Spud (16 page)

14:10   Whilst polishing Earthworm’s cricket boots I craftily slid Macarthur into the conversation. Earthworm said he thought the hanging in the chapel story was a myth and was mildly surprised (Earthworm is never completely surprised) when I told him about a few of Fatty’s discoveries. I was careful to sound vague as Fatty had warned us about being too obvious. Earthworm did know of the ghost called Mango, though, and said that Brett Harvey, the first team opening batsman, had seen him last year drifting around Woodall house in the middle of the night.

Just before prep Rambo called us together and told us that today was Boggo’s birthday. The sneaky villain hadn’t told anybody for fear of being initiated (it’s a school tradition to make a birthday boy’s birthday as
unpleasant as possible). After prep Rambo and Mad Dog leapt on Boggo and wrestled him to the ground. The rest of us seized an arm or leg and dragged him screaming to the bogs. What followed was disgusting. The mob carried Boggo into a toilet stall (I put myself in charge of his left foot) and Rambo shoved Boggo’s head into the toilet and then Mad Dog flushed the chain. Boggo choked and thrashed violently but we were too strong for him. Once released, the now fourteen-year-old puked and then collapsed onto the bathroom floor, retching his guts out. Most of the house turned out to laugh at him. I felt desperately sorry for poor Boggo and more than a bit guilty for my hand in his bogwashing. I ran upstairs and fetched his towel and some clothes and brought them down to him. The crowd had scattered and Boggo was sobbing on a bench in the showers. I gave him his things, thought about cheering him up but then felt embarrassed, so I gave him a pat on his shoulder and left.

I hurried upstairs to check my calendar and to my horror I realised that my birthday (20th April) will fall during term time. I shuddered at the thought of what terrible fate awaits me.

09:30   There was much excitement in the changeroom before today’s cricket match against an English school (St Edmunds from Surrey) on tour to South Africa. The Guv psyched us up for action with the battle of Agincourt speech beginning with ‘If we are marked to die, we are to do our country loss and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honour…’ The Guv rambled on for ages about national pride and destroying the imperial bastards.

Unfortunately, the imperial bastards weren’t much opposition and took fright in the wake of the half-
crazed Mad Dog. Our fiery opening bowler sent his first delivery three metres off the pitch and directly at Abbot in the gully, who just managed to dive out of the way milliseconds before his head was torn off. Mad Dog was able to get back on target and ripped through the imperial bastards, who could only manage 66 runs. I took the last wicket with my first ball so I am unable to say whether my form has returned. Since this is the last match until the final term of the year, it doesn’t really matter anyway.

Simon belted the required runs in double quick time and before long the sorry looking imperial bastards were back on their hired bus and disappeared. (I now know how the Zulus must have felt after the Battle of Isandlhwana.) The Guv organised a team braai outside the changeroom. Before long, the kitchen staff brought out a huge drum, firewood, and a tray of meat, salad, breadrolls and cooldrinks. We set about celebrating our unbeaten season. The Guv gave each player a mock award. Simon was awarded player of the term. Mad Dog was given the Mad Dog award. I was given the lucky bastard award, and Steven George the Sparerib trophy. The most wickets award was given to Mr Moodley for a number of dodgy umpiring decisions. (Moodley was absent.) By late afternoon we were all chanting songs together and revelling in some outstanding team spirit. The Guv, who must have laced his cooldrink with some vicious alcohol, relieved himself on the pitch, shouted, ‘Once more unto the beach, dear pillows!’ and then staggered off home.

20:00   The Saturday night movie was a film called Sophie’s Choice, which seemed to be boring the minds out of everyone. Pike took it upon himself to stand up and moon the entire house and then spat a greeny onto the screen (apparently to liven things up). Luthuli took exception to his behaviour and gave him finger-tongs
with the TV remote control. Once the shouting and cheering had died away, the thread of the film was lost and the evening descended into a series of arguments, arm wrestles and horseplay. Lights out was called after Devries received a bloody nose from Emberton during an arm wrestle.

A day of perfect relaxation. Me, Tolkien and my writing pad. Wrote eight different letters to the Mermaid. Here follows the chosen masterpiece:

I reckon I have just the right mix of news, interest, sympathy and passion. Already worried about the weekend. I have to see her but I’m scared to phone. (Make that terrified.)

I know you’re not going to believe this, but Vern and Gecko are in serious trouble. They’ve both been hauled before Glockenshpeel and beaten six each for breaking into the biology laboratory. A security guard caught them sneaking through a half opened window in the middle of the night. Since they were only on their way in, they were not accused of stealing but just of trespassing, otherwise they may well have been expelled. The beatings took place while we were in geography so I cannot report on whether Gecko cried or vomited.

After lights out, the entire dormitory crammed into Vern’s and my cubicle to hear Gecko’s telling of the story. Since his decision to take a beating for the team and now after this latest mission, Vern’s shares have gone through the roof and everyone’s stopped calling him Rain Man altogether. Gecko loved his moment in the spotlight and added enough suspense and exaggeration to impress both Rambo and Fatty, who demanded a retelling of the story, to which request Gecko happily obliged.

Gecko said that they broke into the biology lab to steal some of Mr Cartwright’s lab rats to feed Roger. They showed us their bruises and explained in great detail their sessions with The Glock. The gathering was broken up by Julian and Bert who’d come to inspect ‘bottles’. After Bert had taken a series of photographs he ordered us to bed, switched off the lights and slapped Julian on the bum. Julian squealed in a high-pitched voice and the two ran out the dormitory, giggling.

Before heading to bed we all shook hands with Gecko and Vern. Rambo congratulated them for their courage and their disrespect for the school rules. They both grinned like idiots and looked incredibly proud of their achievement. Before switching off his torch Vern shook
Roger’s paw and told him that he was a brave kitty. Roger purred, scratched his ear and licked his balls.

Spent the afternoon working out how many seconds we had left until the holidays on Simon’s calculator. This turned out to be an impossible task because time doesn’t stand still. In this place it only appears to.

07:20   Dressed in our finest school uniforms the Crazy Eight made their way through the archway, past the crypt, along the pathway and through the headmaster’s gate. Rambo paused under the lemon tree and winked at us.

We were on our way to breakfast with Glockenshpeel (a tradition since the school’s earliest days). Luthuli had given us strict instructions to behave like gentlemen and to do the house proud. Fatty had already been to breakfast in the dining hall to avoid looking like a pig at the headmaster’s.

The Glock’s wife (a large woman with a wart on her chin) greeted us at the door and ushered us into the headmaster’s grand mansion. We were shown into a beautiful large wood-panelled dining room. At the head of the table sat The Glock reading the Financial Times. He looked up and said, Ah, so at last we get to the Crazy Eight.’ Simon laughed politely and we all sat nervously around the table. Vern and Gecko looked embarrassed and sank low into their chairs. The Glock studied us with a severe look and then smiled grimly. ‘Unfortunately I seem to have met a few of you under vastly different circumstances.’ Gecko tried to clear his throat to hide his embarrassment and nearly choked. I silently prayed that he wouldn’t vomit – this was
definitely not the time or place.

The headmaster made us all introduce ourselves. When I stood up and said my name, The Glock raised his eyebrow and said, ‘So
you’re
Milton?’ He looked at me as if he expected more, and then moved on to Boggo.

Miraculously, the breakfast went off without a hitch: Fatty turned down a second helping, Gecko didn’t vomit, Vern didn’t pull out any hair, Rambo was gracious, Mad Dog was polite, Boggo looked clean, Simon was as presentable as ever, and I was just me. The Glock wasn’t nearly as scary as I thought he would be and, surprisingly enough, he even seemed to have a sense of humour. PJ Luthuli was waiting nervously for us outside the house and seemed mightily relieved when we assured him that nothing had gone wrong. He punched the air with delight and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. One got the feeling that our head of house had been dreading our big breakfast for weeks.

Fatty cancelled the Macarthur meeting because he wasn’t feeling well. He reckons the breakfast with the Glock must have given him diarrhoea.

Eve asked Rambo to stay behind after class to rehearse a scene which they plan to perform for the rest of the class some time next term. Looks like Rambo is now officially the teacher’s pet. Boggo thinks it’s all a bit dodgy.

11:00   At last a stroke of luck! The entire house jostled around the noticeboard to read the message.

Old Boy JG Cole (82-85) has been awarded a Rhodes Scholarship to Oxford University and will take up a degree in Egyptology in September. In accordance with school tradition, today will be a half-day. There will be no lessons after 11 am.

An enormous game of house touch rugby was immediately organised. Fifty boys streamed down to the field in a state of great excitement and for two hours we sprinted around on a soft carpet of orange and brown leaves.

Just hours away from freedom!

I was awake ages before the rising bell. My heavy metal trunk lay packed on my locker. Elsewhere bags were filled and waiting. To pass the time I had a staring contest with Roger, who crumbled under the gaze of my poker stare and headbutted Vern’s locker instead. At last I heard the footsteps of a boy running across the quadrangle. Seconds later the rising siren sounded and the entire school was instantly awake.

08:00   We all marched into the final assembly full of the joys of autumn. Everywhere was the sound of laughter. Even The Glock seemed unusually happy. No doubt he was relishing the thought of three weeks of peace and quiet. After various announcements he reminded us that even in the holidays we were ambassadors of the school and should behave accordingly at all times.

He then opened up a piece of paper and said, As many of you will know, this year we are mounting a major school production, Oliver, in conjunction with St Catherine’s school. (A few whistles and a deadly glare from The Glock.) Mr Richardson will be directing the production and he has been conducting intensive auditions over the last six weeks or so. The casting has been completed and the lead roles are as follows: the role of Fagin will be played by Mr Edly’ (The Guv to play Fagin! My palms were sweating.) ‘Nancy will be played by Mrs Wilson.’ (So Eve was Nancy. My guts did a somersault.) ‘Bill Sykes will be played by yours truly’
(Glock was playing the psychopath Sykes – talk about typecasting! I felt a desperate need to take a piss.) ‘The Artful Dodger will be played by Lloyd Croswell.’ (Loud applause and whistles. Why is my heart beating in my neck?) And last, but certainly not least, the title role of Oliver will be played by none other than… John Milton!’ (Applause, an elbow nailed me in the ribs, hands were on me, and everything was… was… slow motion.)

Suddenly, I was surrounded by boys and masters and I was outside in the sunlight pumping hands and getting back slapped. Then I was in maths, staring at my textbooks. Then history and Crispo was crying and making speeches and shaking our hands. Then I was dragging my trunk to the storeroom. Then I was shaking hands with the Crazy Eight and Earthworm was there. Then suddenly I was on the bus and Fatty was going on about Macarthur but I couldn’t hear a word. All I could hear was applause, one gigantic standing ovation. Now I was hugging my mom and tears were rolling down my cheeks and I was sniffing and Dad was crying and digging in his pockets for his handkerchief – finally I was home and I didn’t feel a day over four years old.

Woke up with a raging headache from last night’s celebrations. Dad forgot that I was only thirteen years old and kept pouring me gin and tonics.

12:30   Still no sign of my parents. I think it’s quite possible that they have drunk themselves to death.

In my drunken haze I seemed to remember plucking up the courage and calling the Mermaid, but then hanging up when a man answered.

My awesome run of luck continued when my mother (after finally waking) told me that she had invited Marge and the Mermaid around tonight. She said Marge is
taking strain with the divorce and the Mermaid likes the pool (being a mermaid). With a cheeky smile Mom asked me if I would mind entertaining her for the evening. I did my best to look cool, but it obviously didn’t work as she screeched with laughter and clapped her hands together before scurrying off to get ice for their pre-lunch drinks. I did the only thing a cool teenager can do in such circumstances. I turned around, swaggered to the bathroom and vomited up my breakfast. (I think Gecko would have been impressed with my effort.)