My Old School - Extract 7

Twiggy Strikes Back So, despite his initial exterior appearance as a timid, anonymous nonentity, Twiggy was in fact a really evil twisted wee bastard. When it came to sport he was a complete no-hoper, though to give credit where it's due, he did participate in the sporting life of the school as best as he was able, and with great enthusiasm. I don't think he even knew the rules of rugby when he came to the school, but with commendable zeal he came to be in charge of the "Colts B" team, and was refereeing matches in a singularly incompetent fashion, against other schools, within a fortnight of his arrival. He was the type of person, who, once he is a member of an institution, becomes a totally committed supporter of that institution. His strong sense of allegiance to the school manifested itself, in rugby terms, in some very strange refereeing decisions which cynics might have interpreted as being grossly biased against the opposition. But half the time I think he just had such an imperfect understanding of what the rules were that whenever a particular situation arose which flummoxed him he would fall back on the tried and tested remedy of giving our team a penalty kick.

He would rush around, blowing his whistle, shouting things like, “That’s a drop down. Scrum it. Move away green. Nine yards please. Line it out. Twenty. No pulling. Last warning reds. Scrum it up. Kick or touch, Captain? Three ins and no pushing. Straight in. Straight out. Penalty. Accidentally onside. Scrum it ten or kick? No wides, penalty. Knocking. Watch your blind, green. Forward back pass. Scrum it. Put in, captain? No hooking. Penalty." Although he did not understand the rules of rugby (and let’s face it, who does?), many of his decisions were based, not on ignorance, but on pure malevolence. On one occasion I was playing for one of the school teams against Glasgow High School. The score was fairly even, by dint of Twiggy having disallowed a number of legitimate scores by the High School. There were only a couple of minutes left and the Glasgow team were firmly encamped on our goal-line, with no prospect at all of the siege being broken. I think the score was 10-6 for the GHS side at that point. A number of non-playing boys from the High School were standing on the touch-line as interested spectators. They were entranced by the ridiculous figure of Super-twig running about the field with his tiny spindly legs encased in pre-war blue shorts extending to his knees, while continuously blowing his whistle and issuing instructions in his harsh Gestapo voice. The fact that he was blowing his whistle completely unrelated to any action which was taking place on the pitch merely added to the fascination. The Glasgow boys were having a jolly old time, giggling like schoolgirls at the richly farcical scene. This enjoyment reached its zenith when, following one of Twiggy's barked decisions, the spectators were hilariously mimicking his voice and laughing loudly about it.

Pheep! Another blast on the whistle. Imagine the consternation amongst the players on the field when Twiggy announced that due to the behaviour of the spectators he was awarding a penalty try to us, notwithstanding the fact that the play had been centred on our goal-line for the preceding ten minutes. That made the score 10-9 (only 3 points for a try in those days), but the conversion attempt was to be taken right in front of the posts.

Of course, although the GHS players were greatly aggrieved by this unexpected turn of events, their spectator colleagues were by now weeping with mirth and rapidly making their way to the other end of the field to view the conversion attempt. Up stepped our bold place-kicker. To the accompaniment of hooting and jeering his mighty kick propelled the ball nowhere near the goal-posts, far less between them. This served to greatly multiply the unrestrained glee of the spectators whose howls of laughter were by now positively thunderous.

Re-enter the Mighty Twig. With a sense of righteous indignation he ordered that the kick be re-taken due to the continuing rowdiness of the onlookers, some of whom were now collapsing with hilarity. On this occasion, our boy was able to lift the ball over the appropriate part of the crossbar. 11-10 for us. Twiggy made sure there would be no come-back by GHS by immediately blowing for full-time. Some of the High School players gave the impression of "wanting a word" with Twiggy, and they made for him, with less than benign looks on their faces. A rather alarmed looking Twiglet appeared to realise that there was a significant danger of him being rent limb from skinny limb and he scarpered pretty sharpish while a rather undignified scene took place as the players on both sides joined in a running battle. Twiggy legged it towards the school at a very impressive lick, later claiming that he had an important business appointment to attend. On one occasion Twiggy sent me off in a rugby match. I had been playing for the "Colts B" in a match in which we were comprehensively thrashed by a much superior opposition. Even Twig's outrageous manipulations of the rules were of no avail in that game. As we trudged off at the end of the game an enraged Twig raced over to us in full Old Testament mode. He roared "If you ever play as badly as that again I'll put you all on two periods of detention". I genuinely thought this was a joke, and entering into the spirit I opined that he couldn't do that as rugby had fuck all to do with detention which was a punishment purely for academic shortcomings. Twiggy was well out of his box by this time and, to my surprise, he screamed "Off ... Off, Get Off, I'm sending you off .. get off". Some of my surprise was due to the fact that we had already left the field and this exchange was taking place on the lane leading back to the school. When I pointed this out to the crazed Twiglet he merely moved onto another plane of madness altogether and began a spirited impersonation of an epileptic fit. He raved on about impertinence etc and demanded that I report to him in the workroom at 4.30 pm. I pause here to observe that the work-room was by no means a room wherein any work was to be done. Not unless by work you mean belting boys hands with a tawse, for that is what happened there. I got six of ‘the best’ for my crime.