Chapter 36

 

Tuesday 12^th September 1944

 

I think I had recovered after not running so much over my long holiday.  I was out quite early and, again, helped Tom with the last part of his paper-round.  He said he was using the weights and was up to fifty lifts above his head.  Lazy sod.  I don’t think his arms are any longer than mine so as I was doing sixty-five so that was more in foot-pounds than he was doing.

 

            School went on and the pressure was on.  More homework than we have ever had before.  Matt came back with me but we didn’t have time for any form of fun as Mike turned up for his Maths tutorial with Pa.  At least, the pair of us went over several examples with Matt and, I think, he more or less saw the reasoning.  He just takes a bit longer to get the gist, but it sticks.  Anyway he went off very pleased and thanked Mike profusely. As I sat with Mike after he went off I wondered what it would have been like to compare my two long-dicked friends at the same time.  I mustn’t think such things as they tend, no, they do, give me a hardon!

 

            Pa and Ma arrived back from work soon after Matt went off.  Pa looked tired and harassed.  He said the pressure was on to exploit a new discovery they had made..  The report meeting on Friday had been well received and there had been telephone calls today from the powers that be with congratulations but urgings for quick results.

 

            Still, Ma looked a bit more relaxed as Pa was back from London safe and sound.  The news today, they said, was of mystery explosions occurring in London and surrounding areas.  Pa thought it was some sort of new rocket bomb as they appeared out of the blue  and exploded violently with no warning.  Pa said he had ideas what they were and he was telephoning someone at the Ministry in the morning.  He said he remembered hearing about some research in Germany when he was there in the 1930's.

 

            That night I decided against keeping a detailed record of my daily activities, perhaps only noting significant happenings.  I doubted if I would get anywhere near Piers’ totals.  Thinking about it I was settling to a pattern of one or two outflowings a day.

 

                                                                        *

            Nothing much happened during the rest of the week until Saturday.  I had made arrangements, nay, I had been told, to take the offered rugger shorts round to Roo’s on Saturday at half past one for his younger brother. I was still wondering why, with such an exact time specified, but when I got there I was  greeted by Roo and Tony, grinning all over their faces.  They announced that as it was soon to be my birthday they were taking me to the pictures as a present as there was a good film on.  So, when I’d said about the shorts Roo had thought that would be a good excuse to get me round there. They said Roo’s Mum had laid on a tea afterwards but was at work until later.

 

            We went up to Roo’s room and he called out for his brother to come along as I had arrived with something for him.  Young Kanga came along from his room and I gave him the shorts. He thanked me profusely.  Roo said he’d better try them on and also he should put the rugger shirt on that Roo had passed down to him.  And, to get a move on as we were all going to the pictures and the main film started at three o’clock.

 

            Kanga went off to his room while we sat and chatted about the iniquities of school work and how it was being piled onto us poor defenceless souls.  However, Tony said he was very much enjoying Mrs Riley’s English Literature classes and he thought he would like to study English at university.  Roo screwed up his nose and said he didn’t want to go to university but wanted a job to earn some money.

 

            After a couple of minutes or so of this chat young Kanga reappeared looking all neat and clean in a dark green rugger shirt, my old shorts and a pair of football socks.  For a kid of thirteen and a half he looked quite the part as a blossoming young rugger player as Roo had said earlier he’d been chosen for the Junior XV.  He was quite tall.  Much taller than my latest friend and cousin-to-be, Andrew.  He was also chunkier than Roo who was quite slim.

 

            “Well, thank Jacko for those shorts again because they fit you perfectly,” said Roo, “And don’t forget the shirt was mine.”

 

            He did so and was about to turn and go when Tony asked him how his model making was going.

 

           Making model planes was a favourite activity of quite a lot of us youngsters.  Something to do, cheap, and, of course,  making collections was a great occupation of most kids.  I knew that both Roo and his brother were avid model plane builders and there was plenty of evidence in the bedroom.  I had noted many swapping sessions at school and there were always heated discussions over correct proportions, designs and insignia at break-times in the playground.  I’d had spells of making planes as I supposed it was a good way of learning about all the different types of plane likely to be seen, to distinguish between any enemy planes and our British ones.  In fact, I think I’d only seen Spitfires and a Lancaster bomber which flew over regularly on training flights.  So for me, it seemed now to be a rather pointless enterprise.  But, something to do, I suppose.

 

            Kanga said he was getting on very well but had come to a stop as Roo had pinched his glue and some of his paints.  Roo said he was an ungrateful little toad because he’d given him a whole load of balsa wood.  He reached out and caught hold of the green shirt and dragged him over to him.

 

            “If you’re going to be ungrateful I’ll have my shirt back.”

 

            Kanga tried to get away and smacked out at Roo’s restraining hand.

 

            “You pinched my things, so there,” he said, quite heatedly, “And it’s my shirt now!”

 

            “Only if you apologise,” said Roo.

 

            “Shan’t!” said Kanga.

 

            This altercation seemed so uncharacteristic, at least, of Roo.  He was, unless on the rugger field, quite placid and easy-going, and I could see he was getting a bit flustered by his brother’s outburst.  He caught hold of the shirt more determinedly.

 

            “I’ll have it back then, Kanga,” he said as the kid wriggled to get away.  Roo pulled the shirt up and over Kanga’s head, a bit like we’d done to the Sixth Formers and I’d done to Mike.

 

            “Get off me, you bastard!” Kanga shouted out.

 

            I think we were all a bit taken aback by that expletive.  My only dealings with the lad were when I’d helped him with some Maths and he seemed a pleasant kid.  Roo was getting quite angry now.  Slow to rise, but he was getting quite steamed up.

 

            “What did you say?” he enquired very evenly, “That’s not language we use in this house!”

 

            Kanga was still struggling with his arms in his sleeves being held above his head.

           

            “Get off me you bastard, let me go!” he shouted out even more vehemently, his young alto voice rising in pitch.

 

            “If you carry on like that you can give Jacko back his shorts as well,” Roo said, at the same time pulling the shorts down.  Of course, Kanga wasn’t wearing anything underneath and struggled more. What came into view was a still developing drooping prick, two beginning to sag balls and a little halo of dark, just curling, hair, puffed out at the base of his tool.

 

            “Let me go, you fucking bastard and your fucking friend!  I don’t want his fucking shorts!”

 

            Roo looked over at Tony and me.  We were staring at them both as it was getting very out of hand.  With a tug Roo got the shirt off Kanga who stood, red-faced, defiant, in just his football socks as the shorts were down round his ankles now.  What also seemed strange was that he didn’t put his hands over his cock to hide it like kids usually do.

 

            “Wait till Mum comes home, I’ll tell her what you said,” said Roo, also now red-faced and patently angry that his brother had been rude to me as well.  I thought that any moment now he’s going to whack the kid one.

 

            The kid stood his ground.  “Fuck off!” he said and burst into tears.

 

            This wasn’t the usual lad I’d known and it wasn’t how Roo had thought the afternoon was going to progress.  Tony sized up the situation and went over to Kanga and put his arm round his shoulder.  The lad didn’t move, other than his shoulders were heaving up and down as he sobbed and took in gulps of air.

 

            “What’s the matter, Kenny?” he asked, using the boy’s proper name, “You’re not usually like this.  Tell me.”

 

            The lad turned to him and wailed “I’m ill!”

 

            Tony asked quietly, “What do you mean?  Where?”

 

            The kid pointed downwards. “Down there!” he said and began to sob more.

 

            Tony must have guessed straightaway. “Have you woken up all sticky and wet and it wasn’t pee?”

 

            Kanga looked up at him through his tears and nodded.

 

            “How many times?”  Tony asked quietly.

 

            “Three,” the lad said quietly.

 

            I looked at Roo and his face was a picture.  Both he and I had then cottoned on immediately to what was ‘wrong’ with young Kanga.  Nothing was ‘wrong’ he was just growing up.

 

            Tony was very gentle.  “You’re not ill, Kanga,” he said soothingly, “It’s just something that happens when you’re growing up.”  The kid looked up at him wonderingly.  “It’s happened to all of us,” Tony looked at Roo and me and we both murmured “Yes”.  Kanga looked from one of us to the other his eyes open, trying to take this in.

 

            “Come and sit on the bed and we’ll tell you,” said Tony, guiding Kanga to the side of the bed.  He motioned to me to sit the other side of the lad and Roo came over and knelt by my feet and put his hand on Kanga’s knee.  The lad was still a bit confused.

 

            “It’s OK Kenny, we understand, I’m sorry I haven’t told you all about it before,” Roo said.

 

            Tony took over again.  He still had his arm round Kanga’s shoulder and I did the same from my side.  “It’s OK, Kenny, it’s quite true, isn’t Jacko?”

 

            I said it was and things like that happened to me when I was growing up.

 

            Kanga looked at me wonderingly as well.

 

            “Does your thing get hard sometimes, you know, does it stand up by itself?” I asked quietly.

 

            He sniffed and nodded.

 

            “When it’s like that have you rubbed it?” asked Tony from his other side.

 

            Kanga turned to look at him, then shook his head.

 

            “Have you wondered what other boys mean when they say about wanking or tossing off?” he continued.

            The lad nodded again.

 

            “But you didn’t know?”

 

            Another slow head shake.

 

            Tony looked at Roo and then at me.

 

            “I think we’d better tell you everything about it.  But, you’ve got to remember, you’re not ill.”

 

            Between us over the next quarter of an hour all the details we knew about growing up were imparted to young Kanga.  He murmured he’d seen Roo many times and wondered about all his hair and how big his thing was and he’d seen boys in his class with hair as well so he was pleased his was growing too.  By the time we’d finished his slim four inch rod was erect.  I don’t think he’d really noticed it as he was listening to our explanations so intently. 

 

            Roo looked at him and grinned, the first time since the kid’s outburst.

 

            “I think our talk has had an effect, Kenny!” he said.

 

            I leaned back and adjusted my genitalia.  “Same here,” I said.

 

            “And me,” laughed Tony.

 

            “And your brother!” laughed Roo.

 

            “What’s that?” queried Kenny.

 

            We three laughed and pointed at his stiffy and saying we had the same now.

 

            Tony said we’d better show him.  There was no embarrassment between us three, we’d seen each other erect plenty of times and had experienced all sorts of pleasures together.  We just didn’t think what effect it might have on Kanga.  Laughing, the three of us were soon in the same state as he was.  Naked except for our socks.  Three adolescent hardons were on display.  The lad’s jaw dropped.  There was his big brother and two of his big friends with, to him, huge pricks sticking up like ramrods.

 

            We’d explained about sperm and the semen or spunk which came out as wet dreams or through rubbing.  Roo was happier now, too.  The lad hadn’t apologised for his outburst yet, but we all knew the reason for the tantrum, apologies would come.

 

            “Do you want to see what happens?” Roo asked.

 

            I wondered if any other lad had received such an offer.  I’d learned about it from a single boy, cousin Alun.  But, Tony and Roo, I think, had experienced their first masturbatory orgasms with others at Scout camp.

 

            Kanga just looked at his brother and nodded again.

 

            We three bigger lads stood up and grinned at each other.  Roo rushed out to the bathroom and came back with a towel which he chucked on the floor.  The three of us ringed our cocks and in unity began to wank ourselves slowly and purposively.  Roo came first, a fine flurry of creamy spunk arching up and dropping squarely on the towel.  I came next, my usual goodly amount, spurting upwards as I held my prick pointing up.  Tony was last, but not least, his squirts jetting to the far side of the towel.  Roo smiled at Kenny, still sitting on the edge of the bed, transfixed by what he’d seen.  He was holding his erection tightly as he had watched us.

 

            “You’re turn now,” his brother said, “Come over here and stand by me.”

 

            He did as he was told and then, as if he had practised the actions many times, began to wank.  It didn’t take him long to reach his climax.  There was a quick squirt, repeated about three times and then a smaller one which dropped almost straight down on the towel.  I think the intensity for him must have been quite immense as he slightly staggered as that final spurt occurred.  Roo steadied him by holding his shoulders, then bent and kissed his forehead.

 

            “OK, Kenny, was that good?” he asked.

 

            The kid was dumbstruck. All he could do was smile and nod slowly.

 

            Both Tony and I went over to him and kissed him on the forehead as well.

 

            “Welcome to the ranks of growing boys,” said Tony with a laugh.  “Now, I warn you, don’t overdo it to begin with, probably twelve or so times a day to start with! Your brother’s up to twenty-five now, and, as for Jacko, he must be doing it around thirty on a fine day!”

 

            “Shut up, you fool,” I said, “He’s pulling you leg.  Take no notice of him.  You do it when you want.  Ask Roo.”

 

           Roo smiled and nodded.  “It’s OK, Kenny, ask me anything.  Don’t ever get worried about things again, just ask me.  But what we’ve said and done today is between us, OK?”

 

            Kanga smiled and nodded.

 

            “Anything to say?” asked Roo.

 

            Kanga looked at me.  “I’m very sorry about what I said.  I was all upset and you all sounded so happy in here. Please forgive me?  And may I have the shorts?”

 

            I bent down a bit and hugged him to me.  “As Tony said, welcome, nothing to worry about, all is forgiven, the shorts are yours.”  I smiled at him, “And enjoy it, we all do!”

 

            Oh gosh, time had fled.  It was quarter to three.  Four boys threw on their clothes.  Rushed downstairs, grabbed their bikes and pedalled like mad.  We got to the cinema at one minute past three and were seated by five past, just as the main feature began, slightly late.  I can’t remember one thing about that film as my thoughts were filled the whole time with the sight of us three teaching young Kenny and demonstrating our prowess and he his new-found talent.

 

            When we came out of the smoke-filled cinema Tony and Roo walked off together to get their bikes.  I walked behind with Kanga.

 

            “You OK now?”  I asked.  “Quite a shock wasn’t it?”

 

            He smiled up shyly at me. “Yes,” he said, “Didn’t see much of the film.”

 

            “Nor did I” I said.

 

            We retrieved our bikes from the side of the cinema and with the other two riding in front set off back to Roo and Kanga’s.

 

            “If you ever want to know anything, you can always come and ask me,” I said.  “And don’t take any notice of what Tony said, he was pulling your leg.  Roo’ll explain things now, too.”

 

            Kanga smiled at me, nodded and we completed the journey in silence.

 

            There was no chance of any more chat with Kanga about growing up when we arrived as his Mum was there and we had a good tea.  Tony and I left together and before our ways parted we had gone over the scenario.  He shook his head in disbelief.

 

            “Of course, Kanga’s not in the Scouts or anything, he wouldn’t join but I’m surprised Roo’s never told him anything.  Poor kid.  He must have been worried to fly off the handle like that.  You’ve forgiven him, haven’t you?”

 

            I said I had and I also told him he could ask me any time he had a problem.  Tony nodded.

 

            “That’s what friends are for - and big brothers, if they only kept their eyes open!”

 

            Ma, of course, wanted to know where I had been.  I explained it was really a surprise birthday present I didn’t say what other surprises occurred but after supper I went up to my room and later, in bed, had two lovely, leisurely wanks, thinking of the three of us demonstrating our proficiency and the way young Kanga, quite unconcernedly, had established his own attainment of that pinnacle of boyhood development.  I bet it would be a day he would never forget!

 

                                                                        *

                        Monday September 18^th 1944 - Saturday September 30^th 1944

 

            At break-time I asked Roo how Kanga was.  Roo apologised for what Kanga had said and I told him I wasn’t concerned as the lad was so obviously upset.  Roo made a face and said it was his fault really, he hadn’t checked on his brother but, he said with a grin, Kanga had spent Saturday night in bed with him and he should know a lot more now!

 

            Of course, worry-guts Matt wanted help with his Maths and, also, was my mother going to start the French Circle again on Wednesdays?  I said I would help him with his Maths tomorrow, Tuesday, and would ask Ma tonight.  I asked Roo and Tony if they wanted to come too if she did and they said they would, but would have to rush off to Scouts afterwards.  Then worry-guts came up at break-time in the afternoon and wanted to know if I’d seen the noticeboard.  I hadn’t and found that there was a rugger match between the Senior Second XV and the Catholic school on Wednesday afternoon next week.  There was me in the second row with Matt, and Tony and Roo were on the wing with a couple of others from our Form.  There were a total of six also from 5S with Tom noted as Captain at number eight and, finally, three of the First Year Sixth, Dick Collins, Chris Payne and Greg Hall.  Second XV - that was an honour in itself.  The ultimate would be the First XV and the whisper was that this was a test to see who might be picked for any vacancies.

 

            What was interesting was the way the younger kids steered clear of us who had been picked, or stared at us when we were passing.  I didn’t remember doing it when I was younger but Roo told us on Wednesday while we were waiting for Ma to arrive home that Kanga had said his mates were all in awe of his brother being picked!  He also said he wouldn’t be surprised if Kanga’s dick fell off as it seemed to be in his hand constantly.  He’d stopped him sleeping with him and banished him to his own room and bed as Kanga kept asking him questions and keeping him awake.  Tony said he shouldn’t forget it was only the kid’s first week and he bet he would have been the same if he’d had an older brother and not just his pals to keep him company.  I said Kanga was lucky to have an older brother anyway and Matt agreed.  I’d told Matt the tale about Kanga’s distress and he said he had felt the same as he had no one to ask and if it hadn’t been for what his Dad had told him he would have been worried stiff.  I said he was stiff usually and why should he worry!  We were laughing about this when Ma arrived so had to compose ourselves for three-quarters of an hour of concentrated French.  I thought the three of them did very well and Ma was most complimentary and said we would meet each week.

 

            Roo’s brother came up to me on Friday at break-time and asked, very politely, if I thought he could join St John’s.  I said if he liked to come round Monday at quarter to seven he could cycle to the Ambulance Hall with me.  Tony saw us talking and came up after he went off to join his pals.

 

            “You’ve got a real admirer there,” he said, chuckling, “Did you see his little doe-eyes ogling you when you were talking to him.”

 

            “Don’t be daft,” I said, “He wants to join St John’s.”

 

            Tony chuckled again.  “Don’t you believe it.  Roo says he keeps asking him about you.  He thinks you’re wonderful the way you can do Maths and now you’re chosen for that game and....”

 

            He stopped as Roo came up laughing.

 

            “I’ve just seen my starry-eyed little brother,” he chortled.  “Jacko, old pal, you’ve got a devoted slave there.  I’ll sell him to you for a shilling.”

            I laughed as well.  “He’s cheap, I could have bought someone else’s brother for half a crown!”

 

            “‘Standing up or bending down’” warbled Tony.  We both looked at him.  He motioned us to follow him well away from any of the other boys milling around the playground.  He sang again, sotto voce, to some opera tune, I recognised it, La Donna e something-or-other, “‘Little boys are half-a-crown, Standing up or bending down, Bigger boys are three and six, they can take much bigger pricks.’”

 

            “Where on earth did you learn that?” asked Roo, giggling.

 

            “Oh, Big Jim Chater told me that one ages ago.”

 

            “If it was Big Jim,” laughed Roo, “He’d need one at five bob!”

 

            Big Jim?  I wondered how big?  If when he’d been in the Sixth Form and hadn’t got past the measuring point he must be less than eight inches.  Eight inches?  Anyway, the mind boggled.

 

            Roo stopped giggling.  “Seriously, though, Kenny’s always asking about you.  You’d better watch it or he’ll be tagging on. He wanted to know if you made models and I said you didn’t now just to shut him up.”

 

            I said he wanted to join St John’s and I was going to take him there on Monday. Roo grinned and said he approved anyway.

 

 

            Matt had reminded me about the boxing match that Friday evening so I said I’d meet him there.  Johnny Reed had said he wasn’t boxing that evening so he was joining us as well.

 

            The Catholic Parish Hall was packed as usual.  Clouds of smoke from pipes and cigarettes were fogging the air even when we filed in.  The portly man was already there, pipe in mouth adding to the fug.  He greeted us affably and handed us a programme each.  I saw Pat Halloran’s bout was the last but one in the first half.  The other lads were from a club in a big village a few miles away and there was quite an air of expectancy.  However the first couple of bouts were a real hoot, both were contests between small skinny young lads who weaved around each other with hardly a blow being struck.  Just after the third round of the second fight started and the kids were still just pussy-footing around the large Brother in the front row stood up and bellowed out in a voice full of Irish exasperation, “O’Meary, if you don’t use your fists on that wee culchie you’ll feel my belt on your backside on Monday!”  The place exploded in laughter and the kids took the hint and belted each other like two demented bantam cocks.  They were really whaling into each other, punches landing on heads, shoulders and arms, accompanied by cheers from the assembled masses.  The referee was getting a bit flustered as the kids circled around him belting each other.  I don’t think they were really hurting each other because most of the blows seemed quite ineffectual.

 

            At the final bell the referee could do nothing more than raise an arm on both kids and declare it a draw.  The place exploded even more, great cheers for two plucky youngsters was the comment from a man sitting behind me. Bollocks, I thought!

 

            After that the bouts continued accompanied by much more noise than usual.  Again little damage was done except that the score was going against the Catholic team.  The other lads looked like well-fed farmers’ sons and against them most of the Catholic boys appeared more puny, but wiry and determined.

 

            Matt went off with Johnny in tow to deal with a nose bleed which stopped the match before Pat’s.  Pat’s opponent was a brawny lad with a good-natured country face topped by a mop of flaxen hair.  He looked good natured but it ended there as he began to lay into Pat.  Pat was stunned, literally, within the first twenty seconds or so of the second round.  The lad had fetched him a real right, left, right, to chest, solar plexus and chin.  He had managed this because Pat’s guard was down because the lad had just landed a flurry of punches as an opener.  Pat just went down like a sack of coals.

 

            The portly man nudged me.  “Off you go. Plenty of cold compresses.  Check the pupils of his eyes.  If one or both are tiny he needs a doctor.”  He passed me three large bandages.

 

            The big Brother and Pat’s second, who looked like a fellow Sixth Former, picked him up and carted him to the dressing-room.  They were followed closely by the other boxer and his second and Mr Halloran who had been sitting next to the Brother.  I was already there when they arrived with him and laid him on the table.  I rushed and soaked the bandages and when I got back Mr Halloran was talking animatedly with the Brother then rushed off out.  The Brother took one look at Pat nodded at me and disappeared back into the hall.  I applied cold compresses to the chin of the comatose Pat.  The other boxer whose gloves had been removed by his second came over.

 

            “Oh God,” he said, “I didn’t mean to do that to him.  Can I help?  I’m Pete.”

 

            I said I was Jacko and he could get Pat’s gloves off.  The cold compresses were begin to revive him a bit but when I lifted his eyelids both pupils were very small.  I asked the other lad to put one compress on his forehead and the other on his chin and went in and fetched the portly man in.  Just as he was raising Pat’s eyelids as well Mr Halloran returned.

 

            “Just telephoned the hospital,” he said, “Sister says if we get him there Dr Maguire is there at the moment.”

 

            The portly man said he had his car and went off.  I said I would go to the hospital as well and tell them what to expect.  Mr Halloran said OK so off I went and as I came round to the front of the hall with my bicycle Mr Halloran and the other boxer, still in his singlet and shorts, were half carrying a reviving Pat to the Austin waiting there.

 

            I arrived at the hospital well ahead of them and was met by Nobbo’s Mum who was Sister on duty.   I told her the tale.  Her response was probably concussion.  She would get Dr Maguire who was there, but seeing a patient of his who wasn’t very well.  She showed me a cubicle and gave me a pair of pyjamas from a cupboard.

 

            “Get him into those,” she said, “He’ll be staying the night, anyway.  I’ll be back once he’s here.”  She turned to go but then turned back.  “Billy’s home on a forty-eight hour pass.  Come round to tea tomorrow. Come a bit earlier so he can tell you how he’s been getting on.”

 

            With that she hurried off and very soon after Mr Halloran and the portly man came in supporting a rather groggy-looking Pat.  I showed them the cubicle and said Sister and the doctor were coming down.  I said I would stay and see he was OK.  Both of them said they would leave Pat with me then as they had to get back to the Hall.  Would I report later?  Golly, if my son was comatose I think I would want to stay with him.  Perhaps they had more experience of these things.  When they’d gone I went back to Pat and pulled the curtains of the cubicle to.

 

            “Oh my fucking head!” he murmured as I went over to him.

 

            As he was laying with his eyes shut I just said, “It’s Jacko, Sister says the doctor will be here soon and you’ve got to put these pyjamas on.”

 

            “What the hell for?” he murmured, “I want to go home.”

 

            “Sister says you’re staying here tonight.”

 

            He was a bit too helpless to resist as I lifted the blanket covering his feet and unlaced his boxing boots and slipped those and his socks off.   I pushed the blanket away from him and pulled down on his long boxing shorts.  I managed to get those and his underpants of with a couple of tugs. His droopy prick was lolling on his thigh.  I covered him to the midriff and got him to move a bit to get his singlet off.  The whole process was reversed as I got him to raise himself a bit to get the pyjama jacket on.  Getting his trousers on was a bit of a laugh as I had to get them up his legs and then round his hips.  Finally, I pulled the cord round his waist and had just tied a bow when Sister Clarke returned with a man in a white coat I assumed to be Dr Maguire.

 

            He took one look at Pat.  “Och, Patrick, and what the blazes have you been doing to yourself?” he said very breezily.  “Let’s take a look at you.”

 

            Mrs Clarke looked at me, smiled and went out.

 

            “Let’s have a look at your eyes,” he said, lifting Pat’s eyelids one by one even though he had both eyes open.  He then fetched out some instrument from a pocket in his white coat and examined Pat’s eyes closely by looking through it.  He nodded.

 

            “Can ye sit up?” he said and indicated to me that I should come round the bed and help support him.

 

            He then listened to his front and back with his stethoscope.

 

            “You can lie down now,” he said.  “And what about your hernia?”

 

            Pat murmured something like it was OK.

            But without more ado Dr Maguire undid the cord and pulled Pat’s pyjama trousers open.  He pressed first of all on Pat’s right hand side just by his balls, Pat grunted.   He repeated this on the left hand side and Pat winced.

 

            “See that, lad?” he said to me, “Small, but something’s got to be done.”

 

            All I’d seen was Pat’s cock pushed from one side to the other. I wouldn’t have said that was small.  A good size as I’d seen it before. Oh, he meant the hernia, I suppose.

 

            He flipped the pyjama front together and pulled the blanket across him.

 

            “That’s OK, Pat,” he said, “I’ll get Mr Symes to put a stitch in that.  Friday before half-term.  No boxing or rugger from now until Christmas.  That’s an order.   I’ll tell Brother Finnegan.  And no lifting heavy weights.  Stay here tonight and tomorrow, no getting out.  Pee in a bottle, right!  See you tomorrow afternoon.”

 

            He turned and as he marched out said “Thanks, you did a good job, lad!” to me.  Pat’s mouth was opening and closely soundlessly.

 

            “No lifting heavy weights,” I said, “That means cutting down on other things too.  Puts too much of a strain on things.”

 

            He looked at me slyly, “Shut up!  And what did he mean about my hernia?”

 

            “Well he said he would get Mr Symes to put a stitch in it.”  I laughed, “You’d better watch it ‘cause Mr Symes did Georgie Clegg’s circumcision.”

 

            Poor Pat.  He was quite disconcerted.  The bang on the head hadn’t helped.  Hernia.  Circumcision.  Headache.  He closed his eyes.

 

            I went round by him and held his hand and squeezed it a bit.  “It’s OK Pat.  I was only joking.  The doctor said he would get Mr Symes to do it at half-term.”  Pat nodded slightly and pursed his lips.  “And he said no heavy exercise - rugger or boxing.”  He nodded again.

 

             “I suppose I’d better have it done,” he whispered resignedly, “I was born with it and should  have had it done years ago.”

 

            He was laying quietly and I was about to go when Nobbo’s Mum came back in.  She said he would be taken along to a room at the end of the corridor to be near the nurses’ desk.  If he felt sick or anything strange to ring the bell.  She said that Dr Maguire thought he had a slight concussion and they would keep a good eye on him.

 

            I said I would pass on the message and off she went again.  I said to Pat I would be going and I hoped he would be OK. He put a hand out and I held it.

 

            “Thanks, you’re a good mate.  Sorry if I’ve caused you any bother.”

            I said he hadn’t and I would pop in in the morning to see him and he’d better rest completely during the night.  He got my meaning and as I turned to leave the ungrateful lad gave me a vigorous two fingered salute!

 

            On the way out I saw Mrs Clarke and she said she would leave a message for the day staff that I would be visiting him in the morning.  And not to forget to visit Billy and the others at home in the afternoon.

 

            When I got back to the Parish Hall the last bout had already started.  I passed on the news that Pat was being kept in over night but no one seemed too concerned.  Matt said he’d had to deal with another nosebleed and Johnny said he preferred being on the First Aid side rather than in the ring tonight because the visitors were a tough lot, but he was due to fight in a joint team with the Catholics nearer Christmas.

 

                                                                        *

 

            A run, breakfast, a chat in French, piano practice, homework, helping Pa sort out newly dug potatoes in the shed, oil my bike chain.  A typical Saturday morning for a growing boy.  All this before eleven o’clock when I set off to visit Pat.  He was in a separate room like Cleggy had been in when he had his circumcision.  He was lying down but seemed quite restless.

 

            “Thank God you’ve come,” he said after I’d greeted him and asked how he was.  “Oh God, if I don’t do it I’ll go barmy.  I mustn’t get out so would you pass me that face-cloth from over there on the sink?”

 

            I didn’t ask, I knew.  I got the face-cloth and handed it to him.  He immediately put it in the bed with him.  There were a few rapid ups and downs under the covers, then a sigh and a look of sweet contentment on his face.  A pause then some slower more deliberate movements.  He looked over at me and grinned.

 

            “D’you mind washing it out for me, please?” he said and winked.  “Thank God, I couldn’t have waited much longer.”

 

            He drew out the now-folded face-cloth and I took it over to the sink and washed it out.  Naturally, I unfolded it first to have a look.  Umh, quite a goodly amount, but then, he hadn’t had a wank since...?  I was just finishing rinsing it when the door opened and a head popped round.  It was his opponent, Pete, from the night before.

 

            “Can I come in?” he asked rather shyly, “I had to see how you were.”

 

            Pat smiled and beckoned him in.  “I’m OK,” he said, “Bruised chin and a sore head that’s all.”

 

            The lad’s worried look went and he smiled too.  “Oh good,” he breathed, “I didn’t sleep much last night.  I’m sorry I belted you like that but I just let fly!”

 

            I thought I would try a little diversion. “Where shall I put this?” I said, holding up the opened out face-cloth, “Over here, or do you want it back there?”

 

            Give him his due, Pat went slightly red.  “Over there,” he said curtly.

           

            The other lad laughed.  He knew.

 

            “Don’t worry about me,” he said, “First things first.”  He grinned across at me.  “He’s improving, eh?”  I grinned back.

 

            After that the two lads got on well.  The other lad was a farmer’s son and worked for his father.  He said the hard work on the farm kept him in trim.  He was seventeen, just a bit younger than Pat.  I left them to it, the last I heard was Pete inviting Pat to visit the farm and see what it was like.

 

            As soon as I’d had lunch I cycled round to Nobbo’s to see Billy.  Mrs Clarke had gone shopping so I followed Nobbo, who had answered the door, up to his room. As well as the three of them, Cleggy was also there.  Billy was in full flow and Nobbo told him he’d better start again telling us all about barrack-room life as he’d missed the beginning and I’d only just arrived.

 

            “Hi,  Jacko,” said Billy jovially, “I started off because I didn't want to sully my brother's little ears with some of my tales.”

 

            “Oh, shut up, Billy!” said Nobbo, “I know enough about you, dirty beast, so don't tease us like that.”

 

            Billy made a face.  “Oh, Oh, touche,” he said, “So where had I better start?”

 

            Cleggy laughed, “You were just going to tell us  about the 3 F's.”

 

            Nobbo butted in, “What's the three F's?

 

            Billy held up his hand, “Hold on, everything will be revealed, as the actress said to the bishop.”

 

            “What's that?” demanded Nobbo.

 

            “Oh, just a saying.  Now, shut up and listen!”

 

            Nobbo and I had perched ourselves on the edge of Nobbo's desk while Cleggy and Hal were sitting side by side on the bottom bunk.  Billy was sitting on a chair he'd moved away from the desk.  Billy turned a bit to face Nobbo and me.

 

            “I'd only just started so I won't have to repeat many things.  I'd just told them about our intake at the training camp.  As I just said there were about two hundred of us all arrived together on that Thursday and we were herded into squads before being sorted out properly that first weekend.  That's as far as I'd got, so I'll tell you a bit more about that.  Of course, we were all in civvies and that first night was chaos.  We were marched to the cookhouse and had to collect our eating irons, tin plate and mug first and we were warned never to lose them or we wouldn't be eating food in the future.  This was about five o'clock and then we had to parade for an FFI and checks on who we were.”

 

            “What's FFI?  You said three F's,” demanded Nobbo.

 

            “Oh, shut up, Nobbo, they're different.  I'll tell you all, now wait!”  Billy was getting a bit edgy with Nobbo's constant interruptions.

 

            “Now, FFI means Free From Infection.”  Nobbo was about to say something like “What's that?” so I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow.  He took the hint.  Billy went on, “We were all lined up with all these clerks checking us off.  I was in the A to C lot and that was chaotic as some blokes didn't even know what letter their surnames began with!  We got issued with dog-tags as well.”  He opened his shirt and displayed the two red discs round his neck on what looked like a leather bootlace.  He laughed.  “Got to remember your number till you peg out, 722 Private Clarke, William, that's me.”

 

            He pulled the dog-tags off over his head and handed them to Hal, who looked at them and passed them to Cleggy as Billy continued..

 

            “Then as we finished with the clerk checking our details and handing those out we then had to go and line up to be inspected by a pox doctor's clerk” He looked at Nobbo, “That's what you'll be, I expect, in the RAMC, Medical Corps.”  He laughed, “Before we got to him some Sergeant told us to drop our trousers and pull our pants down.  You can imagine it, a line of us, shuffling along holding our trousers round our legs with one hand and holding up our shirts with the other.  Then this bloke lifts your dong with a little stick and riffles through your short and curlies with it - and before you ask 'Why?', Nobbo - it's to check if your dick is dropping off with the pox and to see if you've got lice or other creepy-crawlies elsewhere.”  We looked at each other with looks of horror on our faces.  Billy laughed, “It's true.  The bloke next to me was told to go to another table and the last I saw of him he was stripped bare with three of them giving him a full examination with rubber gloves on.”  He looked at Nobbo and me and then Cleggy.  “Bit of the old full kit inspection, eh?”   We laughed.

 

            “Why do that the first night?” asked Hal.

 

            “Well, you wouldn't want anyone with creepy-crawlies in the bed next to you, would you?  That's why.”

 

            He looked round at us all, all rather stunned.  I scratched just above my prick.  Thinking about such things made you itch.  Billy laughed and pointed.

 

            “Jacko's worried.”

 

            I wasn't the only one, both Cleggy and Hal were having a little squirm.

            “Better get on before you're all inspecting each other!” laughed Billy.  “God, all that took hours and we ended up in some barrack room, about twenty of us, just herded in and left and told lights out at ten and reveille would be at six in the morning.  Nobody said anything, we went to the latrines, undressed and went to bed.  Then the first of the three F's!”

 

            He looked round at us.  “Three F's, farting, fighting and, if I dare say it in this mixed company...,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “...fucking!”

 

            We were hanging on his words.  F, F and F!

 

            “First of the F's” he went on, “If one of them farted then at least half did.  No other sound, just the poop, poop, or the more daring raspberry - I thought it used to be bad enough at camp but this was horr—ren–dous!”  He laughed and we were giggling a bit.  “It died down and I just dropped off, exhausted, to be woken what seemed like two minutes later by this bloody bell.  Six a.m.  Sergeant at the door banging it with his cane, 'Stand by your beds!'.  Some of us were in pyjamas, some in just their undies but four were standing there bollock naked, one of them with a hardon.  The Sergeant came in, went up to him, tapped the end of it with his cane and it wilted.  “Can't have that, can we, soldier,” he said and shouted out some incomprehensible order about get washed, breakfast six thirty, parade at seven, and then he marched out.  And it went on from there.”

 

            He paused for breath.  We were agog.

 

            “More?” he asked.  We all nodded.

 

            “Phhh,” he went, exhaling, “What next?  Oh, breakfast, then uniforms.  No measuring, some bloke looks at you and goes off to the racks and comes back with tunic and trousers, another bloke dishes out shirts, pants, socks and the real humdinger is boots.  They did ask what size, I said I took size ten shoes and a large pair of boots came whizzing across the table.  We were then marched back clutching all this lot and told to change into uniform.  What a shambles!  At least my jacket and trousers fitted.  Both shirts looked like bell tents and the socks were huge.  Luckily with the thickness of the socks my boots fitted.”  He bent down and fished under the bunk next to him and drew out a pair of very highly polished boots.  “There you are,” he said, proudly, “My pride and joy.  Cost me sixpence to have them done like that.”

 

            Nobbo was just about to ask another question and got another jab from me.

 

            “It was a shambles,” he said, putting the boots down beside him, “Sleeves too long, trousers too short, waists too big and so on.  The Sergeant came back in, took one look and said something about 'those fucking tailors'  - that's the third F, more later.  We all got marched back to the uniform stores and the Sergeant bellowed and the blokes were still handing out stuff to the rest of the intake but he made them change things until some fat bloke with crowns on his arms came out and the two of them had a shouting match.  It didn't matter 'cause all the changing still went on and other Sergeants joined in because their squads weren't being dealt with.  I managed to pinch two more shirts and pairs of socks and pants while no one was looking.”