school.”
Against bullies, thought Lennie, but didn’t say it.
“Against masters,” said Ralph. He began laughing. “Against school dinners. Against cabbage. Against… against…”
“Against smelly socks,” said Lennie. They staggered together, laughing uncontrollably.
“Come over to Old Works?” suggested Lennie. You haven’t been there, have you?”
“What is it?”
“Old broken walls. Shafts and that.” They ran, talking in gasps. Their breath hung on the cold air.
“I liked your letters,” said Ralph.
“You didn’t say much in yours.”
“Couldn’t. The Censor.”
“The what?”
“The Deputy Head. All our letters are read before they post them.”
Lennie stared. “Can’t you post your own?”
“Difficult. Chaps do manage it, of course. Especially the older ones.”
“But why…?”
“Tale bearing. Mutiny in the ranks. Can’t have that. We can’t have Mummy finding out that the food is terrible or that little Johnny’s crying himself to sleep every night.”
“And do you – they?”
“Oh, it’s not too bad. But it can be hard at first.”
“I wouldn’t like it.” Lennie couldn’t bear to think of spending weeks, months, away from home; he’d miss his family, even Doreen.
“No danger of
my
father taking me away, of course,” said Ralph. “Whether I was happy or not.” He laughed. “Some chaps deliberately write long letters for the benefit of the Censor – pages and pages, utterly, totally, catastrophically
boring
.”
They had Old Works to themselves. Lennie had calculated that they would; there was a craze for football at the moment, and those who weren’t at Saturday morning pictures would be kicking a ball around in the field behind the Rose and Crown.
They climbed on the broken walls and walked a little way into a tunnel that Lennie said was supposed to come out at Springhill.
“Have you been through?”
“No. It gets low, and narrow.”
“We could go through. Let’s try.”
But the tunnel twisted, and as the roof came down lower and lower, forcing them to crouch, they retreated and went back to clambering over the walls and exploring the ruined buildings.
“We could race back to the cottage,” said Lennie. He was getting cold. He’d sneaked out without his coat.
But the fire at the cottage had gone out, and it took a long time to relight it. At last Lennie held his cold hands over the flames.
“You’ll get chilblains, doing that.”
“You should see my mum’s hands. She’s got awful chilblains. She needs some new gloves. Her old pair’s all holey, like.”
“Does she only have one pair?”
Lennie was astonished. “Yes!”
“My mother’s got pairs and pairs of gloves,” said Ralph. He shivered. “It
is
cold. Do you want to come to our house?”
Lennie thought of the warm carpeted rooms, the books and games. But he shook his head. “Your parents won’t like it.”
“They’re out.”
“Mrs Martin, then.”
“Mrs Martin is an employee. It’s none of her business.”
“I feel funny there,” said Lennie.
And he knew he would feel funny if Ralph came to
his
house, even though in a way he wanted him to.
They shared Ralph’s lunch – soup in a vacuum flask, and sandwiches.
“I can’t come tomorrow morning,” Ralph said. “There’s church; and then we’re out visiting.”
“And I’m at Aunty Elsie’s in the afternoon.”
“Monday, then.”
“Not till late. Some of us are still at school. You’re lucky.”
“I’m not. My father will probably take me to the works again – I don’t know which days. But I’ll come when I can, after school’s out.”
“I’ll bring your book – the King Arthur.”
“And I’ll bring a torch.”
“We could be ghosts in the dark!”
“Yes. Splendid.”
It was Wednesday before they met up again. On Monday Lennie had a rehearsal after school and on Tuesday he went to the cottage but Ralph wasn’t there. It was cold. The wind cut through his clothes, even
Against bullies, thought Lennie, but didn’t say it.
“Against masters,” said Ralph. He began laughing. “Against school dinners. Against cabbage. Against… against…”
“Against smelly socks,” said Lennie. They staggered together, laughing uncontrollably.
“Come over to Old Works?” suggested Lennie. You haven’t been there, have you?”
“What is it?”
“Old broken walls. Shafts and that.” They ran, talking in gasps. Their breath hung on the cold air.
“I liked your letters,” said Ralph.
“You didn’t say much in yours.”
“Couldn’t. The Censor.”
“The what?”
“The Deputy Head. All our letters are read before they post them.”
Lennie stared. “Can’t you post your own?”
“Difficult. Chaps do manage it, of course. Especially the older ones.”
“But why…?”
“Tale bearing. Mutiny in the ranks. Can’t have that. We can’t have Mummy finding out that the food is terrible or that little Johnny’s crying himself to sleep every night.”
“And do you – they?”
“Oh, it’s not too bad. But it can be hard at first.”
“I wouldn’t like it.” Lennie couldn’t bear to think of spending weeks, months, away from home; he’d miss his family, even Doreen.
“No danger of
my
father taking me away, of course,” said Ralph. “Whether I was happy or not.” He laughed. “Some chaps deliberately write long letters for the benefit of the Censor – pages and pages, utterly, totally, catastrophically
boring
.”
They had Old Works to themselves. Lennie had calculated that they would; there was a craze for football at the moment, and those who weren’t at Saturday morning pictures would be kicking a ball around in the field behind the Rose and Crown.
They climbed on the broken walls and walked a little way into a tunnel that Lennie said was supposed to come out at Springhill.
“Have you been through?”
“No. It gets low, and narrow.”
“We could go through. Let’s try.”
But the tunnel twisted, and as the roof came down lower and lower, forcing them to crouch, they retreated and went back to clambering over the walls and exploring the ruined buildings.
“We could race back to the cottage,” said Lennie. He was getting cold. He’d sneaked out without his coat.
But the fire at the cottage had gone out, and it took a long time to relight it. At last Lennie held his cold hands over the flames.
“You’ll get chilblains, doing that.”
“You should see my mum’s hands. She’s got awful chilblains. She needs some new gloves. Her old pair’s all holey, like.”
“Does she only have one pair?”
Lennie was astonished. “Yes!”
“My mother’s got pairs and pairs of gloves,” said Ralph. He shivered. “It
is
cold. Do you want to come to our house?”
Lennie thought of the warm carpeted rooms, the books and games. But he shook his head. “Your parents won’t like it.”
“They’re out.”
“Mrs Martin, then.”
“Mrs Martin is an employee. It’s none of her business.”
“I feel funny there,” said Lennie.
And he knew he would feel funny if Ralph came to
his
house, even though in a way he wanted him to.
They shared Ralph’s lunch – soup in a vacuum flask, and sandwiches.
“I can’t come tomorrow morning,” Ralph said. “There’s church; and then we’re out visiting.”
“And I’m at Aunty Elsie’s in the afternoon.”
“Monday, then.”
“Not till late. Some of us are still at school. You’re lucky.”
“I’m not. My father will probably take me to the works again – I don’t know which days. But I’ll come when I can, after school’s out.”
“I’ll bring your book – the King Arthur.”
“And I’ll bring a torch.”
“We could be ghosts in the dark!”
“Yes. Splendid.”
It was Wednesday before they met up again. On Monday Lennie had a rehearsal after school and on Tuesday he went to the cottage but Ralph wasn’t there. It was cold. The wind cut through his clothes, even
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