Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws of your country or district please desist. If you are a bigot or prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.
This is a very long tale. It unfolds over a good number of years. What is true, is true: what is not is otherwise.
ALADDIN'S AWAKENING
By
Joel
CHAPTER 44
My Final School Year
September 1946 - August 1947
I must admit I was a bit scared as August turned to September and I realised I would only have one more year in the safe womb of schooldays as I would be starting my final school year. What also scared me was the fact I had to make decisions about what I wanted to do with my life after I finished school. Some decisions were being made for me. I had a note from the Head Beak asking if I would accept the post of Deputy Head Boy. Pa and Ma were pleased at this and I went into school two days before the beginning of term and told his secretary I would accept. I found out that Tony was to be Head Boy.
So term began. Our group of First Year Sixth Formers had moved smoothly to being Second Year Sixth Formers. A tribe of relatively unknown to me Fifth Formers were now the new First Year Sixth. There were over twenty of them, reflecting the growth of the school after the start of the war. Few of them had crossed my path - except for a couple of ones who were always last to arrive when I was on gate duty, the inseparable pair, Foster of the First XV and nice cock and Dickens his side-kick and no doubt wank-buddy. I, as Deputy Head Boy, had the unenviable task of making up the roster for Gate Duty and so these two figured large in the first few weeks. The only others I had come across were Nobbo's cousin, Hal, Keith Harding, Dave Abbot, Georgie Abbot's younger brother, Paul Marsh and Jacobs of prick-measuring fame. I did manage to make visual inspection of Jacobs' circumcised whanger as he was a reserve for the First XV and played in our second match of the term. I gauged from the hang that he could be justly proud of his possessions as he also had a fine pair of low-swinging knackers for a sixteen-year old.
Johnny Prosser was our Captain of rugby and, given the slob he was, actually did a good job. I continued as a second row forward, and my proteges from last year, now much- grown Fifth Years, were all reserves, with young Collins as our substitute scrum half. He confided in me that he was determined, when his time came, to be Captain like his big brother was. I saw him and Beckett on the field most afternoons after school practising place kicking and ball passing. I didn't enquire if they practised any other form of ball-control more privately but they always seemed to be hanging around together. Yeah, there were a number of pairs of friends around.
So my seventeenth birthday approached. Thirtieth of September and the annual inspection and weighing-up - or, more exactly, the measuring with a ruler - of my attributes was in order. I was now as tall as Pa, just on six feet two inches. I was hairy. My armpits were small jungles of blackness and my cock had a dense bush above it with a snaking black trail leading up to my navel. At the end of my stay at Pin Mill young Flea had presented me with a nearly toothless old comb saying I was to use it on my leg hair and, if what he'd noticed was correct, pretty soon on my chest. I had been held down by the two boys while Flea had wielded the instrument on the rather dense curls on the backs of my thighs saying that any girl would love my curls. We never got round to discovering from Flea's vast (?) knowledge where girls would like my curls as that was an occasion when Flea's two tawny areas of fur were stroked for the umpteenth time. Then it was Lachs who commented, after he'd dragged his tongue across my left nipple, that I tickled him because of my hairy tits. I held him down and tested to see if he had the same effect on me. After several anguished squawks from him, as Flea joined in on his other nipple, we concluded he was decidedly unhairy in that area at present. Possibly when he was a bit older, say thirty or forty, he might even have to shave each day - Flea adding this as he rubbed his cheek against Lach's cheek - 'smooth as a baby's bum' he said.
So, I was a hairy monster! My other monster pleased me greatly. Again, the boys had expressed concern whether I was still growing and, while erect, had measured me in August and announced I was six and eight tenths inches if the wind was in the right direction. As I was squirming at the time, being held down by both with Lachs tickling me in the navel area while Flea employed a rather worn-out ruler, I wasn't sure of their accuracy. On September the thirtieth I gauged I was a smidgen over that. I gauged it to be a full seven inches now, whichever way the wind blew. What the hell! My cock gave me the greatest pleasure and had done so since it was the four inch stiffy which I wanked for the first time to spunk-filled joy when I wasn't quite fourteen. Oh crumbs, three years of masturbatory rapture! And other things!!
That night in bed I thought back to as many of the encounters I'd had. The fleeting mutual wanks, once and once only, the sucks and fucks with more settled friends and those glorious times with those most precious friends. I'd experienced a lot over three years. Truth to tell I was horny and just thinking about things meant I needed complete and instant release and I knew this had to be on a regular basis. I also knew I had quietened down a lot over the summer. The boys had been ideal companions. We were there for each other every day and knew just how to pleasure our companions to fulfilment. I was not allowed to rush things. I had my hand slapped - metaphorically - several times and told to slow things down. In slowing down the sensations became more concentrated so, I must admit, I got more worked up and experienced greater climaxes because of this care for me by the others. I hoped I did the same for them. I learned, and I hoped this would stand me in good stead for all the succeeding nights in my lonely, solitary bed.
What I couldn't control was the urgent desire. I would strip off ready for bed, and seven times out of ten, as soon as my feet left the ground and pushed down under the covers, my fingers would be looped round my stiffening shaft. The other three times out of ten my hand would already be holding my full erection as I slipped into bed! I couldn't have controlled it if I had wanted to. I did force myself now to make that first wank in bed last much longer. My spunk output was still colossal and my trusty towel was more often than not still damp in the morning after my usual two, or sometimes three, tumultuous outbursts.
Apart from dwelling on my pressing sexual needs a lot during my waking hours I had much else to do. At the end of the previous term Van had persuaded me I should try for Cambridge entry. I filled in the appropriate forms and applied for a place to read Modern Languages, French and German. I had letters back from two colleges inviting me for interview in November. As the interviews were a day apart it was arranged that I should stay in a small hotel in Regent Street which Uncle Edward recommended. He was miffed because his old college, Gonville and Caius, hadn't called me, but I was pleased to get two interviews, Clare and Trinity Hall. Tony had applied to read English and had interviews, not coincident with mine, at Peterhouse and Kings.
The don at Trinity Hall was not very forthcoming. I was interviewed with two other lads and after a desultory half hour we were dismissed in a most offhand manner. None of us had any idea whether we had done well or not. On the other hand, the don at Clare, although he seemed very old, took a lot of time and trouble to put the three of us at ease. The other two lads were not the same as the day before and I found one was a Public Schoolboy from way up North and the other was at a South London Grammar School.
This don had a beautiful room overlooking the back of Kings College, the cows in the field beyond and the river below. He had a book-filled rom and was accompanied by an old dog who he introduced as Peter. Master and dog were alike. They both looked pretty old and were both rather scruffy!
As we were seated near the window we were cross-questioned, me in French and German, one of the others in French and the other in French and Spanish, about cows, what we had seen in Cambridge, our schools and he was just getting on to what we had read when there was a startling sound. The old dog let out the longest, loudest and, what proved to be, the most evil-smelling fart of all time. The don continued as if nothing had happened until he saw the looks of consternation and the grimaces on our faces as we glanced at each other when the full tide of the effluvium reached us.
He looked along the row from one to the other of us as our faces must have been a picture and laughed.
"Tell me," he said, in English, "Why is the dog called Peter?"
One of the lads, from the Public School, said Peter was said by Jesus to be a rock. Another meaning could be as a friend. The other lad said that the Latin for rock was 'petra' but Peter hadn't been much of a friend as he had denied Jesus three times. The don nodded and looked at me.
"Anything to add?" he asked.
By this time I'd had enough of Cambridge. The don the day before had shown no interest, the hotel was decidedly scruffy, the bed had been uncomfortable and the dinner last night was meagre and all there was for breakfast this morning was cereal and toast and watery tea and now I was being assailed by the foul stink of a dog. I was hungry and tired. So, in for a penny in, for a pound. I could always sign on to do maths at the local polytechnic! I plunged in, headfirst.
"The French word for fart is 'peter'," I said, as levelly as I could, "I can think of no better reason for naming that dog Peter!" I pronounced the name the French way!
There were looks of horror on the faces of the other two lads. That was not the reaction of the old boy. He burst into hoots of laughter.
"My boy!" he said, after calming down a bit and wiping his eyes and glasses with a none-too-clean handkerchief, "You are the first to ever tell me the truth!" He coughed because of his laughter. He looked at the other two lads. "Yes, you were right. I actually called the dog Peter because I wanted a friend and companion just like you said just now." He turned to me and laughed again. "Where did you learn that?"
I explained that my French and German teacher, Mr Vansittart, had a collection of old French popular magazines all bound on his shelves at home. I had been there one day for some extra tuition and he'd had to go out to help his wife do something and had waved his arms at the bookcase and told me to pick a book and read while he was busy. The particular bound copy of the magazine had an article on the exploits of a man who entertained by farting tunes. I didn't mention the choirboy from Tring at that time! He was called a 'petomain' and I had found 'peter' in the dictionary so guessed the meaning of the word and his occupation.
The other two lads looked astounded, I suppose at my audacity, but were also entranced. The don was still laughing so I compounded everything - my possible future - by quoting the limerick and said I hadn't thought it possible at the time I'd heard it. The don heaved with laughter and even the two lads thawed and giggled. That wasn't the end of the interview. We were all then questioned on our reading and I went to town on my favourites, Moliere and Balzac. The other lads did well too and in the end we were all patted on our backs and he said we would be hearing from the college in due course.
I confessed to Ma and Pa that I thought I'd burnt my boats. Ma looked stern when I said about the fart but Pa just roared with laughter. He said he hadn't heard such a good story for years. Ma's look turned frosty and she muttered things under her breath. Neither Pa nor I dare say anything else but the gloom lifted when the letter from the college arrived a few days later.
My fellow Sixth-Formers were dumbfounded when I told hem the tale. At first they agreed and were also of the opinion I had burnt my boats. You couldn't mention farts in polite company let alone to a don at Cambridge. When I got my letter from Dr Blake they changed their tune and I was greeted on entry to the Common Room by the most disgusting noises, with Prosser trying his hardest to make the correct sound.
Tony said he bet I was the only candidate ever to be accepted by analysing the Gallic semantics of canine anal emissions. I said if he used words like that he wouldn't be emitting anything from that area for some time as he would feel the toe of my boot in that fundamental area. He was also pleased as Punch as he'd heard he'd been offered a place at King's on condition of the entrance exam. He said he'd used bullshit baffled brains as he'd found out E M Forster was a fellow of the college and got the discussion round to talking about his books and the don turned out to be a friend of the old man.
So, that was how I got my admission to the college, with the proviso that I passed the college entrance examinations. When I joined the college my fellow interviewees were there as well - as we said, a good fart brought us together!
Gradually, all of us who wanted to go to college had our interviews. Prosser and Geoff Wells were going to a renowned PE Teacher Training College, St Luke's, down at Exeter. Their boast was that quite a few of the England Rugby teams had trained as teachers there. Nobbo and Cleggy had made no secret of their desire to go as medical students to Dr Clegg's old London college, St Mary's, where Cleggy's brother was getting towards his finals. They were advised, as St Mary's always won, or nearly always won, the University Rugger Championships, they had better have membership of the school First XV on their curricula vitae. With Nobbo's height and Cleggy's fearless tenaciousness they easily made the team. An added bonus, according to Prosser, was that with their pre-medical knowledge and my experience in the SJAB any injuries could be dealt with when our First XV played. As it happened we never had to show our expertise except advise a good dose of liniment rubbed into sore limbs or bruises, but Prosser said they'd better mention it....
Their interviews were the same day so they went down to London together with Nobbo staying at his brother's flat off Knightsbridge and Cleggy sleeping on the floor at his brother's digs in the less salubrious area of Paddington. To Cleggy's complaints about his accommodation his brother gave him a severe lecture about how did he think people around him lived in that part of London. Once he'd had to deal with a few suppurating sores on dicks and a couple of rather smelly old ladies' fannies he'd change his tune. From what Cleggy said on return that rather drew him up short!
They had been primed by Cleggy's brother about what to expect although he couldn't find out who the interviewing panel were likely to be. As Clarke came before Clegg in alphabetical order Nobbo was first in. He said they were interviewed by four stern-looking medics whose first question was the expected 'In which position do you play?' Having looked at Nobbo's handsome, rather rangy body on his entry to the room, as soon as he said he preferred being lock forward there was a nodding and more appraising looks from the panel. He said they then talked among themselves about the prospects of the team before turning back to him when one of them demanded if he knew where the clavicle was. As he gave the correct answer so the questions then came thick and fast and he thought he answered them all correctly.
They found out afterwards they had ended up their interviews in more or less the same way. The main interviewer, who was the Dean of the College, asked them if they had any questions. Both had said that if they weren't accepted they would recommend their friend, who in their opinion, would make a first-class doctor. One of the panel, who had maintained a sour look throughout apparently had grinned at that. He was the one who as Cleggy left asked how his father was. Was that a good sign? Anyway, they both got offers, try to get Exemption from First MB at the forthcoming Higher Cert, was the only condition. A few days later Benno heard he'd got a place at the rival University College Hospital school.
Tony had told me that he went to Ulvescott and spent a good deal of the summer there. Kats had gone to stay with a friend as neither wanted to be in Kerslake as they would have had to share in keeping an eye on their gran. He said Finbar was growing into a lovely young dog now but Bran was showing his age, looking older and was much stiffer. Also, he let slip he'd been seeing a lot of Big Jim Chater while he was there. Big Jim was staying with his aunt as he'd got an early demob to get to veterinary college to follow in his Uncle's footsteps. From what Tony said he and Jim spent most afternoons sunning themselves in a remote clearing and, from the waggling of his eyebrows, I knew he and Jim must have indulged somewhat.
There were a few lighter moments during the term. One of these came about through Old Harry the caretaker complaining to the Head Beak that there had been a rash of ruderies inscribed on the lavatory walls. Huggy, as Deputy Head Beak, called the senior Prefects in to discuss this. He huffed and puffed and at last got round to the fact that to deal with it we had to institute patrols before and after school and at lunch-times and break-times. So, who had to compile the roster? Me!! To quieten the troops I had included myself in turn with all the other Prefects. Ruderies did diminish especially when two Fifth Formers were caught in flagrante delicto having just inscribed in a neat hand, 'Prosser is a big fat prick'. Johnny said he didn't disagree with the sentiment when this finding was announced in the Common Room. It was then pointed out that he must have misheard 'is' and thought it was 'has'. His countenance changed to puce and he was about to storm out to annihilate the miscreants until Geoff Wells and Johnny Wills held him back and said they would help him get the fuckers on the field that afternoon during games as they suspected the two had also written up that 'Wills and Wells and Wankers all begin with W' which had been found the week before. Two rather chastened, hobbling almost bow-legged, grim-faced scribblers left the games field that afternoon, vowing never to write words in public places again, as they had been tapped rather smartly between the legs by at least two of their Sixth-Form tacklers. They had also been warned, sotto voce, but loud enough for their class-mates to hear, that they wouldn't have the essentials for manufacturing any lead in their pencils if they didn't learn good manners and that was just a foretaste..
These inspections got known as the 'Bog Patrol' and towards the end of term I was on the rounds after the afternoon break with Keith Harding, now a Junior Prefect, when I heard a scuffling noise coming from one of the cubicles. I put a finger to my lips and we tip-toed along the line. It was rather like that time so many years ago when I'd taken the wrong turning and chanced upon Big Jim and his mate whacking off. Now there stood two Third Formers, new little wankers, gym shorts round their ankles, grasping their own stiff little stubbies and flailing away either side of the pan quite unconcerned about the world around them and that the cubicle door was wide open. One of them must have sensed someone was watching as he turned, still holding on tight to his three and a half inch pricklet.
"Oh, shit!" he gasped.
The other lad looked round and his already reddened cheeks went an even darker shade.
".....said the King..." I said.
".....and forty-thousand arseholes strained in unison!" completed young Keith.
Two mortified little masturbators were caught, red-handed, red-cheeked.
The other one looked fit to burst into tears as he let go and his poor little prick sagged quickly.
"Please don't tell on us," pleaded the one who had ejaculated. The swear word, not a load of come! "Jimmy only found out on Saturday and he told me this morning!"
At least they were honest little wankers. I heard Keith take a deep breath. I knew he was trying not to laugh. I put on a stern face.
"If you have to try out things, there is always a time and place," I said, trying my hardest not to grin, "You should be having gym I suppose. Get there quick or the cheeks of your bums will be as red as the cheeks on your faces."
They scrabbled to get their gym shorts up and scuttled out past us.
"....And remember to shut the door another time!" called out Keith.
We grinned at each other as we left the smelly bogs. I then told Keith about finding Big Jim when I was a First Year. He confessed his younger brother had found him and a friend in their bathroom and had threatened to tell their mother and had to be bribed to keep his mouth shut. Keith said he'd recently found his brother in solitary splendour so all bribes were off. He said his brother was in the Third Year now so would know the two we'd found.
So, the first term went quickly, work piled up and I spent the first part of the Christmas holiday reading, writing essays and trying to solve maths problems. Mr Phelps had been a bit miffed that I didn't want to take maths to a higher level but after both of us discussing things with Pa he said that unless I had a gift I would probably end up teaching it in school. Still, I supposed if anything untoward happened it was something I could take up later.
Christmas itself was hectic. I hadn't seen Matt for a full year and had only a fleeting meeting with Tom during the summer as he arrived home on leave the day before I journeyed to Pin Mill House. Tom was now a Midshipman proper and by a lucky coincidence was being recommended for a further course once he left the Naval College in the summer after his two-year course.
Apparently, earlier this last term they had been inspected by a French Admiral and his entourage. I knew nothing about the French Navy and Matt told me they were very angry with the British as we had sunk the French fleet in the Mediterranean off Algiers in July 1940 to prevent it falling into German hands. Although the Admiral had ended up in London with General de Gaulle he refused to speak English and on the inspection made remarks, in French, to Cadets, who, without fail, didn't, or couldn't, answer.
He stopped in front of Matt and made some disparaging remark to his aide-de-camp, a young French Naval lieutenant, and Matt spoke up. He said he told the Admiral, in French, he understood exactly what he had said and that, in his opinion, the British Navy was the best in the world and had done much to win the war! Just remember the sinking of the Bismarck and the Graf Spee, and the Atlantic conveys, he said. At this the French Admiral, at first looking very surprised, smiled, clasped him round the shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks, French fashion. He said most of the other Cadets were almost shitting themselves in case they would all get into trouble. But no, the Admiral turned to the British officer following him and apologised, in English, for his rudeness.
After the parade Matt was called to the Commandant's office and wondered if he would be in for a right bollocking. A British Admiral was there with the Commandant and after Matt had saluted he was told to Stand Easy and the Admiral asked him if he was Dixie Ward's boy. Matt said that Captain James Ward at Lossiemouth was his father. The Admiral laughed and said he thought so as Matt looked just like his father and he had been at Naval College a year ahead of Matt's father and he hoped Matt was as well-endowed as his dad. The Commandant also laughed at this and went on to say that the other boy, meaning the young Frenchman, had been most impressed and asked if Matt might be attached to the French mission at some time.
Matt said he was a bit perplexed about what the Admiral had said about his father until he remembered he had called him 'Dixie Ward'. He wondered if he meant 'Dicksie Ward' as he'd commented on his father as being 'well-endowed'. Like father, like son!
In the privacy of my bedroom Matt showed me just how well-endowed he was. His now eighteen-year-old cock was truly huge. It was, he proudly said, just under eight inches. Gosh! It was, too. Mine, at about an inch shorter, was big but his was immense as it was thicker. I said it was a pity he hadn't joined our Sixth Form as he would be a prime candidate for exceeding the present Common Room wall marking, which contrary to all the tales was seven and nine tenths inches. I knew. I'd measured it with a ruler! I had to tell him all about that as Sixth Formers are sworn to secrecy not to tell young'uns about it and he'd left school in that category.
After we had wanked each other off he confessed he'd had no other sexual experience other than with his right hand all the time he'd been a Cadet. He said he was certain that some of the Cadets had hooked up together but he had resolutely made up his mind not to get involved because of the dire consequences of being caught. Instant dismissal! He grinned and said there were a good few he wouldn't mind sharing a bunk with, but he had plenty of pleasant memories to keep him occupied anyway. So, Matt, my great friend, was doing well.
Tom was now a mass of muscle. He was into serious weight-training and I looked comparatively puny by his side. He had been promoted to squad corporal and had the first of his technician's badges. He also had an insatiable sex drive which his training had done nothing to curb. In fact, he thought that all the extra fitness training he did only set him off more. I had some inkling of this when he wanted to be tossed off twice in fairly quick succession before we settled down for a good chat. He had tossed me off once in between and I didn't disappoint with my amount which he said he remembered well! Like Matt he had kept clear of any involvements. He said there were plenty of snufflings and grunting in the barrack-room after lights-out and, like Matt, he was also sure there were some who sloped off to secluded parts of the barracks for quick two-somes. All he heard was talk, few, if any, admitted to wanking. He said he had to have furtive wanks in the bogs as the lad next to him had very sharp hearing. "Sharp enough to hear a foreskin being withdrawn at forty fathoms!"
He said the common assumption was that the cooks were a set of dirty buggers and were always at it, in twos, threes or outright orgies. The basis for this was the way they flaunted themselves behind the hot ranges. Because of the heat few wore underwear under their cooks' whites and they taunted the young apprentices by referring to their massive tools made bigger by the constant heat and he'd seen several with erections as they rubbed themselves against the tops of the ranges. He said the strict rule was never to get the wrong side of a cook by cheeking him as they were sure they routinely pissed in the soup and gravy and, according, to the older ones, wanked off collectively in the rice pudding! Tom said he always steered clear of one cook who always leered at him and asked if he wanted a large portion of his extra creamy pudding!
I made Tom come out with me on my morning runs. If he was so fit and strong a little bit of exercise would keep him in trim. The first morning we turned a corner and there was the lad who had taken over Tom's paper-round and who had spurned my help. I think we put the fear of God into him. Two tall, hairy monsters surrounded him and Tom said we would be helping him do his paper round and did old Mrs Brackendale still give him a sixpence on Saturday mornings? The lad thawed when he saw we only wanted to help him and told Tom he wanted to join the Army as a Band Boy as soon as he left school in the summer. Later, Tom told me the tale was that the Band Boys were the constant bed companions of the older Bandsmen and no doubt he'd soon learn the difference between his brass and his oboe!
Duncan was home again for Christmas. Two pips and a denser moustache! I got pummelled for asking if he was trying to match the hairy object slung below his waist. He said he hoped I was referring to his sporran! Tom laughed and asked if there was anything else as hairy as that? He threatened Tom with putting him on a fizzer - a charge for being insubordinate to a superior officer. Tom laughed and said he'd better watch it as the only fizzer Dunc would get would be a firework up his kilt!
Again both families, the Thomsons and the Buchanans, had Christmas lunch together with the surprise announcement that Major Buchanan was being demobbed in February and would take over as Superintendent in charge of the local police. Now the war was truly over there were more and more men around as they were getting demobbed in dribs and drabs. In fact, another one had been Chris Gardiner who had been demobbed on medical grounds and was now doing a shortened course at Nottingham University to be a dentist.
I'd had a Christmas card from Lachs enclosing a very chatty letter and a photograph. The photo was of him and an equal in height other Cadet who was obviously an Arab. The letter explained that this was Sayed, his roommate. Some wag in the office at the Academy had thought it would be funny to pair up two five feet five bantams, but when they met for the first time in their room they had the last laugh. They had become firm friends immediately and were determined, as a pair of young fighting cocks, to outdo all the others. He said Sayed had been at school in England all through the War and was actually a Prince but never let anyone know. From the grins on their faces in the photo one could see they were good friends.
The highlight for me was that Flea was coming once more for the New Year. Lachs was again visiting his friend Cartwright and taking Sayed with him to finish up their leave. When I asked Flea he said that Sayed was a smashing fellow and they'd all had a good time at Christmas up at Chester. Sayed had especially liked being in an English home for the first time as he'd either had to stay in school accommodation or been shunted around from hotel to hotel with a guardian or tutor during the long holidays. I said we could arrange for a stay at Ulvescott some time - I didn't think Ma could put up four of us, but.... On arrival Flea had announced he had been promoted to Squad Sergeant with Terrible Titty as his Squad Corporal. Captain Harrison had told them a little responsibility might quieten the pair down. Sergeant Cameron-Thomson wasn't quietened down in other ways and I had to smother his cries with my mouth as he came for the third time the first night of his visit. In fact, I was quite worn-out by the time I marched him down to catch the train to take him back to school. Worn-out? Not really. Satiated, yes, worn-out, No!
Another of my cards at Christmas was from young Georgie saying he had read my mother's detective novel and it was 'wholly good'. I had sent him one of the copies I had bought and he had opened the parcel to see what was in it, not waiting for Christmas Day! Young Georgie had livened our summer. He had come sailing several times. He and Flea got on so well, but he never intruded his company. He had jobs to do for his grandfather on the farm and was now a tall, sturdy young fellow of getting on for fifteen. He said he was still having piano lessons from Mr Vickery and had now progressed to the organ. I said I'd heard I had passed Grade Eight. Very quietly he told me he had, too. He reminded me to play Bach as he was the greatest of them all! Georgie! I knew I would value him as a friend in the future.
In January things turned from bad to worse. We had the worst winter ever, coal and fuel shortages. Pa managed to get a delivery of logs which we shared with our next door neighbour, Mrs Peters, and with Mrs Buchanan and Mrs Tring. I spent several afternoons sawing the large logs into manageable sizes. Pa said I got two warms. One from sawing and the other sitting in front of the log-fire. Hunh!
Then on the Wednesday of the last week of January real disaster struck.
I was cycling home from school, carrying a load of books in my satchel tied to the handlebars of my bike, when I did my usual quick turn towards our front gate. Wrong move. The road was a sheet of ice under the layer of snow. I had misjudged things badly. The bike slid from under me and I crashed down full on my left knee. The most intense pain I'd ever experienced shot up my leg and I couldn't move. I was worried more about my precious bike and tried to retrieve it but I couldn't. I screamed as the pain hit me again. Luckily Mrs Tring was in her front room and must have heard the crash and then the scream. She couldn't come rushing out as she would have slipped as well. I called out that I thought I'd broken my leg and she went back in and 'phoned for an ambulance. She came out again with a blanket and laid it over me and told me to lay still. She moved my bike and to my relief it looked undamaged. The damage was to me. I must have fainted because the next thing I knew was being placed on a stretcher and put into the ambulance. I came round again with Sister Clarke looking down on me.
"It's OK, Jacko," she said softly. "We managed to get your trousers off and we think you've cracked your knee-cap. Mr Symes will be down in a moment."
I had the most tremendous ache in my leg and if I wriggled to try to get comfortable pain shot all the way through me. I was then aware of a firm hand holding mine. It was Mr Symes.
"I hear you had a fall off your bicycle," he said. "Just by looking I can tell you've done something to that kneecap of yours. I'm going to give you an injection and then we'll have it X-rayed. If it's what I think it is you'll probably need a bit of repair done and luckily Mr Foljambe the orthopaedic surgeon will be here this evening so I'll get him to have a look at it."
A little while later I felt a slight jab and I heard a whispered conference between Mr Symes and Nobbo's mum before the porter pushed the trolley I was on to the X-ray room. That evening I was operated on. I had the patella stabilised with a pin and woke up with my whole leg encased in plaster and a worried looking Ma sitting by my bed. Ma had been crying I could see. I tried to turn but my leg was slung up in a frame and I was immobilised. I took a look at the leg and the contraption.
"How long with all this be?" I asked. More concerned about me than poor Ma sitting there. I immediately back-tracked. "Are you OK?" I asked, as cheerfully as I could. "I only fell off my bike. I'll be OK."
Ma burst into tears. "Oh, Jacko, we just got a message you'd had an accident and we both thought the worst. I've been sitting here just watching you. The surgeon says you'll be all right. But what a shock! Your dad'll be here a bit later."
Pa arrived and I found I would be trussed up in the thigh to ankle cast for five weeks at least and then, if all was well, have a lighter cast for about three weeks or so. Pa looked a bit solemn when he said I would probably also have a limp for a time. Pa had just finished telling me this when a nurse came in with a short, ruddy-faced man, who turned out to be Mr Foljambe. He motioned to Pa and Ma that they should stay and explained what he'd done to stabilise the knee. He said because I had very pronounced thigh muscles that the bad bit was they had contracted violently and had wrenched the knee-cap even more. On the other hand, the good thing was that I wouldn't experience too much muscle loss. I would have the knee X-rayed in three week's time and all he could advise was to lie back and think of England!
I was in turmoil. Over a month here in hospital and with the other cast I would have to stay in at home. What about my Higher School Cert Exams? What about the Cambridge entrance exam? Pa said I wasn't to worry, everything would be arranged. Just after that a nurse came in and gave me another injection and the next thing I knew it was morning.
Over the next month things did work out. Nobbo's mum must have told him what had happened and he crept into the room next morning just after eight o'clock. He said he'd got special permission from the old dragon. He meant the matron who ruled the hospital with a rod of iron. He said he would take any messages to school and he would be back after school ended that day.
Each day one or two of my friends visited me. I had a separate room - the one where Cleggy was when he was circumcised. Of course, his first words were that it was the circumcision room and seeing my leg in plaster he fooled about saying he suspected the surgeon's knife had slipped so they had to put my dick in plaster and had exaggerated it just a bit!
School work was brought in. Van visited me each week and Ma and he devised a program for me to keep up with my French and German with Ma coming in most evenings for a chat. Johnny Wills came in frequently and we did Applied Maths problems together. I wasn't so lucky with the Pure Maths as I was the only one taking it but Mr Phelps popped in several times and ironed out quite a few knotty bits. I think all my Sixth Form mates came in at some time or another and Kanga and a couple of the lads from SJAB were constant visitors, mainly with tales of the antics of Beckett and company who were now well- established members of the Brigade. Sometime around half-term Pat Halloran came to see me and told me about the teacher-training course he was doing down in London at a Catholic college. He smiled sweetly as he reminded me I was in the same bed he had been in for both his hernia and his knock-out.
"And where's your face-cloth, Jacko, me old spalpeen? Nice and clean is it?"
Cheeky bugger!
One thing I didn't like was the fact I was lying down all day so I would be a prime candidate for bed sores. This meant each morning my backside and heels had to be rubbed with surgical spirit. At the end of the first week Cleggy and Nobbo offered to take over that task and my bottom was rubbed briskly every afternoon by one or the other. They also assisted me in getting rid of excess spermatozoa as Cleggy so elegantly put it.
I had written to Dr Blake at Cambridge explaining my predicament. His letter back commiserated with me and he said arrangements could be made for me to take the entrance exam in hospital under supervision. He ended the letter by sending me good wishes from Peter as well!
So, I wrote the paper with Van as invigilator. Passages to translate from French and German and a piece to translate into both languages. There was also an essay question and I chose to write about Balzac and his insights into French country life.
I heard the next week I had been accepted and, also, I had been awarded a College Exhibition. This was some sort of scholarship and would go towards the cost of my residence and books. I was pleased. Perhaps, I would make something out of my life.
A real surprise happened one afternoon just after Cleggy and Nobbo had massaged my buttocks with Cleggy making remarks about what fine rump steak could be sold to Mr Gale the butcher. I was telling him to shut up when the door opened and a large man, in Police Officer's uniform, stood there. The three of us gaped. Then I realised it was Tom and Dunc's dad, Superintendent Buchanan. He surveyed the room then fixed his gaze on Cleggy.
"Hello, young George," he said in a deep bass voice, with a marked Scottish accent, "Been scrumping apples recently? Eh?"
Poor Cleggy. He blushed even redder than the young wankers. But he collected himself quickly.
"No, Inspector," he said, "After you told dad and he slippered me I've gone off apples."
Superintendent Buchanan laughed, a deep belly laugh. "I'm glad to hear it."
He looked across at me. "You look a bit different now, Jacko, than when I left."
I supposed I did. I had hazy memories of the big, jovial, policeman who was always chatting to Pa, but that was before the war started. I was a small lad then.
"I've been visiting one of my constables who got in a bit of a tangle on Saturday night. Thought I'd better check up on you. Your dad told me about you falling off your bike. Tom sends his best wishes by the way."
He looked over at Nobbo. "You're Sister Clarke's lad aren't you?" Nobbo nodded. "I've told her I met your dad in India before I went to Singapore recently. He was chief clerk of a battalion out there and I had dealings with a couple of his reprobates.
He should be getting demobbed soon."
I had heard little of Nobbo and Billy's dad. I knew he'd been a solicitor's clerk like the Batchelor twins but he wasn't mentioned much. In fact, dads away in the Forces weren't alluded to very much, anyway.
I thought I would get one over Cleggy. "My father said you're a Superintendent now." Cleggy blushed again - he'd only called him Inspector. "Are you in charge of the district now?"
He nodded. "Yes, got a lot to do. There's many things have to be cleared up and quick, too." He looked at Cleggy and Nobbo. "Any thoughts of joining the Force?"
Both shook their heads. I chipped in.
"No, they're both going to medical school. Could be police surgeons though?" I had gleaned that job description from Ma's book. Oh my! Inspector Tom Buck! Inspector Tom Buchanan!! I wondered if he'd read the book?
He nodded. "And you're off to Cambridge I hear."
I said I was, all being well, and he said he'd see me no doubt before then.
When he'd gone we twitted Cleggy about scrumping apples. He said he'd only been eight at the time and he and two others had raided an old lady's back garden without realising they were spotted by the local Bobby who was accompanied by the Inspector. Cleggy's dad had not been pleased and had given him six with his slipper on his backside in retribution.
My knee was healing fast and the day after I had the X-ray the old cast was taken off and a much smaller one was put on. From just above the knee to below it. They wouldn't let me have the old one as, although it was covered with messages from everyone who visited me, it smelt!
I didn't want to be stuck at home as I got fed up even after two days there. Mr Foljambe said I could go back to school but had to protect the knee. Of course, with the cast I couldn't get my trousers over it. Superintendent Buchanan solved that problem. He turned up on the Sunday afternoon with a Cameron kilt, long red socks and a smart leather sporran. So Jacko MacThomson turned up at school on Monday March the tenth to be hailed on entry to Assembly by Tim Parker playing "See the Conquering Hero Comes" followed by "The Campbells are Coming" as we marched, or, limped out afterwards!
Naturally, the general query from all my small-minded so-called friends in the Sixth Form Common Room was what did I have on underneath. To allay their suspicions, or fears, I hoisted myself up, using my crutch and displayed my clean white underpants and said I was allowed to wear them as I wasn't really Scottish. Prosser led the shout of "Get 'em orff" but Nobbo and Cleggy got them to desist as they said they were in charge of my leg but as soon as that was better the others could have their way with me! Fine friends I had!!
Naturally, I was the object of curiosity by the younger end of the school. Several had brothers or dads in Highland regiments and a couple of Second Years told me their brothers were in the Cameron Highlanders. Then there was the timid little First Year who came up to me in the playground one morning towards the end of break-time when I was on duty and said he'd been told by his friends to ask me if it was true but he didn't know what they meant. I spotted two heads which bobbed round the side of the bike shed wall. When the heads appeared again I leaned on my stick and held up my hand and beckoned them. Two very sheepish lads came slowly over to where I was standing.
"And what do you wear under your shorts?" I asked.
A silence.
"Do you want me to take you to the cloakrooms to find out? I'll ask Prosser and Wells to help."
Their faces were a picture. The Captain of Rugby and one of his henchmen looking at their undies-clad wee willy winkies.
I had to let them off. "Apparently," I said, "If you are a true Scotsman, nothing. But like you, I feel the chill wind. Satisfied? And don't get others to do things you're too scared to do yourselves!"
At that moment who should appear but Johnny Prosser. The pair looked as if they would piss their undies any moment. I let them off the hook. "You'd better scarper, quick." I turned to the other lad. "Go and ring the bell, break-times over." He looked so pleased. Ringing the bell was a prized job usually only done by boys in the higher forms. I think I had another hero-worshipper!
Actually I was changing my opinion of Johnny Prosser. He wasn't so much a slob. That time he'd come across to see if I needed any help getting to my next tutorial. Several times he'd carried books for me and I realised I would have to change my tune and not take people too much at face value.
Easter came and went - a time for massive amounts of revision lightened somewhat by visitors. Firstly, over Easter weekend Flea, Lachs and Sayed came to stay. True, Lachs and Sayed were exactly the same height. But for their colouring, blond, pink-faced Lachs and black-haired, dusky Sayed, they could have been twins. Sayed had the most lovely smile and personality and he and Lachs were, obviously, firm fiends. Flea twitted them both and he was swatted, indiscriminately, by either, whoever was nearest when the quip emerged. It transpired that Sayed was part of a large Arab dynasty but that was all we found out. He doted on Ma and was quite amazed when he found out she wrote books which were actually published He had a permanent smile on his face and I think the kindnesses he had experienced both in Chester and with us had really transformed something lacking in his life. There were many tales of military life and both Lachs and he were revelling in it. There was a friendly rivalry and I did manage to help them both with working out range tables for heavy guns. I shared my bed with Flea while Lachs and Sayed had the spare room double bed. That particular night Flea whispered that I was pretty good at heavy artillery and Lachs had learned his lesson well after that firing of my cannon at Pin Mill House! Neither he nor I enquired whether Lachs and Sayed were practising light artillery fire but Flea said, from what he'd seen when Sayed was having a bath at Chester, he wouldn't like to be in line for a fusillade from that weapon!
All three were highly amused with me wearing the Cameron kilt. My ancestry was called in question as the brothers insisted that they were much more entitled to it than me. I protested saying it was no more than an old skirt for me and if they didn't like a non-Cameron wearing their tartan I would leave it off and parade around in my underpants. They all, Sayed included, just laughed and said they much preferred me in a skirt, with Flea compounding it by saying I had nice ankles but needed to shave my legs.
Their next stop was Pin Mill House, before starting their new terms, as they wanted to take Sayed up the river in the boat. I would love to hear what young Georgie would have to say about 'a short dark beast'.
I had my cast off on the Wednesday after Easter following a satisfactory X-ray. I had a substantial strapping put on instead and continued to wear the kilt. On the Thursday we had a fleeting visit from Uncle Alfred who was on his way back to the States having completed his term as a chaplain. He and Pa were closeted in Pa's study for a very long time on his second evening with us. Both emerged looking very grim. Nothing was said until after he had left on the Saturday when Pa explained that Uncle Alfred had been one of the first at the liberation of one of the concentration camps and he was going to write about his experiences with the prisoners and what he had seen once he was back in America. Pa was obviously very moved by what Uncle Alfred had told him but he never said any more. Uncle Alfred took photos of me in my Scots finery to show my Aunt and the boys and he left two bottles of the 'amber fluid' for delivery to the Brothers and also a firm invitation for me to visit God's Own Country when I was good and ready!
On return to school there was an envelope in the Sixth Form Common Room for me. In it was a card, signed by the six, Beckett, Collins Junior, Fisher, Hunter, Clowes and Hawks, together with a photo taken of the grinning sextet clad in their First XV rugger kit as they had all been in the squad for this year's Fensham match. Becket and Collins had played in the team and the others had been reserves. My proud six! And a very proud Jacko who studied the photo!
And then came the exams. April disappeared. I think I did pretty well. There were a couple of the Pure Maths questions I didn't have a clue about but I found enough of the others to do. The first Applied Maths paper seemed too easy. There were three questions which were almost identical to problems we'd done with Mr Phelps. All was well - he agreed! Both the sets of language papers were hard but I did my very best. The oral tests went well and the lady who was the German examiner said I had a good accent, rather Southern Germany, but good. I wondered if that was Hans' influence?
My knee was now almost as good as new. I still had to walk with a stick. I was warned on my next visit to the hospital not to do anything rash or foolish and I should do a short walk every day for exercise. No running! One good thing was I had a much smaller elastic bandage put on so I could wear trousers again. Actually I missed the kilt. I felt very proud wearing it even if I couldn't walk with the swagger I'd seen a couple of Jock soldiers produce in the town one day.
I had just finished my last exam and was getting edgy about whether I had done well enough when Ma asked if I would like to spend time in Switzerland before I went to Cambridge. I was flabbergasted! Could one get to Switzerland so soon after the war had ended? What had happened was that Ma and her sister had corresponded and the suggestion was made that, if possible, I could go and stay with them. Pa said he would find out from Thomas Cook's in London when he was there next about travel and when I made tentative murmurs about travelling alone, etc. etc., he came up with the bright idea, why not ask Tony? He was going to Cambridge the same time. We seemed to get on well. He wouldn't lose out being immersed in another language even though he was going to read English. So, settled!
There were many things to find out. We needed passports. No problem! Money? Currency allowance for travel was a maximum of twenty-five pounds. Would that last two months? No problem! Aunt Lilian said they could look after us and in return Johann could come to England some time. Johann? My young cousin. He was just under two years younger than me. He would be sixteen in June. I had never met him. I had only seen the photo of the young boy Ma had in an album. What would he be like? And Uncle Johann? I knew he'd taught Ma to whistle so I supposed he couldn't be too bad. Ma found a photo of Aunt Lilian's and his wedding and a large fair-haired young man smiled out from the set scene. I made other excuses. How could I go to Switzerland it was all mountains and with my knee I couldn't climb mountains. Ma's frosty look appeared again. I was told sternly that my aunt and uncle lived at Neuchatel, by the lake. There were such things as trains and buses and they even had cable-cars. As far as she was concerned, mountains were for looking at, not for climbing, unless you were a mad Englishman like your father.
Pa had cowered down behind his copy of the Times and puffed a cloud of pipe-smoke up. Pa climbing mountains. He admitted he and Uncle Johann had gone to Chamonix and had got a little way up the Matterhorn but they soon came down as neither of them could stand heights. Ma sniffed. I said that sounded like mad Swiss as well if Uncle Johann went with him. Ma sniffed again.
I think Tony was more keen on the expedition that I was. I was rather worried in case my leg played up but Tony insisted that he would keep an eye on me. He said that we could practice a bit of walking at half-term if we went to Ulvescott. His news was that Kats was leaving school and going to work for their father. She didn't want to go to college and was keen to work. So, as she was seventeen now, just a year younger than Tony, her father had consented but had made it clear if he was paying her good money she had to earn it. Tony said she'd confided in him that she would work hard as she wanted to pay back in some way all the things her mother and father had done for her, such as the private school education she had experienced. She had taken her School Cert and hoped she had done well.
So, our arrangement were made. Pa managed to get over currency troubles by buying our tickets to Switzerland when he was in London. Aunt Lilian said they would arrange our travel back. But first, Tony's dad took us to Ulvescott in his car on the Saturday of the half- term week. What changes! Poor Bran was looking his age but young Finbar was as gentle as he was. There was no Hans and no Herr Vogel. No POWs, except for the two who had elected to stay. All had been repatriated home. Mrs Crossley had letters for me from both Hans and Herr Vogel inviting me to visit at any time in the future and thanking all of us for being such good friends. I really missed Hans. The place didn't seem the same without him. Two of the estate workers had been demobbed and they were back working for Mrs Crossley and the chicken business was being run down quite a lot as the Land Girls were also gone.
Tony and I walked with Finbar. Bran stayed at the house but greeted us warmly when we returned. Tony at night had to make do with less intensive sex. I couldn't and wouldn't put any weight on my knee. However after a couple of experiments he did mange to impale himself but I wasn't comfortable. We reverted to head-to-toe for the rest of the stay.
On our return the term edged to its conclusion. I acted as starter for the races on Sports Day. Of course, I hadn't been able to take part for the Lane Cup earlier which Johnny Reed won comfortably. Still, I had plenty to remember. The Head Beak at the Prize Giving was most complimentary about his Sixth Form. Two Cambridge entries, three medical school entries, Vince Hare to London to read Geography, Tim Parker to the Royal Academy of Music, etc. etc.
So, on Monday the twenty-first of July two intrepid wayfarers set out on the train to London to proceed to Dover to catch the overnight ferry to Calais. Thence to Paris and to Basel where Aunt Lilian said she would meet us. We had three hours in Paris to get from one station to another and Pa said it wouldn't give us time to go to the Folies Bergeres or anywhere else! He produced a small wad of French francs which he said he'd been given for us by one of his contacts in London and we could get a taxi for the journey from station to station. As it happened all went well. There were two young officers who were catching the same train in Paris who helped to carry my luggage and we shared their taxi.
We did buy them 'une baguette' each on the station - asked for in my impeccable French! - and loaded ourselves with two each in case we starved. We had two large cups of very milky coffee as well.
The train was slow, but comfortable, as Pa had managed to book us sleeping berths. It clanked and squealed its way across areas of devastation and we spent a good deal of time just staring out of the windows wondering why people had to go to war and there seemed to be large areas of empty space anyway in France. At last we reached Basel and had to pass through Customs and Passport Control again and there was Aunt Lilian with my cousin Johann!
To be Continued:....................