Monday 9th September

08:00 The Glock marched into the Great Hall looking like he wanted to dismember someone. My legs were shaking like there was an earthquake under my chair. I was about to experience being on the wrong end of the Hitler that runs our school. Everybody knows the whole story by now but The Glock shouted it out in graphic detail anyway. He made it sound so bad – really bad. He even hinted that we were performing dark rituals with animals’ blood! After his tirade he finished off by reading out our names and telling us to report to his study immediately. Outside people were shaking our hands like we were heroes. There was even a chant of ‘Long live the Crazy Eight!’ but I could see the relief in their eyes that they weren’t the ones staring down the barrel of a loaded Glock.

The Glock gave us a twenty-minute screaming to. My legs were shaking terribly and I couldn’t look at his face. He kept banging the table with his fist and ranting on about ‘silly season’ and what our vile behaviour has done to the school’s fine reputation. Finally, he ordered us back to the dorm and said he had to have a meeting with Sparerib and other senior staff. We shuffled back to our dormitory like a bunch of convicts with half the school hanging around the quad like a huge flock of vultures. Boggo has packed up his trunk and bags and seems all set to leave. He reckons if you expect the worst then you can never be disappointed.

10:30 We returned to the headmaster’s study to hear the verdict. On The Glock’s desk stood the bottle of Mellowwood which was now nearly empty. (Guess what the prefects were doing in the locked cop shop on Saturday morning!) Covering just about the rest of the desk was the wildebeest head. The poor gnu, who had looked so splendid hanging on the wall of the Mad House, now looked rather idiotic sitting on a desk next to large sign that read HEADMASTER.

The Glock stood up and placed his hands on the back of his chair and glared at us with his nasty little smouldering eyes. ‘Gentlemen, after discussions with your housemaster, relevant teachers and senior heads of department, I have come to a decision on punishment for your reckless misdemeanours and complete disregard for this school and its rules.’ He took a breath and glared angrily at the wildebeest head like it was somehow responsible.

My mind drifted to Julian charging through the dormitory shouting ‘A moose! A moose!’ I wished he was here – he would have supported us and given us advice. We were lucky to have had him and Luthuli, Earthworm and the others. They were good people who had tried to make the house a better place.

‘Your punishments are as follows: Vern Blackadder, Simon Brown, Alan Greenstein, Sidney Smitherson-Scott and John Milton – you shall be suspended from school for a period of two to three weeks or however long your housemaster deems sufficient. In addition you shall be beaten six strokes with a light cane and be placed on final warning. You are gated until the end of the year. In other words, you may not leave the school grounds unless it is for an official school requirement. This includes the long weekend.’

I hardly had time to digest the news before The Glock dropped his next bombshell.

‘Robert Black and Charlie Hooper – I regret to inform you that you are no longer students of this institution. You have been expelled.’ The Glock’s eyes flicked around the group. ‘Your parents have already been notified and you will all be off the school premises by sunset today.’

Rambo and Mad Dog left the office without saying a word. They were too shocked. The rest of us had to line up. As usual I was the second last one ahead of Vern. The Glock grunted with every swing of the cane. He smashed harder than Sparerib and took an age between each stroke. All the while I was gazing into the demented eyes of the poor dead wildebeest. For the first time in days I’ve found someone who’s worse off than me. The thought that I’m still alive and kicking and haven’t had my head chopped off was slightly soothing, but then my bum caught fire and I found myself sprinting around the school rose garden rubbing myself like a lunatic. This time there were no cheers or people shaking my hand. I didn’t feel proud. I didn’t feel brave. I felt like a coward and a fool and no longer welcome here.

The scene in the dormitory was bizarre. Boggo was unpacking his trunk while Rambo and Mad Dog were packing theirs. Fatty said he was going to sue the school. I don’t think Vern actually knew what was going on because he looked to be settling in for an afternoon nap. I told Rambo and Mad Dog that I was sorry. I couldn’t think of anything else to say so I went to my cubicle and started packing my own bags.

The door creaked open. It was Sparerib. Without saying a word to anyone he beckoned to me with a crooked finger. I followed him out and closed the door behind me. The door wasn’t thick enough to hide Rambo’s shout of ‘Gotcha!’

Sparerib led me to his office without saying a word. He closed the door and ordered me to sit down. He then slapped his hand against his filing cabinet, making a huge sound. No doubt it was part of his cunning plan to intimidate me with a few loud bangs before kicking off with his interrogation. I stared at him with no emotion and no sign of fear.

‘Milton, for an intelligent boy you’ve been bloody stupid. How many times have I warned you about these influences, this ridiculous Crazy Eight gang which seems to impress everyone? Well, I can tell you it doesn’t impress me.’ Sparerib was so excited that he was starting to foam around the mouth. He sat back in his chair looking smug and said, ‘The Crazy Eight is no more. You’re now just John Milton, and you’re on your last chance. Now I’ve spoken to your parents at length and they’re bitterly disappointed. They will be here within an hour.’

I thought about Mom and Dad being bitterly disappointed. It didn’t seem right. My folks don’t deal in bitterness or disappointment. They shout and explode and throw things. But then I felt a happy thought: I may be going home in disgrace, but I’m still going home.

Back in the dormitory the realization was beginning to set in that we could be seeing Rambo and Mad Dog for the last time ever. It all seemed such a waste. A huge drama about nothing! Mad Dog was actually crying a bit and said I should visit him on his farm in the holidays. Rambo put on a brave face and said he didn’t give a shit anyway and that this school was no place for born leaders and lateral thinkers.

I packed my Walkman and wallet into my bag. Eventually the time came and we all shook hands. Rambo said that he hoped that we would find out who had betrayed us and why. Fatty said he was already onto it. As I shook Rambo’s hand he squeezed my shoulder and said, ‘You know what? Now I’m glad you wrote it all down in your diary – because then one day maybe people will know what we did.’ Then Mad Dog seized me by the shoulders and said, ‘And you’d better make sure you write how amazing the Mad House was – I don’t want people thinking it was just a kiddies’ tree house or something.’ I said, ‘Don’t worry, Mad Dog, they’ll know it was a mansion.’

We watched Rambo and Mad Dog carrying their trunks across the quad and out through the archway. Suddenly Mad Dog charged back into the quad and rugby tackled a fleeing Darryl. He picked up the screaming first year by the collar and threw him head first into the fountain. Mad Dog turned to us, barked loudly and then sprinted across the grass and out the archway.

The Crazy Eight has gone forever.

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 590