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“Bugger that Carstairs, if he hadn’t been playing
with them in Mr. Jones lesson and got them confiscated, you wouldn’t have had
to steal them from his desk! I’II clip the ear of that boy when l see him!”
“Yes sir!” and with that l returned to my task.
Not finished with me, he clapped his great plate like
hand on my shoulder. “You will see that that urchin Johnny what’s-his-name
doesn’t try to drown himself again, tomorrow, wont you. Don’t want the Head
to start asking questions about our little Wednesday afternoon jaunts to the
lake, now do we?!”
“Er, no sir, l mean yes sir!”
“Good. I’II leave you to it then.”
Visions of Johnny Watts half drowning himself whilst trying to do an impression of Jesus, by attempting to walk on water after drinking half a bottle of Bummer’s homemade hooch, flooded back into my mind. I would have to keep tabs on that boy, he liked play acting too much and went wild when drunk – mind you, he was only 13 or 14 years old!.........................................
.............................................
But then, what the hell! We were all confused anyway, especially after
one of Bummer’s ‘boaty-bits’ lectures!
“Theeese thin’s are called h,h,halyaaaaardzzz.
An’ yooooo uzzzze themmm too a,er, a… haul uppp the zails, seee!?” But no
one understood a thing he was saying – even l was confused. Bummer turned a
red bleary eye to me. “Yooo take over, l feel a bit ill!”
This often happened and having collapsed behind the
dinghy to lay asleep on the ground, l would step forward to explain to the new
recruits, just how to haul up the sails and what the names of each part of the
boat were, as best l could, whilst the sounds of snoring and the smell of
alcohol, lifted gently about my legs to waft quietly over the wide eyed pupils.
“Is Bummer, er Mr., Mr….Bummer, is he ok sir?”
A kick from me and a “ughhh” from Bummer would
reassure me that all was well and l didn’t have a dead master on my hands!
“All is fine crew, He’s just been suffering from a
touch of his old illness, that’s all!”
“What’s his old illness sir?” This from the
bright eyed little ginger haired lad at the right hand end of the crew.
“Oh just a touch of malaria or something, which he
picked up when he was fighting in the Sudan or somewhere.”
“Oh wow, he was in the Sudan?! What……..”
“Now, if you would like to follow me, we have one of
our boats already in the water, ready for you to get wet in…..er go out in!”
We trooped off, down the hill to the waters edge, leaving Bummer to
recover in his own good time!
Bummers ‘crew’ consisted of any boy, not fit for cross country running, or not good enough to be in the first, second, third or fourth 11 or 13 for whatever game was being played on the muddy school pitches. Most were chinless wonders, intellectuals with spindly legs and no physical co-ordination, or perpetual jokers who ran and hid when they discovered that they used real leather balls on the school pitches and not mamby-pamby plastic ones................................................
.........................................
“Yes, l need you to take a drive with me, down to the
shops in the village. I need to get some sticking plaster and some
antiseptic!”
“Er, right, Sir! You want me to go pillion on your
bike!” He had never asked this before and the thought of riding closely behind
Bummer on the back of a great throbbing motor bike did not fill me with delight.
Or even, hope for my survival!
“Oh no, not the bike! I’ve got a van now. I just
need you to help me!”
“Er, ok Sir”.
“I’ll see you in ten minutes by the car park.
It’s the brown coloured little van at the far end.”
I was not filled with much confidence that this was going to be a calm
trip to the shops. The van was small and looked quite dishevelled, with rusty
marks all over it’s wheel arches, a back door held in place with string and at
least one headlight l could see smashed, with it’s bulb hanging out. The
really worrying items adorning the bodywork were two L plates, one on a back
door, the other tied precariously to the bonnet but both looking almost new and
in better condition than the van itself!
“Great motor this. Get in Fisher and we’ll go for a
spin down to the shops”.
I opened the passenger door which seemed to slump down at an angle on
it’s hinges with a grating sound. Getting it shut required lifting as well
swinging. It didn’t seem to want to close properly and simply hung slightly
ajar. There did not appear to be any seat belts, so l sat there whilst Bummer
turned the engine on, my feet braced against the front of the foot well, my
bottom on a seat through which l could feel the springs.
“Right, off we go!”
Bummer shoved her into reverse and we shot back, bouncing over the curb
behind us and onto the grass verge between the car park and the rugby pitch. The
entire rugby team practising drop kicks, stopped and stared, obviously aware
that Bummer behind the wheel of a car, meant danger and not knowing which way he
was going to go next!
He crunched into a forward gear and after some wheel spin on the wet
grass, shot forward and round, just missing Mr. Jones Jaguar and headed
indirectly for the exit. Indirectly,or perhaps l should say, more directly than
he should, because, instead of following the road out of the car park and onto
the drive way, we crossed over the path on several occasions, cutting corners in
a more direct route than we should and scattering several first formers on our
way!
“Sir!”
He changed gear as we headed up the drive, the noise of
crunching and complaining gear wheels adding a backdrop chorus to my shouts!
“SIR!?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Can you drive sir?!” The previous sight of the L
plates now taking on the true significance of their meaning!
“Of course l can drive, what do you think l am
doing!?”
“But have you passed your test yet, SIR!?”
“Oh that, not yet, but l will soon!”..........................................
................................................We were half way into the corner before he started to
turn the wheel, his foot still planted on the accelerator. The van shot round,
missing the hedge, several posts and the tail of a dog doing it’s business
against a lamp post, by inches! Bummer sat back satisfied that we had got round
without a scrap, whilst the dog shot off, soaked from it’s own pee to find
mental stability in a pile of another dog’s do’s closer to the path, where
it should have been in the first place………. had it known that Bummer was
tearing towards it!
...............................................
Haze was a nice innocent chap. We liked or even, dare l say it, loved the
nice and innocent in the Sailing Club. It meant that they didn’t immediately
run when Bummer organised a sailing activity! Their innocence soon left them
though after their first experience with Bummer and his fleet and many seemed to
disappear all together, finding their way into the tough ranks of the second or
third eleven, where life did not look so bad after all. I mean, in rugby no one
was going to try and drown you were they?!
Haze had proclaimed some former experience in matters involving boats – always a mistake as l found. Therefore, without further ado, he was elevated to the rank of Assistant Commodore of the School Sailing Club. His baptism into the job was effective and it has to be said, immediate!........................................
.........................................
Mud, bloody mud, the showers and changing rooms were covered in the
stuff. The school seemed to love it! Mud. If you weren’t splattered and
covered in great globules of thick brown mud within two minutes of being on the
pitch or on a run down some country track, the PE master was not impressed! And
if the mud was mixed with a bit of good honest blood as well, then he was really
happy!
“Got stuck in there, l see. That’s what l like,
enthusiasm! You may not know a thing about rugga boy, or how to kick the ball
straight, but when l see you covered in mud and blood , l know you’ve had a
good game!”
Bloody man! The blood didn’t come from me! It came
from Carruthers senior as his front tooth was kicked out by that great hairy
monster from the lower sixth. l simply got in the way of Carruther’s flying
blood and spittle as l tried to hide from these great heaving sweaty Leviathons!
No, as we lay back on our island, far away from the war zone of the Rugby
pitches, we were plastered alright, but not from mud!
“You know Fisher, l like a good woman!”
“Oh?”
“Yes, not one of your stick insects like those models
you see in the adverts. Not like Twiggy!”
“I see.”
“No l like a real woman, big hips, great meaty
thighs, breasts you could cook a loaf between!”
“Right!”
“Yes, dressed in a frilly frock with loads of
petticoats, like you would imagine in Jane Ayre or Pride and Prejudice.”
“Well…..”
“Long golden hair in ringlets, falling down over her
breasts. Someone with something you can grab hold of, not all thin and skinny,
no meat!”
“Yes, well….”
“Hmmmmm…..”
Bummer would always get talkative as he drunk. He would loosen up and all
sorts of revelations would fall from his great thick lips whilst he lay back,
head pillowed by his great paws, looking up at the clouds floating by. After a
little snippet of information, a little taster of what was flitting across his
mind, he would close his eyes and go silent for a while. The crew, having heard
his first utterance, would creep forward so as not to miss his next!
Minutes would pass and then, he would carry on where he left off.
“Hmmmm…….nice shapely dainty feet too, in shiny
red high heels – not too high mind, just high enough to……..”
And so, we were allowed into Bummer’s fantasy world. Or was it really
fantasy?
“You know, my Gabrielle is a bit like that, perhaps a
bit more plump, but she’s got long curly hair and good sized breasts – much
more than a BSH anyway.”
“A BSH?”
“Yes, a British Standard Handful! Definitely more
than one of those! Probably two, each, at least, even when measured with my big
hands!”
“I see!”
“You ever been with a girl?!”
“Er, well……”
“Not all it’s cracked up to be sometimes! I like to
be slightly drunk, that way l loose all my inhibitions……..and Gabrielle’s
ugly face doesn’t have such an effect on me, close up when l’m drunk! It’s
better still when she lies on her front and l can’t see it at all!!”
“Right!”
“I would advise you to try a French girl though. Do
what l do, go over there for the rumpy pumpy and live over here, that way things
don’t get too complicated and you don’t have to put up with their sharp
tongues all the time. They do get so irritable when they claim you’ve done
something to hurt them – upset their sensibilities!”
I see!”..............................................
......................................
Her companion was altogether younger, in fact not much older than me and
was endearingly French, with black shiny hair that fell in cascades over her
shoulders and acted as a frame for her finely chiselled face. A slightly hooked
nose, with dimpled cheeks and a mouth slightly too wide, but all hidden behind
an impish grin graced her look. She came complete with baby, who seemed
permanently attached to her left breast; and a small terrier dog, who took an
instant liking to my crutch!
“Ello, we ‘ave
not been introduced! I am Nichole and l am, ‘ow you say, a freend too Jooley,
yes!?”
“Hi, my name’s Ray and l’m partly at least, in
charge of this lot, we’re on holiday, just sailing about a bit!”
“I know this! Your master, he, ow yoo say? He phoned
Jooley and told ‘er ‘e wos ‘ere, yes!?”
“I see, and the baby?”
“Theese is Collete, my fille de bébé,
oui! You know, yes?”
“Er, baby?”
“My bébé!” she said pointing to herself, which l kind of
guessed, because it was still latched onto her nipple and was sucking away
totally content, as l am sure l would be, in the same circumstances!
“Your baby daughter!”
“Er oui! Yes!”
Nichole was covered in a simple wrap, very chic, very elegant and totally
captivating, which she was able to undo as she needed, to feed her baby. She did
this with no embarrassment at all, as though it was entirely natural to display
her breasts to a sixteen year old male youth, desperate for his first sexual
experience! Not that she knew that of course! I went to bed that night full of
the delights of Nichole who, l learnt, was the daughter of Bummer’s Nichole.
Surely, if her daughter was so attractive, her mother must be half decent and
not the ugly old tart Bummer had described on the island. The tart who could
only be approached from behind!
Before we parted for the night, she delighted me with more of her French
accent.
“Et c'est mon chien, Napoleon!”
“Er…….?”
“My, er, mon, er
theese!”
She pointed to the
terrier.
“Ah, the dog!”
“Oui, he ees
Napoleon, yes?”
The bloody thing was
still attacking my crotch by sitting back and then taking great leaps at me,
launching itself with it’s jaws open. Straight at my crotch! The bloody thing
wouldn’t give up, but l didn’t want to swipe it away and offend Nichole!
“He is, ‘ow yoo
say, animé, oui?”
“An animal?, Oh
yes, the blight….er pooch is certainly that!” (he had bloody big teeth too!)
Non, ‘e is, ‘ow
yoo say, live er lively, l theenk, oui?”
“Oh yes, the fuc…..,
the pooch is very lively (more than my balls will be in a moment, anyway!)
“Pooch? ‘e is er,
dog, oui, what is theese pooch, yoo say?”
“Er, it’s another
name for a dog, er chien!”
I now stood, my hands
cupped over my genitals, constrained to stand there like a new recruit denuded
in front of the school matron!
“Je pense qu'il
vous aime, oui?”
“Er, er!”
The last thing l
could do was translate with my very poor school boy French and protect my
wedding tackle at the same time. This was simply not fair! How could l impress
this girl, whilst hardly understanding a word she was saying and at the same
time try to prevent my penis from being eaten by a rabid dog!
“I theenk, ‘e
likes you! Oui?”
“I think he likes
my crotch!”
“Your?”
I nodded to my
genital area in the hope that she would see my plight and do something about it,
although, that was a vain hope, when she also had a bébé sucking merrily away
at her tit!
“E likes your pénis,
oui, l do think so!”
She laughed and
turned away with a flourish, looking back at me over her shoulder and giving me
a wink!
“Viens Napoleon - laisse
aller avant que vous mâchiez le pénis du Ray”.
I had no idea what it
meant, but Napoleon stopped trying to clamp it’s jaws over my pénis and
scampered away after her. The fact that she had obviously mentioned my name and
my penis in the same sentence and had also winked, made my heart race. Was there
hope? Please God, was there hope?!