After an agonizing wait of half an hour, Sister Helen opened the cloakroom door. Her eyes were red and she looked as if she had been crying.
"You are all to go back to the Common Room. In silence, please." Slowly the boys filed back and stood in quiet lines. As Jon passed Sister Helen she caught his arm and pulled him aside.
"Oh, Inglis. How could you? There's trouble afoot. I tried my best." Another tear welled up. "Run along and quick."
Jon joined in the long line of boys. The Superintendent was at the top of the room, standing on the raised plinth that the staff used for their meals. He was breathing heavily and redder than ever in the face. Jon wished that the angry man would die at once. He wished too that he himself could just disappear.
Then the man stormed. "We've found the culprit. The boy who passed the chocolates around. We all know who it is. Now is the culprit going to be man enough to own up? Firstly, who gave everybody the chocolate?"
Jon knew his back was to the wall and thought that if he owned up his punishment might be less. Bother, he had even time to reason, I've not had time to put paper down my pants.
Slowly but proudly he stood up. "I passed the chocolates and peppermints around, sir."
"So it appears from the name on the papers. And now, young man, where did you get the money from? You of all people. We know you've no money."
"Sold me stamp collection, sir. Can do that, can't I, sir?"
"Dont be cheeky, damn you. You know jolly well that what you got for your mingy little stamp collection wouldnt buy all that chocolate. Where did you get the rest of money from? We've got a good idea. You might as well say." Mr Johnson was tapping the cane on the wooden table.
Jon heard a whisper from behind his shoulder. It was Watson. "Snakes honour, remember," he whispered.
Standing as straight and tall as he could Jon said in a steady voice, "I stole it, sir. Stole it from Matrons cupboard. Watched her from the open door one day. I copied her. Nobody told me how. It was so easy. Wanted to give the others something. I shared it, sir, I did really. Stopped us feeling hungry for once."
"Thats done it," bellowed Mr Johnson. "You come here for nothing, and then you complain. You little varmint. Pay you out I will. Whole lot will watch this flogging. Come here, you wretch. Sorry I set eyes on you, I am."
Slowly Jon bent down as if to tie his boot. He whispered just loud enough for Watson to hear. "Didnt split, did I?" Then he straighten up, and walked up to the platform. Sister Helen was openly crying.
"Sorry, Sister Helen. Didnt mean nuffin bad." Jon then turned to Mr Johnson.
"Bend over, damn you. Youll get as many as I can give. Then well see what we can do with you." He turned to the boys. "Just you watch. Thisll be a lesson to you all. Stealing from MY Orphanage."
Jon bent over. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty. Then he lost count, and slowly he lost consciousness. Two of the watching boys fainted, several cried. When Sister Helen saw Jon was gone from the moment, she caught Mr Johnsons arm.
"Thats nuff, sir. Youll kill the child, then what'll the authorities say."
Without looking at the small prostrate boy or the others assembled, Mr Johnson stumbled out of the room. There was foam around his mouth, and his eyes were glazed.
When Jon came round he stung all over. He saw the kind and concerned look on Sister Helens face as she bathed the wounds in warm salt water.
"Thisll hurt, my boy, but it'll help."
"What happened? Did I faint? Where is everyone?"
"Youre in sick bay. There's lots of trouble ahead, but well talk about it in the morning. I'm staying with you till you go to sleep."
"Youre kind, Sister Helen. Its sort of nice. I never mean to do anything really bad, but its just me. Bin a bit wild, I xpect, Me Mam was never there, so I jest did what..." ø-(: - His voice droned off, and as nature ordained, he fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.
He woke next morning to find Sister Helen packing a parcel.
"Whats in there? Ouch, I'm sore. Have I got to go to school today? Dont think I could walk that far."
"Jon," started Sister Helen.
"Thats the first time you've called me that," interrupted Jon.
"Jon, I've got something to tell you. Mr Johnson has arranged for you to go away. To-day, this morning. I tried my best to persuade him to give you another chance."
Jon pulled the bedclothes right up to his chin. He started to shiver. "Me? Go away? What about my friends? What about Slater? can't I say good-bye? Where am I going to? Not the Remand Home, Sister, tell me its not the Remand home."
"No, Jon, its not the Remand Home. Youre to go to-day to the Orphanage at Leeds. Its where all our boys go when they are eleven. You are young, but still you're bright enough, and can hold your own on the sports field. Thisll give you a kind of second chance. So, Jon, dont let me down. Id a right battle with the Superintendent. He doesnt want to see you again, and you're not to say good-bye to your friends."
Sister Helen bent down and hugged the small shivering little boy. There was no one to watch this display of affection. Again the show of understanding and gentleness made Jon cry.
"Oh Sister, I was jest being kind to evry one. I'm always picked on. Dont want to go away. Its not bad here really. Got sortta used to it."
"Dont take on so, lad. A boy with the guts you've got will settle down. Stand in your own corner and fight the world. Thats what I say." With a squeeze of the thin shoulders, Sister Helen stood up, and became her usual formal self. "Now Inglis, I'll help you dress. The car will be waiting at 10 oclock. You can always write to me. Address it to Sister Helen. Youll be fine soon. Sure youll be." She glanced at the white face under the shock of red hair, a face that she had become fond of over the years. "Sisters at Leeds are diffrent from us. Even stricter. Foods good tho. Got their own farm." She prattled on trying to make Jon more at ease.
With his jacket and cap on, and his trousers tied loosely over his still smarting behind he walked for the last time down the stairs and across the hall. All the others were at school so the place was empty. There was no one to see him off. There was the car with the same man in a brown suit who had fetched him from the Police Station at Staithes, and from his own home.
"Good-bye, son, er Inglis," said Sister Helen. Purposefully they shook hands, Sister Helen prolonging the squeeze.
"Good-bye, Sister, and thank you lots," he felt comforted by the squeeze. He turned and got into the car, slowly, easing his sore bottom onto the leather seat.
"Bloody chauffeur, I am, for you. Five years ago. Now this. And all long journeys." The man in brown, now driving the car, steered away down the drive. Jon looked out of the back window at all that was familiar to him, and at the waving figure of Sister Helen dressed in blue. He felt alone, heavy at heart and apprehensive.
"Cor, what a place," Jon exclaimed when they turned into the drive of his new home.
"You can say that again, young man," agreed the driver. "Three hundred youngsters ere. alf boys, alf girls. All in seprate 'ouses, twenty five in each 'ouse. Got everythin ere, ospital, bakery, farm."
"Looks good," said Jon, his spirits rising.
"Jest you wait an see. Govrnors mighty strict. Sisters are same. ope you get a good 'ouse mother. Makes all the difference. No where to go from ere 'xcept Remand Home, so you'd better mind Ps & Qs. I'll not be taking you anywhere again. Not a bad little un, are you? Quite like your guts. Now, just you dont get caught. Thats what you've got to learn." It was a long speech from the normally silent man.
"Thank you, sir," Jon replied. "Look, There's someone on the doorstep. D'you think they're waitin for me?"
Indeed, it was Sister Mary waiting for the new arrival. "That'll be all, Jones," she said. Jon turned to thank his chauffeur and to say good-bye. "Come now, Inglis, come on. No dawdling. Mr Jones can look after himself. He knows where to go." Rather sad, Jon turned to follow the short dumpy figure who limping slightly led him into the hall of a red-bricked house. Fair curls peeped from under her wimple, but they did nothing to soften the severity of her face.
"This is Beaver House, and I'm House Matron." They went upstairs and turned into a room, this time with only twelve iron bedsteads. "Here is your bed, your number is 35B, B for Beaver."
"Are all these clothes for me?" Jon asked in bewilderment, as he looked at the array of navy blue clothes neatly laid out on the bed. "Pyjamas, long trousers, and all these boots?" What do I need all these shoes for?"
"Sport, you stupid. There's lots of sport here. And mind you, you have to look after everything. Mustnt lose anything. And dont forget, young man, your past record has come along with you," Sister Mary held up the long trousers. "Should fit you. Bit long perhaps." Then she looked long and hard at Jon. "Our Governor, Mr Yates, told me to tell you that you were to have no second chances. Once anything you do wrong gets to his ears, then you're out... to the Remand Home." She gloated with her small area of power.
"Yes, Sister," replied Jon demurely.
"Now hurry up and get into your clothes, and then wait for me in the Hall, just where we came in. Youll hear the noise of the boys." She turned and waddled off, the short leg in the thick soled shoe looking heavy and ungainly.
Wow, long trousers! First time I've had any. And new boots. No studs in these though. Football boots look fine, too, nice and soft. Now into the den of lions, like in the bible.
He waited in the hall, feeling alone and conspicuous. The noise from the room on the left was the noise that only young boys can make. There were deeper undertones in the sound compared with the Whitby orphanage. A tall gangling lad peered round the half-opened door.
"Hi, there, titch," he called in a manly voice. "Youre a bit of a littleun."
"Cor, look at his copper nob. When you goin to grow, Ginger?" Another boy, much bigger than he had been used to, called to him.
"Cumarn, carrots. Better eat some spinach? Your muscles? Whereve they gorn?" Yet another face peered at him. Fortunately the dinner bell rang, and all the boys lined up ready to march into the dining room. They were boys of all shapes, ages and sizes, from the ages of eleven to fifteen. As they filed passed Jon they looked quizzically at him. He felt uncomfortable under their stares and in his new and stiff clothes.
Sister Mary appeared. "You come with me. I'm putting you in the care of Bell. Hes a quiet boy of eleven. Think he should look after you alright. Mind you, its you that has to look after yourself. Now, dont go getting into mischief, and do as Bell shows you."
Jon saw Mr Yates, the Governor, for the first time as he flounced rather than walked into the dining room, frowning hard. His head was as bald as a babys bottom, yet he had a large bristly moustache. His beady eyes without eyebrows gave him the look of a vulture, his yellow curved teeth resembled a beak.
"Before Grace," he began, "I want to tell you we have received a new boy to-day." All eyes were turned towards Jon, who in turn flushed with embarrassment. "I must tell you this boy is in disgrace. He has been sent to us from the Whitby orphanage, punished for stealing. He is over a year younger than most of you, but I do not want him to have any privileges or allowances made for him. He knows, like you all do, that any boy found abusing the Orphanage rules and is reported to me is sent straight to the Remand Home. Let this be a lesson to you all."
He mumbled grace then promptly sat down. "Wot yer dun, Titch?" "What did yer steal, Ging?" "Ready to do a bunk,?" asked a third.
"I took some money to buy chocolate for everyone. We was hungry. And I dont like being called Titch and Ginger. I'm Inglis, Jon, but no one uses that name. I'll take on anyone who calls me funny names again. Just cos I'm small doesnt mean..."
"'igh and mighty, are you? You just wait and see." A bloated boy, fat and unhealthy, seemed to gloat over his size.
"Watch out for Clayton there, Inglis. Hes known for hitting smaller boys. Dont forget some of us are five years older than you. And were all together all the time, xept for some work and some sports. Dont know where youll fit in on the football field. You could almost run under our legs." A senior boy named Miller aired his views.
Just you wait and see, mused Jon silently. In reply he said, "Whens football practise? Youre not still playing cricket, are you? Thought that had been stopped days ago."
"Footballs to-morrow afternoon. And after supper weve an hours work to do. Dont xpect you've got any. I'll lend you a book. We've got to be quiet. Bed at 8.p.m for up to twelve year olds, and 9.30 for the rest. That lot have to come to bed in silence." Bell seemed quite happy to pass on the necessary information. Bell was a blonde boy with freckles, and a large crinkly smile. He was eleven, and was the youngest of a large, rather rich family.
"Wots Miller like?" asked Jon.
"Millers O.K," said Bell. "es big, but es not a bully. Kind sortta fella. Shouldnt be ere, 'xcept is Dads got no legs. Miller ll elp you if you're stuck. I'll elp too. I jest came straight ere. Didnt go to Whitby. Strange, it was for me. First time away from ome. Tell you sumtime."
Safe in bed that night Jon found it difficult to sleep. He kept his eyes shut, but he heard the bigger boys creeping in and up to their end of the room. He began to get dozy.
His comfortable feeling was shattered.
"Move up, Inglis, and dont make a sound." It was Clayton, the bloated boy. "If you split on me I'll have your guts for garters."
"Shove off," Jon whispered angrily. "Get to your own bed. What dyou wan?
"Dont give me tha...Wha do I wan? Wha dyou think I wan?" Clayton laid a heavy arm across his shoulders. "Never dun this before? Cum arn. WHere's yer prick? Take old of this?" Clayton fumbled with his own penis, thrusting its flabbiness into Jons hands. The size of the boy revolted Jon, he was big, and fat as well as smelling stale.
With all the wriggling strength Jon could muster, he slipped out of bed on to the floor. There was a muffled giggle from the other occupants.
"Get back to bed, Clayton. Know when you're beaten." A deep voice from the far bed rumbled. It was Miller. "Quick, before Sister comes. Leave the kid alone. He probably dont know nuffing."
Angry and indignant Clayton shuffled back down the room. "Ill pay him out for this. You wait."
With these ominous words, Jon lay back on his bed, pulled the ruffled clothes around him, and tried to sleep. This isnt a good start. Perhaps this is what Daddo and Mam were doing? Wish someun d tell me. Emotionally exhausted he finally fell asleep.
While dressing next morning Bell muttered, "Best do as they tell you. Makes for peace and quiet. All 'itting and shovin otherwise. Seen too much itting and shovin with me Mum and Dad. Thats why I'm ere. Me brothers and sisters bigger than me. it back, they do. I couldnt it back. I'm not made tha way. An look wherr its landed me."
"Look here, Inglis," said Mr Congdon. "Pay attention." In the class room the next day with the sun shining in through the glass windows, Jons gaze had wandered to the view outside. With an effort he turned his eyes back to the master at the desk. In the new form room, seated in the front seat, he felt uncomfortable and nervous. "Terms being going on for two weeks already, so you've a lot to catch up on, as well as being a year behind. Looking out of the window Won't help you or me. What was it I was telling you?" The firmness of the voice was pleasant, not threatening. Indeed, Mr Congdons whole appearance was unthreatening, very different from the formally clad nuns, or the bald-headed Superintendent. Mr Congdon was middle aged, of middle height, and had mouse coloured hair. Nothing out of the ordinary, but his manner, charming but direct, made him a popular figure with the boys.
"Sorry, sir, I dont know. I'm muddled up at the moment. Will pay attention, sir, promise I will." The thought of being sent to the Governor for inattention flashed through Jons mind.
"Well," said Mr Congdon, "till you've caught up I am going to give you double homework. You can do it in games time, or in your free time after supper. Its up to you."
"Ill do it after supper, sir. Dont want to miss football. I like foot... "
"Thats enough, young man. If you like football, I'll see what you can do this afternoon." Mr Congdon was reasonable, and Jon felt a thrill of excitement when he realised that football was the pride and joy of the older men.
"You watch out for Clayton," murmured Bell in break time. "Sometimes the big boys who are bad players have to play with us. Clayton just ambles round kicking anyone he feels he doesnt like. Hell be after you after last night."
Full of excitement and togged up in his clean football clothes, Jon was put on the wing to play his first game. He was inches smaller than the other boys on the field, and a good head shorter than Clayton, who had been allocated as his marker for the day. Several times the ball was passed to Jon who collected it neatly, dribbled up to Clayton, then nipped round - him. Clayton became angrier and angrier.
"Thats fine, Inglis. You've certainly made a good start," said Mr Congdon, the official football coach for the whole Orphanage. "Now try centre forward for this last half." Loving his moment of glory Jon flicked, dribbled, and passed his way through and among the bigger boys. Once he saw Clayton approach him, so he nicked the ball out to the wing. Even though he was not in possession, Clayton came looming on and kicked Jon just below the knee. Jon crumpled up, hugging his leg. At that very moment Mr Congdon was tending to another young lad who was nursing an ankle.
"Hey! Sir" cried Clayton. "New boys on the ground. Bit of a wimp, arent you? Free kick for us,sir?"
"Youre bigger than me," said Jon through his teeth, "but I'll get even with you yet. And you keep out of my bed."
"Temper, temper, squit," said Clayton as he ambled off.
"You O.K, Inglis?" Mr Congdon asked. "Gotta to get used to rough and tumble here. Well toughen you up. But your footballs coming on nicely."
"Dont need to be toughened up," Jon replied crossly.
The first term fled by swiftly. Jon missed Slater but Bell did his best to initiate him into the routines and etiquettes. Punctuality was not one of Jons fortes, and he was to suffer the consequences of being late for mealtimes. Most of the other boys had watches, but Jon had no relative who remembered him or cared for him enough to send him such a luxury. The orphanage had 300 acres of farm land, and it was possible for anyone to roam anywhere, provided that the call of the bell was promptly answered. Fortunately the Sisters did not think it necessary to involve the Governor for this kind of misdeed, but punishments were many and varied.
"Hall floor for you tomorrow, Inglis," gloated Sister Mary, as Jon tried to edge past her stout frame into the Dining Hall. "And if its not good enough youll stay till it is, even if it means missing football. Mr Congdon told me you enjoyed the game. Duty before pleasure, thats the motto."
Directly after lunch the next day, Jon was given a pail of cold water, a bar of carbolic soap and some pumice stone and an old cloth.
"Now from here to the end," snapped Sister Mary. "Down on your knees. Wash it, soap it, then scrub it with the pumice stone, then dry it with the cloth. That'll teach you to be late. I'll come and look before you go outside."
"Yes, Sister," said Jon demurely, but feeling angry and rebellious. His hands and knees were red and cold before he was half way down the hall.
Just bullies, you are, you dont like to see us happy. Now I'm going to try and think of something nice. Like Mrs Gummer. And the lovely smell when she baked those cakes. And Mams fur coat. I liked to cuddle that. Gosh, I'm cold and stiff. And only tea to come before morning.
"Nearly finished? Come on, Inglis. Hurry up!" Sister Mary niggled and nagged.
"Finished now, Sister. Can I go?"
The pleading look on Jons face stirred some hidden compassion in the face of the misshapen Sister. "S'ppose so. But you thank the good Lord above that you are able to run and jump. And dont be late again."
"Try not to, Sister." Jon scuttled off to his bedside to change to his football clothes, cold knees and hands forgotten.
He reached the pitch as the game was about to start. "You survived?" asked Bell in an undertone. "Thought you'd copped it."
"Not too bad," Jon replied. "Scrubbed damn hall. Cold water. they're just bullies."
"Thats enough, Inglis." Mr Congdon called. "You take your place. Centre half to-day."
"Hurray," Jon muttered. Clayton was not on the field, for the game was a practise for team selection for the match of under twelves on Saturday. Jon played a blinder, made openings for two goals, and felt well pleased with himself. He felt sure he would be selected for the team and waited anxiously for the list to be posted on the central board on Thursday evening. Nervously he prowled round the hall waiting for Mr Congdon to appear. Soon the list was posted, and Jon saw his name, Centre Half.
"Well done, Inglis," said Mr Congdon. "Now dont let me down. We dont usually select boys under 10. Play well." Walking on air, and pleased with the compliment, Jon moved on to the Common Room.
"Think you're cats whiskers, dont you? Centre Half, indeed. Mr Congdon does have favourites. We all know that." Clayton sneered, his close set eyes looking sharp. "What favours do you give him? Dont like me in your bed? Is his bed nice? You jest wait an see."
Jon turned away, worried but determined not to rise to the bait and have a fight.
That night, after the older boys had settled down, Jon was woken up. There was Clayton heaving himself into the bed, squashing Jon on to one side. Clayton put a hot and sticky hand over Jons mouth.
"Ill have you tonight, you little runt. Right up your backside. Dont you dare squeal when I take my hand away." Clayton breathed heavily. "Now, come on, you work on my prick. Dont expect you're boy enough to want me to work on yours. Come on, get a move on."
For just a second, Clayton took his hand away from Jons mouth.
"Bell, Bell," called Jon as loudly as he could. "Come and get this..." Clayton quickly put his hand over Jons mouth again.
"Now you've blown it. Bastard. I'll pay you out for this. Dont forget. I'll get even with you."
The noise disturbed Sister Mary. She saw Clayton getting back into bed.
"Who made that noise? I heard shouting. Who shouted?"
"Quick as a wink Clayton answered, "I did, Sister. That Inglis was pulling at my pillows. Going to have a fight, he was. I called out. Was only half awake. Getting him back to bed, I was, and you came in."
"Is this true, Inglis?" Sister Mary turned to Jon.
"No, Sister, I didnt..." Jon started to reply.
"And now you tell lies." Sister Mary walked down the room. "Clayton has been here longer than you, and he knows the rules. No getting out of bed, no fighting, and most of all no lies. Youll report to me after dinner tomorrow, stay in and work tomorrow afternoon, and on Saturday youll be confined to the house. No football for you, thats for sure."
"But Mr Congdons expecting me..."
"Stuff and nonsense. Youre not indispensable? Several older boys can take your place." Sister Mary rocked back and forwards on her feet. She enjoyed the situation.
"But I never got out of bed even, Sister."
"Quiet now. Report to me tomorrow. No more noise from this dormitory." Sister Mary walked straight out of the room.
"Shucks to you, Inglis." Clayton gloated. "That'll pull you down a peg or two."
"You wait. I'll get you one day, you great bully. Bet you wouldnt take on anyone of your own size."
"Thats enough now," Miller from the end of the room whispered in his deep manly voice. "But I'll be referee when there's a fight."
Jon lay awake, hatching a plan for his revenge, disregarding the punishments that may come his way on account of starting a fight. His disappointment was temporarily pushed away.