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Tom Rubens

M I X E D

P I T U R E


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About the Author

Tom Rubens has been a teacher of English in further and higher education for most

of his working life. In addition to the present book, he has published seven books on

Philosophy, and a selection of poems. An eighth book on Philosophy is soon to

appear. He is active politically, and in local community affairs.


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Dedication

In memory of W. Somerset Maugham, whose outstanding novel Of Human

Bandage(1915) was at the back of my mind while I was writing this book.


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The collective influence of men and their average nature are far too mixed andambiguous to fill the soul with veneration.

George Santayana


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Part One


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Chapter One

Richard felt that from nowSeptember, 1961onwards, things were goingto be different. Going into the Sixth Form meant things had to be different. Heglanced at his new blazer, with its Sixth Form insignia stitched onto the breastpocket, lying folded across the chair. Wearing this would show them in the

playground and in the dining hallthat hed passed his Fifth Year exams at Olevel and was now thought good enough to start on work that might get him to a

college or even a university. So, boys younger but bigger than himself would nolonger look at him simply as someone who seemed too small to be in a yearabove theirs.

His watch said 8.10. There was plenty of time yet. Hed be at the bus stop,as usual, by 8.30. Coming closer to the mirror, he pulled his tie-knot tight and

felt its firmness with his fingertips. Hed decided he must look smarter fromnow on; his tie-knot must be right up against his collar, and he must comb his

hair every morning, properly, to get the parting right. After all, most of his

classmates had been careful about their appearance for a long time now sincethe Fourth Yearand would be even more careful now they had new blazers. It

wasnt that he wanted to be like them, but he wanted them to respect him,wanted them to feel he was just as grown up physically as they were. He knew

they thought he was intelligent they didnt have much choice because of thetimes hed come top in the class but all the same he had the feeling that they,or anyway most of them, regarded him as a bit freakish, because he was thesmallest boy in the class and the only one whose voice had not yet fully broken.

He cleared his throat and hummed softly to himself. His voice was almost deepenough now, and he was sure the high sounds it sometimes made would soon be

gone. So, with his voice nearly okay, and with his smart appearance, there wasno reason for them not to accept him. Of course, hed like to be a bit bigger too,

but that looked as though it was going to take some time if his body was

actually able to grow more.Putting on his jacket, feeling its newness and cleanness, he thought back to

before the Fourth Year, to before the bullying had stopped. Maybe, at that time,things would have been easier if he had kept himself smarter. He rememberedother boys, his size or even smaller, with well-combed hair, neatly knotted tiesand always polished shoes, whod not had nearly so much trouble with bullies ashed had. Perhaps their appearance had given the bigger boys the impressionthat they were sure of themselves and so would fight back. Also, a lot of them

had had more friends than hed had, and he knew that being popular was alwaysa good defence against bullying.

Are you off now, dear? his mother called from the kitchen.Yes, he answered, reflecting that he had never told her anything about the

bullies.

Have you, got a clean handkerchief?


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Yes, he fibbed. She always asked the same question whenever he wasgoing out, he thought with a smile, and he never saw why it was so important to

have a clean handkerchief; because, unless you had a cold or something, youwould only use it for a few seconds, and then, most likely, when no one else was

looking. Handkerchiefs were not important for your appearance.

Well, lets have a look at you, he heard her say, and he followed the soundof her slippered footsteps coming through the short passageway to the living

room.Ah, you look very smart, she smiled from the doorway, bending her head

slightly to take in his whole appearance, the way she often did. Then she put herhands on her hips and raised her eyebrows in comic imitation of an expressionshe used to have when scolding him as a child. Well Im glad to see

youre taking more care about your appearance at long last. Appearances count alot." The expression softened, she grinned, and her hands reached forward and

touched the sides of his arms. Then she put out her cheek. He kissed it quickly,before picking up his case from the settee and saying, Home usual time.

Outside, the air was warm, but with a breeze; a blue September morning,still with a feel of summer in it. Funny, he thought, how the first day back was

hardly ever grey or cold, as if the weather were saying Yes to your returningto school. Then, looking ahead up the long line of road which led to the bus

stop, the long line hed walked every weekday, except for holidays and sickness,for the past five years, he remembered the very first day, when hed worn shorttrousers and a cap with his blazer, and had carried a satchel over his shoulder. At

that time, with experience only of primary school, he had not foreseen thebullying that lay ahead.

He passed the garage and the butcher's, then the long stretch of grey-brickwall, and turned the corner into the main road. There were several people at thebus stop, including two hed seen regularly for nearly three years but had neverspoken to. One was a stocky young man, as usual well dressed, and as usualcarrying a small, greaseproof paper package which Richard had always taken tobe his lunch. The other was a tall woman with a heavily-powdered, lined and

expressionless face; her eyes, today as on all the other days, were fixed in thedirection of where the bus would appear. Hed sometimes wondered what she

had looked like when she was his age. Taking his place at the end of the queue,

he glanced at his watch, which said 8.29.The red oblong-shape of the bus appeared at the far end of the road and got

bigger. It was a couple of minutes early, usually reaching the stop at 8.32. As hestepped onto the foot-board and saw the as-usual unsmiling face of the

conductor, the thought came to him for the first time that he would befollowing this routine for two years more at most.

Inside the bus was crowded, but there was hardly any talking. Through thewindow, he watched the familiar things go by: the orange-brick pub on the left,

at the junction; the flat greenness of the park spreading away on the right,followed by rows of doorways and windows; then, on the left, a second open

spacethe reservoir, its water choppy today; then more doors and windows and,finally, through a gap on the right, a glimpse of the white concrete and glass ofthe school.


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The bus climbed the hill to the busy road junction at the top and pulled to ahalt by the big blue and yellow billboard advertising an insurance company.

Richard got off and went down the steps of the underground station, to cross tothe other side of the road. Hed crossed it only a few times by the overhead

route, and twice hed had to run to avoid oncoming cars which had started

moving before the lights changed. The safest way, hed then realised, was theUnderground.

At the bottom of the steps, he turned into the bulb-lit corridor and walkedpast the splashes of colour and words of the advertisement posters, including theones for films. He recalled some of the films that had been advertised over theyears; hed been too young to see most of them, and had looked too young evento pass for the right age at the box-office; but, knowing them only from these

walls, he had made them part of his memorythe faces and names, the coloursand designs. They had pointed to an exciting, adult world then beyond his reach

but now, he felt, getting nearer.Coming into daylight again at the far end, he mounted the steps, and at the

top saw some boys he recognised, going by in a small group; they were enteringthe narrow road which led down to the schools main gate. He did not go up to

them but simply followed behind. Two of them he knew to speak to, but only alittle, and then only about football, which they were good at. He did not want to

talk about football now. Now or at any other time. This was something elseabout being in the Sixth Form you didnt have to talk about sport so much,because your studies were now supposed to be more important. There were lots

of good reasons for talking more about your subject than about football orrugby, even to the boys in your own Year who were in the school teams; and

now no one had a right to say that you were just showing off how much youknew.

The road was very crowded, with a lot of people in front: people from alldifferent Years, including First-Years, the boys wearing caps and short trousers,and the girls, their bonnet-type black hats. The bigger boys and girls, in thehigher Years, were bareheaded; if you were a boy, you left off wearing the cap

in the Second Year, despite warnings from teachers, and if you were a girl thehat was shelved by the Third Year. He recalled the day hed first walked the

road bare-headed, while still in short trousers, and the teachers threat to report

him, which came to nothing.Beyond the clusters of heads was the corner section of white concrete and

glass which stood four storeys high, at the end of the road, past the dark-greyblock of flats. The height and the distance suddenly made him think again of the

future. Two more years to go. Then exams, and then what? A college, auniversity - but what were they like? Someone jostled against him; it was asmall boy, laughing, being chased by another boy and then disappearing amongthe people in front. The push brought his thoughts back to the road; he pictured

the school gate ahead, then the schools corridors, its rooms, rows of desks, and,most clearly of all, its playground, where, for five years, he had played at the

edges of the football games.Like Derek. Derek hadnt been much good with the ball either, and

whenever it came to him the other boys would grin and shout, O-oh! O-oh!


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Come on Derek! as if he were about to produce a spectacular move. Derekknew they knew he couldnt make that kind of move, and felt so awkward that

he would fumble even a simple pass. It had been the same with him too. Onething in particular that had always put him off balance was the fact that several

of the boys who mockingly shouted Shoot! Shoot, Richard would call him by

his surname the rest of the time, except on the rare occasions when he had theball and they wanted him to pass to them.

He had been able to tell Derek how he felt about this, and Derek had donethe same. They had also talked about the subjects they had come top in in theirdifferent classes. But now that Derek had gone to live on the coast, he wouldmiss their get-togethers after school, and their trips at weekends to theswimming baths and the pictures.

The low gate was wide open, pushed back against the hinges, and peoplehuddled together as they passed through it and veered right, into the playground.

Crossing the grey asphalt and coming to the painted white lines of the soccerpitch, Richard felt again the sheer size of the playground.

It seemed to be only a bit smaller now than the very first time he had seen it.The dining hall, beyond the soccer lines, still looked a long way away; so did the

fence, over on the right, where the grass area between the school and the orange-brick housing estate began. Turning round to look up at the dark-grey block of

flats, he felt that the seventh and top storeys row of windows was as remote asever, as far away as it had been on his third day in school when a bigger boy hadpushed him aside in going by, and he had not retaliated but glanced up to the

windows, to take his mind off what had happened. He had never seen any ofthose windows open, never seen anybody looking out.

More people were coming in through the gate. Among a group of girls, herecognised one whose legs had excited him several times in the playground. Shewas, he guessed, a Fourth Year who would now be moving into the Fifth. Hercalves curved in the long, slow way he liked, and looked even better now shewas wearing high heels. But, now as before, she giggled a lot. He recalled thathe had once thought of going up to her in the playground, to where she stood

with the other girls, and of somehow asking her if she would like to go out withhim. But the giggling had put him off. Something else had too: he was smaller

than her and had been afraid that, after hed got the words out, she and the others

would look at him as if he were stupid. And there had been something more: hehad never taken a girl out before, and had feared that, if for some strange reason

she said Yes, he would not know where to go from there.So he had never spoken to her. But other boys in his year had. Johnson, for

instance. Maybe Johnson had felt confident because she must have seen himenough times scoring goals in the playground. He must have felt fairly sure ofhimself, being big and knowing he was one of the best players outside the SixthForm. And, as Richard remembered, she had seemed pleased to be speaking

with him, pushing her hand through her hair and lifting one of her heels off theground so that the weight rested on the ball of her foot.

Johnson, he thought with some satisfaction, had not done well enough in hisexams to begin a course for entry into college or university, and would bereturning this year only to re-sit some of his papers before leaving to find a job.


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He pictured Johnson at a job interview telling the man he had only minimalqualifications. But then, suddenly, he felt bad for thinking this way about

Johnson. It was attacking someones weak point which was, after all, whatbullies did.

He started looking around the playground for people in his class. He wanted

to see how they would react to his appearance.Hello Richard. He heard a voice behind him, and turned. It was Stokes.

Stokes was already smiling, but when his downward-looking eyes took inRichards appearance, they shifted slightly.

Hello, Richard replied.You look quite a little genlman today.Richard smiled faintly but said nothing. He knew that Stokes was surprised

by his smartness. He recalled the times on the soccer pitch when he would getthe ball and Stokes would call out to him, in a steady voice, not to make fun of

him but to show how much he himself knew about the game,Now take your time. Take your time, now. Hearing these words, and with

everyone's eyes suddenly on him, he would get nervous and make a wrongmove. Then Stokes would deepen his voice and shout: You shudda done what I

said, shouldnt yah? Often, after a game, Stokes would repeat the questionquietly, looking straight into Richard's embarrassed eyes. This, Richard couldnt

help feeling, was Stokess way of saying that he himself never made suchmistakes.

Only you forgot to shave, Stokes added.

Richard, thinking about his smooth, hairless chin and cheeks, felt the quickheat of embarrassment. He wanted to break the silence that followed, and said,

I see you have. Stokes, he knew, took a certain pride in having already begunto shave.

Every day, smiled Stokes. Its getting to be that I have to, everymorning.

Richard was irritated by the smile, and a question came to him: Are you re-sitting in January or June?

Stokes smile disappeared. In June, he murmured.Richard knew that Stokes hadnt been aware of how many people knew

about his poor exam performance. He asked, now with a smile: Why not in

January?Stokess eyes shifted. I thought Id better give it a whole year, he said

quickly.Taking your time, eh?

Stokes forced a grin. Yeah, thats right.Watching him, Richard reflected that by June he would have completed his

first year in the Sixth Form. Stokes was not looking at him directly any more. Tomake things easier for him, Richard said he had to be off, and moved away

without waiting for a response.Walking across the playground, he felt effective in his smallness. He had

attacked Stokess weak point only because Stokes had asked for it.Coming to the fence, he remembered that as a Sixth Former he no longer

had to stay out in the playground during the lunch hour. That meant an end to


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playing in the soccer matches which he had felt he had to take part in becauseeveryone else did. It had been a question of joining in or being regarded as an

oddball. But no more of that. There was a Sixth Form common room where youcould go every single lunch hour if you wanted. Unless you were on lunch-time

prefect duty, you could spend the whole hour there without ever stepping into

the playground. When you went for lunch, you could go under the coveredwalkway joining the main building to the dining hall, and come back the same

way.He looked at his watch. The time was coming up to nine oclock. The

whistle would soon be blown for everyone to form a line. Then, suddenly, itoccurred to him that he might not be made a prefect, and so would not be able touse the common room. This, he knew, was a real possibility, because of his size.

The whistles blew, one in the boys playground and one in the girls. Thesound stopped his thoughts for a moment; then they started again. If he was not

made a prefect, then looking smarter than before, and having a deeper voice,would make little difference. Almost all the boys in his class were big enough tobecome prefects big enough to handle themselves against the Fourth Yeartroublemakers. Could he handle himself too? What if he were made a prefect,

and none of the troublemakers took his badge seriously? What if they even triedto trip him up as he went by?

The line starting forming, with many of the bigger boys, as usual, pushing infrom the sides. Could he, as prefect, keep the line in order, forcing the pushers-in to go to the back? His eyes lowered to the stone greyness of the playground;

he thought of being sprawled out on it, from a push or punch or trip.He joined the line and it slowly started moving forward. Prefects were

shouting and boys were being sent to the back. Those who stood and arguedwere pulled out by the biggest senior prefects and made to wait against the wallof the main building. Despite himself, Richard felt a stab of envy at the waythese seniors could deal with the sort of people who had often forced their wayin front of him. At the same time, he noticed that one or two of them had a kindof gleam in their eyes as they grabbed hold of peoples arms to pull them out; it

was as if they enjoyed showing their strength.The line was moving steadily now and he passed into the shadow of the

main building, approaching its big glass doors, both hooked back to allow

maximum space for people to pass through. Beyond the doors was the poorly-litentrance to the stairs, with the boys toilet on one side and the cloakroom on the

other. He had always wondered why this entrance did not have stronger lights.Mounting the stairs, he came into daylight again as he passed the big window on

the landing before the next flight of stairs to the first floor.


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Chapter Two

When he turned into the brightly-lit corridor with large windows, he saw,about halfway down, Roper and Carole Williams standing by the wall lockers,

their faces close together. This was something, he thought, that hadnt changedsince the Fifth Form. He recalled the couples nose-to-nose baby talk by the

lockers at the end of each day the previous term. He smiled. But another thought

struck him and he stopped smiling: they had been to bed together, and for thatreason most of the class looked up to them. Despite their baby talk, and even

despite Ropers fits of temper when on the losing side in soccer, they were both

accepted and taken seriously by the others. Also, he realised they would both

probably be appointed prefects.Roper glanced round and saw him coming. Then he looked back to the girl

and went on whispering in her ear. Richard passed by them, and opened the

classroom door.Warner looked up from the desk he was sitting on. Richard smiled at him,

and Warner smiled back.Hello, Peter, said Richard, remembering the afternoon just before the

holidays when Warner had lent him five shillings. Powell not here yet?No. Hes probably downing coffee in the staff room. As usual.

Well, said Richard, theres some time yet, glancing around the emptyroom. He was looking forward to seeing Mr Powell, who was to be their form

teacher for another year.

Oh, here he comes now, said Warner, who had gone to the door. Warner,Richard reflected, was usually quiet in class. But despite this quietness, he was

accepted by most of the others, without really being one of them; accepted evenby the people who would talk to Richard with an amused look in their eye or as

if they were being especially kind to him.Yes, Warner went on, pushing his blond hair back from his forehead with

his fingers, its Powell all right. The same tatty briefcase too. Cant he afford anew one?Aw, the tattiness gives it character.

Mr Powells pale face, with its flattish features but keenly-lit eyes, appearedin the doorway. He wore the same faded brown sports jacket as last term.Glancing at Richard and Warner, he asked casually, No one else here yet? andlifted his briefcase onto the teachers desk.

Theres Roper and Carole Williams outside, said Richard.Oh yes, I saw them, with a slight smile, as he unclipped the case. Richard

recalled the times Powell had had to tell the couple to come in from the lockersso he could take the register.

Blast! said Powell under his breath, scratching the part of his head thatwas prematurely balding. Ive left the register in the staffroom.

Shall I get it for you? asked Warner.

No, no, Ill go, its my fault.Be back in a jiffy.


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As he went out, he bumped into Roper, Carole Williams and Helen Keyescoming in. Both girls put their hands to their mouths, in exaggerated expressions

of embarrassment.So sorry, Powell said quickly and disappeared. The girls giggled to each

other. Richard recalled Helen Keyes once telling Carole Williams that she

wasnt a bit surprised Powell wasnt married: After all, whod want that pasty-face next to you on the pillow? Everyone had found out Powell was single at

the first annual prize giving he had attended; he had come alone, and told acouple of pupils he had no family. Word had spread quickly.

There was more sound outside the door, and several people came into theroom. Jones, Harris, Wilson all in the soccer team; they were laughing atsomething Harris had just said. Then Norton entered. Richard remembered how

Norton had at one time not been a member of the team, and had been quiet,apparently shy; but how, on becoming a team member, he would laugh loudly

when the others did, crack the same kind of jokes, and take the same pride indrinking at the local pub, where they all passed for eighteen. Richard hadrealised some time ago that Norton acted this way out of sheer joy in beingaccepted by people who, previously, had shown little interest in him. Nortons

dependence on the others was, Richard thought, curious, because he wasactually more intelligent than most of them.

Sylvia Morris appeared, chatting with Marion White. Richard caught thename of a local dance hall before their words were lost in the general hubbub.

In the corner of the room, Warner, who was not in the school team, was

talking with Jones. Richard had noticed in the past that Jones seemed to haverespect for Warner, despite the fact that Warner wasnt much good at sports.

Richard felt the respect was due to Warners being taller and heavier, and to hishaving begun to shave earlier. Richard had also observed that some of the otherteam members were prepared to talk on equal terms to non-team people whoimpressed them physically.

Standing alone by Powells desk, he knew that he himself was of no interestto Jones. The fact that he had come top in History and English last term was

certainly not the kind of thing to draw Joness attention. All his achievement hadproduced in Jones was a quick glance which seemed to say: Well, thats your

little corner of the world anyway. Books are all you can handle. Jones, he knew,

could handle books as far as he had to, to get through exams, but beyond thatpoint, he had little interest; for him, the real thing was sport.

Warner broke off talking with Jones and came over to Richard, saying: Hedoes go on a bit. Im glad to get away. Jones, looking in the door window, took

out a comb, passed it through his hair, and went over to talk with Sylvia Morris.Warner continued, He finally left off talking about the goals hes scored to tellme about a new band that plays on Saturday nights at the Royal.

Richard knew that Warner sometimes went to the Royal dance hall, about a

mile from the school. When, he wondered, would he himself go to the dancehalls, and approach girls who attracted him, and see them nod their heads and

smile when he asked them to dance?The room had filled up with more people. Powell re-appeared, carrying the

register under his arm. To Richard and Warner he said, Sorry Im late. I was


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kept talking by the Deputy Head. Clearing his throat, he clapped his handstogether. Now, everyone, voice raised, were very late in starting. He

paused till there was complete silence. Everyone, please go to your seats. Wehave a lot to do this morning. Theres no assembly today, so we can get started

right away.

Whats first,sir? called out Harris, sitting next to Jones. Harriss emphasison the word sir reminded Richard of the time Harris had asked the other boys

if they could imagine Powell in a pair of swimming trunks; they had all laughed.Powell looked steadily at Harris, who had used that emphasis before, then at

the rest of the class. Whats first, he began quietly, is the register, then thelist of prefect appointments.

As Richard listened to the register being called, he wondered anxiously if he

would be on the prefects list. He knew it was Powells job to recommend peopleto the Deputy Head, who would then approve them or not. Had Powell put his

name up? If he hadnt, the reason would not be personal dislike, but somethingelse.

Powell finished the register. He looked up and his eyes scanned the class. AtRichard, at Warner, and a few others, they softened. He cleared his throat again.

Right. Before I read the list of appointees, let me specify that being a prefectisnt just a matter of parading a badge around. Youll be expected to perform

your duties thoroughly and conscientiously, and youll be under the constantsupervision of the senior prefects. I hope thats clear.

He looked down and began the list. Richard sat forward in his seat, waiting.

As people heard their names, they smiled and turned to look at others. Powellkept his eyes on the sheet of paper as he read. At every name, Richard wondered

if his would be next. Then, most of the names had been called, and he got tense.He listened till Powell said, Well, thats the list.

Richard became conscious of people glancing at him. His was the only nameexcluded.

You can collect your badges, Powell went on, from the Deputy Headsoffice, where youll also be given your duties for this term. You can go along

after Ive given you the timetable for lessons. Any questions?Harris asked when the duties would start. Tomorrow morning, was the reply.

There were other questions and answers. Then Powell gave out the timetable for

the term. Richard wrote down the time and classrooms for his subjects, tryinghard to focus his mind on these details.

When Powell had given out all the information, he told the class they couldnow go to the Deputy Heads office. Everyone but Richard got up. As people

passed by his desk, he looked across at the windows as much as possible; buteven so, he couldnt help sensing the glances they continued to give him, andfelt trapped under their eyes.

The only other person in the room now was Powell. Powell broke the silence

by saying, Oh, by the way, Richard his head bent, as if looking forsomething on his desk.

Yes, sir?Powell hesitated. Well, maybe youre wondering why you werent on the

list.


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Richard wanted to help him out. I think I know, sir. Powell looked up.

Is it because, Richard went on, Im too small and wouldnt be able tohandle the troublemakers? in one breath, looking directly at Powell.

Powell nodded. Yes. Yes, it just wouldnt have been fair to you. You must

know what some of these characters are like. And theres a particularly badbatch this year. Your badge wouldnt stop them if they knew you were no match

for them. Hope you dont mind my speaking frankly.No, of course not. Then, Does this mean I wont be able to use the Sixth

Form common room?Afraid so. But we can arrange to allow you to come into the building

during the lunch hour if you dont want to spend it in the playground.

Thanks.Anyway, Powell now smiled, his voice lighter, what are your subjects

this year? English, I suppose. He came over and sat on the edge of Richardsdesk.

And History. Latin too.You should think about getting into university, you know.

Do you think I have a chance?Oh, definitely, from what Ive heard from your teachers. You and Warner.

Norton too, perhaps, if he shows some independence of the others and reallyknuckles down to work.

After a moment, Richard asked: What did you do at university?

PEP. Thats Politics, Economics and Philosophy. He scratched the back ofhis head. Yes, it was a lot of work but I enjoyed it. Youd enjoy university life

too. Work hard for the next two years and youll dowell enough to get in.Thank you for saying so, sir.Powell glanced at his watch. The others should be back soon. Incidentally,

dont take any notice of them if they act as though theyre more highly thoughtof than you are. If they do, he smiled, its because theyre lapping up thereassurance the badge gives them.

Like being in the school team, Richard added, wondering now why heshould be bothered at all about getting their respect.

Precisely, said Powell. Some of them no names mentionedare going

to have a hard time of it when they leave school and suddenly find themselveswithout all the supports theyve been used to.

Richard thought of the games teachers who openly encouraged Jones,Harris, Wilson and others to see themselves as very special people.

There was laughter at the doorway. Sylvia Morris and some of the othergirls came in wearing their blue, shield-shaped badges on their blouses; thenseveral of the boys, their badges on their left lapels, just above the Sixth Forminsignia on their breast pockets. Wilson had pinned his to the very edge of his

lapel, and glanced down at it as he took his seat. Jones and Harris, laughingtogether, rubbed their badges with their wrist-cuffs, openly exaggerating the

pleasure they felt in possessing them.


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Richard listened as different people talked about the duties they had beengiven. Roper told Carole Williams he would be on the boys main line. Sylvia

Morris told Jones she would be doing lunchtime duty in the girls cloakroom.Richard was impatient for classes to begin, impatient to be active in the only

way circumstances allowed. In study, he felt, he could cut deep, make his mark,

quietly, alone. He could do what he did best entirely in his own way.Oh, Richard.

He looked up. Powell was leaning over his desk. Heres a pass card thatllallow you to come into the building during the lunch hour. You know I have tokeep the classroom locked, but theres always the library itll be quiet there or the practice rooms near the music room. Theyre mostly empty at lunchtime.

Thank you, sir.

Powell went back to the front of the class. Richard thought of all the time hewould be able to have to himself at midday, in between the noise of the morning

and that of the afternoon.Powell clapped his hands together for the class to be silent. He told everyone

that lessons would start that afternoon. All newly appointed prefects would beable to use the Sixth Form common room during lunch break, where they could

make coffee, listen to the radio etcetera etcetera.


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Chapter Three

Walking down to the dining hall, Richard thought he would go to one of themusic practice rooms after eating. He passed under the covered walkway and

glanced either side at the hundreds in the playground, many running and

shouting. Their sound reminded him, as it usually did, of the echoing noise ofthe indoor swimming pool he used to go to with Derek. Sometimes, approaching

the pool and coming within range of the noise, he would get a sinking feeling inhis stomach at the thought of people dashing about chaotically. From now on, hewould be able to keep the playground sound at a distance.

But not the dining hall sound, he realised, as he pushed open the glass door

and saw over five hundred people eating or waiting in line to eat. Well, he wasused to the sound anyway, and hed only have to put up with it for about twenty

minutes each day because, as a Sixth Former, he didnt have to wait at a tablebut could join the line as soon as he came in.

When he got his food, he ate at the end table, reserved for the Sixth Form, incompany with some people in the Second Year Sixth, whom he knew only to

nod to. Then he emptied his plates in the waste- food trolley and stacked them in

the pile on the table beside the trolley.Returning along the covered walkway toward the main building, he took out

the white card Powell had given him. A slight feeling of humiliation came overhim, but he knew he would have to show the card; otherwise, the prefects at thedoor would not let him in. A Sixth Form blazer without a prefect badge wasntsufficient for entry; the badge being the all-important thing. Then, with a feelingof relief, he realised he would not have to keep showing the card because itwouldnt take long for the prefects to recognise him on sight.

Two girls in the first year Sixth were on duty at the door, seated either sideof it. He knew from seeing them before that they were both taller than him. One

had very shapely legs; the other had recently had her hair permed. As he came to

the door, both stood up to block his way. He felt very self-conscious as heshowed them the card.

Who gave you this? asked the one with the hair perm, her voice sharp andofficial-sounding.

Mr Powell, class 6P. Turn the card over. Hes signed the back.

When she saw the signature, she said, Oh, then paused, and, All rightthen, less sure of herself but still with the same vocal tone. Handing back the

card to him, she sat down again. Richard passed between the two girls andwaked toward the foyer entrance. As he neared it, he heard them both giggle,

and as he turned his head he saw them both look away from him. Theyunderstood, he concluded, why he was not a prefect.

He crossed the foyer, then turned right, along the passageway that ran pastthe entrance to the assembly hall. At the end of the passageway, he went up thestaircase which led to the corridor with the music practice rooms. This part ofthe building was very quiet and he heard nothing except the soft sound of


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recorder notes in one of the rooms at the far end. Opening the door of a room atthe near end, he saw it had a table and chair. Its wide window showed a view of

the orange-brick housing estate. Sitting down, he recalled he had often lookedout of the classroom windows at this view, and had been moved by its

peacefulness so different from the bustle of classrooms, corridors,

playgrounds. Many times he had longed to be on the other side of the grass area.It seemed funny now, thinking about it, that he had never taken the trouble,

either after school or at weekends, to explore the quiet roads and pathways ofthat far side. Now, though no closer to them than before, he could at least gazeat them without fear of a teacher calling out his name and telling him hisattention was wandering, as used to happen in his early years in the school.

Gradually, the silence developed a kind of sound, a faint purr-ing, as it often

had in the past. He had first heard it during the long, slow afternoons spent at hisgrandmothers house, before starting primary school. In the primary school, he

had not heard it much, but hadnt minded, because there the surrounding noisewas something he had felt part of. In the secondary school, he had felt part of thenoise only at the beginning. Gradually, he had come to miss the purr-ing sound.Now he had it again, right in the middle of the school day, and could have it

from now on as much as he wished.His watch said 1.53. He knew the whistle would soon be blown in the

playground. He would have to go back, it was time. Opening the door, he heardagain the gentle sound of the recorder, and felt a certain closeness to the unseenperson playing it because that person did not need noise either. There were, he

knew, a number of people like that in the school: quiet people who usually keptto the sidelines, people youd often see by themselves or in pairs in the

playground. But they were only a few compared with the rest, and were thinlyscattered across a thousand faces.

Descending the staircase, he heard the sound of the whistle. He did not haveto go out into the playground to line up, and made straight for the main stairs,wanting to be back in his classroom before people were let in from theplayground. The main stairway was still empty when he reached it, except for

prefects stationed on each landing. He recognised Helen Keyes on the firstlanding. As he approached her, her eyes pretended she hadnt seen him; they had

a fixed but expectant look, as if she couldnt wait to be seen by all the other

people who would soon be trooping up the stairs. He passed her without a word.Once inside the classroom, which was deserted, he looked out of the

window to watch the boys line moving toward the entrance. He saw Harrisstanding alongside a senior prefect. The two were joking together and Harris

looked confident. Once again, Richard felt envy, at the sight of someone bigenough to impress the other boys, even though that someone was Harris.Suddenly, he remembered the film posters in the Underground, and the adultworld they pointed to; this world was the one Harris was now entering, because

of his size and the acceptance it brought him. But he himself was still a longway from it, still a long way from being seen as someone who could hold his

own in a rough situation, someone who could be counted on. He might knowmore about poetry than any other boy in the class, but that was no use for doingwhat Harris and the other prefects were doing. Harris stood with his legs slightly


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apart, arms hanging at his sides, palms against his thighs. The boys filed by, andno one accidentally on purpose brushed against him to see what hed do.

Richard came away from the window. Soon, all the class would bereturning, either from their duty or from the common room. They would have a

lot to say. He tried to think of the afternoons lessons wanting, now, to have a

stronger sense of his own activities.When the other came back, the talk was divided between what had happened

on duty and what had happened in the common room. Wilson told Jones that theonly spot of trouble hed had was when a boy burped as he went by. HelenKeyes told Carole Williams that she had stared down a tubby, pimply girl whohad looked at her while going past. Some of the others were talking about thecoffee and cocoa they had made in the common room from a supply left over

from last term; and about the tunes they had listened to on the radio. The onlybad thing, one of them added, was that some of the Second Year Sixth seemed a

bit stuck up, a bit resentful of having to share the room with new people.Richard was glad when Powell appeared in the doorway, because seeing him

reminded Richard that afternoon classes were about to begin. Powell called theclass to order, told people to check their timetables for which rooms their

lessons were in, and then said hed see them all at 4 oclock.Richards first lesson was History. As the class split up in different

directions, Richard joined Warner, Norton, Sylvia Morris and some othersheading for a room on the next floor.

My dutys a bit of a drag, Warner said to Richard.

Why, what is it?The boys toilets. Its for the whole of the lunch hour. I have to let kids in

to go to the toilet, make sure they dont stay too long, and that they go straightout into the playground afterwards.

You mean, instead of trying to sneak upstairs?Exactly.Sounds a bit much. Richard knew Warner well enough to see that he was

talking about his duty because he really did find it boring, and not because he

wanted to emphasise the fact that he was a prefect. They mounted the stairtogether.

Ahead, Norton was walking alone. Richard recalled that, apart from Norton,

all the members of the soccer team were taking science subjects. He wonderedhow Norton would do in the two years ahead, without the other team members

in class with him. Would he work hard and so become less dependent on them?John, he called.

Norton looked round slowly. Richard wasnt surprised at the slownessbecause he hadnt spoken much with Norton since he became a team member.Nortons eyebrows were raised in an enquiring way, his eyes uneasy. Richardguessed he didnt feel very secure at talking with him.

John, who are we having for History this year, dyou know?Meeting Richards eyes for a moment, then looking ahead, Norton replied,

Porter again. Its on the master timetable outside the Deputy Heads office.

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