My Old School - Extract 5

And so to the first breakfast-time. I can't quite remember, but I think orderly was from 7.20 until 7.50, then breakfast from 7.50 to 8.15, then orderly again from 8.15 until 8.45. For breakfast we were again seated at the squad tables and the tiresome ritual of swindling was re-enacted. I felt that I was beginning to know the ropes as I was not surprised to see my cutlery and crockery disappear to be replaced with a cup which had a hole the size of a sixpence neatly positioned in the bottom. Although I was not surprised by this I was still puzzled as to why such plainly defective crockery was so religiously placed on the tables every day when it was clearly incapable of being used as intended by the manufacturer. About a third of the crockery was defective in this way yet it was in constant use. Let me tell you - you just cannae drink fae a cup wi' a hole in the f***ing bottom. As I mentioned earlier, the cups with cracks were more difficult to spot. They had to be examined with some care. You frequently heard "Where' s that tea coming from ? Where's that f***ing tea coming from ? Christ, this cup's got a f***ing crack in it." Breakfast consisted of Weetabix and a roll with a cup of tea if you were lucky enough to have anything to retain it long enough to drink it. In theory there was one roll for everybody. In practice, the Chief suggested to me that I didn't want my roll and the signs from the rest of the squad were that it would be a fairly good idea to agree with this proposition and of course I did. I also agreed enthusiastically that I didn't like Weetabix, though in fact my stomach thought that my throat had been cut. Unfortunately, such was the ardour with which I declined roll and Weetabix that it set a binding precedent for the two breakfasts per week when these items were on the menu, and henceforth I just had to resign myself to bread and marmalade. The Chief meanwhile contented himself with two rolls and five or six Weetabix. While this transaction was taking place GM opposite me looked suitably smug, presumably having himself fallen for the same routine one year earlier. Some of his smugness disappeared when his plate of Weetabix was passed down the table. I say "Weetabix", but it should more properly be referred to in the singular as half a Weetabick. The senior boys were working on the well known economic theory that the less you give to the lower orders the more you've got for yourself. I said that I resigned myself to bread and marmalade. But even this was not without substantial unforeseen problems. Before I go in to that I have to explain some of the school nomenclature. For example, bread was universally known as "chitz". Tea was referred to as "booze". There were a number of other common appellations for everyday things and it took me longer than most to become bold enough to use these new terms, as I just had a vague unformed feeling of drifting further and further away from my former life every time one of these neologisms escaped my lips. In particular, I was horrified by the reference to parents as your "old man" and "old dear". I shuddered when I first realised that boys were openly referring to their parents by these disrespectful nick- names. It took me a very long time indeed before I could bring myself to refer to "my old dear" without wincing. I’m sorry to write this, but it is unfortunately true – an incredibly tasteless expression which formed part of the lingua franca of the school was "spastic". The word was used to describe anything which did not meet with the speaker's approval. Thus the Latin teacher could be described as a spastic bastard, while if it was raining it would be a spastic day. Any mean person could be described as a spastic or, more frequently as "a Jew" or "Jewboy". Bear in mind that this was only 20 years after the greatest conflagration the world had ever known in which the principle issue was the rooting out of this very pernicious racial stereotyping. Most of the boys who used this expression quite shamelessly had fathers who had probably fought against anti-Semitism. At one point we actually had a genuine Jewish boy in the school whose name was Raskin. This was quickly converted to "Ratskin" and then to "Ratbag". Enough of vocabulary for the meantime. Back to the dining room table. I endeavoured to supplement my non-existent breakfast by obtaining a slice of bread. In the conventional fashion I asked the boy next to me (M) to pass the bread please. He looked at me with a mixture of sardonic amusement and disbelief. He informed me that before I could have any bread I required the consent of all members of the squad who were senior to me (ie everyone). At first, I thought this was a joke because they were all senior to me, but I saw from his expression that this was no joke. Thereafter the dialogue went something like this, as I attempted to shout up the table, trying to catch each person's attention in turn: Me: H, excuse me H, eh H, H, eh H excuse me H, eh H, can I have a slice of, eh, a chit please ? H: Yeh. Me: F, can I have a chit please? (that was an easy one as F was sitting at the end of the table nearest me) F: Yes of course, help yourself. 2 down and ten to go. Me: Excuse me, Harry. Harry, eh Harry, eh excuse me Harry, uh Har, Harry, um, eh, can I have a chit please? H: OK.. (3rd and nine) Me: Eh, G, G, can I etc etc and so on zig-zagging down the squad. Finally after ten minutes or so I arrive back at M, whom I’d started with. Me: M, can I have a chit please? M: There's none left. Me: What? M: There's no chitz left. Me: Oh. Of course, while I had been spending time securing consent from a dozen superiors these bastards had themselves finished off all the available bread. I'd have been quicker applying for a passport. Starving to death sure makes a man of you.