Happy Days

With the summer exams out of the way there was a good atmosphere in the 2A1 classroom. Everyone was happy, relaxed and receptive when Miss Lake set aside a French lesson to promote the idea of out-of-hours social activities. After prodding us in the right direction, our form teacher invited our suggestions. Slowly but surely hands went up in the air, but the ideas we heard were limited in appeal and of little interest to the majority. The most optimistic of them came from Eddie Adams, who came up with a stinker that topped the lot.

‘Yes Edward?’

‘We could have a poetry club, Miss.’

‘And do what?’

‘Read poetry to each other.’

The withering silence that followed spoke volumes. Miss Lake came to the rescue with a suggestion for an end of term party. With the addition of cakes and biscuits, soft drinks and music, an invite to our 2A2 friends and a cabaret spot, the idea won unanimous approval.

The wall on the corridor side of our classroom was ours to adorn as we wished. Nine months of male apathy had allowed the girls to smother it in girly stuff, but my newly acquired programme from the Real Madrid v Manchester United game was something special and worthy of showing off. Standing near the back of the classroom, I’d just pinned my prized possession in the one space not covered by trouser suits, psychedelia and Jimi flipping Hendrix posters when…

‘Gerard’

I was surprised to see Jean Myles standing beside me. Quiet and softly spoken, Jean was the most grown up, most sensible girl in the class. So why was she talking to me?

‘Have you got a picture of George Best I can have, please?’

Blimey, another shock. I told Jean I’d sort one out and bring it into school for her.

The following morning Jean got her picture. She was delighted. I was pleased, too. I liked Jean. Everyone did.

All eyes were on Raymond Wright and Toni Walters when Miss Lake had to leave the classroom mid-lesson. Leaning back in his chair, Raymond had his elbow on Toni’s desk and was tossing insults over his shoulder. As Toni wasn’t short of backchat their verbal sparring provided good entertainment for all. Raymond was getting the better of it but he pushed his luck too far when, after another wisecrack, he took his eye off her. He was still laughing and rocking on his awkwardly balanced chair when Toni leapt to her feet and stepped into the gangway, holding a ruler like a raised dagger. Everyone but Raymond saw what was coming, and how we laughed when she stabbed him in the goolies.

                                                                        

Ouch!

Burty won through to the next round of the lower school chess tournament and the round after that. When he made it through to the final, I reminded him of my 20% manager’s cut and asked who he’d be playing.

‘Rex Cardy.’

‘The kid with the red face?’

‘That’s him.’

Sunny days meant sunny sports, like discus and javelin in PE lessons. Burty and I were useless at both and still laughing at our miserable efforts as we left the sports field one day. Then the bugger started messing about, feinting to throw a javelin at my feet. With each feint he had me jumping up and down; feet together; feet apart; feet together; feet apart. Sensing the javelin was about to be released, I jumped again, spreading my feet extra wide. In that same instant Burty did release the javelin, but instead of bringing it straight down, as I’d anticipated, he put it to one side and speared my left foot to the ground.

For a moment we were stunned. Strangely, I felt no pain, nor would I, because in striking a glancing blow to my outer ankle, the javelin had arrowed twixt football sock and plimsoll, and exited through the canvas into the ground. Miraculously, I was undamaged.

But Burty didn’t know that. Not until I’d got my own back with a cry of agony that put the fear of God in him. The deceit ended when I burst out laughing. Burty laughed too, with relief, when he looked closely at the incredible truth.