When the Whistle Blows E-Book

Jack Allen

• Herausgeber: Dedalus
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Seitenzahl: 411

Beschreibung

in inner-city Bristol Former teacher and rugby player now writes fiction and for tv.

Das E-Book wird angeboten von und wurde mit folgenden Begriffen kategorisiert:

Leseprobe

About the Author

Dedalus Original Fiction in Paperback

WHEN THE WHISTLE BLOWS

Jack Allen is a Bristol based playwright who combines writing with looking after his two year old daughter. His work includes the youth drama series Jangles for ITV which was nominated for the Prix Jeunesse.

Jack Allen grew up in Bristol and was educated at Sefton Park Secondary Modern. After training to be a teacher he embarked on a career as a professional Rugby League Player with Barrow-in-Furness. Injury led to a brief career as a stand-up comedian and clown before he became a teacher.

He taught teenagers with learning difficulties English‚ in a Secure Unit‚ before becoming a Head of a Special Unit for disaffected pupils in Bristol. The success of his writing led to his retirement from teaching.

When the Whistle Blows is Jack Allen’s first novel. He is currently at work on further adventures of Caleb Duck.

To Alison‚ Caitlin‚ Paul and Ben

Thanks to Richard Campbell for the typing‚

Mike Mitchell for his reactions‚

Paddy Benefield for laughing

and Eric Lane for all his help and advice

CONTENTS

Title

About the Author

Dedication

Contemporary Literature from Dedalus

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

The Bradley Report

Copyright

Contemporary Literature from Dedalus

When the Whistle Blows – Jack Allen £8.99

The Experience of the Night – Marcel Béalu £8.99

Music‚ in a Foreign Language – Andrew Crumey £7.99

D’Alembert’s Principle – Andrew Crumey £7.99

Pfitz – Andrew Crumey £7.99

The Acts of the Apostates – Geoffrey Farrington £6.99

The Revenants – Geoffrey Farrington £3.95

The Man in Flames – Serge Filippini £10.99

The Book of Nights – Sylvie Germain £8.99

The Book of Tobias – Sylvie Germain £7.99

Days of Anger – Sylvie Germain £8.99

Infinite Possibilities – Sylvie Germain £8.99

The Medusa Child – Sylvie Germain £8.99

Night of Amber – Sylvie Germain £8.99

The Weeping Woman – Sylvie Germain £6.99

The Cat – Pat Gray £6.99

Theodore – Christopher Harris £8.99

The Black Cauldron – William Heinesen £8.99

The Arabian Nightmare – Robert Irwin £6.99

Exquisite Corpse – Robert Irwin £14.99

The Limits of Vision – Robert Irwin £5.99

The Mysteries of Algiers – Robert Irwin £6.99

Prayer-Cushions of the Flesh – Robert Irwin £6.99

Satan Wants Me – Robert Irwin £14.99

The Great Bagarozy – Helmut Krausser £7.99

Primordial Soup – Christine Leunens £7.99

Confessions of a Flesh-Eater – David Madsen £7.99

Memoirs of a Gnostic Dwarf – David Madsen £8.99

Portrait of an Englishman in his Chateau – Mandiargues £7.99

Enigma – Rezvani £8.99

The Architect of Ruins – Herbert Rosendorfer £8.99

Letters Back to Ancient China – Herbert Rosendorfer £9.99

Stefanie – Herbert Rosendorfer £7.99

Zaire – Harry Smart £8.99

Bad to the Bone – James Waddington £7.99

Eroticon – Yoryis Yatromanolakis £8.99

The History of a Vendetta – Yoryis Yatromanolakis £6.99

A Report of a Murder – Yoryis Yatromanolakis £8.99

The Spiritual Meadow – Yoryis Yatromanolakis £8.99

All characters‚ places and incidents portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination brought about by too many years teaching at the chalkface. If anyone thinks they can recognise themselves they ought to get in the queue behind Caleb Duck and seek medical advice at once. Failure to do so would render them suitable cases for treatment.

URGENT

From:

G. Rees B.ScDeputy Headmaster

To:

C. DuckActing Head of Integrated Studies

Date:   7.4.98

Time:  9.15 a.m.

Please submit to me by 16:00 hours‚ 14.4.98‚ copies of the Maths‚ English‚ Humanities‚ Design and Technology Syllabi as used in the Integrated Studies Department. Particular attention must be paid to relevant National Curriculum Attainment Targets at Key Stage Four.

This information is urgently required by the Headmaster for the next Board of Governors Meeting.

Thank you.

G. Rees‚ Deputy Headmaster.

CHAPTER 1

Bollocks! Caleb screws the memo up and tosses it baseball style out of the window. Rage sears through his system. Rees can go and fuck himself the diminutive Welsh twat! If that slimy fat-arsed creep hasn’t the guts to come over and ask him himself it can’t be all that important. Back to the task in hand.

He positions himself more comfortably behind his desk. Steers the finger towards his left nostril. Probing‚ pushing‚ searching gently until he finds an edge to hook upon. Got one! Now comes the tricky part. Needs a steady hand. He turns his wrist and using his neck as a fulcrum leans slowly backwards in his chair. Pulls the winkle from its shell. Carefully. Very carefully. All the stresses and strains of his shitty job drift away at this magic moment. A wonderful calm seeps through his system. He rolls the bogey between his thumb and fingers. Allowing the chalk on his skin to absorb the vital body fluids. Reducing the monster to a tiny ball.

Caleb is very proud of his morning’s work. High in job satisfaction. Strolls cowboy style across the classroom towards the cast iron heating pipe that surrounds the room and feeds the solitary radiator beneath the window. He bends down to peer behind. His spirits raised by what he sees. There they are. One for every day he’s been working here as acting unpaid Head of Department. Five bogies to the working week. One inch per day. A three inch gap for a weekend or holiday. This is the dream target he’s set himself. He must get out before they circumnavigate the room and return to their starting place by the door. With only another three walls to go time is running out. June 13th is E.D.E. – Estimated Date of Escape. After that he knows he’s fucked. Reflexes will slow and speech become slurred. He’ll become a husk. A hollow shell.

Caleb is fully aware of the danger he’s in so puts great emphasis on vigorous exercise and regular bowel movements. The job demands he’s in peak condition mentally and physically. Always ready for the next attack. Be it from a crazy pupil‚ an angry parent or another typed instruction from that bastard Rees. The Deputy Head has a fierce ambition. Will allow nothing to stand in his way to the top. Loves to put the pressure on.

Caleb carefully touches yesterday’s bogey. Just to check on progress. A look of alarm sweeps over his face when he discovers it’s still tacky. Not welded to the pipe like all the others. Jesus fucking Christ! He needs to get to the bottom of this. Quick! Carefully measures where today’s date should go and gently presses it into position. Scrambles further down the pipe to test the heat with his fingers. Already he can feel his heart rate rising. Adrenalin surging through. To his utter dismay the pipe is only lukewarm! No wonder it’s still soft! He gets to his feet and leans against the wall. Frantically searches his jacket pockets for the tablets prescribed for emergencies like this. Beta-blockers and Lorazepam. Brain reeling from the shock. He beats wildly on the walls with both fists clenched. Yelling in rage at the man who must have ordered all this. Issuing instructions that effect him personally but not having the manners to inform him first. Caleb rushes to the window and hauls it open. Shouts in the direction of the Main School Block.

“I’ll have you Rees you bastard! When I get out of here you’ll be the first on my list!”

Caleb spins around angrily to face his class. Fully occupied playing cards or ping-pong. Ignoring Caleb and his personal feud. They’ve seen it too many times before for them to get excited. Shouting and screaming in general delight. Highly motivated by the tasks they’ve been set all within the scope of National Curriculum targets.* Caleb follows the golden rule of teaching that education must be an enjoyable experience.

“Errol mount guard! If I let that little shit get away with this there’s no telling where it will end.”

Errol Perkins‚ a huge‚ princely looking Afro-Caribbean lad. Chronological Age 15.8. Reading Age 8.2. Already earning more money than Caleb with all his business interests. Wears a spotlessly white Yves Saint Laurent suit. Black shirt offset with flash silk tie. Looks like something out of Guys and Dolls. Beams a magnificent smile.

“Yes sir Mr Duck. There’ll be no trouble when the King is in command.”

“There better not be Errol or else you’ll find somewhere else to live. Why didn’t you tell me it was cold in here?”

Errol rubs his chin ruefully. A little embarrassed.

“Well you see Mr Duck man. I slept in your office last night and I have something nice and warm lying next to me for my personal pleasure like. You know what I mean?”

Caleb nods his head. He knows what he means.

“As long as Dave doesn’t catch you Errol. That’s all that matters. Make sure no one fools around when I’m gone.”

Ever since his mother kicked him out of the house Errol’s lived in the I.S. Department as unofficial night watchman. Caleb hasn’t the heart to see him out on the streets. Told him he could stay. As long as he doesn’t take advantage and isn’t late with the rent. And Dave the caretaker doesn’t find out.

Caleb curses himself for not spotting the drop in temperature sooner. It’s obvious what Rees is up to. Reduce the temperature in the building to weaken his body resistance. Knock all the fight out of this troublesome bastard. Get him to resign or take early retirement. Replace him with some Welsh crony of his. Caleb’s convinced he’s already got someone lined up. The scheming little cunt!

He leaves the classroom and walks through the Main Hall of the Integrated Studies Department. Distressed state. Eyes search around for any signs of trouble coming from the kids who are already in. None. And he knows it will stay that way. As soon as he’s gone Errol will remove the knife from his Calvin Klein socks and go around and collect his insurance money. Then when he’s finished doing that he’ll sit on a table at one end of the hall with his hand up some skirt feeling pleased with himself. Making sure everyone behaves themselves. And they will.

He’ll get no trouble from the loony John Irving‚ the self-styled great musician/conductor. (C.A. 16.1 R.A. 6.7). He’s already set his equipment up and is totally absorbed in conducting the classical music of the world. Puccini’s Madame Butterfly. Blaring out in hideous distortment from the remains of the battered tape recorder he rescued from a tip. John flails away in front of an invisible orchestra with the leg of a chair that was smashed during the last Indo-Jamaican War.

The serious table tennis has already started. Tense excitement. The history books being used as bats make it impossible for the top ranked players to produce good stroke play. As Caleb passes he makes a mental note that some lighter‚ smaller books must be ordered. Something in the Ladybird range that have the correct feel and balance. If he’s to produce the Champions of Tomorrow then nothing but the best equipment will do. A decent net too. The row of Bibles stretched across the middle of the table are not regulation height.

Dashing down the concrete steps that lead from the hall to his office. Must answer the phone before it stops ringing unless Lynda Coles is already there. She is. He walks into the room and she hands him the receiver. Fag dangling from the corner of her mouth. (C.A. 16.0. R.A. 12.4. By far the brightest in the department).

“It’s for you luv. That Mr Powell again.”

Caleb knows already what he’s going to say.

“I won’t be in this morning Caleb. I’ve got this bit of a chill. The doctor told me to take it easy for a couple of days.”

“That’s okay Andy. It should be nice down in Weston today.”

Idle fucker! Wanker! Since being appointed last December to cover for the former Head of Integrated Studies he hasn’t completed a single week’s work. A pathetic excuse every time.

“Bloody marvellous isn’t it Lynda. He’s having another day off!”

Lynda takes the phone from Caleb and puts it back in its place.

“What’s he look like luv this Mr Powell? I can’t remember being taught by he.”

“You won’t. You’ve probably been out on work experience the two days he’s been in.”

Lynda’s very neat and tidy. Good with her hands. Works part-time as a sex care provider in a seedy local parlour. Already building up a strong client base. The rest of the week she acts as Caleb’s secretary. Answering the phone and typing a few letters. Everyone’s happy. Especially the beautiful Angela White‚ the school’s Education Welfare Officer. She checks the register on a weekly basis and sees Lynda marked present everyday. No problem. A lovely girl Angela. Dedicated and concerned with nice big tits. A combination Caleb finds rare and attractive. Irresistible.

“Alright if I takes a break luv? I needs a pee.”

“Yeah. Go ahead Lynda. Ten minutes yeah?”

Lynda walks out of the room fag in hand. Wiggles her arse as she leaves. Caleb smiles to himself and closes the door. Sits down and dials the number. It’s picked up almost immediately.

“Rees speaking.”

Caleb’s heart starts pounding. Breathing becomes more difficult and tight. An anger stirring up deep within him at this contact with the enemy.

“Listen Rees you big fat turd! Turn the fucking heating back on or I’ll cut your bollocks off!”

“You need help Duck‚ you’re sick.”

“Not as sick as you’re going to be if the heating’s not put on. You’re not getting my job Rees! You wanker! You can tell all your oppo’s butty I’m made of stronger stuff. I’m a fucking Plantagenet!”

“Why don’t you let me arrange for you to see someone Duck? You don’t want to end up like Jeremy Philes!”

Alarm bells sound in Caleb’s head. The bastard’s keeping him talking whilst they trace the call.

“Fuck off Rees! You patronising git! Don’t say you haven’t been warned!”

Caleb slams the phone down hard. Experiencing a deep inner glow of self-satisfaction and a mild trembling of the hands. Makes his way across to the sink and fills the kettle for a cup of tea. Although it’s only 10 a.m. he’s already done a full day’s work. He can feel the adrenalin surging deep inside. Causing his heart to beat at an almost suicidal rate. This job has already taken its toll on three teachers this year and he has no intention of making it four.

As Caleb washes out a cup he vows he’ll never allow the job to affect him like that. Never let the system grind him down into a gibbering idiot. Slobbering at the mouth and pissing his pants whilst he marks the register with a stick of chalk. As soon as he discovers he’s going off his rocker of course he will resign. Revert to his real passion of D.I.Y. or climbing the Cumberland fells. Failing that of course he could always escape. Dig a tunnel like the late Jeremy Philes. Said with a silent ‘H’. The former Head of the I.S. Department had the perfect plan. Get back to civilisation to be retrained as a School Librarian or office boy. Then go for the breakdown package. They wouldn’t put him on active service again and send him back to the Front. Not after twenty years experience in the trenches. Shells crashing down every few seconds. Explosions inside his head. They wouldn’t dare. Forty-eight year old men don’t react as fast. They’re slower and more set in their ways. Find it difficult to adapt to the ever changing patterns of educational thought. The National Curriculum and all that bollocks. A younger man can see the sense in Records of Achievement‚ Key Stage 4‚ Attainment Target 8. Learning by exploration. No such thing as a naughty child. Caleb is fucked if he can. He belongs to the old school where there were set standards of uniform and behaviour. Where good manners cost nothing and were insisted upon. In those days everything was done on military lines. The school was divided into colours or houses. Red‚ green‚ blue‚ yellow. Classes were A‚ B‚ C and D. The computer brains were always in A and B and the psycho’s and headbangers in C and D. Desks were positioned in rows. Not in a fucking circle! The most able pupil sat nearest the teacher and had to put up their hands to answer a question. Multiplication tables were learned by rote. The teacher patrolling between the rows with his cane at the ready and longing to strike. Trying to catch someone only mouthing the words. And when playtime finally came to an end a whistle was blown by the teacher on duty. The first blast meant everyone stood still. STILL! No one daring to take another step. A beating in front of the school if they did. The second blast and they ran to their lines. At the double as fast as they could! Stand up straight with shoulders back! Eyes glued to the head in front of them. God help anyone who said a word as they marched in line by line.*

Of the four teachers currently working in I.S. Caleb is the only one with experience of the ways of the Elders and he feels it’s his responsibility as Acting Head to pass his knowledge on. However‚ he has great difficulty in getting his message across. Every day without fail Andy Powell phones in sick. Lyn Jones‚ the cropped haired Bloke/Girl of the group is busy trying to recapture her darling budgies and Jan Scott is having an affair with Baldev Singh. A belligerent Indian in Year 11 with a serious attitude problem.

The phone rings again in Caleb’s office breaking up his thoughts. He picks it up prepared for anything. Barks like a dog before he replies. Just to cause confusion.

“Woof! Woof! Bristol Dogs Home!”

“Morning Caleb. Glad to find you haven’t lost your sense of humour!”

He recognises the voice immediately. It’s Williams the Nice W.C. Once again his pulse rate rises.

“Good morning Headmaster. How are you?”

“Listen Caleb‚ got a moment to spare? I want a quiet chat.”

Caleb takes his time. Knows Rees must be behind all this. Doesn’t want to appear too keen.

“Next Monday morning’s the best I can do.”

“Nine thirty alright with you?”

“Okay by me. Woof! Woof!”

Caleb puts the phone down slowly and listens for the second click. It didn’t come. He has this uneasy feeling in his gut he’s being secretly checked out. That Rees and Williams are having him bugged. Collecting their evidence for his dismissal. Caleb knows they’ve been watching too much telly. Like to play the double act. The good cop bad cop routine. But in their case it’s Mr Nice Welsh Cunt and Mr Nasty Welsh Cunt. That’s how they keep control. Williams is at his most dangerous when he’s being polite and smarmy. Then when he thinks he’s softened the suspect up he’ll ask Rees to wield the knife. Which he does with enormous relish. Caleb knows he’s dealing with a crafty Welsh bastard. He’ll have to watch him like a hawk. The First Level of Awareness!*

Notes

*  It says in the Design & Technology National Curriculum document Key Stage 2‚ pupils:

“should be given the opportunity to work with a range of materials and gadgets including stiff and flexible sheet materials (playing cards)‚ mouldable materials (plastic table tennis balls) and electrical devices (ghetto blasters and/or headsets).”

*  Dr Benefield told the Enquiry that Caleb Duck’s obsession with old-fashioned and discredited teaching methods was the root cause of his illness.

*  Stockhausen said the First Level of Awareness was know thine own enemy.

CHAPTER 2

Caleb doesn’t like talking about home. Refuses to allow the mind-blowing squalor of the workplace to enter the sanctity and loving calm of perfect domestic bliss. He likes to keep the two things separate.

But. Leaving school the previous day Caleb makes his usual pilgrimage into the surrounding countryside. Time for his daily workout. Rid the body of the pent-up poisons that accumulate at an alarming rate when working at the chalk face. Pulls the Capri into the lay-by‚ gets out and takes in huge gulps of God’s fresh air. Wallowing in the glorious solitude. He looks around the field for his training companion. Other cows are in there chewing the cud and some even give him the big come on. Flashing their beautiful eyes. He refuses to be tempted. There’s only one cow in his life and that’s Rosie. Others will get their turn when he’s stronger.

Caleb spies the chosen one in the corner tugging away at her mother’s teats. He approaches quiet and slow. Offering a handful of grass on the flat of his hand. Strokes her back and allows the long pink tongue to lick the grass off his hand. Makes no sudden movements. Crouches down low to get a balanced grip and fights the struggling legs. Then runs like fuck for all he’s worth. Rosie gradually becoming more still and quiet as the rhythm of his running lulls her into feeling secure. Breathing coming in a controlled regular pattern and knees being lifted up high off the ground. Toes pointing ballerina style. Up! Two! Three! Four! This is how Milo the Greek trained Hercules. Every single day for a year and by the end of it the Strong One was lifting a fully grown bull on his shoulders and running with it to Athens and back. Caleb reckoned that if it was good enough for Hercules it was good enough for him. Been at it now for over a month. Ever since the Headmaster asked him to take over as Acting unpaid Head of Department. So look out anyone who dares rile him up. Let them have a go if they think they’re hard enough!

After one lap of the field he places his burden down. Certainly feels much better for it and sucks in more lungfulls of the countryside pong. Gets his breath back slowly. Only now can he relax and let the tension ooze. Calmer and ready for home.

Caleb skids the car to a halt outside his house with the skill of a drug crazed joyrider. Feeling young and virile once again. Casts admiring glances at the Victorian sash windows he so lovingly restored three years ago. Hours and hours spent on the job but well worth all the effort. Original features greatly enhance the value.

Sounds of loud music rush to greet him as he approaches his front door. Blur‚ Oasis or Radiohead. They’re all the fucking same. James his oldest must be home already. Doing a three year course in Economics at Manchester University. Jayne the youngest away at college too. Training to be a teacher. Caleb did everything in his power to put her off the idea. Even took her into his place of work. The scrag-end of education. Not even the appalling spectacle of Shitty Shearn (C.A. 15.7. R.A. 6.5) dumping a load in his pants during a ping-pong match could get her to change her mind. Nor Errol sidling up to her and offering protection from his sexual advances. At a price of course. A very nasty moment until the penny dropped and Caleb put him straight. Nothing could put Jayne off. Determined to make a career of it. Just like her old man.

Through the front door. Music even louder. He steps into the stripped pine hallway. Another seven days out of his life to do that. Forty-three if you count the doors and the skirting. Caleb recommended to all who listened not to get them dipped. The joints break loose and there’s always a bit of paint left in the corners. Use a heat stripper instead and keep the end moving. No burnt patches that way. Into a smoke-filled front room. A hundred years of distemper picked out with a pin from the beautiful ornate cornice. One foot a night for a full three months. A Victorian marble fireplace with a cast iron surround. A thousand pounds well spent. Now stacked with empty beer cans and cigarette ends. James and his mates have been having a mid-day party. The sort only middle class white kids can have. He yells out above the noise.

“Come on Caleb! Where’s our tea?”

“Isn’t your mother in?”

“No.”

“Where the fuck is she then?”

All the good of his workout immediately lost as his temper flares up again. As if he didn’t know. Nearly half past six and still at work as an overworked and underpaid secretary. Treated like shit by all her Primary School masters. At their beck and call. Caleb knows a single day at an inner city multi-racial school would sort the lot of them out.

“You could get your own tea couldn’t you? Plenty of food in the freezer.”

“Okay. So where’s the freezer?”

“In the utility room!”

“So how would I know that?”

“Use your fucking common sense!”

Caleb had to put it there whilst he lays a quarry tiled floor in the kitchen. Extending it to princely proportions with the help of his builder mate Stockhausen. A man with strong opinions on everything. Particularly education.*

Caleb and Kaye are working to an agreed master plan. Restore the house to its Victorian glory and sell when the kids leave home. Then go and live in a smaller abode and spend the profit on trips round the world. All being well and with a fair breeze behind them they should be able to accomplish this by the time Caleb retires. In just two year’s time at the big Five-0! They’ve spent the last ten years submerged in the project. No breaks‚ no holidays‚ no socialising. At it all the time. Caleb’s quite prepared to make the short-term sacrifice in exchange for the long-term gain. Happy in the knowledge that Kaye is with him. That together they make the perfect team.

Caleb’s pleased that James feels secure enough to invite his friends back to his house for tea. Entertain them with his drinks. Fill his rooms with thick tobacco smoke‚ get pissed and play the music they like to hear. Fucking loud. No pressure. It must say something for the way he’s been brought up. This slacker generation. Pampered and spoiled by over-protective parents. Killing them softly with their love. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Smiles to himself and starts peeling potatoes. Makes a start on tea. Thinks to himself where the fuck is Kaye. She should be doing all this! As if on cue the noise in the other room subsides. A female voice alarmed and concerned. Enquires what the hell is going on. Kaye steps through into the kitchen. A look of thunder on her face.

“Have you seen the state that room is in?”

“You should have been here to stop them then!”

“I had to get a letter out. It put me behind!”

“They don’t pay you overtime! You finish at four!”

“I’ll finish when I want to! You don’t dictate what hours I work!”

The argument continues back and forth. All about pay and working conditions. Snide remarks to twist the knife. Shouting in each other’s faces.

“You let them walk all over you Kaye! Fucking stand up to them for once!”

“It was my choice all right!”

James meekly pokes his head round the door. Tells them he and his mates are going out. Don’t bother to cook them any tea.

Caleb yells at him angrily.

“What do you mean? You’re going out! I’ve done all this now!”

“Well you eat it then! I don’t want to sit down with my friends listening to you two slagging each other off. It’s embarrassing.”

James slams the door shut. Caleb is rocked back on his heels.

“Fucking brilliant Kaye! Thanks a lot! James only comes home twice a year! Couldn’t you make an effort for once to be here when he arrives!”

“How many times have I got to tell you! I had to get a letter out! How dare you speak to me like this! Who the hell d’you think you are?”

Caleb ups the stakes. Starts hurling pots and pans around. Lets her know just how he feels. On the edge. Quick to snap. A volcano about to erupt. Kaye no slouch herself when it comes to aggro. Well able to defend herself. Attacks him with a sweeping brush. Beats him about the head. Caleb needs to do something really dramatic to bring the conflict to a head. Picks up a twelve inch pizza newly defrosted and slaps it straight in her face. Suits her down to the ground.

“Clean that lot up you servile bitch! Pretend you’re still at work!”

Two hours later. Caleb is pissed. Stretched out in an armchair. Listening to Mahler’s First played loud on his headphones. An empty bottle of wine on the floor. All manner of thoughts buzzing around his head. Is it the job that makes him feel angry or is it the tablets Errol provides? He’d read how steroids can make their users aggressive. Bouncers that beat the punters up and body builders who go home and eat their wives. Maybe that’s the reason. Perhaps he should only take one a day as recommended on the bottle and not the three he’s been swallowing recently. He warns himself to be on the look out for any signs of violent behaviour coming from within. So far he’s seen nothing to arouse suspicion.

The door opens quietly and in walks Kaye. She turns the stereo off to get his attention. He opens his eyes and studies her. All dolled up to the nines. Eyes a little red where she’s been crying. But in a much more placatory mood.

“I’m going out.”

Caleb much happier and quieter now. The inner rage subsided and the comfort of another bottle of wine in the kitchen helps him see things with a rosy glow.

“Where you going?”

“You know where I’m going. It’s the Local Elections. I said I’d help them out.”

“Self-seeking bunch of wankers Kaye! Don’t waste your time or energy.”

Her voice rises again but with a harder edge he hadn’t noticed before. A smattering of real hate.

“Just make sure you vote then Caleb. People gave their lives for your right to do that. Don’t insult their memory by staying home getting pissed!”

She leaves by slamming the door. Caleb finds her zeal all highly amusing. Starts breaking into song:

“I want a girl‚

just like the girl

who married dear old Dad…..”

Surprised by the power in his voice and the quality of delivery he gets to his feet to pursue the performance. Serenades Kaye down the garden path. She spins around in temper.

“Grow up Caleb will you!”

He refuses to be put off by her heckling. Follows her neighbourly down the road. His singing getting more dramatic and attracting some attention. But Kaye doesn’t appreciate the gesture.

“Fuck off Caleb will you?! You’re making a fool of yourself!”

Caleb decides to take her advice. Retreats to the house to savour the moment. Laughing to himself at the humour in it and swigging back the booze. His rejoicing comes to a sudden end as a gurgling inhabits his bowels. There’s a sudden rush to go to the toilet. A worried look on his face. It’s ten long days since he’s been. He gets all the usual rumbles and feelings. Up to the point of the bombs away then absolutely nothing. Resisting all the built-up pressure. Impossible to shift. He makes a mental note to see a doctor. Make an urgent appointment.

URGENT

From:

G. Rees B.ScDeputy Headmaster

To:

C. DuckActing Head of Integrated Studies

Date:   14.4.98

Time:  11.25 a.m

Please find enclosed copy of Stress Situations at School that will be used for discussion purposes in the Stress Management course being run this Saturday at Clevedon House for all Heads of Department of Children with Educational and Behavioural Difficulties.

You are expected to be there at 8.30 a.m. ready for a 9.00 a.m. start. It is essential you attend! Any problems please see me!

G. Rees‚ Deputy Headmaster.

STRESS SITUATIONS AT SCHOOL

Please tick the ones that apply to you at school. All completed forms will be treated in strictest confidence.

  1.        You are repeatedly asked to do things you basically disagree with.

  2.        You have too much work to do any one thing properly.

  3.        You’re not really sure of the extent of your authority within the School/Department and consequently feel inadequate at times.

  4.        You have so many forms to fill in that your teaching preparation time suffers as a result.

  5.        You’re not really sure of your worth to the Faculty/School because no one ever bothers to tell you.

  6.        Your loyalties as a teacher are often torn between pupils‚ parents and colleagues.

  7.        You find it difficult to obtain all the information needed to carry out your job properly.

  8.        You find that your Head/Head of Faculty/Dept/House/Year is not prepared to listen to your ideas as readily as he/she is to some of your colleagues.

  9.        The higher up the ladder your Head of Dept climbs the more unsavoury parts of his/her anatomy are displayed to you below. Not a pretty sight.

10.        Despite the number of mints you’ve sucked pupils in your Tutor Group still complain about your beer smelling breath.

11.        You have extreme difficulty in getting out of the car park at the end of the day because more experienced teachers have wired the school bell to the ignition of their cars and consequently got to the main gate before you.

12.        At a parent evening the mother/father of a pupil in your Tutor Group turns out to be the person you screwed after a recent Singles Night Disco.

RESPONSES TO STRESS AT SCHOOL

People indicate their stress by emotional‚ body or behavioural signs. If you recognise any of the following symptoms in your present behaviour please tick them:

    1.  General irritability and bad temper

    2.  The loss of a sense of humour

    3.  Excessive aggressiveness

    4.  Moodiness

    5.  The inability to make decisions

    6.  Accident prone

    7.  Feverish activity with little purpose

    8.  Inability to concentrate

    9.  Frequent use of tranquillisers

  10.  Absenteeism

  11.  Insomnia and/or apathy

  12.  Marital or family conflict

  13.  Heavy drinking

  14.  Ulcers and/or skin rash

  15.  Depression

  16.  Frequent forgetfulness

  17.  Tension headaches

  18.  Incontinence

  19.  Inability to eat

  20.  Hyper-sensitivity to criticism

  21.  Excessive smoking

  22.  Back pain

  23.  Migraine

  24.  Inability to obtain or maintain an erection

  25.  Constipation

Type of school

Position in school

Note

*  Lenny Stockhausen: The builder/philosopher who argued strongly for an amphetamine based system of education which he claimed would speed up the learning process. A founder member of the group known as The Bristol Poets.

CHAPTER 3

Caleb is in a much more confident mood this morning. He’d felt the pipes and they were piping hot. Rees must have got the message. A quick read through his latest missive. ‘Stress Situations at School’. Decides none of it applies to him. All a load of bollocks! He’s in total control of mind and body. Chucks it in the bin.

The morning’s bogey was an immature youngster. Wet all over. Caleb had to roll him around for over an hour before the little devil began to firm up. No matter they all count. A three inch space and start a new week. In relentless pursuit of his dream escape. The only thing that keeps him going. Away from here by June 13th. It’s been like this for the last fifteen years. Always a date‚ a target. And when June 13th is reached and he’s still here he’ll set another target. Something to keep him hammering away. Beating his head against the wall. But one of these days he’ll do it 4 real as Ritchie Manic would say.

Caleb always feels very vulnerable when he leaves the comfort of the Integrated Studies Block. The three foot thick walls of the former secondary modern give a wonderful feeling of basic security. In his present stressed out state he knows exactly what his actions would be if the Authorities ever decided to cancel his contract. He’d barricade himself inside the building and hold the fort for days. Let everyone know the pressure he’s under. The stresses and strains of the job.

The playground resembles a marketplace with the West Indians as always dominating the scene. Noisy and uninhibited. Smiling black faces in abundance with large flashing eyes and sight-screen teeth. Brilliantly coloured clothes made to dazzle that even on this dull grey April morning necessitates designer shades. Mouse the ganja man skulks in the background. Keeping an eye out for rival dealers who’d beat the shit out of him if they discovered he was trading on their patch. Caleb sees Errol going across to meet him. Collecting his insurance money and checking Mouse isn’t selling any heavier gear. That’s one of Errol’s perks. Well‚ his apart from Yellowhead. The new arrival from Jamaica. Nobody fucks with Yellowhead. Not even Errol for some strange reason. Caleb’s never found out why.

Maria Stewart arrives at his side and pushes her arm through his. (C.A. 15.9. R.A. 10.2). They enter into jolly banter. Years of trust built up over the years.

“Maria‚ when are you going to marry me? You know I love you dearly.”

She laughs outrageously. Almost a cackle. Maria is crazy. Beautiful to look at but wild in her ways. Caleb once had occasion to go to her home because the word on the street said she’d been murdered. Sacrificed by her father who dabbled in ju-ju. A council flat halfway up a high-rise block. Caleb shudders as he remembers it. Totem poles and voodoo dolls. An altar place splattered in blood. Everything painted black. In fact Maria was extremely alive and well. Just knocking off school to marinade fish. In a quite revolting way. Juices ebbing and flowing. Caleb parted on the best of terms. Shook her father’s hand and wished him well. He in return cast a good spell for Caleb and gave him a bottle of Irresistible Drops. Told him to use them if he wanted power over women. Caleb laughed and nodded his thanks.

Maria looks at him out of the corners of almond-shaped eyes. Not knowing for sure if he meant it.

“I ain’t going out with no married man Mr Duck!”

Her words send Caleb reeling. He has to hold on tight for extra support. Doesn’t want reminding about his wife. The other night after the local election results. Kaye didn’t get in until three in the morning and there was a bit of a domestic dispute. Culminating in sleeping in separate rooms. James a confused witness. All Caleb wanted was to kiss and make up. Not much to ask of a wife. But Kaye was having none of it. Froze him out completely. Caleb can’t face the thought of rejection again. Begs and pleads with Maria.

“Come on Maria! Let’s run away. We’ll go to London and spend the night together. Breakfast in bed if you like? How d’you like your eggs?”

This girl he’d sacrifice his brilliant career for tears herself free and covers her face with her hands. Runs through the playground screaming high-pitched laughter. Causing the others to stop and stare then turn their puzzled gaze at him.

The crack in Caleb’s brain is getting wider and wider. Caused by the stress and strain of domestic life. Brain cells haemorrhaging in their millions looking for somewhere else to live and Caleb can’t say that he blames them. Nevertheless he keeps on walking and eventually arrives at the Headmaster’s room. Knocks on the door and waits. A gentle Welsh voice cuts through.

“Come in!”

He enters firmly into the room. Ordering his thoughts into line. As the highest ranking officer in Integrated Studies Caleb knows it’s his duty to act the part. Slams the door behind him with a bang and then springs to attention with a brisk salute. Barking out his presence.

“Acting unpaid Commander Duck at your service sir!”

Caleb notices that the normally placid nice Welsh cunt is taken aback by his ramrod approach. Didn’t expect him to look as sharp as this. Certainly not after Rees the Nasty had ordered a reduction in classroom temperature. Williams blinks hard. Deep shock-lines appear across his forehead and continue over the roof of his shiny bald head as he takes in Caleb’s appearance. Resplendent in his commando-style jacket. Newly washed and ironed for this important occasion.

“Sit down Caleb would you?”

Caleb on red alert. He’s already seen this one at the movies. Where the arms of the chair swing round and grab him. Hold him rigid whilst Williams pulls his teeth out one by one. Spotlights flashing in his face. Blinding him with terror.

“No thank you sir. I’d rather stand if you don’t mind.”

“As you wish Caleb. Cigarette?”

“No thank you sir. I don’t smoke. Bad example for the men eh? Rations are jolly short you know.”

Williams gives Caleb a long quizzical look. Maybe Rees is right. He is going crazy.

“You don’t mind if I do‚ do you Caleb?”

“No certainly sir. You carry on.”

A short squat man immaculately dressed. Everything about him is neat and well-ordered. No loose papers lying around. He controls the vast Walliscote Road Comprehensive School from this very office. Charts and timetables pinned on the wall tell him precisely who should be teaching what and where. One of the old school. B.C. Before computers.

Caleb watches as Williams lights up a cigarette. Eyeing him strangely through the first puff of smoke. Eyes squinting together with deep suspicion. Can’t quite make him out. Decides to test his reactions.

“Look Caleb‚ I’ll get right to the point. Since poor Jeremy’s tragic demise you’ve run the Integrated Studies Department on your own. And you haven’t had a lot of help.”

Caleb is just about to agree with him when he starts to speak again.

“Without naming any names Caleb I think it’s fair to say you’re carrying one or two teachers over there. Right?”

Caleb shrugs his shoulders. Non-committal. He would have said all three.

“Not many teachers out can handle the bottom stream leavers. I’ve got staff who have trouble with the so-called academic types‚ but you’ve got some right bastards over there. Correct?”

Caleb is puzzled. Can’t work out what Williams is trying to get him to say. If he admits to him he has any problems it looks as if he can’t do his job.

“Well ….. I’ve got one or two who can be awkward.”

Williams laughs. Suggesting there was nothing he could do about the information he gives.

“Well‚ I’ve got some bad news for you boy. You’re getting another on Monday. A Gary Greenwood. Just been expelled from Greenhill Comprehensive for dangling a teacher out of a window. He’s also in trouble with the police. Robbed a post office with a shotgun. Only out on bail at the moment but as the law says he’s got to go to school he’s come to us or rather to you boyo. Well done Caleb! You’ve hit the jackpot!”

Williams pretends to find it funny. To see if Caleb laughs as well. He doesn’t. Smells a rat instead. Never before had Senior Management sent a firearms expert into I.S. They’d had thieves‚ arsonists‚ prostitutes and rapists but no hard core criminal types. There had to be a catch. Mr Nice W.C. becomes suddenly serious again.

“Listen Caleb. How many years have you got to go now?”

Caleb tells him two. Finish at fifty. Take the retirement package and run like fuck. His way of celebrating the Millennium.

“Well maybe I can do you a favour Caleb by increasing the size of your lump sum.”

Caleb allows himself the luxury of a tiny smile. At last. The real reason why he called him over.

“How can you do that?”

Williams blows out a perfectly formed smoke ring. Watches it slowly rise. Quickly followed by another. Gets four in the air at once. He wants Caleb to be impressed by his smoke blowing prowess but Caleb refuses to comment. Why the fuck should he be impressed by that? He has all day to practice. Keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Williams. Waiting for the catch.

“How would you like the job on a permanent basis Caleb? Take over the running of the whole shebang on Senior Master money?”

Caleb laughs aloud. Now he can see what Williams is up to. Hiring him as a quisling to spy on his men. Get him to betray the confidences he’d built up over the years. No way. The kids in I.S. trusted Caleb. Knew he wouldn’t grass. Told him things that could put them in prison if the authorities ever found out. Mr Nice W.C.’s voice becomes increasingly concerned.

“I want stability over there see Caleb with this Ofsted coming up. The kids respect you. You speak their language and the retirement package won’t be on offer forever. As soon as the Local Authority has reduced the number of teachers to an economical level they’ll stop it. Mark my words!”

He snaps his fingers. Studies Caleb’s face. Continues sounding grave.

“I don’t want to pressurise you into taking something on that’s going to damage your health boy. I don’t want you ending up like Jeremy Philes.”

A pause. Another smoke ring. Then more guarded through half-closed eyes.

“You see Caleb I’ll be honest with you. Rees seems to think the pressure might prove too much. He thinks you’ve got enough on your plate already. What with your home improvements and all.”

A flash of anger across Caleb’s face. So Rees has already been in to snitch! Living up to his reputation as a sneaky W.C.

“The trouble with that man Mr Nice he hasn’t got a sense of humour.”

Williams manages to strain a tiny snigger. Doesn’t appreciate his staff being over familiar.

“That’s what I told him. You’ve got to have a sense of fun to work in I.S…….. D’you want some time to think it over? Discuss it with Kaye first?”

“No. No. No. I’ll give you my answer now.”

“So what’s it to be?”

Caleb sees no point in refusing a pay rise. No matter who gets the job it’ll be him in charge. He speaks from the hymn book. Strong and true. Just like Jonathan Aitken.

“Armed with my Sword of Knowledge and Arrows of Desire I shall ride forth and conquer all ignorance Sire.”

A puzzled smile breaks out on Williams’ face. Doesn’t understand. Has never fathomed what planet Caleb inhabits.

“Does that mean you accept it Caleb?”

“Too fucking right it does W.C.!”

Williams gets to his feet and reaches across the table. Shakes him warmly by the hand.

“Good lad Caleb! I knew you would make the right decision. Well done boy! Welcome aboard!”

His grip becomes more earnest. There’s a look of concern in his eyes when he speaks.

“Don’t end up like the others boyo. Any problems come to me first. I want you to enjoy a long and happy retirement.”

Caleb’s eyes mist over at the memory of former colleagues. Men like Silent ‘H’. The sort of chap you could take into the jungle with you. Had a visit from the Ofsted team. Fucking Gestapo bastards! They carried out a surprise raid on the Department and didn’t like what they found. Demanded to see the syllabus. When Silent ‘H’ produced one on a piece of scrap paper they said it wasn’t linked to the National Curriculum. Ordered another full inspection within three months and put the school at risk of closure. Called it Special Measures. Threatened Jeremy with the sack. Told him he would be stripped of his rank and pension if things didn’t improve at once. Cunts left no stone unturned.

Silent ‘H’ could take no more. As they wouldn’t grant him early retirement he went to the Camp Escape Committee with the plan of a tunnel out of the building. The Committee which consisted of ‘H’ and Caleb approved of his daring idea and wished him all the best. Working four hour shifts on hands and knees he managed thirty bucketfuls of earth each time he went down. Disposed of it in the school library. Letting it spill down the inside of his trouser leg. Washed down with minor incontinence. But all this proved too much for a sixty-three year old veteran. He dropped dead one morning at Assembly. Halfway through Jerusalem. A stroke brought on by the stress of the job.