Opposite Sides (4 page)

Hans stood for a minute
or two, brush in one hand and bucket in the other, watching the
other Miss Turner disappear in the direction of her office, and
trying to summon up enough language to confront this bossy
girl.

“
Did you
understand?” she asked him. Her hazel eyes behind her round lenses
looked directly into his face with the intensity of a chicken. It
roused his indignation and he clenched his fists.

“
Let it drop,
Hans.” Robert reached out and pulled his friend back by the elbow.
“Take my advice, Hans. It's not worth it. Don’t argue with
her.”

Janine appeared to be
enjoying this battle of nerves. She stood on tip-toe and made
herself even taller by pulling her two plain plaits above her
head.

“
Mister
Resmel. No dilly-dally!”

The girl sounded just
like her more formidable aunt and Hans was just about to say
something else when the booming voice of a bigger authority
sounded.

“
You heard
the young lady tell you what you have to do!”

Hans swung round. It was
that senior boy he had come up against before. This time it was
clear he was a prefect. He had walked over to see how the younger
boys were progressing through their tasks. Three prefects and one
of the masters, a Mr Moore were the work supervisors. Hans had
heard from the other boys that this master was the sort who
excelled in firm discipline and backed the senior boys whatever the
case, yet Hans had not understood all the implications of their
warnings. He looked from the prefect to Robert Brinkwater. Robert
had remained riveted to the same spot since he had picked up the
rake and his motionless made him exactly like one of the school’s
garden statues. His mouth had dropped open yet there was no
perception of breathing; his wide blue eyes remained firmly fixed
on the master.

The prefect pointed at
the buckets and scrubbing brushes. Like a chameleon in slow motion,
Robert leaned down and picked up one of the brushes. He was a
stockier boy than Hans, and six months older. He was noticeably
shorter, a good five inches shorter which made him shorter than
most of the boys. Normally, he would have been the butt of their
joking but the other boys looked up to him, for Robert was one of
the best bowlers in the college cricket team. And for that skill,
alone, the other boys in the college admired, no almost worshipped
him.

Behind Robert was the
fountain, its slimy green fountain bricks begging to be scrubbed
clean and along side that was Janine Turner. Never in his life had
Hans been told to perform such a menial tasks and he could not
control his anger.

“
Sorry, I
refuse!” He spat the words out with utter disgust. “I
refuse.
Fountain-man
. . .
it is his job. Dig gardens,
grow plants I do . . . but this, I refuse this!”

The master came over to
see what the commotion was about. The senior boy was explaining the
rules but his words had little impact on the youth standing
directly before him. In the background Hans could clearly see
Janine Turner. She was seemingly enjoying the confrontation between
the prefect and this new boy.

At first, the prefect
began to explain how each student’s name had been drawn out of a
lottery and Mister Resmel, together with Mister Brinkwater, had
only been allocated this job by chance and that their job had
nothing to do with young Miss Janine Turner. Then, something must
have clicked in the prefect’s head because he stopped what he was
saying and took several determined steps towards Hans until they
were standing chest to chest.

“
Resmel. I
told you I would remember you. And now you disobey an order. Well,
let me tell you. No one disobeys an order around here, and
especially when I give one. Get it? So, I am ordering you to pick
up that bucket.” As Mr Moore came closer, the senior boy stepped
back and became less threatening. “Now, as I’ve been explaining to
you, the job has to be done by someone, and as the students use
this area, well most of it, they must be responsible for keeping it
in a clean condition. That is how the college operates.”

The master had come right
up to the two boys. He beamed at Timmins and congratulated him on
how well he was handling the situation. But to Hans there were only
the stern words of authority.

“
You heard .
. . so, the sooner you make a start, the sooner it will be over.
You will follow all the rules whatever they are so get to it,
boy!”

But Hans was feeling
angry with the world today, with himself and everyone around him.
Whenever he struck such a mood as this, he felt everyone was
against him.

“
Sorry! I
refuse still! I feel not happy!”

“
We are not
interested in how you feel, Mister Resmel.” The voice of the master
was loud enough for everyone to hear. “Young Miss Turner, here . .
.” He indicated the Matron’s niece who was now visibly smiling with
the satisfaction of revenge. “ - has told you what to do and you
are expected to do it. Right now!”

“
Not from
a
Mädchen
.
No!”

“
It’s a pity
you feel like that, Mister Resmel. What is the motto of this
school?”

The master glared at him
and indicated that he had no patience for any hesitation. The hem
of his black gown rippled slightly as a slight breeze wafted across
the school ground and Hans wondered at what point the master would
set sail.

“
Er, um, I
think . . .” he stumbled over his words.

“
Yes?” Hans
watched the master reach up and pull the top of his gown closer
around his neck. “I suppose you
do
know, sir.
I am
waiting!”

“
Veneratio
est nostrum rector,
sir.”

“
And what
does that translate in English, young man?”

“
Honour is
our guide, sir.”

“
Then you
would do well to remember that, my lad. You know that morally you
are expected to fulfill your obligation to help with keeping the
school grounds clean and tidy. We expect you to obey the rules set
here. Honour is to do so with diligence and dignity. You have shown
that you have neither obeyed nor done the honourable thing.
Besides, subordination will not be tolerated, no matter who has
given the order!” The master turned to the prefect. “Take this
offending boy to the office, sir. Get him out of my
sight!”

The master shouted in
Hans’ face at the top of his voice, “Go! Now!” He thrust out a long
arm like the Grim Reaper and pointed in the direction of the two
main offices.

Hans glared
in anger but directed it at the ground away from the master. Never
in his life had he heard of a girl telling any boy what to do. His
father or his uncle had been the only ones to give orders to the
boys. Even his mother did not do that. Yet here was a girl telling
him what to do! If this was the English way,
how he hated English ways! He turned, and shuffling his feet
along the ground so that he sent little pebbles scattering in a
million different directions, he followed Timmins in the direction
of the main college building.

“
This way
first, you scum!” Timmins pointed to the prefects’ room. A young
boy came round the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. “You,
boy!” The prefect beckoned the boy to come over. “Your bottom
button has not been done up. What have you to say for
yourself?”

“
Nothing,
sir,” answered the youngster bowing his head in new found
shame.

“
Nothing! You
say
nothing
.
Then, you also need to be taught a lesson. No boy at this school
will be sloppily dressed and express no remorse. Do that button up
at once and come with me.”

Now Timmins was trailed
by two younger boys as they hurried to the prefects’ room. Hans
wondered why they had to go there at all, for he had thought the
headmaster or the matron were the ones they should have headed
to.

It did not take many
minutes before both boys knew exactly why the prefect had dragged
them along. As soon as they reached the room, Timmins opened a
cupboard and brought out the cane, a long, swishy rattan cane that
almost reached to the ceiling. First Hans and then the other boy
received the punishment: four swift strokes before both were sent
on their way: the younger boy with his jacket correctly buttoned up
and Hans to stand outside Matron’s door.

He was lucky. Matron was
occupied and did not not have the time to try and make head or tail
out of his mixed-up attempts to explain in English. She gave him a
warning, making it very clear that such things as canes were used
for boys and that next time he would not be treated so leniently.
When he returned for duty, he was muttering under his breath about
the unhygienic situation of the entire cleaning-up affair. With
much loathing, he picked up the brush again and began to help
Robert scrub the dirty stones and then rake the pebbles off the
grass and back on to the driveway.

“
Is it
correct that prefect permitted to cane?” Hans pretended to hit his
backside but dared not even touch it as his buttocks were still
stinging from the blows.

“
Quite
normal, Hans. It saves the masters time.”

“
And do the
men here always do how the women say for them?” Hans asked Robert
as the two raked over the grass.

“
No, not as a
rule. My father says that women have too much power today. They
began to demonstrate for equal rights after the war.
Haven
’
t you heard
of Mrs Pankhurst and her followers?” Hans shook his head.
“
Votes for
women
is their slogan and that is
exactly what they are demanding, although my papa does not think
the government would be so stupid to allow just any woman the right
to vote. Take Miss Turner, for example. She already has a large say
in matters concerning the running of this college and no-one, not
even the masters dare go against her. She has the education to make
sensible choices. I do not think my papa minds her being given the
right to vote but allowing those who can barely read or write the
vote would be another thing. My papa says the country would slide
into rack and ruin.”

“
Miss Turner
has a vote?”

“
I am sure
she does. Most women do not, however.”

“
So she has
by this the power?” Hans was a little confused but he was starting
to catch on.

“
Miss Turner
is a lady of power around here. She’s next in line after the
headmaster so when orders come from her, even through her niece,
those orders have to be obeyed.”

“
Then, this
girl, she has power also?”

“
If her aunt
stands behind her, yes. Best not complain, Hans. Get’s you nowhere
in this place.”

“
Not from my
home. My uncle says always what is right. He is boss.”

“
In my
family, too.”

Robert gave a short
laugh, hardly perceptible but enough to convince Hans that he did
not entirely agree with Miss Turner’s position.

The last hour of the
morning passed by quietly so that when one o’clock came, he was
only too glad to return to the cottage across the road from the
school where he had been staying since his arrival.

Hans was still feeling
somewhat angry and bitter when he put his key in the lock and
opened the brown front door of number twenty-five. The school had
arranged his accommodation and it had been Miss Turner who had made
the decision to accommodate Hans with the Brymers rather than in
one of the dormitories with the other boys. That is, until Hans had
time to become familiar with the language and school rules.
Consequently, his Midday dinners were always eaten with the Brymers
at the cottage on Fridays as Mr Brymer always finished any work on
a Friday sharp at twelve.

Hans hung his thick
woollen coat and hat on a peg alongside the others in the dimly lit
hall and shuffled his way into the small living room, flopping into
the nearest chair with both his arms sprawling untidily over both
sides of the armchair. All that could be heard was the constant
ticking of the clock in the next room where the dinner was being
laid out on the small rectangular dining table. Mrs Brymer briefly
poked her head around the side of the open glass door.

“
Dinner’s
ready. Come and eat.”

Hans pulled himself out
of the chair and entered the small dining room. The ticking clock
got louder. He watched Mrs Brymer straighten one of the corners of
the table cloth that covered the light oak dining table. She had on
her work apron, the one which covered her from her breast to her
knees; her ‘busy-pinny’, as she liked to call it. Mr Brymer and his
daughter Agnes were sitting at the table along side the sideboard
waiting for his wife and Hans to join them. Mr Brymer had had a
small business in Germany during the time of Bismark and he had
emigrated to England well before the war started. He was
semi-retired now and looking very much like any one of the
beer-drinking farmers he had seen in his youth. He rented the small
cottage at the back of the school property for a nominal amount and
in return he helped out around the school with any odd jobs that
would be too difficult for the boys to do. He was pleased when the
school found him another border for the extra earnings would
provide his family with a reasonably comfortable life.