The Scholar's Tale
by Mihangel
Part 1, Chapter 6 - Tribulation
The Lent term saw me busier than ever. I had done so well in the previous term that, contrary to all normal practice, I was now moved up another step and quite unexpectedly found myself facing O Levels in the summer, at the tender age of fourteen. It was hard work, and should have kept me out of mischief. But in February something happened which could not have been foreseen. Doug Paxton, the house captain, had sadly left and been replaced by the insecure Bill Jessop - he who had confined Andrew last term - aided and abetted by a weak bunch of prefects. One day a badly-phrased and thoroughly ambiguous notice went up on the house notice board. It meant to say that all boys who were not involved in other sports that afternoon were to go on a run. Most interpreted it that way, and ran. But a sizeable handful, including Andrew and me, read it to mean that we had the afternoon free, and we did our own thing. Of these, only Andrew had the bad luck to be seen by a prefect, and was called to account. In vain he pointed out the ambiguity of the notice: he was charged with deliberate disobedience and told in no uncertain terms that he was for it.
At Yarborough, within each house, discipline and punishment were in the hands of the house captain and prefects. Really heinous offences, of course, went to the housemaster, but this happened only once in a blue moon. Otherwise the prefects were judge, jury and executioner, and could mete out punishment to fit the crime: anything from trivial to quite severe. The system was part of the philosophy of 'training boys to be men.' On the whole it worked well enough. But it was open to abuse if the prefects, and especially the house captain, were weak or tyrannical. The most severe punishment available to them was beating, and to administer a beating the house captain had to get clearance from the housemaster, who would listen to the prosecution's case and give his verdict. The accused was not present, nor was there a counsel for the defence. Beatings were rare: in my house they averaged one a term, if that, and in most cases, if one finds this sort of treatment acceptable, one could say that they were deserved, in the sense that the victim really had committed a fairly major offence.
On this occasion, then, Jessop applied to Wally MacNair the housemaster for permission to beat Andrew. Wally (as everyone called him behind his back) presumably listened to the charge and gave the go-ahead. He was a good housemaster, it has to be said, and respected, who interfered little in the day-to-day running of the house. But this time he found himself ensnared by the policy of trusting the prefects.
The ritual for a beating was that during prep the prefects armed themselves with canes and marched in convoy down the corridors, rattling the canes against all the study doors and radiators they passed, so that everybody knew what was afoot. When they reached the changing room the house captain bellowed the name of the criminal, who would slink up, listen to a shouted reprimand for his sins, bend over with his head among the stinking jockstraps in a locker, and receive one whack each from all of the six or eight prefects before being released to nurse his wounds. It was a humiliating business, and was meant to be.
As we sat in our study, trying with no success to do our prep, Andrew and I were well aware of what was to happen. He wasn't much bothered by the prospect of pain. Rather, he was seething with righteous indignation at a gross miscarriage of justice. I seethed with him. Both seemed powerless to stop the tide of events. At the last minute, I remembered Andrew's story of the cricket ball in August and of his betrayal, and saw at once what I had to do. Either he'd be spared humiliation altogether, or I'd be humiliated with him. My heart quaked, but if there was any occasion when timidity and awe of authority had to be overruled, this was it.
"Andrew," I said as the canes rattled past our door, "Andrew, I'm coming with you. I'm going to demand to see Wally, you demand to see Wally too, and we'll see him together. Got that? Trust me." Any protests or questions were prevented by a stentorian "Goodhart!" He went out to his doom. And I went with him.
In the changing room we found the posse of prefects lined up belligerently. The moment he saw me, Jessop shouted, "What the hell are you doing? I didn't call for you!"
"No, Jessop. But if you're going to beat Andrew you must beat me, because I missed the run too." I'm not sure how I got that out, my heart was pounding so hard.
"The difference is that he was caught and you weren't. Nobody's accused you of anything. Go away."
"In that case, Jessop, may I go and see Wally?"
Jessop's eyed bulged. But every boy had the right to see the housemaster at any time and for any reason, and not even the house captain could stop him. "Right. Go." And without waiting for me to go he rounded on Andrew. "And as for you ..."
"Please, Jessop, may I go to Wally with Leo?"
Jessop goggled. Nobody in recorded history had appealed against a beating. But he couldn't forbid it. So we went. On the way to the private side Andrew whispered, "Leon, you don't have to do this."
"No. But I stick by my friends." Pompous, maybe, but I meant it. "Andrew, explain to Wally what happened, first. He may let you off. If not, I'll have my say."
Wally was surprised to see us, and together. "What is it?"
"Sir," began Andrew stoutly, "Jessop wants to beat me for missing the run. A lot of people thought the notice meant we didn't have to run - nine that I know of, including Leon here. But Jessop won't believe me."
"But I'm told that everyone else read it the right way, Andrew. And who are these others who didn't run? Who might back you up? Apart from Leon?"
"I'd ... rather not say, sir." Always considerate of other peoples' interests.
"Well, if you can't call more witnesses to back you up, you don't have a very good case, you know. Why not simply take your punishment like a man" - yes, he actually said that - "and then forget about it?"
"It doesn't seem fair, sir, that I'm not allowed to defend myself properly."
"There's a lot in life that isn't fair, Andrew. If you hoist that in, it's a lesson well learned. No, I'm sorry, I've given permission for you to be beaten, and I can't withdraw that." Understandable, in a way. He was under an obligation to support his prefects, right or wrong. But was that really more important than condoning injustice? "And I suppose you're here to back him up, Leon."
"Not just that, sir. I missed the run too, and if he's beaten, I should be beaten."
"Jessop said nothing about you, so presumably you weren't caught. That's your good fortune. I admire you for standing by Andrew, Leon. Let that be enough. Don't try to make a martyr of yourself."
"But, sir, if a criminal turns himself in and confesses to a crime, the police have to look into it, and if they reckon he's guilty they charge him." I found I could face semi-rational debate with authority more easily that I thought; more easily than Jessop's loud-mouthed bullying.
"I see your point, Leon. But on that analogy the prefects are the police, not me. I am the judge. And a judge cannot condemn someone who has not been accused of a crime. I accept that you both disobeyed the notice. Andrew was caught and will pay the penalty. You were not, and you won't pay. That's all."
Dubious arguments, but final. We thanked him politely, I don't know what for, and made our way back. "Sorry, Andrew. But worth trying."
"Yes. Thanks though, Leon. It won't be so hard to take now."
He passed our study door, expecting me to peel off there. But I hadn't yet shot my bolt. I paused, and quietly followed him. He didn't know I was just behind him as he entered the changing room. The prefects were lounging about, cheesed off at the disruption to the ritual.
"Well?" snapped Jessop.
"Wally says you are to beat me," said Andrew quietly.
"And me too," I added from behind.
Andrew swung round and gawped, but luckily Jessop was intent on me. "Did he now? Right, wait outside." And slammed the door.
I stood there and listened to Andrew being whacked. Hard, it sounded. Not a peep from him. The door burst open and he was pushed out, casting me an imploring glance as I was hauled in. They took their revenge for being monkeyed around with. It hurt. It hurt like hell. But I gritted my teeth. If Andrew could take it like a man, as Wally had told him to, so would I. I crept painfully back to our study. Andrew, too bruised to sit, was comforting his bum against the radiator and trembling with shock or outrage or both. I stood beside him, trembling too, and we looked at each other solemnly.
"Oh, Leon!"
"Forget it, Andrew. Better shared than alone. And I reckon Jessop and his merry men will think twice before trying that sort of thing again. So may Wally, come to that."
"But Wally will skin you for disobeying him."
"Let him try. I think I'm on a pretty safe wicket." The adrenalin was still flowing and I felt I could take on the world. Far cry from a year ago. And I smiled at the boy who had brought about the change. He didn't return it. Instead, his face suddenly crumpled, and he broke into heaving sobs. And hugged me. The most handsome, the kindest, the most stout-hearted boy in the world hugged me. I was caught utterly off guard. My own eyes spouted, and I hugged back. After a bit, Andrew recovered enough to explain himself.
"Leon, the bastards hurt me, but I'm not crying for that. I'm crying because you shared it with me, when you didn't need to. You've no idea what that means."
"I can guess. And I'm crying because I'm glad to be able to repay you a little for all you've done for me." Understatement. But I knew, and knew that Andrew knew, that a new depth of friendship had been reached and accepted on both sides. A new depth of love, on my part, though I couldn't yet say so. And of love on his part, too, I now suspected more strongly than ever before, though he was still far from ready to reveal it. Boys don't find it easy to express emotions, and an awkward pause was broken by the bell for prayers. Prayers over, and the final half-hour of prep under way, we'd regained our composure, and lowered our pants to inspect the damage. Livid purple stripes criss-crossed his beautiful rounded cheeks and my skinny ones (pin-buttocks, Shakespeare calls them). We exchanged looks of sympathy. Luckily we were buttoned up again when there was a cursory knock and Jessop put his head round the door. "Wally wants to see you," looking at me. They'd evidently been talking, and the cat was out of the bag. Would Wally be furious?
He wasn't. He was blatantly puzzled and uncertain how to proceed, because he was in a trap, and knew it. "Sit down, Leon."
"If you don't mind, sir, I'd rather stand. It hurts too much."
He looked startled. "It's as bad as that? Very well, stand." Pause. "Leon, you have disobeyed me, and I'm not accustomed to disobedience. What have you to say?"
Adrenalin was flowing again, and strengthened friendship inspired me. "Only this, sir. In my book, despite what you said before, the same crimes call for the same punishment. Assuming we're guilty, that is. If we're innocent, as I know we are, then an unjust punishment is easier borne if it's shared with a friend." I could use that word 'friend' with triumphant pride. "Trouble shared is trouble halved. I didn't like disobeying you, sir. I don't like disobeying anyone in authority. I didn't do it to make a martyr of myself. If anyone thinks so, that's their lookout. I did it from loyalty. In my book, equity and friendship outweigh blind obedience. If Andrew had misreported you to Jessop in order to escape a beating, he'd be in for the high jump. And rightly. But I misreported you in order to be beaten. I can't see that that's a very serious offence."
Nor, clearly, could Wally. He sighed, looked at me for what seemed an age, and visibly threw in the towel. And smiled. "All right, Leon. Don't let this go to your head, but you're a remarkable boy, and your sense of justice and loyalty is laudable. I've been in this house for fifteen years and I've never yet met anyone ready to go to such lengths. Tell Andrew from me that he's fortunate to have a friend like you.. No, forget that. You're so modest you'll disobey me again and carefully forget to tell him. I'll tell him myself - send him to me, please. Oh, and you'd both better go to Matron for some Arnica before bed."
"Thank you, sir." This time I meant it. "Goodnight, sir."
I sent Andrew to Wally, who repeated the message. Andrew told me so. We went to Matron for Arnica before bed, and it helped. Rather against my will, Andrew broadcast news of what had happened, and opinion was divided. A minority thought me a masochistic idiot. The majority, on consideration, approved, and my standing rocketed. I overheard, for example, somebody say, "I used to think Leon was a drip, but that's one thing he's not. I wish I had the guts to do something like that." From the mean looks he gave us, we reckoned that Jessop had had a bollocking from Wally for the whole cock-up and/or for using excessive force on our bums. Certainly there were no more beatings that year. And indeed, much later, when Andrew and I had worked our way to the top of the house, we conferred with Wally about punishments. He himself cited our beating and the predicament it had put him in, and readily agreed to our proposal to outlaw corporal punishment from the house.
I was writing home on another matter, and mentioned baldly that I'd been unjustly beaten. In return I received a dose of reproof on the lines that all punishments were deserved. But it turned out that Andrew, in his letter home, had spelled the story out rather more fully. By chance, his parents' termly visit fell due the next weekend, and as usual they fed us at the Red Lion. They winkled every gory detail out of us, in eager narrative from Andrew, in reluctant monosyllables from me: I wasn't accustomed to public praise. They were disturbed by the background, and I believe had a private word with Wally about it, but were touchingly grateful for my part. And tipped me again. Handel's coronation anthems this time. So, while I'd done what I did merely from an outraged sense of justice and loyalty, I found that the pain was far outweighed by the rewards. And I don't mean the financial ones.
All three Goodharts were going to Sicily over Easter to look at Greek antiquities, and were insistent that I go with them. Prolonged negotiations followed in which, thank goodness, I wasn't directly involved. Because my parents weren't going away themselves, they couldn't use the cat as an excuse for keeping me at home; and when the Goodharts offered to pay for my whole trip, and argued that it would be wonderfully educational, they capitulated. We had a marvellous time. I'd never been abroad before, nor flown in a plane, nor seen the site of any of the famous events of ancient history. We stayed in Syracuse, rich with Greek associations. I'd read it up, studied the maps. Here the Greeks had fought off the Carthaginians. The Athenians had disastrously besieged the city in 414 BC, and the Romans had captured it after huge efforts two centuries later. Here Plato had tried with total lack of success to convert the ruler to his ideal of the philosopher king. One day Andrew and I sat in the sun overlooking the Great Harbour, and I pointed out where the Athenians had built their siege walls, and described the course of the fateful sea battle which was their downfall - how the army on the shore had swayed from side to side in silent anguish as they watched their fleet being destroyed, like the crowd at a football match when their side's in trouble. I pointed to the quarries where the prisoners of war were put to work. I explained Archimedes' ingenious machines which almost scuppered the Roman assault, and we had a fine debate about the mechanics of his crane for lifting ships bodily from the water and about the physics of his burning mirrors for setting Roman ships ablaze.
When we'd argued ourselves to a standstill, Andrew mused. "Lord, it's fascinating. I'm not much into history. As you know. I'd no idea it could be so interesting."
"Hear hear," said a voice behind us. We turned in surprise to see Jack and Helen sitting there, smiling.
"Hullo! Thought you were at the cathedral. How long've you been here?"
"It was closed for some ceremony," said Jack. "So we followed you. We've sat through the whole performance. Leon, in the course of a misspent life I've heard many people trying to explain ancient history on the ground. But never have I heard it done so vividly. And you've never even been here before." My face was bright red, not only from the sun, and I was on the edge of tears. They couldn't know how much it meant to be approved and appreciated professionally, so to speak, by intelligent and loving people, and to be almost a member of their family.
Or perhaps they could. Back in England, trying to thank them for the trip, I said, "I can't think why you're always so generous to me."
"Oh, that's easy," replied Helen. "Because you deserve it, and because we love you."
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