CHAPTER SIX - The next move.

Christmas 1933 was looming on. For the thirteen year old Jon it was just another day, another period when compulsory religious dogma was shoved down his throat. The discipline to the point of servility was never slackened over the supposedly festive season, the Sisters still using their authority to demean their charges. The love, the family spirit, that was preached from the pulpit, was never manifest. Coldness, bleakness, and the strict routine were the crutches that upheld the daily progress of the Orphanage. But there was one small change that Jon perceived.

Sister Jane was altering her behaviour. She no longer scrubbed at his balls, she no longer chastised him. No longer did she even look him in the face. She became quiet and withdrawn.

Wonder what its all about? Wonder if she isnt well? Perhaps shes unhappy, and doesnt like being with us boys. Perhaps shes got a boyfriend, somewhere, somewhere outside. But what is this outside? I dunno. Dont talk to proper people. Dont see proper people. Wonder what its like to be there. I've only got another year, then I'll be out there. Wonder what I'll do? Jons mind wandered as he himself wandered round the sports field on a cold misty evening. With all these boys, I've no real friends. Just Slater from Whitby and Bell. Id like to see them again. None of the rest. And as for nuns. Sister Helen was the best. Others are rubbish. Hide behind their blue clothes, they do. Never know what they're like inside. Sometimes I think they're evil. But they pretend not to be. Whoops, There's the gong. Must fly.

Jon ran his fastest and arrived at the dining hall hot and out of breath. Hot as he was he felt he had dived into a boiling cauldron. Mr Yates, who usually entered the dining room last, was already standing behind his chair. Sister Jane was on his right, crying noisily into a white handkerchief. Sister Mary, stern faced and silent, her fingers twisting and turning, was on the right. The atmosphere was tense.

"Wonder what were in fer?" muttered Bell. "Lord knows," Jon whispered. "Nothin I've done this time, thats fer sure."

Mr Yates slammed the table. "Silence, all of you. Stand to attention." There was a shuffling of boots on the wood floor, as each boy straightened up, hands to their sides. "Now, whose to blame for this? Sister Jane, here, is having to leave our Orphanage. And do you know why?" He glared around. A few of the small boys started to whimper. "Sister Jane is pregnant. With your dirty minds you all know what that is." Sister Jane burst into a loud and anguished wail. The small boys looked confused. "Boys under twelve can sit down." Mr Yates waited for the shuffling as the younger half of the orphanage took to their seats. "I'm presuming these children do not yet know the facts of life, unless you rotters have already told them." His skin was turning a dangerous purple. "Now, I know that Sister Jane has not been out of the Orphanage on her own. The Sisters always go out in pairs. She must have been made pregnant by one of you, you scum. Now WHO is it? Sister Jane will not tell us."

There was a moment of silence, so deep that Mr Yates heavy breathing sounded like a rushing wind. "Come on, you cowards. Who is it?"

The memories of the scene of Clayton and Sister Jane on the bed, flushed through Jons mind. He felt uncomfortable and fidgeted. Clayton, his eyes roaming the room, thrust his chest out.

"Sir, if you look towards Inglis, see how uneasy he is. I've caught him in the boiler room, and I've caught him coming out of the boiler room. Shouldn't be there, should he?"

"Whats the good of talking about the boiler room, Clayton? What on earth put the idea in your head that you could take anyone to the boiler room and commit such a foul deed. Let alone Sister Jane."

"I mean, sir, that if I saw him somewhere where he didnt ought to be, he might just ve easily been some other place that he didnt ought to be." Clayton was getting muddled, and angry with himself. "Hes a right runt, he is, sir. Just the kind to take advantage of a young girl."

"Thats for me to judge, Clayton. Now," and he turned to Jon, "Inglis, young man. If you did this you're off to the Remand Home tomorrow. Did you rape Sister Jane? Answer me, yes or no." "NO, sir, I did not," Jon shouted. "And you better ask Sister Jane if I did it."

"Now, Sister Jane," Mr Yates turned to the weeping woman. "Is it Inglis who did this to you?"

In a small voice Sister Jane replied, "No sir, it wasnt Inglis."

"Then who in the hell was it?" Mr Yates started shouting again. Sister Jane turned her eyes to the floor and said nothing. "If you dont tell me, I'll have Inglis sent to the Remand Home anyway. Hes been enough trouble. So Sister Jane, this is your last chance. Who is it, or does Inglis have to go to the Remand Home?"

Sister Jane looked toward Jon, and saw him stiffen. He looked straight at her, challenging her. After a pause, Sister Jane muttered. "It was Clayton, sir. He's stronger than me. Couldnt help myself. Sorry, sir. Wish itd never happened."

"Clayton, Clayton. It was you thatd done it. AND you tried to put the blame on Inglis." Mr Yates seemed out of control. His hands moved around, and his eyes rolled. "Now did anyone know about this? Come on, answer me."

"Yes, sir, I did," Jon replied. "It was the afternoon I cut my knee, and went to Sister Mary for a dressing. I heard laughing sounds from Sister Janes room, and then saw them on the bed together. Pulled myself up to look through top glass window." Jon heard a hiss as Clayton drew in his breath. "Didnt want to tell, sir. Didnt know if anything had happened, sir, if you know what I mean. Claytons not my friend, but I wouldnt split on an enemy, sir, if you know what I mean."

"Course I know what you mean." Mr Yates started to leave the room. "Now, Clayton, you come with me, and well have you off the premises by nightfall. Sister Jane, you go with Sister Mary. May this be a lesson for you all."

"You little runt," muttered Clayton, as he tried to stamp on Jons foot as he shuffled out. "Ill get you, out there, sometime somewhere."

Supper that night was a subdued affair once the major actors of the sorry scene had left the dining room.

"I'm no bloody hero," said Jon as he tried to divert the admiring compliments from his newly found and for the moment only friends. "Just push off, and leave me. God, I can't leave this darned awful place soon enough."

Jon went straight to the stables, and buried his head in Princes strong neck. "Wotta mess, Prince, me boy. Nothins ever straight forward. Best parts with you. Let me give you a good old curry. Gets my thinking straight, and I know you love it the way you twitch your skin." Jon found the hard brush and worked firmly over the large black body. It gleamed in the twilight as Jon turned to go back to the Orphanage, a beam of reassurance in his uneasy world.

Jon was now a senior boy, and together with his farming duties, he was often given errands. Sometimes he was sent down a country lane to the nearby Post Office with urgent letters, sometimes he was told to escort a younger boy to the sanatorium if the ailment was a minor one. All these diversions were welcome, they made a change from the daily grind of a soulless routine.

One day Jon was given a letter which was heavy with loose coins. He was told to take it to the Post Office and bring back a stamp for an overseas country, the exact amount needed was not known. The errand was extremely urgent as the letter had to catch that evenings post. Thrilled with the thought of momentary freedom, Jon clutched the envelope and ran as fast as he could down the drive, along the lane and into the Post Office. Flushed, he handed the envelope to the Post Master. With a quizzical look at the writing on the envelope and at the coins inside, the Post Master withdrew. In a few seconds he returned with the envelope, the correct stamp and the remaining change folded safely inside. On the return journey Jon took his time, pausing to watch the farm animals and pick a few berries which he ate.

He walked up the drive. Sister Mary was waiting in the hall.

"Inglis," she said. "Youre to go and see Mr Yates immediately."

"Yes, Sister, I'm on my way. I didnt take long, Sister."

"Mr Yates is very angry." Sister Mary started to turn away.

"Not with me, he isnt. Just done a job for him." Jon called after her. Sister Mary didnt answer.

Jon tapped at the Superintendents door. "Come in," shouted Mr Yates. Angry and red-faced again he banged his fist on the table. Surprised, Jon halted at the door.

"Knew I couldnt trust you, you scoundrel. Thought Id give you some money just to check you out. Thief, you are, just a common thief."

"Excuse me, sir. I dont understand," Jon tried to remonstrate.

"I wrote on the envelope how much money was in the envelope, and what kind of stamp I wanted." His heavy breathing started again. "Post Office have just phoned to tell me some of the money was missing when you arrived. Said you looked sheepish."

"But, sir, I wouldnt take. ..."

"Shut up, damn you. I've had my eye on you from the moment you came. Never trusted you, I havent. Always been a trouble, you have. Now I can take steps to get rid of you."

The cruelty of this untrue accusation swept Jons control aside, and for the first time for years he burst into pathetic sobs in front of an adult.

"Go straight to your house while I make enquiries. Where did you spend the money? You took long enough to return. I'll have the skin off your back-side when I get to the bottom of this. And youll be off the premises. Go on, get out."

Still sobbing Jon went back to his house. He met Sister Mary in the corridor.

"Well," she demanded. "Whatve you to say for yourself?"

"I didnt take it, I never did. I ran me fastest till I got to Post Office. Just to please him," Jon uttered between his sobs. "Why doesnt he believe me?" His whole frame shuddered, as he realised how his personal integrity had been attacked. "That man, he hates me. You hate me, most people hate me. Just because..."

"I dont hate you, Inglis." Sister Marys voice softened. "Youre full of pranks, and make life difficult, but There's nothing personal. Look," she paused, wrinkling her forehead. "Did you tell me you ran all the way with the envelope in your hand?"

"Yes, I wanted to get there fast," Jon replied.

"Well, I've an idea. Come on, cheer up. Go to the Common Room and tell anyone whose there to come and see me straight away."

Jon gathered six boys who were waiting for supper. Sister Mary explained carefully, "Inglis, here, has been accused of taking some money from an envelope he was taking the the Post Office. He says he hasnt. Well, for once I believe him," she smiled faintly. "Now, I want you all to go down the drive and along the lane to the Post Office and see if you can find any coins on the path. I have a feeling that they may have wormed their way out of a corner of the envelope with the motion of Ingliss arms as he was running."

"Good idea, thank you Sister," muttered Jon.

"Now, you go and wait in the Common Room, and well see what happens. But forgoodness sake dry those tears. can't have a senior boy with red eyes." Unused to kindness, Jons eyes flooded over again, but he turned away and busied himself in front of the window.

Shortly he was summoned to Sister Mary. "I think I've solved the problem, though we havent found all the money. The boys picked up several coins from the ground, and when I explained this to Mr Yates he looked at the envelope and saw a small tear in the corner. He understands that you didnt steal the money. Now I think we must call the matter closed."

"Wish hed apologise," muttered Jon.

"Not bloody likely," replied Bell, who was one of the boys who went hunting for the coins. "No staff would apologise to a boy in this place. But I'm glad its all over."

In the boys fourteenth year they were given a choice whether they would like to continue at the Orphanage for another year but working full time at their chosen project, or take what job could be found for them out there.

"What you goin to do, Bell?" asked Jon. "Stay nother year?"

"Ya, think so. Safe enough in Orphanage. Got food and a bed. Think I'll stay safe. Maybe somethin special ll come up."

"Dont wanna leave Prince. Quite like the farming though, but can't bear this routine. Think I'll be off." Jon tried to sound certain of his plan, inwardly he was both confused and excited.

Having made his decision clear to Sister Mary, Jon waited anxiously to hear what could be found for him. Shortly he was summoned to her work room.

"Think yourself lucky, Inglis. A Methodist family in Leeds are prepared to give you board and lodging in return for some help in the house and garden. We subsidise your lodging allowance. You are to work in a factory making electrical parts. Its near your lodgings. Mr and Mrs Hodge say they are very proud to be having a boy from the - Orphanage. I hope you Won't disappoint us. Say something, boy. Say something."

"Dont know what to say, Sister. You've got it all arranged. S'ppose I should say thank you, but I bet you're all glad to get rid of me, specially Mr Yates." Jon was not enthused with the idea. "When do I start? can't leave this place without saying some good-byes. Not like the way I had to leave from Whitby."

"Youre to start in two days time. Well put you on the bus, and the Hodges will meet you. Grown up, you are now, no more Orphanage cars!"

That evening Jon went down to the stables to look for Prince. "Well, old boy, it looks as if I've to say good-bye. Off in two days to this big wide world outside. Gotta to learn to stand on my own two feet. Gotta to get used to being independent. Gotta learn about money. Gotta learn about girls. What dyou say about that? Its alright for you, your girls just next door. Itll seem funny without Sisters bossing me about. What about my laundry? What about money? What if I'm hungry? Oh, Prince, and you Won't be there." A tear made a damp mark on Princes smooth shoulder. "Cor blimey, Jon, can't let myself get soft. No time for softies in this world. Wot you say, Prince?" Prince gave Jon a gentle butt between his shoulders, shoulders nicely broadened now with the physical work. "Best I go now, old man. Thanks fer everythin." Jon flung his arms round Princes neck and hid his head for a moment of escapism. He didnt hear the old farmers footsteps.

"Cum noaw, laddie. ts only best people cry when they be grown-up. Yer be one of best people, and yer not be grown-up yet." The farmer stood shadowed in the stable doorway. "Oill look arter Prince. Dont ye bover. But, youn man, youll be missed. Thas fer sure."

"Thanks, sir. You've taught me lots."

"Sum day yer brin yer kiddies te see Prince." The old man turned away, moving slowly, shoulders bent in silent grief. There was nothing more for the three to say, two men, one old one young, and one understanding horse.

The morning soon came when Jon folded his Orphanage clothes for the last time. He donned his new grey trousers, dull checked shirt and harris tweed jacket. There was a large floppy cap put out to wear, and sensible brown shoes. In a cardboard suitcase was a change of clothes, pyjamas, another pair of shoes, some wash things and a bible. It was all that Jon owned in the world, and nothing was really his.

"Go on, put the cap on," teased Bell. A group of his friends had assembled in break time to see him off.

"You look a right banana," squeaked another voice, as Jon fitted the cap over his head and well over his ears.

"Covers up your air. Won't be known as carrots or ginger when you arrive," Bell continued.

"Ready now?" Sister Mary had entered the dormitory quietly. "Now, Inglis, for goodness sake remember to take that cap off indoors and when you speak to grown-ups."

"Yes, Sister," said Jon, realising that he was probably using that phrase for the last time. He took off the large floppy cap and felt more himself.

"You go now, boys, wait for us outside, and well see him off as he walks to the bus stop." The boys scampered down the stairs.

"Well, Jon," said Sister Mary. "This is a big step for you. I've a feeling youll do alright. Plenty of fire in that red head. Try never to get into debt and never to tell a lie, thats my advice. And if you ever have time to think of us, remember, that even though we wear this blue uniform we do, some of us, have a heart that bleeds for you young boys."

"Er, thank you, er..er.." Again tongue-tied with the gentle touch Jon stood blushing.

"Come on, Jon. Off we go, and remember too you can always get into touch with me, preferably not Mr Yates if you're in trouble."

"Ill not be in trouble, but thanks all the same," Jon in his ignorance of the ways of the outside world breezily viewed his prospects. Cap in one hand, he held out his other hand to the older woman, an action he had seen grownups do but never had done himself before. For a horrid moment he thought Sister Mary was going to kiss him. But referring to his formal name now there were people around, all she said was "Goodbyye, Inglis, and God be with you.

There were moments of anguish as Jon stepped through the front door and past the assembled group who cheered and jeered. God, this has been my life. This place, this routine, these Sisters. Its all got to be left behind. All I've ever known. My stomachs all a twitter.

He turned and waved. "Good-bye, Bell. Good-bye Sister Mary. Good-bye all." That was all he felt able to say, and he turned abruptly and walked out of the Orphanage gate, and down the lane to the bus stop. He never looked back. The clanking of the local bus stirred him in his shattered nervous state. Lifting his suitcase on to the rack he boarded the bus, showed the driver his pass, and settled down to anticipate his future, unknown and undesired.

Too quickly the bus arrived at the Central bus station in Leeds.

"Are you Inglis?" A small dark haired woman with a black felt hat pulled well down accosted him as he collected himself and his suitcase. She was dressed in dark-brown, and carried a wicker shopping bag. Everything about her looked scrimped from the tight collar to her hair pushed back under the hat. Her lips were thin and pale, and her eyes a steely grey, eyes that had not smiled for fun for many a year.

"Yes, I'm Inglis," replied Jon, with his heart falling into his boots.

"Come on, offer to carry my bag like a man!" she snapped. "We've got a mile to walk. can't think why Orphanage didnt send you in a taxi. Bad for my legs - all this walking. Hope you're not going to be more of a nuisance than a help. After all, we are doing you a kindness, taking you in. Orphanage boy! In MY home. But Mr Hodge said. Wot Mr Hodge said goes." She shuffled off up a cobbled street.

Angrily Jon followed, a pace behind. He was getting more and more anxious as to what the future held for him.

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