Tuesday 27th August

22:00 Our bout lasted about three seconds. Barryl shook hands with the Crazy Eight and I slunk off to my bed feeling embarrassed and, like Vern, pretended to fall asleep while everyone else discussed tactics.

Wednesday 28th August

Thanks to some heavy overnight rain, Trafalgar field was extremely soggy for the tug-of-war competition. (This was according to Boggo’s mid morning pitch report.) Rambo (despite not being captain) called the team together after lunch and changed tactics. The new tactics involved Fatty tying the end of the rope around his waist and digging his feet deep into the ground. He was the anchor man. The plan was then for the rest of our team to wait until the opposition had exerted all their energy in trying to pull Fatty out from six inches below the surface of the field and then the rest of the team would simply reel the opposition in like an exhausted fish.

Mad Dog took Fatty’s old rugby boots and nailed a metal toe cap onto the front of each boot. He then sharpened each toe cap with a flint stone so that the points could dig deep into the soft ground and make it impossible to move him.

The plan worked brilliantly and completely demoralized the Larson team, who were hauled in at the speed of a waterskier rather than a fish. Unfortunately, the anchorman sank really deep into the ground and had to be dug out with the help of Rambo, Mad Dog and a spade. Mr Hall banned Fatty’s boots for the semi-final because he had already succeeded in digging a small trench in the middle of Trafalgar, but the Crazy Five and Barryl didn’t need any cunning tactics in the end. We were far too strong for everyone and won the trophy without even breaking a sweat. Sparerib was beside himself with excitement. He has been becoming increasingly worried that our house won’t win a single competition this year for the first time since 1923. He gave Fatty a thump on the back and said, ‘We certainly took our time this year, Sidney, but thanks to you and your good men we’ve avoided disgrace!’

I wish I could have joined in the dormitory celebrations. Instead Vern and I sat on our lockers pretending to look happy and watching everyone recounting stories of the great victory of Trafalgar.

Thursday 29th August

Sparerib called a house meeting so that we could all say goodbye to Julian. The entire house cheered and applauded as Julian pretended to look shocked and then dabbed away at his eyes with an orange handkerchief. Even the Crazy Eight was united for once and agreed that school won’t be the same without him.

Friday 30th August

THE END OF JULIAN

After assembly we all said our final goodbyes to Julian, who flies to London tomorrow to begin his music degree at the Royal College of Music in London. I must admit I was a little choked up as I shook his hand. Luthuli was the last to say goodbye and gave Julian a hug, followed by a thump on the back, while Thinny, Darryl, Spike and JR Ewing carried his trunk across the quad for the final time. Julian gave us all a dramatic wave goodbye that looked like a bow combined with a curtsey. He then strode towards the fountain, removed his shoes and socks, rolled up his pants to the knee, and stepped into the water. He waded out towards Pissing Pete and gave him a big kiss on the lips. Pissing Pete didn’t seem to mind. (If anything his trickle got a little stronger.) Then Julian gracefully sprang out of the fountain and ran out through the archway, leaving his shoes and socks behind.

Mad Dog took one of his shoes and stuck it under a rock at the bottom of the pond. Who knows – maybe it will last there for ever?

LONG WEEKEND

Back home Dad was looking bad tempered and desperately trying to put up shelves in the garage. When I said hello he looked at me like I’d committed a serious crime and said, ‘You see, thanks to you and your commie buddies and their bloody new South Africa, I can’t get decent drill bits anymore!’ I didn’t want to get caught up in a political debate so I apologized about the drill bits and quickly jumped on my bike and freewheeled down the driveway. Blacky chased me down the road, barking loudly and trying to bite my tyres. I brought him back home and locked him in the kitchen. Dad caught me at the kitchen door and accused me of tormenting Blacky and having it in for the animal. (Clearly my father was in a foul mood. According to Mom he’s been working on the garage shelves for over a week.)

I reached Mermaid’s house and suddenly felt very odd, like I should be hiding in the hedge and not standing boldly in front of the garden gate. I had already worked out my plan. I was going to march up the pathway, knock on the door and when I saw Mermaid seize her in my arms and kiss her passionately. I took a moment to catch my breath and tried my best to straighten my hair. I stood with my finger poised over the gate buzzer but terror struck and my finger refused to push the buzzer. There followed a long stand-off between finger and buzzer which was eventually won by the buzzer.

I decided to think it all through and come back tomorrow.

I cycled home feeling like a coward.

WEEKEND NEWS

Wombat returned home on Monday after a long stay in Brighton with Neville and Dingbat. According to Mom the whole thing turned sour in the end and Wombat has written them off as ‘low class yahoos on the take’, ie Wombat thinks they were trying to steal her money.

What started as a Sunday afternoon spring-cleaning session turned into a seriously intense family tree examination. Dad brought out a number of old books and yellow papers and said, ‘Johnny, there’s more decent history in here than you get from your bloody leftwing history teachers.’

While Mom’s side of the family looks fairly decent, it must be said that Dad’s bloodline is a bit dodgy. It turns out that Dad’s famous great-great-grandfather, who went by the name of Sir Ogden Milton, was once the Governor of Griqualand West and according to Dad was a great leader who used to hunt pheasants with the King of England.

It also turns out that Sir Ogden was one day marching through the Eastern Cape when he discovered a Xhosa chief crossing a river. Sir Ogden captured the chief, tied him up and shot him three times in the head with a Winchester rifle. The poor chief’s ear was then cut off and posted by ship to the King of England as a present. Dad didn’t think Sir Ogden’s barbarism was very serious, though, and said that in those days shooting and maiming Africans was ‘par for the course’.

After Sir Ogden the Milton bloodline took a nasty turn when a Milton married an Andrew. The name was then changed to Mildew. Dad reckons the Mildews became inbred and most of them died of syphilis.

Called Mermaid but nobody was home. Secretly relieved.

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 689