The Bully

Hammil Academy
Greater Marsten
Berkshire, England
1970      

Part 3

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Fitzsimmons, sir?”

        I looked at him, his slovenly appearance, his size, his eyes.  He was not an appealing sight.

        “Come in, Haskins, and have a seat.  We need a word or two.”

        He ambled to my chair and flopped into it.  I gazed at him for a while, not saying anything.  He looked back at me, unperturbed with the silence.  Guilt sat easily on his shoulders.  I already knew he wasn’t a bright lad; now I saw he also hadn’t the imagination to let this situation worry him.  He was evidently accustomed to brazening his way through his troubles.

        “Haskins,” I said eventually, “something has come to my attention.  Let me start by saying, it’ll go much easier on you if you tell me about it.  I already know what you’ve done, but I want to hear it from you.  I want to hear it in detail, to see if you can convince me that any sort of leniency is deserved.  I doubt you’ll be successful with that, but fair’s fair and I think you should be afforded a chance at it.  But before you begin, please, please don’t waste my time with all these namby-pamby, tired comments, like, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,’ and ‘but I haven’t done anything, sir.’  

        I was watching him while saying this, hoping for some response, some sign that he was aware of his position.  Ideally, some squirming, a trickle of sweat down his forehead, an anxious look at least.  I got none of them.

        Feeling I wasn’t making any headway with him, I nevertheless continued.  “We both know exactly what you’ve done.  I just want to hear it from you, and then why.  Why you would beat a defenceless boy half to death?  Why would you treat him as you did?  How do you justify your actions?  This is a serious matter, something that may become a criminal one, Haskins.  This is the time to give me your version of it.  Just remember, I do know what happened, and lying really isn’t in your best interest.”

        Haskins lost some of the colour in his face when I said that.  He didn’t exactly pale, but he was no longer ruddy, and the signs of nervousness I had seen hundreds of times with boys sitting in the chair he occupied were manifest now.  His eyes were having trouble meeting mine.  His hands were opening and closing, perhaps unconsciously.  He had straightened his posture in the chair and was looking more interested, perhaps to better ward off the attack he felt coming towards him.  Overall, he was not quite the insouciant lad who had strode in a few minutes earlier.

        “Uh, sir, uh, I don’t –”

        “No,” I said firmly, interrupting him.  “I won’t have it, and I’m not going to spend time playing make-believe with you.  Don’t pretend with me.  I told you it’ll go harder, and it will.  You’re a bully, Haskins.  I’ve had reports about you all year.  You like pushing your weight around with little boys.  This time, you did more than push.  This time you committed a serious crime.  Your age is the only thing that will save you from prison.  It won’t save you from me, however.”

        He now wasn’t meeting my eyes.  He seemed somehow smaller, less intimidating, less a young thug, more a young boy.  Perhaps it was the idea of prison.  No boy would like to entertain thoughts about going there, I thought.  He did have some imagination, it seemed.

        I stood up and stepped closer to him.  He pulled back deeper into his chair.  “I hate bullies, Haskins.  Can’t tolerate them.  And when they get caught up and then beaten down, I feel no remorse over it; just satisfaction.  There’s a boy beaten up lying in bed because of you.  He’s already in severe pain because of you and will be for some days.  He’s been brave about it; he wouldn’t even give me your name.  He’s man enough to suffer in silence, saying he fell down stairs.  But falling down stairs wouldn’t exactly explain why his bottom was bleeding, would it Haskins?  However, you and I both know why that was.  We both know exactly what happened in that changing room.  I know everything that happens here, Haskins.  I know what you did.”

        He didn’t try to talk, but now raised his eyes to look directly at me.  While meeting his, I was startled to see something I wasn’t expecting.  I saw a slight reassessment, a hint of returning bravado, and he appeared to be thinking hard.  He had lost most of the earlier nervousness he’d shown.  When I’d first accused him, he’d reacted as I had expected him to.  But now, some of his nervousness had disappeared.  And he appeared to be thinking things through.  He now was settling back in his chair, with a look that I knew meant he was sure he’d gotten away with everything he’d done.

        Why?  That didn’t make sense to me.  Why would he be worried when I told him I knew what he’d done, then begin to recover when I’d elaborated?    Why the difference?  What had caused him to begin to relax, to lose his anxiety?

        It didn’t make sense.  I went back over what I’d said in my mind, but couldn’t quite work it out.

        He spoke then.  “You say this boy, whoever it is, won’t give you the name of who attacked him.  In fact, he told you he wasn’t attacked, but fell down some stairs.  Then why did you send for me?  I didn’t do anything.  No one has even said I did anything.  Even if someone did attack this boy, why think it was me?  Why think I did it?  I didn’t do anything.  You’re just guessing it was me, aren’t you?  Well, it wasn’t.”  He was looking me in the eye now, and the challenge was back in his look.

        I looked back, thinking hard, trying to reason out why he’d been scared, and now wasn’t.  It didn’t make any sense, but I was certain I’d seen the worry, and then the change.  What could have caused that.  I just didn’t know.  I was thinking hard, but I just couldn’t see it.

And then I did!  Then the dawn!  I had figured it out!  The only thing that had changed between the time of his fear and then his relief was I’d said a bit more to him.  I had gone back in my mind and looked at what I’d said last and compared it to what I’d said first.  And I’d seen the difference.

        He was looking at me, and I was looking at him, and I smiled, a smile of discovery.  “So that’s it, Haskins, isn’t it?  I see it now.  You were worried when I was talking about a crime and a boy lying in bed.  I was talking about Sandervale, but you didn’t know that, did you?  No, you were thinking about Enland.  It was Enland you thought I was talking about, not Sandervale.  You were worried I’d connected you to Enland.  Because you didn’t only hurt Sandervale, did you?  You’re the one who hurt Enland, too.  You were frightened because you thought I was onto you about Enland, and what you did to him was a very serious crime.  That might be called attempted murder, but if not that, certainly grievous bodily harm, and both those are serious criminal offences that carry severe punishments even for juveniles.  Even your age would not protect you there.  And you know that.”

        He was looking less calm again, but then his eyes changed.  They got a pensive look in them.  I ignored it and plowed ahead.

        “You knew originally there were no witnesses against you with Enland, but you were afraid something had come to light of which you were unaware.  Perhaps someone had seen you who had finally come forward, and you might have been caught out.  And so you were worried.  But when you realized it was Sandervale I was asking about, not Enland at all, you were relieved.  You knew Sandervale wouldn’t tell on you, you’d taken steps to prevent that, and you were pretty certain you’d scared him into silence.  You didn’t know I was asking about him till I mentioned his bleeding bottom, and the changing room.  That’s what tipped you off. 

        “You should have been worried about that, too, as rape is also a serious offense, but it would be pretty easy to defend yourself even should Sandervale accuse you, wouldn’t it, Haskins?  You could make believe he had wanted you to bugger him, that he'd asked you to do it, and it would be your word against his when he denied that.  You could accuse him of being a homosexual, say he came on to you.  You know the game, don’t you?  You could perhaps get away with it.  Even the bruises.  You could say you didn’t know anything about that, or that he did indeed fall down and you had nothing to do with it.  You could brazen it out, like you always do.  Your word against someone else’s, and no proof of anything.

“But it would be different if it was Enland I was talking about.  If I knew about Enland, if there were some proof of that, you’d be against it, wouldn’t you?  That’s what had worried you.  You thought I was talking about Enland.  No problem with Sandervale at all.  No remorse either, I see.  But then, there never is, with bullies like you.”

        I looked at him with contempt.  “I gave you a chance, a chance to have a go at making things easier on yourself.  I shouldn’t, but I’ll give you another.  A last chance.  What do you have to say for yourself, Haskins?”  I was leaning over him now, hoping my looming presence would intimidate him, would take away some of his new-found courage. 

        He didn’t know what to do.  I could see it in his eyes.  Should he admit what he’d done?  Should he try bluffing?  He decided his best course of action was to say nothing at all.  And that’s what he did.  But his eyes still glinted at me.  And I could read the challenge lingering in the back of them.  He was not repentant, and he was not going to back down.  He was going to fall back on his usual tactic.  He was going to let his bluster prevail.  He’d got away with bullying for a long time by simply denying it.  He wasn’t going to change now.

        I stepped back.  I looked at him.  He met my eyes.  I sat back down, still staring at him.  Eventually, when I said nothing more, his nerve returned to a semblance of what it had been when he’d swaggered into my study.

        He sat back in his chair.  “You can’t prove anything, you know.  We both know that.”

        “What?!”  I certainly hadn't expected him to go on the offensive!

        “You can’t prove it.  There were no witnesses, you can’t prove it.  You can’t do anything.”

        I just looked at him, and he became smug.  I could see it in his expression.

        His body became more comfortable in his chair as his confidence rose.  Some of his cockiness was returning.  “You can’t even expel me.  Father has lawyers, and if I’m expelled without good reason, he’ll start proceedings against the school.  If you try to give the reason you’ve given me here, without proof, he’ll have you for slander.  So you can’t do anything.  Sir.” 

        The last was added with a dab of condescension, more than a dab of insolence, and then was followed with an unpleasant suggestion of a smile.  He was certain he’d got away with it.  I had the thought that this boy had probably gotten away with this sort of thing quite often.

        I was surprised at his boldness, and happy I’d made other arrangements.  While I hadn’t expected my talk with him to take the turn that it had, I was not surprised we had ultimately arrived at this impasse.  I had known it was a possibility, because in fact, he was right.  I did lack proof, and Sandervale would not willingly to go before the Headmaster and say what had happened, and I was reluctant to force him to do so. 

        I was now convinced that Haskins was Enland’s attacker, too, but again, nothing had changed as far as being able to prove it.  With Haskins, I would have to be able to prove any accusation I made, that was clear.

But, I had feared our talk might come to this, feared he wouldn’t be as easy to intimidate as some more innocent boys would be.  I had been prepared for it, and planned accordingly.  It had certainly been my hope my plans could be avoided, but I had planned nevertheless and was now gratified I had.

        I sat back down at my desk, then swiveled my chair to face him.  “So you think this is over then, Haskins?  You think you can hurt boys and get away with it?  You think you can put them in hospital, into a sickbed, and nothing will come of it?  You think because we have no witnesses with Enland, because Sandervale won’t give you up, you’re just going to walk away from this?”

        “You can’t prove anything.”   He was becoming dogmatic, sure of his position.  His voice had a confident sneer to it.  He had total confidence he would be protected by a system of which he himself took advantage.

        I stared at him a bit longer, which will normally rattle a boy his age.  It appeared to have no effect on him whatsoever. 

        I was sick of him.  And I’d given him his opportunity.  “Well Haskins, I’m pleased to tell you, I don’t have to prove anything.  I know what you did, you haven’t even bothered to deny it.  What you don’t know, I’m afraid, is that I’ve dealt with boys like you before.  Boys who like to hurt smaller, weaker, defenceless boys.  Boys who have no remorse in them.  Boys who enjoy using their fists on others, and because they get away with it once, begin to think they are above everyone else and can get away with whatever they like.  You can’t, you know.  You really can’t.  Life isn’t like that.

“I know what to do about you.  I’ve had to deal with bullies before.  I’ve learned what gets their attention.  I have come across other boys, in the past, who were much like you.  They learned that there are repercussions for what they do.  They changed their behavior, Haskins, and believe me, you will change yours, too.  You have beaten up smaller boys for the last time.”

        He looked a little puzzled, but didn’t respond.

        The silence stretched out.  I was sure he’d say something, but he didn’t.  So I continued.

        “Have you heard of William S. Gilbert, Haskins?”

        He frowned at me.  “No.  Who’s he?”

        “Who was he would be a more proper question as he died almost a century ago.  He was a writer, principally famous as a librettist, and he coupled with another Englishman, Sir Arthur Sullivan, to write several operettas.  A very famous one was The Mikado.  You may have heard of it.  There was a very pithy line in that play, a very well known line written by Sir William, that said,  ‘ Let the punishment fit the crime.’   That’s what I intend to do with you, Haskins.  Although I guess that isn’t precisely accurate.  I’m not going to let it, I’ve arranged for it.  For your punishment to fit your crime.”

        He looked at me, not comprehending.  I smiled at him.

        “You may go, Haskins.”

        He reacted by wrinkling his brow, then asked, “I can go?  Just like that?  What was all that about the punishment fitting the crime?  Are you going to punish me?  What are you going to do?”

        “I’m not going to do anything to you, Haskins.”

        “I’m not in trouble, then?”

I smiled again.  “That wasn’t what I said.  I said you could go.  Do it now.  Go away, Haskins.  I’ve grown very tired of you.”

        Not understanding, he stood up.  He looked at me, puzzled, then slowly moved to the door, glancing back as he did.  He reached the door, and opened it.  Then he stepped backwards quickly.

        Standing outside were two large boys, large and muscular boys with very hard looks on their faces.  They were 6^th form rugby players.  I had spoken to them that afternoon, and they had agreed to perform the service they had performed a few times before for me when very peculiar circumstances required something more than a master simply talking to a student.  I had recruited them earlier in term, told them what I needed.  They were both upstanding young men and held the school in the same high regard I did.  They weren’t needed very often, but when they were, they had pledged themselves to my service.

        I had used them for similar work in the past, not often, but I had used them.  I knew them to be very discreet.  The larger of them was a 6’ 3” chap who weighed nearly 16 stone.  He presented a strong physical appearance, a very intimidating one, as he stood filling the doorway.  He looked first at Haskins, his glower disdainful, then raised is eyes to me and spoke in his deep voice. 

        “We came as you asked, sir.  More of the same this time?  Straighten this one out, then?   Did you say he beat up and buggered a 2^nd former, sir?  Really?”

        I nodded to him.  Then, handing him a package of condoms in full view of Haskins, I said, “Thank you for doing this, as always.  I’m sorry that some of them require a real object lesson, but when it is necessary, so be it.  A dirty but necessary job.  I’m thankful you’re so keen on this sort of thing.  Not many boys would be.  But what you’re doing is in a way biblical.  An eye for an eye was the prescribed justice a long time ago.  It may be harsh, but all the more effective for that.”

        “Sir?” he asked, reciting the lines we’d agreed upon.  “You weren’t clear earlier.  Do you want the punch-up before the other, or afterward?  And how much damage do you want done?”

        I gave all my attention to the lad and ignored Haskins, acting like he was no longer of any consequence at all, hoping the unemotional discussion would sound macabre enough to rattle him.  It isn’t an everyday thing, hearing others talk about battering you as calmly, as trivially, as they would about what colour teacups to use that afternoon.

        “I was undecided then.  I’ve given it some thought.  I think you should bugger him first.  One of you hold him, the other have him, then switch places and do it again.  I don’t want him numb from the beating.  I want him to feel every bit of it with all his senses and nerves fully functioning.  Strip him off and do him.  Then after you’ve each buggered him right and proper, you can hammer him a bit.  You should hurt him quite a lot, I’m afraid.  He’s put one boy in hospital and a second should be there, and he doesn't seem to regret it at all.  He’s shown me no remorse, no contrition.  He made the second boy bleed when he buggered him, so he needs to bleed, too, but that won’t be a problem with both of you going at him.  When you’re done he should eventually be able to walk, but that’s about the only thing he needs to be able to do.  Your main task is to hurt him enough that he’ll never consider bullying anyone every again.”

        “We can do that, sir, and we will.  And sir, should we give him his clothes back, afterward?”

        “No, I think you should leave him as naked as he left Sandervale.  He’ll have to find his way back to the school that way, naked, bleeding and hurting.  He didn’t care about Sandervale or Enland; he left them both unconscious; it seems proper we should show him the same compassion he showed them.  Anything else?”

        “No sir.  We’ll do him right, sir.  Right and proper.  He won’t be bothering anyone else after this I should suspect.  He’ll learn to keep his hands to himself, he will.”

        Haskins was watching them, then me, looking back and forth.  His face had become pasty, and that he truly grasped the reality of the situation was evident in his demeanor.  He had enough starch in him, however, to try one last time to save himself.

        “You can’t do anything to me.”  His voice was shaky, his fear at the surface.  “I know who you are.  You’re Robbins and McCaffey.  You’re both in the Upper 6^th.   If you do anything to me, I’ll tell.  You can’t touch me, or I’ll have you up on charges.”

        I smiled at him, pretending for his benefit a sympathy I didn’t feel.  “You don’t see it, do you, Haskins?  You can accuse these two of whatever you want, but it’ll just be your word against theirs, rather like what you felt it would be with yours against Sandervale’s, and there are two of them, and they have unblemished reputations, which you don’t have, and in any case, they were both visiting with me this evening when you were so viciously attacked.  We’ll just tell anyone who asks that perhaps the severity of your problems, when you were being abused, perhaps some lingering effects of concussion, caused you to misidentify your assailants.”   

The two boys walked over to Haskins, who’d backed up and had his back pressed against my desk.  He was smaller and younger than the other two and was now terrified.  As with most bullies, the thought of having done to him what he so easily did to others was almost more than he could bear.  The larger of the two boys reached out for him, and Haskins yelled, “No!” and tried to dart away.  The second boy grabbed him, and the first boy hit him in the stomach, hit him hard, knocking the wind from him and dropping him to his hands and knees.

        He started crying, gasping for breath and crying.  The larger of the two boys stood over him, and spoke harshly to him.

        “Get up, you pathetic sod.  Crying’s not going to save you.  You’ve got this coming, and you’re going to get it.  Nothing’s going to save you now.”  He reached down and grabbed Haskins’ upper arm and began pulling him up.

        “No!” cried Haskins again, going limp and making himself a dead weight in the boy’s hand.  He looked at me, fear and pleading showing in his eyes.  “All right!  I did it!  I did both Enland and Sandervale.  Expel me if you want.  But don’t let them take me.  Don’t let them, sir!  Please!”

        The larger boy looked up at me.  I nodded.  He released Haskins’ arm and the boy slumped back to the floor.  Both larger boys stepped away from him, and then turned to the door and quietly left.  Because it was after lights out, there wouldn’t be anyone in the corridor to see them.   I stood looking down at Haskins, still on the floor.  Perhaps I should have felt badly for the boy, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so.  I kept thinking of Peter Sandervale and John Enland, and those thoughts took precedent.

A few moments later, I heard a light tapping on my door, and in response to my request to come in, the door opened and a prefect looked in, made eye contact with me and nodded.  I stepped out into the hallway and spoke to him briefly.  Then I reentered my study, closing the door behind me.  

        I looked over at Haskins, who was just now starting to get up, with no feeling of sympathy at all.  What he’d just suffered was nothing compared to what he’d done to two boys I knew about and probably many others before that.

        “You may go to your room, Haskins.  If I were you, I’d begin packing.  Your parents will be called in the morning and told what you’ve done.  Told everything you’ve done.  You’ll be expelled first thing tomorrow.  Of course, the police will be informed as well, and whether formal charges will be preferred against you will be discussed.  You’re a long way from being done with any of this.”

        Haskins had been badly shaken, and there was no bravado left in him.  He did respond, however, even though now there was no defiance, no cockiness at all in his tone.  “You won’t get away with this.  Yes, I confessed, but it was to stop them doing what they were going to do.  I didn’t do anything to Sandervale, and I didn’t do anything to Enland.  You still can’t prove I did.  If you and those boys say I confessed, I’ll admit that I did, but then tell why I confessed, and also say I didn’t do the things you’re accusing me of.”

        “You know, Haskins, you’re really quite astounding.  After all this, you still continue.  You’ve learned nothing from this.  But I’m afraid this time you won’t get away with it.  You see, that boy at the door just now came here from your room.  I had him looking through your things while we were chatting here, and he found a watch with the initials JE inscribed on the back.  Found it inside a sock, stuck way back in a drawer.  So, you see, it won’t do for you to deny anything.  I suppose you will, your sort always does.  But you’ve admitted to me what happened in front of two witnesses, both honourable members of this school’s student body, and I can and will attest to that.  And a prefect found Enland’s stolen watch hidden among your possessions.  You can say your confession was coerced, but that then becomes your word against that of three men with spotless reputations.  Your reputation, conversely, doesn’t command much merit.  And however you try to explain away the watch, you were obviously hiding it, and that will weaken any credibility you might have left.  If all this plays out in court, it all becomes a matter of public record, and all of what you did becomes known.  Your story of what you say we did is so fanciful, no one will take it seriously.  What you’re being accused of is tantamount to mayhem and rape, and with your reputation here at the school, people will believe it.  And it’s a nasty business, Haskins, a nasty business. 

 “You yourself are a nasty piece of work, but after tomorrow, you’ll be someone else’s problem, not mine.  I’ll be happy to see you gone.”

        I sat down in my chair and turned away from him, dismissing him as if he no longer mattered a whit to me.  “Please leave, Haskins.  I have to prepare my sermon for morning prayers.  I thought a good lesson might be, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’  Seems appropriate somehow, don’t you think, Haskins?”

 The End