Charlies Boys.

Charlies Boys.

By Len Morgan

  John Bullock was the school worst bully, he was also a coward.  He only ever picked on boys who didn’t fight back.  So, when Mr East entered Form 4a and said “Fox, Bullock, head’s study, now!”  I got a sinking feeling in my stomach.

 “Mrs Jones has reported seeing one of you two boys bullying Andrew Burns, at first break, but can’t be sure which of you it was.  I don’t like bullies, and I won’t tolerate bullying in my school.  Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” said Bullock.

"Yes sir,” said I.  Our ‘copper knobs’ bobbing in unison.

"If either of you are caught bullying, you will receive..." he picked up and flexed his cane lovingly, "six of the best!  Now get back to your class."

.-...-.

I’ve always been a loner. But, my classmates have never considered me to be a threat; I’m just one of the lads.  I’ve always been what my aunt Jo describes as, an easy-going well mannered boy.  So, I get called ‘carrot top’, ‘ginger nut’, and ‘copper knob’ I just grin; water off a ducks back, Aunt Jo would say.  Nobody but nobody, would ever dare use those phrases within earshot of John Bullock, not even members of his own gang.  Out of earshot?  He is referred too contemptuously as Bully Bullock.

 I’m happy to accept good-natured ribbing from the guys, but I’ve never been susceptible to bullying.  I’ve never given in to threats, so if it comes to blows, I will give as good as I get, my attitude has earned me respect from the bullies.  We have an understanding.  They leave me, and anybody who is with me, alone. Consequently, I enjoy a certain amount of popularity with boys who feel they need protection. At times, I’ve even been offered certain little inducements.  Occasionally somebody gets the idea they can ‘beat me up’, because of my size.  At fifteen, I’m close to five foot five and weigh a hundred and twenty pounds which is below average for my age.  What sets me apart is being the grandson of Graham (Grey) Fox.  Granddad was the British Flyweight Champion, for three years, in his youth. He taught me everything he knew about the noble art of boxing and all the dirty tricks used in roughhouse fighting as well. He was fit, fast, feisty, and fatal; right up to the day he took on a two-ton truck, in a catch-weight contest he was always destined to lose.  He died without regaining consciousness. 

In his will, he left me the ‘Grey Fox Gymnasium’.  The club brings in enough money to pay for my school uniforms, and give Aunt Jo something for my keep, plus a little bit put by for a rainy day.  Aunt Jo became my legal guardian when mum and dad were killed in an air raid in 1940.  The man who runs the gym for me, and takes care of the business side, is Harry Chilvers he was Granddad’s long time friend and corner-man. The arrangement suites everyone, Harry gets a good living, allowing me to get on with school, and growing up, free from distractions.  I have to say that Granddad taught me well.  Quick thinking, good reflexes, and fast footwork have stood me in good stead; I'm fit, self-confident, and prepared for anything.  To keep in shape I work out at the gym, for two hours each evening.  There’s no way I would allow myself to go soft.  I’d seen fighters run out of steam in the middle of a contest and it’s not a pretty sight.

.-…-.

I was having problems with my maths and physics homework; that’s Charlie Holmes’ department.  He’s our Maths and Science teacher.  He’s slightly taller than me but broad and solid. I could tell from his bearing that he kept himself fit and knew how to handle himself.  He served in the ‘Special Boat Service’ during the war, it was an elite force, for which we students held him in awe.

“Excuse me Mr Holmes sir, I'm having problems with the algebra homework could you tell me where I'm going wrong please?” I asked.

“Come to my office at 4 o'clock Fox, don’t be late,” he said.

So at 4:02 I was standing outside his office when Andy Burns arrived and stood beside me. 

“Are you here to see Charlie?” I asked. We all called him Charlie behind his back, but never to his face. “You're top of the class Burns what do you need help with?”

“Don’t worry, I'm not going to push in,” he said.  At that precise moment the door opened and there stood Charlie, unlit pipe between his teeth.

“Ah!  Just the chaps I need to help me out of a fix,” he said.  Then he smiled.

I always get nervous when Charlie smiles, it takes twenty years off his age at a stroke, and I know, deep down, he’s hatching some fiendish plot.  I looked at Andy and he grimaced, articulating my thoughts.

“Come in and sit down lads, would you like some tea?  I have some scones with homemade jam and fresh cream,” he said placing a large plate in the middle of the table.

May as well get something out of it, I thought. “Thank you, sir.  Do you have contacts in the black market sir?” I asked. 

He put his unlit pipe in his mouth, looked me straight in the eyes, and tapped the side of his nose twice, but said nothing. 

I took the hint, and the cup he offered. He poured tea, milk and two spoonful's of real sugar, not saccharine, into each cup, as we helped ourselves to side plates and tucked into the unexpected feast.

“Delicious,” said Andy.

“Actually, I have two problems.  But, I'm hoping to kill two birds with one, metaphorical, stone.” Charlie smiled again and I shivered.

“One bird needs a whole lot of coaching in, Physics and Maths if he’s to pass his GCE ‘O’ levels.  The other bird needs toughening up – to put it bluntly.   Are you with me so far?”

“Yes sir,” we said in unison.

“To be honest, I don’t have time to give private tuition, but I know a person who does.”  Charlie looked directly at Andy, who averted his gaze on the pretext of selecting yet another delicious scone.

“Actually, it’s just a simple quid pro quo arrangement I'm proposing.  Burns, you will tutor Fox for an hour each evening…”

“And you expect me to act as his bodyguard?” I said incredulously.

“I said toughen up not molly-coddle,” Charlie exploded; he took a deep calming breath. “You spend an hour each evening teaching Burns how to defend himself.  Don’t tell me your grandfather didn't pass on his fighting skills to you?”

Andy finally made his choice and reached for a particular scone.

“Leave it!” I said. “As of now, you’re in training.   You’re fat and overweight. You even have trouble running for the bus!”

His eyes lingered on the scone, then he looked at me, and reluctantly his hand withdrew.

“I take it you both accept your assignments?” There was a moments silence, “Good! Well have a progress meeting at the same time each Friday, but I can’t promise scones every week you understand?” 

 We all grinned. “Any questions?”

“No sir,” we shook our heads.

“Don’t you lads have homes to go to?”  The deal was done so we left his office together.

“When do we start Fox?”

“Right now,” I said, “and call me Red.”

“We’d better run if we're going to catch the 4:20 bus,” said Andy. 

“Don’t worry, we're running home,” I said, “I've got a lot of work ahead of me to get you in shape, come on."

.-…-.

I worked Andy like a dog for the next two weeks, just roadwork, mile after mile, to build up the stamina in his legs, and put steam in his boiler as Grey Fox would say.

In return, Andy exacted his revenge with quadrilateral equations, logs, slide rule maths, Pythagoras and geometry theorems. To be fair, he was a good teacher and had a natural flair, for explaining things, in words that I could understand.  So, chemical processes, atomic weights, valences, and double bonds in organic chemistry suddenly began to make sense.

True to the code Bully Bullock and his gang left us both well alone.  I had Andy skipping rope and pounding the bag way into the evenings.   He was getting home after lighting-up time and his mother began to accuse me of having a bad influence on him.  Charlie had to explain our strategy to her.  That was when I started getting invites to Andy’s house for tea and Sunday lunch.   Aunt Jo didn't mind, it gave her more quality time with her new boyfriend, and she saved on ration coupons.  Six weeks on, I was getting improved marks at school. Andy was in tip-top shape and brimming with confidence.

.-…-.

Then out of the blue, I was stricken down with a heavy bought of influenza.  I was delirious for two days and confined to bed.  I started eating again on Saturday and got out of bed on Sunday, but Aunt Jo wouldn't let me go out.

When I returned to school on the Monday, everybody was talking about a fight that took place outside of school on Friday evening.

.-…-.

“Are you going to tell me what happened, Andy?” I asked.

He smiled, “I was running home, sticking strictly to the program, as if you were there with me.  They barred my way, just outside the gates.  I tried to go the other way but they blocked me again; It was Bully and his gang.”

“Come on guys, don’t hold me up I have a lot to do tonight,” I said.

They made way for Bully, “You got me in trouble with the head Burns,” he said.

“That was your own fault,” I said.  He came at me throwing punches.  I slipped them ducking and diving, bobbing and weaving.  Then I hit him with a combination punch two in the breadbasket and one squarely on the nose.  He folded like a sack of spuds.

“Who’s next?” I said, turning on the others. But, they just moved aside and let me pass. I didn't even break a sweat.  I looked back when I reached the corner of Valence Avenue.  Bullock was still lying on the ground; the other three had run off and left him.  So, I went back to make sure he was OK.

“Piss off Burns, you've ruined my life.  When this gets out I’ll be a laughing stock.”

“So, why didn't one of the others offer to take me on?” I said, “Why didn't they stand by you?  Instead, they ran off like the cowards they are.”

“That’s true,” he said.

“So,” I said “What satisfaction do you get from beating people up?”

“It makes me feel respected and important.  Now you can fight we could form our own gang.  Get your mate Fox to join us we’d be unbeatable!” He said.

“You still don’t get it do you Bullock, beating up somebody weaker than yourself doesn't make you look big, just the opposite.  You are hated feared and avoided like plague.”

“Yea, good eh?” He said.

 “What did you do Andy?” I asked.

He became silent and reflective, “I just shook my head, disapproving, like Charlie does, and walked away.”

“Good on you man, you don’t need any more lessons in self-defence,” I said, feeling genuine regret.

“I don’t think so Red,” he said. I got the feeling he was gauging my reaction.  “But, I do still need somewhere to train and a good friend if you know of one?”

The bell rang, as we exchanged grins, and headed off to our first lesson – double maths – with Charlie Holmes.

Copyright Len Morgan