David Storey - Saville

He went back to the pavilion; his arms and legs had begun to ache. There was a basin to wash in at the back of the room: most of the boys hadn’t bothered, they put their clothes on over the mud and stains.

By the time he set off for the bus he could scarcely walk; his feet were sore from the boots, his shoulders ached from the weight of the bag. When he got on the bus he fell asleep, waking briefly when it lurched across the hump-backed bridge and only finally roused himself when it descended, rattling, towards the village.

He stayed up even later that night. In addition to the French he had Maths and Latin. The Latin, however much he tried, he couldn’t get right.

‘You’ve been three hours on it,’ his mother said. ‘Ifs after my bed-time, never mind yours.’

‘I’ve got to get it right,’ he said.

‘Let me write in the book,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell him that you tried.’

He held the book from her.

‘For goodness’ sake,’ she said, ‘if you work like this you’ll be worn out completely by the end of the week.’

He went to bed with the work unfinished. He was late for the bus the following morning, catching one that came almost half an hour later.

Assembly had started. He stood outside with several other boys, allowed in finally after the prayers were finished. His name was taken down.

‘What’s this? One boy late this morning?’ Hodges said as he marked the register for the afternoon. ‘Not Saville double l, then, is it? Not finding out, I suppose, how to spell his name correctly.’

‘No, sir,’ he said.

He’d already given the Latin in.

‘Distinguished himself, I gather, on the rugger field. So Mr Platt and Mr Hepworth tell me.’ He gazed at him from his desk over the top of his glasses. ‘Rugger doesn’t entitle you to privileges, boy. However well you play. Do you understand that, Saville double l?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Well, double l, I don’t expect to see another late mark against your name.’ He removed his glasses. ‘Let me see your record book.’

He took it down to the desk.

‘I shall mark it on this occasion, double l, as a warning not only to you but to all the rest.’ He glanced around him and drew out his pen. ‘A bad record at this point of the term is a very bad thing indeed. It sets a tone for the book which it is very difficult to eradicate, particularly for a boy just starting and for a master looking at it to see what sort of lad he is.’

‘I was late for the bus,’ he said.

‘We’re all late for the bus, double l, if we all get up late for the bus,’ he said.

He blotted the record, which he’d written in red ink, and handed him the book.

‘Let that be a lesson to anyone else who feels inclined to miss the bus,’ he said. ‘Back to your place, then, double l.’

When he got back to his desk he looked at the book. ‘Late for his third morning at school. J.T.H.’, had been written in the column.

He put up his hand.

‘What is it, double l? Is anything the matter?’

‘What you’ve written here isn’t correct,’ he said.

‘What’s that, Saville?’

He saw the eyes tighten behind Hodges’s glasses. The colour deepened swiftly in his face.

‘What you’ve written in my record book,’ he said.

‘What’s that, boy?’

He waited.

‘Do you know how to address a master, Saville?’

‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

‘That’s the first “sir” I’ve heard, Saville, from the moment you stood up.’

‘The bad record you’ve given me, sir, makes it sound as though I’ve been late for three mornings running.’

He waited once again.

‘Read to me what’s written, Saville.’

‘“Late for his third morning at school,”’ he read aloud.

Hodges waited.

‘I think that’s perfectly clear.’

He took out his pen. ‘Bring your book to me again, then, Saville.’

He went down through the class to the teacher’s desk. The bell had already sounded for the afternoon lesson.

‘I shall give you a second bad record, Saville, for insubordination. I needn’t tell you how serious two bad records in one day can be. Three in one week and it’s my duty to report you to Mr Walker. At this time on Friday I shall require you to bring me this book again. If any other master has found it necessary to endorse my opinion of your behaviour the matter will be out of my hands completely.’

He wrote again in the book with the same red ink. He blotted it carefully and handed it back. The door had already opened and a master appeared.

‘Is that understood, then, Saville?’

‘Yes,’ he said and went back to his desk.

‘It’s seldom been my duty to give two bad records on the one occasion,’ the master added, looking at the class. ‘I’m sure Mr Hepworth will agree that it’s a singular disappointment to any master to have to perform such a duty in respect of a member of his own class. I can’t tell you with what regret I look upon this incident. I hope, now that it has occurred, that it makes our positions clear, and that nothing remotely like it will happen again. Take out your books for Mr Hepworth’s lesson. I shan’t, if I can help it, refer to this incident again.’

He went out, removing his glasses, and, in total silence, closed the door.

Hepworth said nothing for several seconds. He stood at the back of the class; then, pushing his hand across his head, he walked slowly down to the desk at the front.

‘Please open your atlases at page thirty-one,’ he said.

Colin waited outside the staff-room at the end of the afternoon. He didn’t see Hodges.

He waited in the drive.

Finally Platt came out, walking to the gate; he went across to him and touched his cap.

‘What is it, boy? Out with it,’ Platt had said. He had a brief-case in his hand, a hat on his head, his overcoat unbuttoned, and was plainly in a hurry.

‘Has Mr Hodges come out of the staff-room, sir?’ he said.

‘Hodges? Free period last period. He goes home early. What did you want to see him about?’

‘I wanted to make a complaint,’ he said.

‘See him in the morning if it’s anything important. Otherwise leave a message in the office, boy,’ he said.

He was almost in tears when he reached the bus.

‘Why, what is it? Whatever’s happened?’ his father said when he got to the house.

He showed him the book.

He saw the whiteness rise to his father’s face.

‘By God, I s’ll come to school in the morning.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘You’ll make it worse.’

‘I’ll not make it worse than this, don’t worry.’

‘I’ll talk to him on my own,’ he said.

‘Don’t worry, lad. I’ll set it straight.’

‘You can’t set it straight. It’s written in.’

‘I’ll have it written out,’ his father said.

‘But you can’t do anything,’ he said, ‘but make it worse.’

‘Don’t worry, lad. I’ll sort it out.’

His father went the following day. Colin was called to the headmaster’s study after the break-bell went. The headmaster himself was sitting at a desk; books lined the walls; a window looked down on to the crowded field below. There were framed photographs on the wall and in the corner, on a wooden pedestal, stood a massive globe.

A face in profile, like a mask, was set in a frame above a wooden mantelpiece. Its eyes were closed; it echoed, in its features, something of the headmaster’s narrow face. Pale-blue eyes looked out from beneath bushy brows.

‘Your father came to see me this morning. About this incident with Mr Hodges,’ the headmaster said.

‘Yes, sir.’ He nodded. ‘He said he would.’

‘It seems you were late on your third morning at school, and complained at the way Mr Hodges had phrased the remark in your record book. He said your manner was insolent and amounted, in his view, to insubordination.’