The occasion for Jons revenge presented itself quickly and in an unexpected way. Walking down a wide grassy path on the way to the football field, Jon saw Clayton carrying a load of football shin pads. There was no one else about. Clayton was four stone heavier and nine inches taller than Jon.
"Put that lot down, and I'll take you on. NOW." Jon demanded.
"Stoopid, shit off," Clayton responded. He looked round nervously as if for support.
"O.K, I'll put it down for you." Jon, adrenalin flowing, took a high kick at the bundle in Claytons arms. The pads flew in all directions.
"Now, hands up, or are you going to fight foul?" Jon questioned. He knew that if Clayton got hold of him, and held his arms down he would have no chance of winning.
"You scum," the enraged Clayton called, and charged like an angry bull. This is what Jon hoped for. With what strength his small arms could muster he hit the oncoming but badly balanced boy on the chin. Clayton staggered, and went down on one knee. "Miller," he called. "Come here, Miller."
"Cant manage me on your own?" Jon gave the flabby chin another swipe, and backed handed a quick one on the return swing.
Without striking back, Clayton covered his head.
After two or three more blows on the fat boys bent shoulders Jon relented.
Miller appeared at the double in time to see Clayton grovelling on the grass. "My! Inglis, why dont you pick one of your own size?" He lifted the fat boy on to his feet again. "Youll be taking me on next," Miller said with a laugh.
"I will, too," Jon replied cheekily. "If you make a fool of me or do me down. Course I will. Youd better tell the lot I'm not afraid. Have a go at anyone."
"Thanks for the warning," replied Miller. "But dont get too cocky. I'll see Clayton lays off you, and warn the others to lay off too. Pact? Eh? Pact for Peace?"
"O.K." Jon mumbled. "But I'll keep you to it." He headed up the grass path rubbing his knuckles. Miller was true to his word, and Jon suffered no more from Claytons verbal annoyance.
With that hazard dealt with, the next problem for Jon, as well as most of the other boys was the continual hunger. For parts of everyday the walls of his stomach felt as if they were rubbing together like two sides of sandpaper. Many of the others got parcels to supplement the diet, and they traded favours for bits of food. Jon made endless extra beds and cleaned many extra pairs of boots in return for biscuits or cake. But the hunger was always there. He tried to eat different grasses, different berries, some helped, some made him physically sick. Once he was so sick that he had to spend the rest of the day on his bed waiting for the nausea to pass. In the bare dormitory a few yards away was another boy with a heavy cold. Sister Mary came to rub the youngsters chest armed with a large bottle of camphorated oil. Cork off and about to pour it in to her hand, someone called to her from the door. She put the bottle down on the nearby locker.
"Cor," said Jon. "That smells odd. Must have a sniff." The sickness was disappearing so it was easy for him to nip out of bed and sniff the bottle. Stupid boy. His fingers slipped and large quantities of camphorated oil spilled down his clothes, and on to the floor.
Sister Mary returned. "And whose been fiddling with the camphorated oil?. I can smell it from the door. Inglis, have you been out of bed?"
"Yes, Sister Mary. Had a sniff. Wanted to see what it was."
"You've no right to touch the stuff. It isnt yours, nor is it for you. As a punishment you will not leave the Orphanage till after clean clothes day. No one will want to be with you smelling as you do, and we certainly dont want any outsiders to think that we dont keep our boys clean."
"But Sister, There's a match away tomorrow, and we were all going to watch. Clean clothes arent for another five days," Jon cried from the bottom of his heart. Matches away for spectating boys were few and far between and considered a great treat. Usually something extra to eat was provided.
"You should have thought of that before," snapped Sister Mary, rubbing unnecessarily hard at the thin chest bared before her. - ' The next afternoon Jon watched disconsolately out of the Common Room window as the boys piled into two old rickety coaches that the Orphanage used for these occasions. Soon he was the only boy left in the large silent building.
Damn it, I'm not going to go without everything. I'll try the kitchen.
He crept along the flagged stone floor, the one he had once scrubbed so diligently, and peeped into the large kitchen. The door squeaked and he withdrew his head.
"I seen you," Lilly, an older girl from the other part of the orphanage, was peeling potatoes. "What dyou wan?"
"Somethin teat. Somethin thatll not be foun out." Jons accent was inclined to slip back to his native ways, specially when he was with his own kind. "I'm ungry. You ungry?"
"Not specially," Lilly replied. "Look, Here's half a loaf thrown away. And some cold sausage. They can't miss it if its in the bin. That O.K? Dont let on though."
"Wots yor name?"
"I'm Lilly. I'm fourteen an a half. Orf to be in service soon. can't wait."
"I'm Jon. Inglis they call me. Seems I've got five years in this dump. Must get more grub. ungry all the time. Sisters kind to you? Got any friens?
"Sisters O.K, sort of. Theyll steal anythin they can get away with. Their grubs wunerful. Ours is muck. WHere's this kind God they're always ramming down our throats. Look, Jon, you'd beer op it."
"Thanks, Lilly. I'll look out for you."
With his goodies, Jon scuttled down to the boiler room. He knew that he would be undisturbed. The bread and sausage tasted delicious, and his stomach was warm and full. Back to his dormitory, he lay on bed, and with the enforced quietness, he was able to start to write a story. The day passed remarkably quickly.
I quite liked being on my own. Much rather seen the football though. Damn Sister Mary. Hell, its bath night tomorrow.
Demure Sister Jane was deputed to watch over the bath proceedings of the junior boys. She was petite with large brown eyes which gave her an innocent expression that belied the complex nature stirring behind her outward appearance. Five boys shared the same bath water, the hot tap being used to top up as the third changed over to the fourth, and the fourth to fifth. The water looked grey and the carbolic soap left a sticky scum both on the edge of the bath and on the limbs of the bathers. Sister Jane actually washed the boys, she seemed to enjoy it.
"Dont like being scrubbed at my age," Jon moaned to Bell. "Sister seems to dawdle round my balls. Woner what appens with older boys?"
"Wait and listen to em comparing notes," Bell replied. "Sister Janes nothin. Other Sisters make their cocks rise. S'ppose yer know abou tha!"
"course I do." Jon replied answered quickly. "Seen Daddos prick get big."
"ose Daddo? Thought you'd not gotta farver?" Bell asked.
"Daddos one of Mams men. Shared a bed we did. Maybe ones me farver. I dunno. Me Mams had too many chilluns. Thats why I'm ere."
"Ah! I see," said Bell wrinkling his freckley nose bemused and not really seeing at all. But he continued, "Me Mum an Dad split oop. Me Mum gotta nother man. Me Dad gotta work on em ships. e sends me parcels sumtimes. Never cums te see me."
Next week Sister Jane scrubbed harder than ever round Jons balls. She seemed fascinated by the orange glow made by the emerging soft hair.
"Why dont you scrub me all over, like the way you scrub down there, Sister Jane?" asked Jon, annoyed at the vulnerable position he was in.
Sister Jane flushed. "Ill scrub where I like. Thats my business." She turned and left the bathroom.
Victory, muttered Jon to himself. But I'm not goin to sit in bath amd soak. Filthy it is. He got out and dried himself with the small thin towel.
As the days, weeks and months, moved on Jon often resorted to the boiler room. The fumes from the coke went up his nose, but it was warm and dry and quiet. The central bulb, glazed with soot, gave an eerie light, but there was enough to see to write. Unfortunately other people found a use for the boiler room as well.
"Get outta ere, yer lile runt," shouted Clayton, as Jon opened the boiler room door. Clayton, his trousers undone, had Lilly pinned up against the warmth of the boiler. Her skirts was round her waist, she looked flushed and guilty.
Quickly she tidied herself and pushed passed Jon, whispering,"dont tell on me, Inglis, dont tell on me. Nothin appened. Claytons just got imself goin, an you came."
"Yer cum ere, squit" Clayton caught hold of Jons arm. "Naow I can pay yer ou. Think yer igh an mighty, dont yer. Pull them trousers down. NOW. Or I'll tell the Guv yer was fucking Lilly, and in coal cellar too." Jon, worried that the size of the cellar was too small to start a fight, and held in an iron grip, knew he was temporarily at a loss. He also knew he should not be in the cellar in the first place. Clayton as a senior boy was allowed to monitor the building and would have a ready excuse.
"Cum arn," gloated Clayton. "Use yer free and to undo the rest o me buttons." Jon fumbled with the fat boys trousers. "nd dont try nuffink," Clayton continued. "Got no room for fight. O.K? trousers down? My, yer a runt. Nothin of yer. Dont xpect yer big enuff for me prick. Now cum arn. Rub ard."
Clayton held one arm, and with his free hand Jon did as he was ordered. The older boys member responded quickly.
"Now stand on tha poile o coal. Squit, yer not tall nuff on floor." Clayton whipped Jon round and had him facing the wall. Jon did not know the next move. Sounds from the cellar steps came to the rescue.
"Bloody ell," said Clayton. "Pull up the trousers. Quick." Clayton, his organ reduced to its usual side with the urgency of the situation, buttoned himself. It was Mr Harris, the janitor, who came to check the boiler. He was a simple man, going about his routine with an air of acceptance. He too had been at the Orphanage but with his lack of mental abilities he could find no work in the outside world.
"Mornin, youn sirs," he said automatically. He was not a bit surprised to find two boys in his boiler room.
"Bin showing this younun where to dry his boots in a urry." Clayton lied spontaneously and effectively. "Allus try to elp younguns."
"Gotta keep fire goin, gotta cum agin tonight," Mr Harris lost in his own world, let the two boys through the door.
"You split on me, an I'll make life ell. Unnerstan?" Clayton was angry and uneasy.
"Shove off," Jon replied, and ran as fast as he could for the fresh air, confused and angry with the experience.
When Jon was twelve he was allowed to choose what kind of occupation he would like. He could be apprenticed in either farming, or carpentry, or work in the bakery. The carrot offered for the boys to join the farming work was that they should be given a hot breakfast before the day began, even though they had to get up an hour earlier than the others.
"My, thats good," Jon said to Bell, who had chosen farming the year previous. "Look, real eggs, and a slice of bacon, and fried bread. I've never had this before."
"Make the most of it," Bell advised. "Its only bread for lunch, and I get mighty ungry in fresh air. At the week-ends ts not too bad, as There's no school work in arternoon. Gotta work a long morning, Sundays too."
"But wha about school work?" Jon asked. "Mus fit that in sumhow. I'm not thirteen yet, can't finish learnin at my age."
"O.K. O.K., farmins only two alf days, and week-ends. School an sport on other days." The helpful Bell filled Jon in with the details of his new life. "Look, I'll tell yer somethin. If you get Prince te look after, watch out. es mighty funny. One day, good as gold, and work arder than Daisy, next day e sulks and maybe kicks. Kick from a carthorse, a shire wun a tha, s not nice. Old Daisy, shes luvly. Slow, but she be ever so pleased to see yer. Feel I luv old Daisy. Not felt like tha before. She sortta talks to me."
For the first few weeks Jon was given the beetroot to thin, rows and rows of them. He had to knock seven down and leave the eighth standing, a gap which was the width of the hoe. It was back breaking, and Jons hands became calloused. Five, six, seven hours of hoeing without any slow buildup aggravated the muscles at the bottom of his spine. But there was to be no respite. There was no time to look around, to watch the clouds scudding across the wide sky, to look for animal life. When the field was finished, then came the potatoes. This was bending down again, but with different muscles. The potato plants had to be eased from the ground and the potatoes put into small piles which would then be collected in buckets. These buckets were then carried to the waiting horse and cart.
"Getting the horses tomorrow," said Bell. "Come to the stables after supper, and I'll show you about the harness. Best to know a bit about it."
"Whatta luvely smell? Look! All this hay. And mash. This is mash, isnt it? Do we ave to muck out? Right nice this is," Jon prattled on enchanted with the atmosphere, the smells, the warmth, the nearness to nature.
Jon was allocated Prince for the day. Bell and the farmer helped with the harnessing paraphanelia, and it was not long before the two horses, drawing the potato carts, were heading for the field.
"Like a ride on Prince?" asked the farmer, old and wizened as last years apple. "Most younguns like a ride."
"Me, a ride? Cor, sir, thats super." The farmer gave Jon a leg-up.
"Princes a a bit broad in the back for you," said the old man. ""Slike doing the splits." His faced cracked with a cheerful smile.
Riding tall and looking over hedges into gardens and fields, Jon wished the journey would never end. He stroked the silky black skin and as he talked he watched Princes ears flicker backwards and forwards. The wind was skuttering making eddies of leaves, and the clouds were playing leapfrog in the blue sky. Daisy was waiting at the side of a field, well sheltered by the hedge. Prince was led further along the field, up a steep slope to the top of a hill. Horse and cart had to wait till the workers had gathered up the small piles of potatoes into their buckets returning to the cart to tip them over the tall sides. The stiff wind danced through Princes tail and mane.
"What am I to do,sir?" Jon asked the farmer. "Pick up yon taters, or stay with Prince?"
"Yer best stay with Prince," the farmer replied. "Wind sumtimes make im edgy. Jest talk to im. 'ed like tha."
With memories of the old horse in Newcastle, Jon set about making friends with Prince. "Youre a big fella, arent yer? Look at those feet, like plates. Cum arn, let me stroke yer pink nose. Yer wouldna bite me, would yer? I need a frien. Be my frien?" Prince nodded his great head, and blew down his nose. He wrinkled his withers and fidgeted. His long black tail blew and blew. "Not appy, are yer?" Jon could sense the animals unease. "Dont worry, I'll look arter yer. Nobodyll it yer."
Just then an empty bucket blew over with a loud clatter. This was too much for Prince. With a start he took off, lolloping awkwardly over the potato runs. The cart swayed dangerously. Fortunately Jon had the reins still in his hands. Stumbling and falling he ran along side, taking no heed that the cart would run over him should he fall.
"Whoa, there, whoa there, Prince," Jon called out in his treble voice. Rapidly he recalled what he had read in books when the cowboys reined in their galloping animals. Prince was too strong and went shambling on till the end of the of the field. The hedge loomed up, and Prince was deterred from trying to turn round with the cart behind him.
Puffing hard, Jon held the reins gently. "Its alright, boy. Its alright. No ones goin to it yer. Cum now, boy, cum now." Rather nervously, Jon approached Prince from the side and went to his head. The horse looked dejected and out of breath. Jon went on stroking and talking, calming the great beast.
The farmer came up as fast as his old legs would allow. "Damn that 'orse," he puffed. "Couldve 'urt someun. Dont know why they keep im. You O.K, son? Did well, yer did, to ang on. I'll ask to keep yer on with Prince if thas ow yer manage. Like to see a younun act sensible. Sum o these younun be jest puddins. Do lile work as possible. Give Prince a wait, then tiake im down to bottom of field. No wind there. I'll send workers to bottom of field."
Happy with his achievement, and talking all the time, Jon let Prince cool his agitation. He loved the feel of the warm skin, the soft silkiness of the muscled chest. The morning ended peacefully, and the return home was rewarded with another ride. "I know you Won't gallup away," Jon said to the black ear. "It was just that stupid bucket, upset you, it did." Feeling warm inside with his bond with another living thing, Jon tucked Prince up for the day. "eres extra rations for yer, old boy, but dont let on." Prince blew a thank you down his nose.
A few weeks later Prince and Daisy were put in front of the plough, side by side.
"If yer wann follow plough you'd beer cum an watch." The farmer allowed Jon to stay at one end of the field while the team went up and down the length twice. The old man seemed so small to control the weight of the blade, as well as holding the traces.
"That was super, sir." Jon said with admiration. "But ow do orses learn to walk one foot in front of tother when they're in the furrow? Mus be difficult? Legs are shaped to walk side by side."
"Markins of a good orse. Thas why Prince is good orse. 'e taught Daisy. Dont wanna lose Prince."
"He'll be alrig wi me," Jon replied convincingly.
"Yer be bit small for plough. Maybe next year." The farmer gave him a friendly chuck under the chin. Two allies, Jon thought, an old farmer and a young horse. Lucky me.
Slowly Jon proceeded up the Orphanage in seniority as the younger boys were admitted. School work was minimal, discipline and lovelessness were maximum. Still hunger was the enemy, and the effort to keep away from being found out and reported added daily stress. The continual need to keep the other boys from being intrusive made a constant denial of peace of mind. Clayton was now one of the very senior boys, and still a thorn in Jons flesh. Miller was being kept on for an extra year, no reason given. The golden moments were with Prince and the times on the sports field. Fist fights there were, many of them, but the fighters took good care that the staff were unaware of the ensuing after effects. Jon, with the fair skin associated with red hair, bruised easily. He lied often to the Sisters saying that his bruises and damaged eyes were all received on the sports field. Jon was still small for his age, with short stocky legs. His shoulders were broad and his arms strong, the farming work buiding up his muscles.
One afternoon Jon had occasion to go along the passage passed the Sisters quarters to look for Sister Mary for a bandage to stop his knee from bleeding. All the boys were out on the sports field, and it was Sisters quiet period. There was no one to be seen. Jon hobbled slowly along the corridor until he heard giggles. He stopped and listened, surprised at such frivolity. The giggles got louder, and a muffled male voice said something. It came from Sister Janes room.
Sister Jane? It can't be, Jon mused. That girl with the mousey face. No wonder she scrubbed our balls. Must see who it is?
Above the door was an inset rectangular glass window. If I heave myself up, I'll be able to peep in. Mustnt make a noise with my feet though. With his strong arms, and hands gripping the window frame, Jon quietly heaved himself up till his head was level with the glass. He made no sound. He could see clearly who was in the room, who was on the bed. Sister Jane, legs apart and blue robe crumpled up around her waist, was laughing, her tongue slightly protruding. Lying along and above her like a large floppy puppet was Clayton, his energies expended. His head was to one side, and he dribbled. Fancy Sister Jane letting that oaf do that. Perhaps she felt she'd never have anyone else. Perhaps Clayton realised that. With a mixture of disgust and surprise, Jon let himself down silently, and continued his journey to find Sister Mary.
"You hurt yourself, Inglis?" asked Sister Mary as Jon knocked on her closed door. "Come on in, I Won't bite you." Jon had never been in to the private quarters of a Sister before.
"This where you sleep, Sister? Not many pictures, have you? Jest one of Holy Mary. And whos this?" asked Jon looking at the photo of a young man in uniform.
"Too many questions, Inglis. Its my business. Now whats the matter? Ah! Your knee. Looks a mess, but its stopped bleeding. Did you come straight in?" Sister Mary was direct and formal.
"Er, yes, Sister. I saw ... No, I came straight to you. Thought it was the best." Confused, Jon nearly blurted out what he had seen and heard. Something held him back from reporting his arch enemy.
"Something bothering you, Inglis? Youre not your usual cocky self," mellowing a bit, Sister Mary added, "and if you really like to know, I had hoped to marry that man. But I'm here instead. Now nuff said."
Her extended bit of information saved Jon from having to explain his feelings. Together they went to sick bay, and the damaged knee was bathed and covered with plaster.
Not a bad old girl at times. Wunder if shes had any boys on her bed. Probably not with that squint and gammy leg. Wunder if thats why shes here. Hobbling slightly Jon took his thoughts away down the corridor and passed Sister Janes room. The door was ajar, and the room looked innocent of the previous happenings. Sister Jane emerged from the bathroom.
"What are you doing here?" she snapped.
"Not what you've been doing," Jon retorted. "Been getting my leg bound up." With this criptic remark he went left the errant sister and went back on to the games field, holding his thoughts tightly to himself. It was not until a few weeks later that he realised what a hot potato he held in his head.