CHAPTER 4

My return to Barnstone Manor was not without considerable soul searching. In many ways, Vince was right: I risked retribution from those I’d taught a lesson. Mum and grandpa tried to discourage me, but I needed to conquer my demons. Besides, I’d pledged my support, had an understudy role in the up and coming Shakespeare Festival, and refused to renege on my promise.

I’d been absent a fortnight, under my mother’s watchful eye. She’d seemed to enjoy fussing over me with her ‘nurses hat’ on and I took comfort from her unprecedented attention. The wounds healed well, I’d started exercising my horse in the menage, it wasn’t without a degree of discomfort, but help and encouragement was always on hand.

Grandpa accompanied me on my first day back, as he had an appointment to see Scabby. I waited in the front entrance whilst he was in her office; sat with a book, eyes glued to the print, but mind elsewhere. The corridors rang with an unintelligible discord of voices and noise, though I had occasion to look up and return a welcome greeting. During my absence, a few changes had been instigated: Cappy had been expelled, Piss Potts ‘pensioned off’, but the others remained and I was wise to be on my guard.

Coming out of Scabby’s office, grandpa assured me everything would now be okay, promising we’d catch up later. We went our separate ways and outside my form room I bumped into Mr Dodds. Pleased to see me, he enquired after my health, then asked if I’d drop by his office during lunch. The morning passed without incident and shortly after noon, I met up with him as requested.

The kettle had boiled, he handed me a mug of coffee, which I gratefully accepted, despite it not being an acquired taste.
“Now, Ben,” he said, opening up a file and removing a sheet of A4. “Have you heard about the proposal to set up of a School Council?”
‘No, Sir.’
‘Well,“ he said, sliding the paper under my nose. ‘I am, with the backing of the Board of Governors, setting up such a body. It is, of course, in response to recent regretable events, but there does seem to be a desire, amongst everyone in the school, to make it a zone of zero tolerance where bullying is concerned. What do you say, eh?’
Sniggering, putting down my coffee, for fear of spilling it. ‘Sorry, Sir. It’s a noble idea, but it won’t work.’
‘And, what makes you say that?’
‘As long as the Head and Porter are still in school, we’ve still got weak leadership and Smith’s influence. It’s a recipe for disaster. There needs to be someone to look up to. Someone to inspire change. Without it, it won’t happen. Well, that’s what I think.’
Mr Dodds was smiling and gently nodding his head in a disconcerting manner.
‘Well said young man, and I couldn’t agree more,’ he said, triumphantly. Confused, I followed his eyes to the page laid on the desk. I read - ‘Nomination.’ It was a ‘Nomination Form’. Mr Dodds was eying me with an expectant air. ‘No, Sir,’ I protested, smiling nervously. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting that I stand as a candidate?’
‘Well, you said yourself that pupils need someone to look up to, someone to inspire change and I think you could do it.’
Trying to contain my amusement, ‘No. No, Sir. You’re so wrong. I’m an outcast in this school. Few pupils even speak to me...’
‘I know,’ he interrupted. ‘But Smith and Cappy have been permanently expelled, their ‘ring of terror’, as you phrased it, is broken and those left will soon fall back into line.’
I chuckled. ‘Sorry, Sir. I’ve no wish to sound disrespectful, but you underestimate them. Smith and Cappy may not be in school, but they’ve still got influence. Porter, Richards, Davis, to name a few, aren’t going to fall back into line without a fight. I’m not afraid of them, but I’ve not come back to set myself up for more trouble. Surely you understand, don’t you, Sir?’
‘Mmnn,’ Mr Dodds mused, contemplating my refusal, whilst my palate struggled to acquire a taste for coffee. ‘Maybe you don’t see it, but Pupils look up to you, Ben...’
‘Huh! Look up to me? As I said, most choose to ignore me.’
‘What if you were given support? Lets say you poll the most votes because your peers wanted to elect you. Would you reconsider?’
‘You mean I’m selected by a majority of votes to stand as a council member?”
‘No,” he corrected, ‘Head Boy.‘
‘Huh.’I gave an ironic chuckle, spilt coffee down my trousers. Dabbing the spillage with a paper towel, ‘You can’t be serious, Sir. Who’d support me?’
‘Well’, he said, “the school votes this afternoon. You’ll have the option to accept if you receive enough votes. I want to know if you’d accept?’
‘It won’t happen, Sir. Besides, I’m leaving soon, so what’s the point?’
‘The point,” he explained, ‘is that we need someone to set a standard, take the position seriously. I think you’d make an excellent candidate, Ben.’
Leaving his room, struggling to comprehend the proposition, I promised to think about it. Votes were cast by secret ballot in the afternoon, to obtain the nominees. I gave it minimal consideration, failing to see why fellow pupils would consider me worthy of their vote.
Last period, I joined twenty or so pupils in Room 7 for prep. The session was unsupervised, but everyone was engrossed in their work. A few were writing, most were reading, when the door suddenly swung open. Raising my eyes from the page to view the intruders, had me cursing under my breath, to witness Porter and sidekick, Tenbellies, swagger in. The atmosphere stiffened with tension. I swallowed hard as my heart raced and eyes bore a hole in the page. They came closer, pausing to mock and intimidate indiscriminately. Porter stood by my desk. I made no protest as he snatched the book from my hands. Taking a few paces back,’Well, well, well,’ he declared, with sarcastic wit, ‘Animal Farm.’ Holding the book aloft, playing to the audience, “Good book for a Field, aint it.’ Nobody laughed. Menacingly lowering his face to mine, he spewed, ‘Farms are full of shit and bad smells like you, you bastard......’

I wiped specks of frothy spit from my face, but refused to rise to his bait. They’d come spoiling for a fight and with little prospect of pupil support, they moved to the far side of the room. Porter picked on young Timmy Crapper who was wearing his new spectacles. He grabbed Timmy’s glasses, passing them to Tenbellies who threatened to crush them with his boot. Porter then demand that Timmy beg for their return, or risk an unfortunate accident. Timmy, though clearly worried, refused.
They’d gone too far. I was on my feet in protest, and much to my astonishment, everyone in the room rose to stand shoulder with me. Silent, unstinting defiance, was enough to have Porter relent. Pierced, by the glare of every eye in the room, humiliated in defeat, they made good their retreat.
‘Nuthin’s changed, Field,’ Porter warned, pausing by the exit. We’re still gunna fuckin’ kill yeh. You’re a dead man.’
Unnerved, but buoyed by unprecedented support, I thanked all for their solidarity. Timmy retrieved his glasses, swift to broadcast no damage was done. Several students had a sympathetic word with him on their way out and I caught up with him in the corridor. He beamed to be told he’d been brave and when he said he’d tried to be like me; that he looked up to me, I was humbled.

That evening I had a long chat with grandpa. He never divulged what he’d said to Scabby, but we discussed at length the incident in Room 7 and my conversation with Mr Dodds. To his mind the prospect of me being elected Head Boy, was far from ludicrous.
‘Trust and respect”, he contended, ‘are two powerful virtues, Ben. You’ve demonstrated both; fought for what you believe in, so I guess that could make you a popular candidate......’

I slept on it, rode into school the following morning, still contemplating what grandpa had said. I was securing my bike in the cycle rack as Mr Dodds drove into the car park. He called out, asked if I’d carry a box of books and glad to assist, I tailed him to his classroom.
‘Plug in the life line, Ben,’ he said, dumping a box on a bench by the window.
Directed to his office, I found the kettle and duly obliged. He soon joined me, adding milk and coffee to a couple of mugs.
‘Heard about the skirmish in Room 7 with Porter, yesterday,’ he said.
‘You did? Who told you?’
‘Timmy,” he said. ‘Young Timmy Crapper. Seems you carried a lot of influence. See, what did I tell you?’ Moving on swiftly, ‘So, have you thought any more about the position of Head Boy?’
‘ Yes, Sir...’
‘And ?’ he said, impatiently.
“The answer’s the same. I just wouldn’t feel comfortable. Anyway, we’ll have the results of the ballot soon, so...’
‘I already have them,’ he interrupted. The kettle boiled, he made coffee and put a mug in my hand. Unfolding a sheet of paper drawn from his pocket, ‘The result for Head Boy nomination, is conclusive.’ He caught my eye. “Do you want to know the number of votes you received?’
‘Number of votes I, received?’
‘Yes.’ Having ironed out the paper with his hand, he placed the results under my nose. Finger on the total, ‘Seventy nine percent,” he declared, gleefully. ”See that? - Seventy nine percent of the school voted for you, Ben.’
Speechless, I gulped the coffee. Placing the mug on his table, eyes scanning the statistics, “So, what does that mean?” I asked, disbelievingly.
‘Under the rules, any nominee receiving more than sixty percent of the vote is duly elected without contest. That’s you. You’ve been elected Head Boy. So are you going to accept?’
Nervously sipping more coffee, “Can I think about it, Sir? I’m still not sure.”
Clearly disappointed, ‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘But I’ll need to know by lunch time. See, if you’re not going to accept, we will have to run the electoral process all over again.’
‘Do you know who’s going to be Head Girl?’ I asked rising to my feet.
‘Two are still in the running, so pupils will vote again at the end of the week. Think hard on it, Ben. Remember almost the entire school nominated you. You’re the one they want. They see you as the person who might be able to help turn the school around. They trust you and that in itself is quite an honour ....’
‘I’ll give it some thought,’ I promised, making my way to the door, ‘and let you know by the end of lunch break.’
The bell sounded, pupils were filing into class, as I left to make my way to English.

The responsibility of being Head Boy, laced my every thought. For sure the position offered prestige and respect, might look good on a CV, but would it compromise my safety?
The morning passed quickly and during break, I found Mr Dodds marking books in his office. Plugging in the kettle, “Well?” he beamed pre-empting my response, ‘I take it you’ve finally come to a decision, then?’
‘Yes, Sir. I’m not convinced this is a wise move, but having thought long and hard, I’ve decided ..... to accept.’
Mr Dodds’ face animated his delight. Up on his feet, slapping my shoulder firmly, ‘Right decision,’ he wagered, ‘Good man.’
He insisted we celebrate and opened a packet of chocolate digestives. Coffee mug in hand, I listened intently, whilst Mr Dodds detailed his vision for the School Council and House System. He spoke with infectious enthusiasm and though I considered his ambition a little naive, I applauded his commitment and welcomed the prospect of reform.