Fact or Fiction? - 5

The story I wrote yesterday Here

Yesterday’s story – Fiction! Complete fabrication, made up from start to finish. But don’t worry, even my daughter believed the story was true because she could imagine all my reactions – she said it was all, “So ‘you’!”

If I fooled her, I’d say I did a good job of telling that one. Personally, I think it was because of how I ended the story. Nothing major happened, just another story from days of my childhood.

Again, I'll go and answer the queries on yesterday's offering later.

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At the side of our school, there used to be a large house. Years before, it was turned into a club of sorts. That it stood right next to a school seemed to be a really bad idea for no end of reasons.

The Storthfield Club took deliveries every Thursday afternoon – at the same time as our double-science lesson. The views over the fields from the science labs were unequalled back in the late 70s. The fields have been developed now, but back then, the term, “I could see for miles and miles and miles…” was never more appropriate.

From one of the windows, if you could get just right, you could also see down into The Storthfield Club yard – or at least the door to the ‘cellar’.

The ‘cellar’ wasn’t underground in the premises, but that’s what the room where the beer and spirits are kept is called, so I guess that stuck.

I don’t quite know what the deal was with the delivery guy and the landlord, but sometimes, the delivery guy would just unload the order and leave. The beer stood outside until the landlord arrived to take it indoors.

Some of the lads in my year would ‘nip out’ at those opportune moments – not my class because the teacher was way too strict. They snuck around the back of the school, through the hedge into The Storthfield Club’s yard. They would regularly ‘lift’ a crate of Newcastle Brown Ale and stash it somewhere they could pick it up later.

Sometimes, if opportunity presented itself, they wouldn’t need to stash it, because they drank it there and then.

Can you imagine, three or four fifteen-year-old lads rolling drunk on ‘Newkie Brown’, shambling through the hedge-bottom, back into school?

Getting caught drunk would have meant the cane for sure. Our Headmaster was a stickler for authority and he’d cane the lads for their misdeeds and misdemeanours.

As I said, I saw this ritual every Thursday afternoon and it was all I could do to not laugh as I watched their antics. Either scurrying away down the field to stash their beer, or staggering about after drinking it all.

The Biology teacher always seemed to catch me – whatever it was I was doing. Looking out of the window? 350 word essay on concentration as punishment.

Well, if he would stand right in front of the window, opposite my desk, (I had to turn all the way around to see him) talking at us, what did he expect? The view outside was far better than staring at his mug!

I’m not quite sure what happened on this one particular Thursday. All I know is that some of the lads copped for more trouble than they usually did – and trust me, some of these lads were loveable rogues that took being caned as a challenge.

The biology teacher had left the room – now, that meant absolutely nothing because he was like a teacher-ninja. He had an open-plan room off to one side, a preparation-lab of sorts, which joined his classroom to another classroom. The teacher would often slip out of the door, go in through the other class, through the open-plan prep space and watch us to see whether we were working or slacking.

He caught us often enough that we’d be on tenterhooks if we were slacking – it just wasn’t worth the effort most of the time.

This time.

This one glorious moment in time.

I was distracted by the antics of the lads stealing beer.

They had surpassed their best efforts to date.

Four lads, obviously in a state of drunkenness if their gait was anything to go by, went around the side of The Storthfield Club. I saw them check their surroundings and then sneak inside the building.

This was unusual behaviour, they kept well out of the way most of the time.

I watched for a moment or two, wary of the teacher’s return. Then I became more involved in the drama taking place beneath the school’s very noses!

Four schoolboys walking out of the club staggering under the weight of a pool table!

One on each corner, the balls rolling about on the top, held out of the pockets by the pool cues they’d also lifted.

The school field was quite well-tended and flat. I have no idea how they managed to get as far as they did without having their collars felt!

They staggered down the field, keeping to the edge. The first exit they came to was too narrow to get the table through and so they made an abrupt turn left. The next two gaps in the hedge were too small too and they put down the table. I watched them with growing hilarity as they waved their arms about in agitation. Finally, they picked up the table and half-jogged to the next exit. That was wide enough to get them through if they stood side-by-side rather than at each corner.

The back lane they escaped to led to the next village and if they had got it to the end, that pool table would never be seen again.

A couple of men ran off down the field after the pool table and the boys realised they had been spotted. They dropped their prize and legged it.

The lads got the cane, the hedge next to The Storthfield was secured and the club landlord made sure he was there for all future deliveries.

The teacher came in and caught me leaning toward the window to get a better look and I copped for a 350 word essay on concentration.

Worth it for the laugh!