The Fainter

In the news… the fifty pence piece was introduced. In time it would replace the ten shilling note. The public were not impressed.

I popped into Skinners on Twydall Green in the course of my after school paper round. As the owner of one measly 45rpm record that I was sick of playing, some new ones were long overdue. The Evening Post paid well and even though half my earnings went into the family coffers, I’d managed to save enough dosh for four singles. The only question was which ones to buy.

‘Have you got Sugar Sugar, please? And A Boy Named Sue. And Nobody’s Child. And er… Je Ta’ime.’

Buying Je T’aime was a big mistake. Even when I sneaked the record player up to my room and plugged it in at floor level; it was risky to turn the volume above the barely audible. The only way I could listen to it was to get down on my knees and press my lughole to the speaker. 

At school Mister Middlewick gave us as unusual homework assignment when he told us to write down the lyrics of a favourite song. Then, at our next English lesson, when we were then invited to read our lyrics to the class, Martin Waterman couldn’t get his hand in the air fast enough.

‘Come on then Waterman, stand up. Let’s hear what you’ve got.’

Martin’s eyes lit up as he stood and started to read. ‘Well my Daddy left home when I was three and he didn’t leave much to my Ma and me…’ 

Everyone knew the song and it wasn’t hard to guess why he'd chosen it. Martin was a chubby lad whose chins wobbled when he laughed, and they wobbled all the more as he closed in on the censored part of the Johnny Cash lyric.

‘But you ought to thank me before I die, for the gravel in your gut and the spit in your eye, ‘cause I’m the beeeeeeep that named you Sue!’

Chins, voice and everything wobbled as Martin fought to contain a bellyful of laughter. He barely made it to the end before letting it all go. Then he stood there, grinning.

Though there was plenty of amusement around the classroom, it wasn’t shared by Mister Middlewick, who was clearly unimpressed. 

‘And I suppose you know the censored lyric, Waterman?’

‘Yes Sir!’

‘Well keep it to yourself. We have no wish to hear it.’

Speak for yourself, I thought. I had no idea what it was and couldn’t wait to ask Martin later. ‘Son of a bitch,’ was the disappointing answer. What a let down.

I didn’t take to Mister Middlewick. Lessons spent listening to Radio 4 broadcasts of The Horse’s Mouth, a serialised play featuring a character called Gulley Jimson, didn’t help. The play was boring and sadly, so was English with Mister Middlewick in charge.

I’d always been suspicious of people fainting in assembly, especially when one of the bolder types hit the deck. On the scale of jolly japes and mischief, an assembly fainter would score a lot higher than an assembly farter. But I changed my mind about fainters on the day…

Standing in the 4A1 line near the back of the hall, I was mumbling along to a hymn with everyone else when the teachers on the stage started swaying.  Or so it appeared. Then everything went dark; very dark. As I felt myself slipping away I murmured to Brian Lack, standing beside me, ‘hold my hymn book.’

Voices… I hear voices.

‘Help me get him up. That’s it; hold him while I get his arm across my shoulder.’

Half dragged, half carried, I was being swept along in the darkness. Then I heard shouting. 

‘Get a chair!’

‘Here Sir!’

I regained full consciousness in fresh air. Subdued, yet relieved to be back in the land of the living with my sight restored, I’d been plonked on a chair outside the main doors, my tie loosened.

 ‘Sit there for as long as you need. Just come in when you’re ready,’ said the calm voice of experience. It was Mister Brown.