll get to the bottom of this.'

Twenty minutes later, after ruthless interrogation, Mr Finch had to admit to himself that the mystery was unsolved. He could only be certain of one thing. These boys, for once in their lives, were innocent.

Most of the schoolchildren had gone home by the time Mr Finch's class were dismissed.

'We'll see about this after prayers first thing tomorrow,' announced the headmaster. 'You may dismiss. But I want you to stay behind, Manny.'

The schoolroom was very quiet as Mr Finch asked a few searching questions. He had heard rumours about Manny's behaviour, but had had no definite evidence of bullying. What he learned from Manny's faltering replies gave him some sympathy with the unknown malefactor. But justice must be done, and would be done in the morning.

Manny, still tearful, made his solitary way homeward, leaving Mr Finch to think about the incident.

What a simple way of getting one's own back, thought the headmaster, as he locked up the cupboards! Manny would be powerless to hide the incriminating word. Any attempt to disguise it would ruin the marrow's beauty. Oh, yes, this was indeed a subtle blow!

Nonetheless, thought Mr Finch, the culprit must be punished. To deface Manny's marrow, on which so much loving care had been lavished, was a cruel trick.

The next morning the whole school remained standing after prayers and heard the sorry tale. There were a few titters which Mr Finch quelled instantly. It was pretty plain that Manny had few supporters.

'Will the boy who did this despicable thing come forward,' said Mr Finch, his eye raking the back rows where the tallest and oldest pupils stood.

'At once!' thundered Mr Finch. 'Or the whole school stays in this afternoon until we get to the bottom of this!'

From the front row, where the smallest children stood, the neat figure of Emily Davis emerged. Her dark head was on a level with the headmaster's watch chain. Her clear grey eyes looked up into his astonished face.