Saville (24 page)

‘Those who’ve played rugby union’, the second master said, ‘can stand over here.’

He formed a group around him beneath the posts.

‘What boys have played rugby league, then?’ Platt said.

One or two boys put up their hands.

‘We don’t want any rugby league players here.’ He gave a laugh. ‘We’ll reserve
judgment
on those who have played the game,’ he added.

He glanced around.

‘There are three sports played in this area at this time of the year,’ Platt said. ‘One is soccer, a game which, in my opinion, might, with profit, have been reserved for girls; one is rugby league, which is played very largely by people for money; and the third is rugby union, a fair and equitable game, played at our oldest universities as well as by all our major public schools. It is a game conceived by and therefore, quite naturally, played by gentlemen, and gentlemanly shall be the conduct of those who play the game under Mr Hepworth’s and my supervision.’ He gestured to the slight figure standing beneath the posts. ‘We wish to choose a team, of course. One to represent the school at Junior level. All of you present will have an opportunity to compete for places, bearing in mind, particularly those who have played under the
professional
code, that gentlemanly conduct and playing to the rules
at all times
are the qualities both Mr Hepworth and I are looking for. Fisticuffs, bad temper and inconsiderate running with the ball – characteristic, I might tell you, of the professional code – are
not
required at King Edward’s. I can tell you that for nothing.’ He gazed round at the jerseyed figures for several seconds. ‘Now, then:
names
. When I call them out you’ll line up here.’

Several boys were later dismissed. They went off slowly, kicking their heels, some indifferent, calling later from the pavilion as they dashed out from a shower.

By the end of the afternoon only half the boys were left. Colin ran up and down. He had never played the game before. The
first time the ball came to him he passed it on, wildly, to a boy much larger than himself.

‘You, you there. Haven’t you ever passed a ball, boy?’ Platt had said.

He took the oval ball and held it by his chest.

‘Laces in the direction you want the ball to go. Ball vertical. Now: have a try yourself.’

He passed the ball.

Platt shook his head.

‘Stand on the side for a bit,’ he said.

He stood with several other boys, waiting to be dismissed. Groups from the other pitches were already drifting off. The older boys alone were running up and down.

‘You. You there, boy,’ Platt had called.

He ran back on the pitch.

‘Do you know how to form a scrum, boy?’ Platt had said.

He put his head down and linked his arm to the boy beside him. They put their heads between the hips of the boys in front. He saw the ball tossed into the mass of players, and saw it go out between his legs.

The game went on. The ball came loose between his feet. He picked it up and began to run.

He ran round one boy then, with a sickening crunch, ran into several others.

He fell between their legs, saw feet kicking round his head, released the ball and rolled away.

‘Well played, boy. That’s the method,’ Platt had said.

He ran with the ball again; he pulled another boy down. He felt a dull pleasure as the game progressed. He did nothing to draw attention to himself.

Names were read out at the end of the match. ‘Nichols, Beresford, Jones, Saville.’ He completed the list. ‘Those not read out will report to Mr Hodges at the Spion Kop field next games afternoon,’ Platt said.

The two masters walked away. One or two boys walked with them. Others drifted over to the senior pitch. Names were mentioned and players pointed out. ‘Swallow. Tranter. Smith Major. Cornforth.’ The ground shook as the players pounded past. Weals were left in the grass at each of the tackles.

He went back to the pavilion; his arms and legs had begun to ache. There was a basin to wash in at the back of the room: most of the boys hadn’t bothered, they put their clothes on over the mud and stains.

By the time he set off for the bus he could scarcely walk; his feet were sore from the boots, his shoulders ached from the weight of the bag. When he got on the bus he fell asleep, waking briefly when it lurched across the hump-backed bridge and only finally roused himself when it descended, rattling, towards the village.

He stayed up even later that night. In addition to the French he had Maths and Latin. The Latin, however much he tried, he couldn’t get right.

‘You’ve been three hours on it,’ his mother said. ‘Ifs after
my
bed-time, never mind yours.’

‘I’ve got to get it right,’ he said.

‘Let me write in the book,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell him that you tried.’

He held the book from her.

‘For goodness’ sake,’ she said, ‘if you work like this you’ll be worn out completely by the end of the week.’

He went to bed with the work unfinished. He was late for the bus the following morning, catching one that came almost half an hour later.

Assembly had started. He stood outside with several other boys, allowed in finally after the prayers were finished. His name was taken down.

‘What’s this? One boy late this morning?’ Hodges said as he marked the register for the afternoon. ‘Not Saville double l, then, is it? Not finding out, I suppose, how to spell his name correctly.’

‘No, sir,’ he said.

He’d already given the Latin in.

‘Distinguished himself, I gather, on the rugger field. So Mr Platt and Mr Hepworth tell me.’ He gazed at him from his desk over the top of his glasses. ‘Rugger doesn’t entitle you to privileges, boy. However well you play. Do you understand that, Saville double l?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Well, double l, I don’t expect to see another late mark against your name.’ He removed his glasses. ‘Let me see your record book.’

He took it down to the desk.

‘I shall mark it on this occasion, double l, as a warning not only to you but to all the rest.’ He glanced around him and drew out his pen. ‘A bad record at this point of the term is a very bad thing indeed. It sets a tone for the book which it is very difficult to eradicate, particularly for a boy just starting and for a master looking at it to see what sort of lad he is.’

‘I was late for the bus,’ he said.

‘We’re all late for the bus, double l, if we all
get
up late for the bus,’ he said.

He blotted the record, which he’d written in red ink, and handed him the book.

‘Let that be a lesson to anyone else who feels inclined to miss the bus,’ he said. ‘Back to your place, then, double l.’

When he got back to his desk he looked at the book. ‘Late for his third morning at school. J.T.H.’, had been written in the column.

He put up his hand.

‘What is it, double l? Is anything the matter?’

‘What you’ve written here isn’t correct,’ he said.

‘What’s that, Saville?’

He saw the eyes tighten behind Hodges’s glasses. The colour deepened swiftly in his face.

‘What you’ve written in my record book,’ he said.

‘What’s that, boy?’

He waited.

‘Do you know how to address a master, Saville?’

‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

‘That’s the first “sir” I’ve heard, Saville, from the moment you stood up.’

‘The bad record you’ve given me, sir, makes it sound as though I’ve been late for three mornings running.’

He waited once again.

‘Read to me what’s written, Saville.’

‘“Late for his third morning at school,”’ he read aloud.

Hodges waited.

‘I think that’s perfectly clear.’

He took out his pen. ‘Bring your book to me again, then, Saville.’

He went down through the class to the teacher’s desk. The bell had already sounded for the afternoon lesson.

‘I shall give you a second bad record, Saville, for insubordination. I needn’t tell you how serious two bad records in one day can be. Three in one week and it’s my duty to report you to Mr Walker. At this time on Friday I shall require you to bring me this book again. If any other master has found it necessary to endorse my opinion of your behaviour the matter will be out of my hands completely.’

He wrote again in the book with the same red ink. He blotted it carefully and handed it back. The door had already opened and a master appeared.

‘Is that understood, then, Saville?’

‘Yes,’ he said and went back to his desk.

‘It’s seldom been my duty to give two bad records on the one occasion,’ the master added, looking at the class. ‘I’m sure Mr Hepworth will agree that it’s a singular disappointment to any master to have to perform such a duty in respect of a member of his own class. I can’t tell you with what regret I look upon this incident. I hope, now that it has occurred, that it makes our positions clear, and that nothing remotely like it will happen again. Take out your books for Mr Hepworth’s lesson. I shan’t, if I can help it, refer to this incident again.’

He went out, removing his glasses, and, in total silence, closed the door.

Hepworth said nothing for several seconds. He stood at the back of the class; then, pushing his hand across his head, he walked slowly down to the desk at the front.

‘Please open your atlases at page thirty-one,’ he said.

Colin waited outside the staff-room at the end of the afternoon. He didn’t see Hodges.

He waited in the drive.

Finally Platt came out, walking to the gate; he went across to him and touched his cap.

‘What is it, boy? Out with it,’ Platt had said. He had a brief-case
in his hand, a hat on his head, his overcoat unbuttoned, and was plainly in a hurry.

‘Has Mr Hodges come out of the staff-room, sir?’ he said.

‘Hodges? Free period last period. He goes home early. What did you want to see him about?’

‘I wanted to make a complaint,’ he said.

‘See him in the morning if it’s anything important. Otherwise leave a message in the office, boy,’ he said.

He was almost in tears when he reached the bus.

‘Why, what is it? Whatever’s happened?’ his father said when he got to the house.

He showed him the book.

He saw the whiteness rise to his father’s face.

‘By God, I s’ll come to school in the morning.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘You’ll make it worse.’

‘I’ll not make it worse than this, don’t worry.’

‘I’ll talk to him on my own,’ he said.

‘Don’t worry, lad. I’ll set it straight.’

‘You can’t set it straight. It’s written in.’

‘I’ll have it written out,’ his father said.

‘But you can’t do anything,’ he said, ‘but make it worse.’

‘Don’t worry, lad. I’ll sort it out.’

His father went the following day. Colin was called to the headmaster’s study after the break-bell went. The headmaster himself was sitting at a desk; books lined the walls; a window looked down on to the crowded field below. There were framed photographs on the wall and in the corner, on a wooden pedestal, stood a massive globe.

A face in profile, like a mask, was set in a frame above a wooden mantelpiece. Its eyes were closed; it echoed, in its features, something of the headmaster’s narrow face. Pale-blue eyes looked out from beneath bushy brows.

‘Your father came to see me this morning. About this incident with Mr Hodges,’ the headmaster said.

‘Yes, sir.’ He nodded. ‘He said he would.’

‘It seems you were late on your third morning at school, and complained at the way Mr Hodges had phrased the remark in your record book. He said your manner was insolent and amounted, in his view, to insubordination.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘It’s a master’s privilege to make judgments on your conduct, Saville. Not only is it his privilege, but it’s also, in Mr Hodges’s case, his particular duty. Not only is he a master with great experience, but with a great deal of feeling and sympathy for boys your age. If this is his judgment, then his judgment is correct; it’s one I trust. I take a very dim view of boys who, when they get themselves into trouble, see no other resort but to complain to their parents, who come to the school with a wholly distorted view of the entire affair.’

‘I asked my father not to come here, sir.’ He gazed past the thinly featured face to the field below.

‘He says you’ve had trouble with your homework, Saville.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘If at the end of an hour and a half it’s not completed, it’s better to make a note in your book to this effect and report your difficulties to the appropriate master – not stay up so late that you’re too tired in the morning to catch your bus.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He glanced down at the desk. ‘I’m sorry this has happened so early in your career in the school. Mr Hodges, to make his own feelings quite clear, has offered to erase the two records from your book and has suggested I issue you with a new one. I’m afraid, despite his recommendation, that that is something I won’t and can’t allow. The record book is there for all to see, and is the most important document you’ll carry though the school. I hope from the incident you’ll learn a useful lesson: that the masters and the mistresses are here not to punish you for misdemeanours, but to instruct and guide, and, whenever in their view it is necessary, to reprimand. I hope you’ll learn from this to trust their judgment. I’d like you to report to me at the end of the term, with your record book complete, and we’ll see, from looking at it, precisely where you stand.’

He went out to the office. A grey-haired secretary with a red, sunburnt face was working at a desk; she glanced up, smiling, and said, ‘Was there any message?’

‘No.’ He shook his head.

‘That’ll be all, then, Saville,’ she said.

He went through to the corridor, then, since the bell marking the end of break hadn’t sounded, down to the field.

He stood by the wooden fence. He looked up at the headmaster’s window. The school’s coat-of-arms with its motto, which he hadn’t noticed while he was in the room, was set in the middle of the diamond-shaped panes in coloured glass.

His father, when he got home that evening, had been subdued.