No more than an hour ago it had happened to him again. He
had been punched and kicked and humiliated, only this time with an added
element of humiliation. This boy had been picking on him for some weeks now and
would not stop. Every-day during the play intervals this boy would be waiting
for him. He would begin by calling him names, and when this did not draw a
response, he would begin pulling him around and pushing him to the ground; then
he might sit on him with his knees on his chest slapping and taunting him. A
crowd would gather and jeer and berate him for not fighting back. But, he would
never fight back, not now. He had tried once or twice but, it was if all
strength drained from him and any blows he aimed were weak and feeble. At home,
he would practice punching with his pillow up against the wall and he’d punch
hard and firm, but in a real fight situation his punches were risible and
useless. It was as if he was afraid to punch hard unless it provoked greater
anger in his opponent. Also though; he felt somewhere in his being that he
really did not want to hurt anyone. That was something that appeared to be
missing in him.
Surely hurting someone, especially someone who deserved it,
could not feel as bad as he felt now. He felt he wanted to die; just walk into
the sea and never come back.
His clothes were torn again and his new shoes scuffed, and
there was blood and dirt in his hair. His mum would go mad.
As he walked along the windy beach a voice called to him.
Jamie Campbell, from his class in school; the ‘posh’ boy and the only one he
felt any kinship with. Jamie didn’t live on the council estate, he lived in a
proper house up by the baths, detached and with what everyone imagined to be a
football-pitch sized garden at the back (a rumour derived from some kid who
said he had seen it through the hedge). It was never articulated, but there was
a natural pervasive curiosity among his class-mates concerning why he was the only one in the class
not living in the council estate. He was left largely unmolested because of
this difference as it could not be excluded from the realm of possibilities
that he was actually the son of someone in high authority, maybe even in the
school itself. For this mis-assumption (his Dad was a Lawyer, his mum a
housewife) he was never bullied, but never asked to join-in either.
-Hi Liam, was his greeting. Even his manner of address
marked him out, especially to Liam who was used to the more industrial variety,
ranging from heh poofy to ya big spazzo. His Hi Liam was comfortable, it said ‘I know who you are, and I like
you’. It also said ‘we two are different from the rest’, which in his present
mood was alright with Liam. He felt less lonely instantly.
-Hi Jamie, you just off home? They were kindred in their
civility. In his secret thoughts Liam wanted to go and live in the big house
with Jamie and his family, he wanted to play in his semi-mythical garden and
never come out into this other cruel, lonely world again.
They walked together along the beach-front, tossing an old
fuzzed-up tennis ball to one another as they went.
-I heard about you and Tam McAdam, proffered Jamie.
-Aye! Answered Liam, not really wishing to talk about his
most recent playground humiliation.
-Just one of many, he added – not really much point talking
about it.
-‘Spose so... Jamie realised he’d maybe been a bit clumsy
bringing the matter up
-listen, Liam. My mother was wondering if you’d like to come
to ours for yer tea? Ye fancy that?
Liam knew that Jamie was sort of forced to use vernacular of
this type, and that they probably didn’t refer to yer tea in his house. He only talked this way in a desperate,
though ultimately futile attempt to fit in. He wondered what else you could
call it though, if not yer tea? He
also wondered what yer tea would be
in such a household? Caviar? Pheasant? He didn’t imagine it would have anything
to do with mince.
-Aye, that would be magic, you mean tonight?
-No reason why not..!
Maybe they’d do him a favour and never let him leave.
Tam McAdam was a ned. In this, he’d achieved his only
ambition in life thus far. Being a ned brought respect and it induced fear.
Respect from other ned’s, fear from lesser neds and any other wee prick’s that
crossed his path. It even induced both fear and respect from his so-called
teacher’s (he’d already punched one of them in the mouth for having the foolish
notion of wanting to give him the ‘strap’). Tam McAdam was a bully. Only that
afternoon he’d dragged that wee tosser Liam Hutcheson all around the playground
by the collar of his poofy wee blazer, he’d punched him on the head, then he’d
taken him into the junior playground to show to his wee brother; show him what
a blubbering, crying wanker his big brother was. He made a point of seeking out
Hutcheson every living day for a beating.
He’d hated Liam Hutcheson since he first laid eyes on him. Liam
Hutcheson was clever, you could tell.
He had a clever look about him. He
used clever words. Tam McAdam hated clever.
O aye! Another thing being a ned brought you was lassie’s.
Lassie’s loved a ned. So as far as Tam McAdam could see, being a ned was a very
useful thing to be. Being clever got
you a kicking in the playground. Such was his world-view.
Tam was never prone to self-analysis, but if he had been, he
would have seen that he had little choice other than being who he was. Elder
brother Ian had set his course. Indeed, his own father had been the equivalent
of a ned in his day and had ran about in gangs armed with weaponry or ‘chibs’.
It was a key part to his up-bringing, a way of life, kill-or-be-killed, fight-or-be-bullied,
and he had what Liam Hutcheson didn’t possess in spades – a violent, spiteful
aggression never far from the surface of his very being. Everything else was a
sign of weakness. He conducted every act, even love-making, with roughness and
force. About the only thing he took a gentle care over was making sure his hair
‘looked right’, preening it and flicking it to ensure the Rod Stewart spikiness
was perfect. That, and to ensure his mother had his clothes ‘laid oot’ and
looking gallous. Always, the long black leather coat; he looked like a
mock-glam Nazi with his blonde spikes and his cruel-blue eyes. No wonder the
lassie’s on the estate fell at his feet, secretly (very secretly) a few of the
boys did too.
His appearance always caused a stir; he brought the bully
out in others seeking to impress him. Wee boys got kicked, easy marks got
threatened, vocabulary became hard and terse, postures tensed and shoulders
broadened. He was like a sergeant-major among would-be-neds. Neds of his own
rank would register his presence with respect but with minimal gesticulation.
Awright, Tam..! And a sniff of mucous up the nostrils, then
spat on the ground in front of them. Ned respect duly noted. Gowdie and Baz,
Cheebo and Doush; all sound boys, can handle themselves in a fight. All the
rest are just dross – hangers-on, slaves, really. Coupla lassies, one quite
tasty, bit young though, give it a year or two to ripen. Don’t want to be known
as a weirdo that shags wee lassies.
This was the only life to have, he thought. Anything else
was just nonsense!
Liam arriving at Jamie’s house notices that the ‘quality’ of
everything is different. The interior of the house, the fixtures and fittings,
the lay-out of it had a ramshackle
feel to it (Liam often hated the fact that he could use words like ramshackle, he felt positive that no-one
else on his estate could, or if they could they just wouldn’t) but the stuff,
the things in it; the curtains, carpets, chairs, tables, lamp-shades were all
of a much higher quality than anything he had seen, certainly anything in his
own humble ‘maisonette’ lacked the expensive ‘feel’ of Jamie’s house. He
half-expected a maid or such-like to offer to take his coat.
Jamie’s mother, whom he had met before at an embarrassing
‘Parents Evening’ at the school; the first time he had witnessed, first-hand,
the undeniable existence of a class system in Scotland, when he saw his own
mother change before his very eyes from the normal everyday Scottish housewife into
a smiling, babbling, apologising facsimile of herself, her pronunciation of her
native words strangled back to a diction not natural to her. This was a
knee-jerk reaction on her part, and he witnessed similar reactions by
scheme-mothers when ’forced’ to be introduced to Jamie’s mother. The most
embarrassed people in the place though was Jamie and Jamie’s mother, they just
had the poise and good-manners not to show it.
Jamie’s mother, or Mrs Campbell as he was obliged to call
her, was a perfectly pleasant, well-meaning individual (and all too often
sprang into Liam’s early fumbling and sexual fantasies, a fact that he was
red-facedly aware of when invited by her to ‘come away in’) who exuded bonhomie and a ready smile.
She took his jacket (a synthetic monstrosity his mother had made
him wear which actually belonged to his dad and was, naturally, too big for
him. Why do mothers seek to embarrass and humiliate their children? Didn’t they
realise that it was hard enough to survive in the poorer schools of the west of
Scotland without appearing in outlandish attire? Why was he the only one he
knew with an orange polo-neck?) and bid him go into the front room where Jamie
and his dad were watching the early news on television (another little
difference; tea-time was not to be five or five-thirty but, six-thirty
-Hi Liam, says Jamie
-you find us ok? I don’t think you’ve been before...
-yes thanks Mr Campbell, no problem...
Mr Campbell is a dark-haired, stocky man dressed casually in
a rugby shirt and jeans. He has a cat on his lap and he smiles at Liam warmly.
Jamie asks Liam if he wants to go up to his bedroom.
Even the stuff in Jamie’s bedroom is different to anything Liam
is used to. Tennis rackets, cricket bats, and books...! Shelves of books. Liam browses. Aesop’s Fables, Biggles, Scott, Stevenson,
books about sharks, natural history, Scottish history. There’s magazines too; National Geographic and Science Today
Liam sits on the chair next to what is obviously Jamie’s
study desk. He recognises home-work he’s been doing for Mr McDaid’s geography
class. Jamie says;
-It won’t be long till dinner (gives himself away here!).
Mind if I put on a record, I just bought one today?
-naw, that’s fine. What did you buy?
-Emerson Lake and Palmer’s new one. You like ELP?
-haven’t heard much to be honest
Liam was aware that Jamie liked his ‘prog rock’ as he put
it. All bands with wierd names like Van Der Graaf Generator and Gentle Giant. Liam
liked so-called ‘heavy rock – bands like Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple and to be
honest he still quite liked the groups he had liked originally, and only
recently had been to see the film Slade
In Flame and went to see The Sweet live at the Glasgow Apollo. He felt
attached to these types of groups somehow. Not the sort of bands to have albums
entitled Brain Salad Surgery.
-You heard the new Roxy Music single? Jamie asked Liam who
was wondering if it would be alright to smoke, but he guessed he better not
ask, might be embarrassing for Jamie to say no.
-aye, it’s mental. Guy’s got some weird voice, and that Eno
wan looks like a space cadet right enough..! Liam realised that he’d let slip
his ‘politer’ accent and had slipped back into scheme argot. He felt a familiar
resentment at having to disguise his natural way of speaking and wished they could
talk about this and bash out a deal. You talk you’re way I’ll talk mine. But,
he liked Jamie; in many ways he was his best friend, and he knew Jamie had his
own problems with vernacular. He’d
once asked Jamie why it was that a boy like him, from a different background to
the rest of them happened to be at the same school. He said something about his
father believing in the State system, so had no problem with him attending the
local school. Liam wasn’t sure he thought this was exactly fair on Jamie, but
hadn’t said anything.
-I like that Benny the Bouncer, offered Liam, referring to
the track that had just finished.
They were called down by Jamie’s mum to eat their
tea/dinner. He was placed at a large wooden table in the kitchen area where he
was served, he couldn’t believe it...
Egg and Chips..!
-Egg and chips? Fancy that! You wouldn’t imagine them in
their big house eating egg and chips..! Liam’s mum wasn’t sure either what she
thought they should be eating, but
she was surprised it was egg and chips. It had even crossed her mind fleetingly
that this may have been some sort of gesture on the part of Mrs Campbell to
make the dinner something that Liam would like, or was used to. Maybe she
thought it would have made him uncomfortable not knowing which knife to use to
slice his roast pheasant, so she’d kept it simple. Maybe after Liam had gone
they’d all made vomiting gestures about having to have eaten anything so awful
as egg and chips to make Jamie’s friend feel at home. It was tricky stuff this
‘social divide’ carry-on. Maybe that’s why people just stuck to their own.
Mr and Mrs Hutcheson worried about their son’s seeming
inability or desire to ‘mix with his own’. He also seemed to be getting in to a
lot of fights recently, and not doing too well in them either judging by some
of the states he arrived home in; clothes all ripped, blood on his school
blazer – and his little brother David had let slip something yesterday that
made her fear that maybe he was getting picked on at school. Liam’s dad had
told her he wasn’t too worried if he was fighting, as long as that was what he
was doing – fighting. He knew from
his own bitter experience what it was to be bullied at school, and as long as
it wasn’t that, well that was OK with him.
-you like Jamie, eh son? She asked as she was ironing his
school clothes for tomorrow.
-aye, aye...he’s a nice guy. Got a lot of interests – books,
records and that.
-does he get on with any of the others at school? She hated
the idea that her son and Jamie were all each other had at school, that they
were somehow isolated together.
-o aye, he’s pretty popular. All the teacher’s like him too.
He’s very clever.
-well, so are you! His mother was always the first to defend
him, and had a well-tuned radar for any hint of criticism of any of her family,
but for some treason she couldn’t fathom, more so for Liam. He seemed
particularly vulnerable and, God knows, she should know, she had felt that
vulnerability her whole life. A fearsome, drunken father will force you to do
one of two things – stand up and face the world, or hide from it and feel fear
the rest of your life. She had done the latter, and she often felt she’d passed
her own weakness on to her eldest son.
-you just don’t think enough of yourself, that’s your
trouble. You’re very clever and bright, always reading...She found her words
trailing off; she knew her words were familiar and futile. Whatever was
happening with her son was not going to be solved by her words, though what was
she to do? How could she help?
Liam just sat there not answering his mum. He wished she’d
stop talking about school. He couldn’t seem to get away from it, not even when
he wasn’t there. He didn’t want to talk about school, he didn’t want to think
about school, he didn’t want to go to
school. If he’d known how to describe how he’d felt at that time he’d have
said...devastated! Inside, he felt a
terrible bleak, fearful feeling. A true dread. Lately, he’d taken to dogging school, actually not going. He’d
forge a letter from his mother saying he was too sick to attend, but he
wouldn’t get away with this much longer before enquiries would be made. He’d
already been caught once by the police. He’d been playing truant, as they described it and chased around the park
then taken back to school in a police car (this had, ironically, given him a
taste of credibility, he felt like
James Cagney in White Heat. To all
the kids looking out the classroom windows he was an outlaw, a real gangster –
this street cred hadn’t lasted long
and the bullying of him had continued).
He knew when and where his downfall began. He was six and
quite happily attending primary school. Because he was tall for his age, the
rest of his class (the male contingent, at any rate) ordained him as the best
fighter. In the academy award categories of west of Scotland primary
schools ‘Best Fighter’ was the equivalent of ‘Best Actor’ (for reasons he
couldn’t quite account for he was also deemed best football player and funniest
in class, two other important categories). His fall from grace came one day
when a lad from Glasgow started at the school. This lad had obviously listened
to the advice every Scottish father gave to his son when starting a new school
– find out who the top dog is and take him down. This he achieved, remarkably
easily, in the school playground. Far from being the best fighter he was doesn’t
seem to want to fight at all. This lad gave him quite the wee beating, and
the humiliation felt that day has only intensified since. His classmates looked
at him differently after that, they were embarrassed for him. One or two,
resentful that they had duped themselves into the hype that I was best fighter,
decided to raise their own status at his expense. His demotion, actual and
moral, was quick and clinical. Worse, it was then his infant mind realised once
and for all that he could not bring himself to fight, at least not to any good
effect, and that his life would be akin to one of a ‘sitting duck’, constantly
prey to the violent whims of others.
Since then, he’d had to start at a total of four schools and
had been badly bullied at each one. Why, one may reasonably ask, was this not
picked up on and dealt with by the teaching staff. The answer is that teacher’s
barely got to learn of such things, and if they did they largely ignored it or
at most telling the bullied boy to ‘shape up’. In fact, it was Liam’s
experience that the teacher’s were sometimes the bullies too. They wouldn’t
pick on the hard lads but they would
certainly pick on him. He remembered not too long ago, the’ techi-drawing’ teacher
taking him into his little room at the back of the class
where he kept materials, and tanning his arse with his leather ‘tawse’. This
wasn’t ‘corporal punishment’ this was wilful assault.
His ‘education’ had undoubtedly suffered due to all of this.
He had been pushed on a year at primary school basically for being ‘bright’ and
it had proved a disastrous occurrence for him. In the schools he had attended
you weren’t exactly lauded by your
contemporaries for being bright, and
especially not now, as had happened, you were a year younger than them. A
year’s a long time at that age.
There are many, too often unexpected, realms of a boy’s life
that lacking a year can make such a difference to. By the time his class-mates
were fourteen, Liam was thirteen. Puberty – a critical time in any boy’s life,
when hormone’s alone mark the next step in his evolution. Swimming lessons,
P.E. lessons – certain things become apparent, to one’s self and to other
rough-and-ready boy’s. For weeks, since he first became aware of the glaring
problem, Liam had managed, either by dodging P.E. and swimming or by wearing
his trunks/shorts before and after
these events, but he wasn’t going to get away with it much longer. Already it
had been the source of enquiry and ridicule and it wouldn’t be much longer
until some smart-arse would demand removal of said items. All this of course,
because he was the only boy not to possess pubic hair. He was as bald in that
area as the day he was born. He’d search feverishly for any sign of first
growth but there was nothing; even if there had been it wouldn’t have been
greatly apparent due to him being fair-haired. Such was his terror at being
discovered bereft of pubic hair, he found himself one night cutting little
strands of hair from his head and attempting to sello-tape them onto his pubic area. This was in preparation for
the swimming lesson the next day. Painstakingly, he attempted to make this
pubic toupee convincing, and duly arrived at school the next day with his
underpants full of sello-taped head-hair.
He was to discover to his horror that sello-tape cannot be
relied upon for this function, and does not adhere to skin quite with the same
determination as it would to, say, wood or wall. Luckily, he discovered this
before the swimming lesson and was able to miss it due to a feigned illness.
Putting him on a year had left Liam struggling in an alien
constituency, and he’d already been struggling quite enough as it was.
Jamie had been swithering for days about it. He needed to
talk to someone about the bullying his friend had been receiving. He could only
speculate in his mind about how it must make Liam feel – the public shame and
humiliation of it, the prospect of it occurring on what seemed like an almost
daily basis. He couldn’t talk to Liam’s parents about it as this would force
them to take action about it which Jamie suspected instinctively, might not
help the situation, might even make it worse. It may be even further degrading
for Liam, having his parents fight his battles. What could they do anyway –
speak to the Headmaster? Jamie was not at all certain that this would have any
beneficial effect. From what he’d heard of the Headmaster, he was a bit of a bully
himself; definitely ‘strap-happy’.
Jamie thought of approaching a certain teacher, Mr Cleve,
the Modern Studies teacher was well liked by his pupils, of which he and Liam
were two, and he was particularly fond of Liam who attended his dinner-time guitar
lessons. This would only put Mr Cleave in an awkward position though. Bullying
was a thing no-one, including teacher’s, wanted to admit the existence of.
Jesus! They were probably scared of them as well. There had been many an
incident between teachers and the more violent pupils. The last headmaster had
gone after a pupil had kicked him squarely in the testicles while he was trying
to stop a brawl in the playground.
So, he chose to speak to his Dad, who was after all in the
legal profession and may know of a way to arbitrate, or at least how to
progress with such a thing.
His dad worked very hard and was very committed to his job.
He liked to stand up for what he termed ‘the underdog’. Tenants versus
landlords, sacked workers at tribunal cases, that sort of thing. Now older,
Jamie had come to realise that his dad was a bit of a ‘leftie’ who would shout
at Tories on the telly and attend fund-raisers for striking miners, even
defending them in court if they had been arrested during picket duty. He looked
the part too, with his ‘Zapata’ moustache and velvet jacket, he looked like he
should be on Top of the Pops not turning up at Magistrate’s Court’s.
Jamie found him alone in his study where he was working on
one of his cases.
-Dad, he said clearing his throat to signal his presence
-Jamie, he answered breezily, he was always pleased to see
his son, never too busy for him
-I was wondering if you had time to talk about something
that’s been bothering me.
-sure, his dad answered, a look of genuine concern took over
his face, it was unusual for Jamie to request his attention so formally.
Usually things just came up in banter and conversation –what’s the matter, son?
-It’s not about me actually, Jamie sat down on the little
couch in the room –it’s about my friend Liam, you know, who you met?
-yep, yep, nice lad, intelligent – you could tell
-well, he’s having a really bad time at school, and nobody
is really doing anything about it. He gets badly bullied nearly every day,
mostly from the same kid. Jamie nearly stopped after describing Tam McAdam as
‘kid’, to explain that McAdam was no kid, he was a brutal monster.
-I see! And do the teacher’s know about it? Any of them?
-well, considered Jamie -you’d think they would, it often
happens in the middle of the playground and it always attracts crowds of boys
when it happens. None of the teachers ever come out to break it up or anything,
though!
-and it’s really bad this bullying then? Not that any
bullying’s acceptable I’m not saying that, who’s the boy that bullies him most?
-Tam McAdam, a right ned (‘ned’ was such a strange word to
hear in a household such as this, you felt you ought not to use the acronym but
the whole term –Tam is such a ‘non-educated delinquent’!). He really gives Liam
a hard time calling him names, and it always ends with him kicking and punching
him. The other day he dragged him by the blazer into the junior playground to
show Liam’s wee brother what he’d done.
-God almighty! Jamie’s dad exclaimed, genuinely shocked –and
there were no teacher’s around to stop this?
-well, no. There’s supposed to be a teacher in the
playground during breaks but, they never seem to be around for this kind of
thing, sometimes they’ll break up fights but, to be honest, I don’t think even
the teachers would take on someone like McAdam, he’s got a bit of a
reputation..
-And I suppose the Monitors would be pretty useless too..?
-totally useless, they’ll just disappear
Mr Campbell became thoughtful. If he was honest with himself
he’d have to admit that he’d often had his doubts about the school he’d sent
his child to; guiltily he wondered if he’d been naive in doing so. His great
belief in State education did not come from his own experience; apart from
early junior school he had been educated at fee-paying establishments. From
what he was hearing, it may be unfair of him to deprive his son of such a
privilege; merely on the grounds of his own ideological convictions.
-I don’t suppose Liam’s parents are aware of any of this? He
ventured
- I don’t think so, but I was wondering if maybe his little
brother had said something after the other day..
-mmm, his dad offered in agreement. Even he, as a lawyer,
was aware that he was entering dangerous and sensitive territory, and it made
him feel uneasy. He could see immediately though that he would have to take
some action. It was terrible that this was happening to someone who amounted
to, well, a family friend, in a sense, and, he couldn’t let his son down. He
was proud that he had such a caring, thoughtful son.
-do you mind if I talk to your mum about this, would that be
ok? I think it might be only right if perhaps we talk to Liam’s mum and dad. We
can’t just leave this to go on..!
So Mr Campbell spoke to his wife and she agreed that they
would have to tell Liam’s parents.
Angela Giffon wasn’t keen on most of the boys in her class.
It was all fighting and football non-stop. The one’s that were supposed to be so attractive appeared to
her like thugs. Stupid girls liked them because of their notoriety; it made
them feel special to be on the arm of
such idiots. Angela liked a boy who didn’t seem to like himself too much. She’d
witnessed his decline even in the short time he’d been at the school. Lanky and
‘soft-faced’, she knew instantly that he would suffer at this school – probably
at any school. Another handicap he bore was that he was clever. Clever was OK if you had something credible to compensate
for it – the best being that you could fight but, good looking, trendily
dressed, attracting interest from football scouts, those would be ok too – but,
just being clever, in this
environment – you didn’t stand a chance. It wasn’t that he kept answering the
teacher’s questions, or getting amazing marks, he just looked clever. He exuded a sensitivity and
intelligence, not to mention a dry wit that won him no brownie-points with the
long-black coat brigade and their followers.
And she could see him drowning day-by-day.
She was of course taking a risk by befriending him, but she,
unlike him, could fight her own battles, and didn’t mind being considered different by those she considered to be
morons. It was no skin off her nose if they spoke ill of her. At any rate, somebody had to help this poor boy and,
at least by giving him her friendship he at least gained a little credibility.
She did after all attract many admirers among the boys.
Liam was indeed pleased beyond words over Angela’s attention,
not to say surprised. Such was his low self esteem; he suspected that it was
some kind of ‘wind-up’ orchestrated by one of his many antagonists. He quickly realised though that, in her, he
had met a kindred spirit of sorts. She liked to read books for pleasure not
just because she had to for school, and she discussed them in a way, and with a
vocabulary that dispelled any idea of collusion with the head-bangers in the
class.
One thing she insisted on talking about made him feel very
uncomfortable indeed. She wasn’t as he was willing to treat his ‘situation’
like ‘the elephant in the room’ – there, but never talked about. He hated being
in a situation of having to talk to anyone, much less a girl he so wanted to
impress, about the behaviour he ‘was apparently putting-up with’ as she put it.
She wasn’t being crass or insensitive enough to say he should fight fire with
fire and hit back, she understood better than that, she understood it just
wasn’t in him. She told him that she wouldn’t find anything to like about him
if he was ‘just like those others’. She liked him for who he was; gentle,
sensitive, funny, intelligent! But,
he couldn’t go on suffering like this. He countered by saying that he couldn’t
for the life of him think of anything he could do to make it go away. She said
he should make a stand in his own way, not through violence, but through words
and reason. He should shame the likes of Tam McAdam by writing about his
experience, not in an accusative way, but by describing what this was doing to
him. He should write to the headmaster, the education department, the
newspapers – mentioning no names – just an honest account of what he was being
put through. That, she believed was his only way forward – at least then he’d
be doing something, at least addressing the matter. He should do it
for himself, and for everyone suffering in this way. Then, enigmatically, she
said she couldn’t go out with anyone who just suffered without action; if he
didn’t love himself, how could he love someone else.
This turn of events was thrilling and, at the same time, terrifying
to Liam. His emotions were all mixed up, he couldn’t assess them clearly. He
was thrilled, naturally, to be the object of attention of such a wonderful,
attractive girl, he also felt though a strange sense of a terrible
responsibility and that he would ultimately let her down. His was a world mired
in violence and it would always, always defeat him.
Liam’s dad replaced the phone on the receiver and blew out
his cheeks. His wife Joanie had picked up the gist of the very worrying
conversation. She asked her husband to elaborate.
-was that about what I think it was about? She enquired
-aye,aye I’m afraid it was honey, I’m afraid it was. That
was young Jamie’s da. Jamie told him Liam was gettin’ bullied at school
-well that confirms what the wee yin was sayin’ about Liam
being dragged around the school
-aye, it certainly would appear to, that’s what Jamie told
him, and that’s not the only time – seems its happening all the time. No wonder
the boys so miserable all the time..
-aye and not eating like he used to either, his trousers
just slide off him, he’s lost so much weight. What are we goin to do Tommy?
What’s for the best?
-well, that’s just it. The Campbell’s have invited us ‘round
for dinner, I think they mean tea, you know, night-time dinner. Och! You know
what I mean. I said I’d have a word wi’ you and get back to him. To be honest,
I didn’t know what to say, Do thae no’ live up in those big houses up at
Brewster Hill?
-next to the baths aye! It’d be rude to say no I ‘spose. Is
it to discuss Liam, surely that’s for us...
-Och he didn’t mean it that way, he’s a nice guy, awful
apologetic about interfering, but you could see where he stood, his boy had
telt him, he had to do something. He’s a lawyer, maybe it would be right
useful...Och anything that might help...
-Aye, aye your right! Joanie fought her impulse to wonder
what to wear to such an occasion, this was too important for that
-he says the sooner the better, mentioned tomorrow night,
what d’ye think?
-aye, might as well get it over with... She was sorry she’d
used those words but it wasn’t really something to look forward to discussing
your own son being bullied. She thought that if either Liam or Jamie were being
bullied then it would have been Jamie with his big house and well-off parents,
but she knew why it was Liam, he had it written all over him.
They decided they would do nothing until they had discussed
it with the Campbell’s. Joanie wondered if they would get egg and chips too.
Liam’s wee brother, David, was reading a comic in his room, Liam
knocked on the already open door.
-hi wee man, how you doin’?
-ok, how are you? Liam hadn’t really seen his brother since
the horrendous incident with McAdam in the playground. He’d been avoiding him
really, out of shame. He’d avoided his wee brother for some time, to be honest.
They used to enjoy each other’s company, and Liam had enjoyed the fact that his
wee brother looked up to him and hung on his every word, but events had changed
all that. Now he could barely look his own brother in the eye. Indeed, they do
say the bullied becomes the bully, and this had happened with him and his
brother. Too often he’d taken his anger and frustration out on the wee man over
the slightest thing. He was so full of love for his brother but it was all
enmeshed and stunted with shame and anger. The wee man must wonder what the
hell happened. Yet, here he sat, pleased at his brothers rare attention, a wee
look of shy concern on his face.
-aye, ok...listen, see that the other day? This was so
difficult. How do you bring up the subject of your own debasement to your
nine-year old brother? He felt he just wanted to die –did you mention anything
to Ma and Da aboot it?
His brother looked fearful –well, sort of to mum I s’pose
-whit did ye say? Liam felt anger freezing in him. What a
typical coward he had become. The only person he could take anything out on was
a nine-year-old who wouldn’t hit back
-sorry wee man, what did you tell her
-just that you were in a fight. Liam knew the wee man well
enough to know that he was trying to temper the facts
-just a fight?
-well, aye, and that ye wurnae winnin’
Liam knew that this was not a true account of what his
brother had told his parents but, now he knew they knew of it. He felt a
mixture of fear and relief. He didn’t want to face this, but he was so tired of
carrying the burden of this alone. He’d been living in a dark place alone for
too long.
The Hutcheson’s had walked up the leafy drive to stand at
the door of the Campbell’s house. This was quite daunting for both of them; it
was like visiting Downing Street so novel was it to be visiting such people in
such a place. The nearest they got to visiting a house like this was a visit to
Doctor Ingles’ surgery which was situated within the confines of his home. It
actually felt a bit like visiting the doctors, similar nervous flutter as your
name was called. Tommy Hutcheson rang the bell and there was one last
‘how-do-I-look?’ from his wife.
The Campbell’s had been nervous about this visit too. They
felt it wasn’t really their place to be discussing Liam’s problems with his own
parents. They were worried their invitation had come across like a summons.
They were very aware that their social
position vis a vis the parents of the other children in Jamie’s class and
it was like walking through a minefield even attending a parents evening. It
was like the Laird and his wife were paying a visit. No-one they met spoke in
their everyday accent; no-one was at ease with them at all. They were surprised
that women didn’t curtsy and men didn’t touch their caps and murmur ‘yessir!’
It was a situation they both found disheartening. They had many friends among
their ‘own kind’ but they weren’t snobs and they would’ve liked to have got on
with the parents of Jamie’s school-friends. They were all Scots after all.
Mr Campbell answered the door while his wife hung back
behind them in the hallway.
-hi there, glad you found us, come away inside..! Mr
Campbell ushered them in –this is my wife Fiona, and I’m Jack, though I think I
told you all that last night on the phone...
Mr Hutcheson introduced his wife and himself, on the phone
last night it had all been ‘Mr Hutcheson’, somehow he didn’t feel it was his
place to de-formalise it with insistence on first names.
-I think we’ve met before, offered Mrs Campbell to Joanie
Hutchison –at the parents’ meeting
-yes, that’s right, said Joanie nervously, they’d been asked
for their coats, and she was very self-conscious about the dress she was
wearing. She hadn’t worn it since her sisters’ wedding and felt it may be too
‘dressy’ for the occasion. Fiona Campbell was wearing a simple blouse and
skirt.
-that’s a nice dress, lively colour, said Fiona kindly, she
could tell almost telepathically what the other woman was worried about and
quickly set out to put her at her ease.
-come in and have a wee seat in the warm, there’s a chill in
the air tonight.
Looking around this spacious, high-ceilinged, elegant lounge
room, Joanie Hutcheson could see that this was the real deal. These people were
the real deal. The fixture and fittings in this room gleamed and glowed with
relative affluence – relative to anyone else that she knew at any rate. She wouldn’t even know where to buy this
stuff.
-can I get you both a drink? Asked Jack, keen to put the
visitors at their ease, then blurted out to Tommy –I’ve got some beer..!
Tommy smiled warmly –beer will be fine aye!
Jack realised the implications of his last statement. It
meant ‘I don’t usually have beer in the house, but I’ve bought some special
because it crossed my mind that is what you would drink’; he left it where it
was.
He poured Joanie her desired glass of white wine, then he
raised his glass in a sort of toast to all of them –all the best! To which they
responded in kind.
-It was awful nice of you to invite us round, offered Joanie
–it’s a lovely house you’ve got
-thank you, Joanie, it’s a delight for us to have the chance
to get to know the parents of Jamie’s friend’s, seems awful strange knowing Liam
and never getting to know his parents, he’s such a nice, intelligent boy, he
and Jamie hit it off wonderfully
-yes, they certainly seem to have a lot in common, replied
Joanie, though looking around at this house and these surroundings you could
easily question if they had as much in common as all that.
- I Hope you won’t mind me saying something so early on,
Jack spoke clearly and precisely as you would expect of a lawyer –I just wanted
to say that it’s lovely having you both here, but I feel I may have rather imposed myself on what is essentially
your own private matter, you may feel that a little I don’t know, he was trying
to avoid sounding like he was addressing a jury but he wasn’t sure he was
succeeding –anyway, I want you to feel that we don’t have to talk about Liam
and any problems he’s having if you don’t want to. I had to raise the matter
with you because my son had told me about it, but I perfectly understand if you
just want to handle it in your own way privately, and we could just have a
drink, some food and a good blether tonight, whichever you think is right for
you...
Tommy felt he should interject to ease the man’s discomfort
–I appreciate that Jack, we both to, he nodded to his wife –to be honest, we
wish we didn’t have anything to discuss, but as I said to you on the phone last
night, we appreciate that you told us. Anything that can help Liam is the main
thing to us Jack. We were all for going up to the school to see the Headmaster
today, but then we stopped and thought we might just be doing that for the sake
of doing something when it might not be the best thing to do, might even make
it worse. So any input you may have Jack, and Fiona, he nodded at the man’s
wife.
-well, listen, interjected Fiona –why don’t I go and see how
the dinner’s doing and then we can chat, how’s that?
Tam McAdam was slightly miffed. His nose was a little out of
joint, metaphorically speaking, of course. That big tit on legs Hutcheson
seemed to be receiving the attentions of that wee ride Donna Giffon, and that
was something that couldn’t stand. He’d fancied that snotty wee cow for some
time now, and there was no way that prick was getting in first.
Tam was sitting on a wall outside his block of flats making
little puddles of spit at his feet. He had this hard-man habit of spitting
little jets of spit from between a gap in his teeth, he thought it looked cool.
He surveyed his surroundings with the air of a king or an emperor. Nothing held
any fear for him. He thought again about Hutcheson and the Giffon girl. It
couldn’t happen – he’d make sure of it.
Liam knew that something was afoot when he learned that his
parents were going to Mr and Mrs Campbell’s for their ‘dinner’. He had been
left to look after his wee brother, and he was sitting miserably watching the
TV, not taking in anything that he was watching. He knew that it had to do with
him and what was going on at school. He worked out that his brother had alerted
his Ma and Da to the ‘problem’, though at first he couldn’t work out what
brought the Campbell’s into it. Were his mother and father looking to them for
advice? Was it because Mr Campbell was a lawyer? Had Jamie said something? He
thought this last possibility was the most likely. Whatever it was he didn’t
like it. He thought about the likely result of this meeting. A visit to Mr Crossens
the Headmaster? Some form of legal action? A confrontation with Tam
McAdam? This last caused him to jolt in anxiety. How embarrassing. His parents
fighting his battles for him. He’d honestly rather die. Thoughts of suicide had
been prevalent in his mind for some time now, but such an outcome would make
him consider it very seriously. Very seriously indeed. He’d considered the
possibility of the electric cables above the railway track, one touch and you’d
be gone forever.
Liam’s parents were not aware of his thoughts, though they
were more than aware of the seriousness of the situation as they listened to
Jack give them Jamie’s account of events in more detail than he’d thought to do
on the phone. Liam’s mother was now matching up the picture of the blood and
bruising on Liam’s head and the state of his clothes. The kicking, the
dragging, the punching, the humiliation of presenting his bloodied and
blubbering form to his wee brother in the junior playground. Her heart became
filled with grief and anger. This McAdam was ruining her boys life, and his
poor wee brother forced to witness it. Fiona Campbell was over beside her
consoling her as she cried in pain. Tommy Hutcheson himself was close to tears
hearing the same story, he wanted to beat the living shit out of this McAdam
character, and his frustration only turned to an anger inside him when he
realised that he wouldn’t do this; he couldn’t. He knew he could conveniently
hide behind the very plausible theory that it would do the boy no good for his
father to be fighting his battles for him. He felt a tremendous sense of guilt
and shame over this.
They’d had their dinner of home-made soup followed by Steak
Pie that Fiona Campbell had made. Joanie Hutcheson had warmed greatly to Fiona.
She was, she could tell as down-to-earth in her own way as Joanie felt herself
to be. The egg and chips would have been a genuine and fitting meal for two
young boys. Now, she had her arm around Joanie’s shoulders and offering her
words of comfort.
-Christ almighty, Tommy exclaimed –we’ve got to put a stop
to this, what’s the best way do you think, Jack? He hated himself for hoping
that Jack wouldn’t recommend that Tommy take some form of personal retribution,
but his next thought was that, as a lawyer, he wasn’t likely to suggest taking
the law in to your own hands.
-It has to be taken up with the authorities quite clearly,
they have the responsibility of their pupils, in loco parentis in the truest sense, they are letting you as Liam’s
parents, down. I’d say you should arrange a meeting urgently with Mr Crossens,
the headmaster. Fiona and I went to see him when we were looking at schools for
Jamie...
-He seemed very nice, opined Fiona –a straight-forward sort
of chap, didn’t seem like he’d take much nonsense
‘Went to see him..’ Joanie thought. These people were so
confident, used to getting taken seriously. Neither she nor her husband had
ever met the Headmaster; never even entertained the notion that they should. It
was just the school the boys’ were going to and that was that, no question of
‘choice’ at all.
-tell him you mean to take this up with the education
authorities. Go over his head if nothing is done.
Tommy listened to this and two thoughts ran simultaneously
in his mind. The first was, this is not how things are done in our world, it’s called cliping and it will earn the boy no
favours. The other was, we’re not the type to make threats to headmasters, and
we’re not the type to have our threats taken very seriously. When he said
earlier that he was considering going to see the Headmaster today, it wasn’t
his attention to make threats, it was more to plead for him to get something done about it, to ask for his help. If he’d been a man in
Jack Campbell’s social position then
things like threats would come on to the agenda.
He couldn’t voice any of this of course. He knew something
had to be done, and would be done. His confusion was over what this something
was. The only true and honest and acceptable solution was for his son to smash
a brick in McAdams face, and he was now fighting a growing resentment at his
son’s failure to comply with this and let them all off the bloody hook.
Any approach to the Headmaster would lead to a request to
name names, and that was a dangerous game in the community they came from. Even
then, what guarantee was there that any good would come of this? What about
outside school? The school had no jurisdiction over that. Would they then have
to involve the police? He and Jack Campbell were coming for two different
worlds; Tommy understood Jack’s far better than Jack had any comprehension of
his.
-Jamie doesn’t have any problems like this, does he? Asked
Joanie to neither Campbell in particular.
-No Joanie, he doesn’t, answered Jack –we half expected he
might have problems given his...well..background I suppose. We had him take
boxing and karate from a young age, I’m not sure if that’s the reason, but it
doesn’t hurt I suppose..
Tommy piped up –I hope you don’t take this the wrong way
Jack, I wouldn’t want to do anything to offend your hospitality and your
kindness, but I’m not sure in Jamie’s case if it’s anything to do with boxing
or karate, I think you’ve got it the wrong way around. I think it’s because of his background that he
doesn’t get touched..
-I don’t get you, Jack seemed genuinely perplexed
-Well, even your McAdams of this world are no’ stupid enough
to mess wi’ somebody like Jamie from a middle class family that would make serious problems for them.
Father a lawyer, money, influential friends. You must see that...!
-I’d never really thought of it like that Tommy, I must say.
I always thought they’d maybe pick on a ‘posh’ boy from the nice house and
that. Still, I do see your argument...
-there’s a code among people that come from our sort of
community. Ye fight yer ain battles, and you don’t grass people up to the
authorities..
-Even if they’re ruining your son’s life..?
This was Fiona who’d been listening to this with growing
indignation. She believed her son was not being bullied because he was popular,
outgoing and robust, and, yes he could look after himself. Liam Hutcheson
couldn’t and was going through hell, and she was forced to endure his father
going on about codes and grassing people up.
-your codes are not helping your son are they, they’re
prolonging the agony. You have to go up to that school and demand that something is done immediately, the gloves were off now and
Fiona was showing her true colours –I think you’ve got me wrong anyway. I may
live in a nice house now with a lawyer for a husband but I’m from a two-room
flat in Maryhill wi’ four brothers, two sisters and my mother and father all
sharing it too. I know all about codes, but there comes a time when you’ve just
got to step in, and make it count while you’re at it. We’re losing sight of the
awful things that are happening to this boy, Jamie says on an almost daily
basis. Think about how he must feel....I’m sorry but I’m absolutely raging that
this sort of thing is still allowed to go on in this day and age, and nobody
doing a thing about it. Christ! If you don’t go up I bloody well will..
Tommy sat there believing with all his heart that it would
be much better if she did, better still perhaps, her husband with his
persuasive way with words. The world was differently-shaped for people such as these.
They were used to getting things done their way. For the sake of saving face
though, he couldn’t do other than concur.
-No! No you’re right of course, both of you. It’s the only
course of action to take. We’ll be phoning the school in the morning and
setting up a meeting with the Headmaster. He looked over at his wife who was
nodding in agreement, but he could see the doubt and apprehension in her eyes.
-There’s something I’d like to do off my own bat, offered
Jack suddenly as he filled Joanie’s glass with some more white wine –I’m not
happy about this happening in at the school my boy attends, so I propose to let
the headmaster know this by letter. I will be guided by yourselves as to the timing of this, if you want me to wait
until after you visit the school I will. I actually think it can only lend
weight to your complaint, the fact that you’re not isolated, that there are
concerns from another party. I won’t even have to name any names, just make it
clear that I am aware of what’s going on and I am upset that nothing appears to
be being done about it, even though it is occurring in full view in the school
playground. As I say, I feel I am entitled as a parent to do this, in fact I
feel duty bound to do so completely independent of your own actions. I just
thought I should tell you...
Tommy and Joanie, if they could speak from their hearts,
were delighted at Jack’s intentions, no longer feeling alone in this, and, in
fact, emboldened, though this may have been the effect of the alcohol.
When they arrived home that evening they found Liam sitting
pensively on the sofa.
-Hi Son! Greeted Tommy sitting down beside his son and
ruffling his hair. He felt better now that a course of action had been settled,
though only the residual effects of the alcohol was keeping at bay the awful
apprehension he felt about what they were supposedly going to do.
Joanie was up stairs changing the attire she had been
feeling so self-conscious about all evening. She felt exhausted. She felt that she
was entering into a bad dream. All her life she’d been scared of authority. Her
father had ‘cowed’ her from an early age with his drunken rages and
protestations that his children had kept him back. She’d lived her life ever
since trying desperately to avoid confrontation. The only people she felt
comfortable confronting were her husband and her kids, and only then to keep
them happy and in line. Now this. Meetings with headmaster’s it was to be. She
trembled inside at the thought; a feeling of cold, dark dread came over her.
Couldn’t she just continue doing what she was good at; making a comfortable
home, making her family feel safe and warm; feeding and watering them? She
badly needed her husband to take control of this; tell her not to worry, he’d
sort it out, but she knew him too well. Tommy was no fighter either; not
really. He’d be as worried about this as she was. And yet, here they were
worried about they were going to cope
when it was her poor son that was suffering so. This thought resolved her a
little into taking what action was needed to save her son. She wiped her eyes,
and looked more levelly at herself in her bedroom mirror.
-How did you get on at Jamie’s mum and dad’s? Jamie was sure
now of the reason for their visit and wanted to hear the result of it
-We’ll talk about that, son. It’s getting late and you’ve
got school tomorrow, now off you go. As Tommy said this he realised that in
saying ‘you’ve got school tomorrow’ he might as well have been saying ‘you’ve
got your ritual humiliation tomorrow and the shite to be beaten out of you’. He
also realised that he was not going to send his son to school tomorrow or until
the threat of him being ritually bullied was removed.
-Actually, son! Might as well be now as any other time –you
won’t be going to school tomorrow
-How no’? Liam looked fearful, his fears becoming reality
-Well, that was why we were at Mr and Mrs Campbells’, though
we suspected something was wrong for some time, your mother and I, they just
confirmed it for us. You’re getting bullied at school, mainly it would appear
by Tam McAdam...
Jamie stared at his father. The words were not totally
unexpected, but they seemed to take some time to enter his brain, as if he
couldn’t quite believe the source of them, or indeed how much sense they seemed
to make. His father’s statement was brutally and coldly accurate. He was being bullied, and the bullying was
being done, in the main, by Tam McAdam. It was no longer a dark and lonely
secret he held from his parents. Strangely, this produced two conflicting
emotions. Relief that he had his
parents as allies, and fear; this now
meant that some action had to be taken to resolve the matter. He could think of
no possible action that he was in favour of. Was his Dad going to ask him to
confront Tam McAdam – stand up to him? Was his father going to stand up to him?
Were they going to go around and confront Tam McAdams parents? Tam McAdam was
virtually a clone, a protégé of his father’s, if they were lucky Tam McAdam’s
father would be in prison again, though he wouldn’t want to bump into his
mother on a dark night either. Was it to be a visit to the school, the Headmaster
perhaps? Just what terrifying ‘action’ was it going to be? He felt the fear now
swamping the relief.
-who told you that? Offered Liam
-Why, is it no’ true? Tommy wished by some miracle that this
was the case.
-well, aye it is! He felt it was someone other than himself
that had spoken. Someone else was at the controls and forcing the words out, or
maybe some truth drug had been administered in his American Cream Soda –was it
Jamie that told his folks? This is the conclusion his long night of worrying
and wondering had came to.
-Aye, that’s right. He’s right worried about you, so he told
his Da. From what he said it sounds pretty bad son, is it?
Liam couldn’t help it. He found himself bubbling and crying
on his father’s shoulder. All that he’d been keeping in had spilled over the
rim.
-It’s OK son, we can fix it, we can sort it out! Though he
felt tremendous love and compassion for his son at that moment, he also heard
an inner voice saying ‘my boy’s a big Jessie, just like his father’.
Mr Crossens was bothered by the phone call he had received.
It had brought home to him something he’d tried long to ignore, and as long as
it remained the case that no-one raised the issue, this he could do. He’s paid
lip-service to all the well-meaning anti-bullying
initiatives that sprung up from time to time as did any other Headmaster he was
acquainted with, he’d always imagined they originated from individuals wishing
to make their mark within the local education authority; either that or by
someone within that organisation who had perhaps suffered bullying themselves
as a child.
Whichever was the case, Mr Crossens wasn’t convinced by
these initiatives. ‘Boys will be boys, and boys should be boys’ was his credo in this matter – interfering
didn’t necessarily achieve anything. He knew from his own experience that a boy
only had to fight back to gain
respect from his peers, a boy did not necessarily have to win fights; and a boy certainly would not gain any respect or
credit from his peers by having teachers, or anyone else for that matter,
fighting a boys battles for him. Only the weak get bullied, and the weak must
learn to be strong. That said, the conversation he had just had on the telephone,
with Thomas Hutcheson, an ex-pupil and father of a current one, left him with
the distinct impression that he now had a real problem to deal with.
Remembering Thomas Hutcheson of old, he remembered he wasn’t
exactly the bravest of boys himself, and it would appear his son had followed
in his footsteps. For Thomas Hutcheson to phone as he did would not have been
easy for him, meaning the situation must be serious. He had mentioned events that his son and
others said happened in the playground. If this was true, and these events had
taken place, then where were his playground monitors? Where were the prefects
to report them? Regardless of this, he as Headmaster was ultimately responsible
for the safety and well-being of his pupils, and so it is he who would have to
answer ultimately for any breach of this responsibility.
If he was honest, he knew, though Hutcheson had mentioned no
names, who would be the perpetrator of any bullying of Liam Hutcheson. In fact,
it was widely known, even among the teaching fraternity. All of whom
half-shared the Headmasters philosophy vis
a vis the necessity of the bullied child to fight back, but principally,
were held back from action due to being shit scared of Tam McAdam. McAdam had
been suspended, expelled, the lot. It didn’t matter to him; in fact it merely
added to his legend. The boy thrived on conflict and confrontation and the
teaching community, including himself, were content to wait another year until
he was gone from their care, or lack of it, forever. Now, the Headmaster
thought bitterly, McAdam could no longer just be ignored.
Angela couldn’t believe what had just happened. She’d just
been propositioned and threatened by that ogre McAdam in the space of five
minutes. It was obvious he’d waited for her outside the school gates; standing
looking like a fucking Nazi in his long, leather coat and his blonde spiky
hair. He’d called her over, and she’d ignored him completely and walked
straight on. He’d called her again, then ran to catch up.
-ye no’ speakin’ tae me or sumthin?, he’d asked with his
usual eloquence
-I don’t speak to bullies..
He’d laughed at this –O aye yer wee friend Hutcheson, what
is it ye see in that wee prick anyway, gorgeous looking girl like you?
-well, he knows the meaning of words of more than one
syllable and he can read, how’s that for openers?
-and that’s it is it, cos the wee dicks supposed to be
clever, thats enough fur ye?
-none of your business! She couldn’t wait to turn the corner
to where she lived on the estate
-well ahm tellin’ ye hen, you might think he’s clever but ah
think he’s a fucken embarrassment. McAdam’s face was twisted with fury. Not
only was he being spurned by this wee lassie but, he was being told that
Hutcheson had some merit that he would never possess –and ye better tell yer
wee friend that he’s due a tankin’, one that he’ll never forget.
Angela stood rooted to the spot with shock as she watched
McAdam stride off with his gallus, hard-man strut. She had no doubt that he’d
meant every word of the threat he’d made and that she was now the cause of the
danger that Liam Hutcheson was in.
The estate was typical of many in the west of Scotland; grey
and concrete; functional and tough. It comprised of five tower blocks and the
same number of ‘maisonette’ blocks. It had swing parks for the kids, football
pitches on one side and a railway line on the other. It housed families moved
from other ‘slum’ areas and young families just starting out. Amongst young men
reputations were made by the usual methods of fighting, dressing in the current
styles and being successful with the lassies. The lassies tended to like lads
who were good at fighting and dressed in the current styles. Those females not
attracted to such boys remained rather socially anonymous, probably studious or
shy types. Those boys not fitting this stereotype, unless popular or immune by
other means, like being a brother of a noted nutter, were prone to being picked
on or being bullied. Estates such as these are ‘survival of the fittest’ in
microcosm. In this sense Tam McAdam was a ‘survivor’, more than that he was
akin to Royalty, fearless and brutal, he was one of the rulers of the estate. Liam
Hutcheson was not a survivor. He lived each day in a state of fear and anxiety,
never knowing if the next corner he was going to turn would lead to beatings
and humiliations. The beatings you got used to, the humiliations just ground
you down to nothing, like you were dead and can’t grow in any direction – like
your life had stopped at a terrible juncture and there was no way to move on.
He’d been blessed and cursed, both at the same time, by
having parents who wanted something different
or better for him. His dad was
political and encouraged him to read books and to support strikers, he’d even
been on a march in support of the Upper Clyde shipbuilders. His mum didn’t want
him dressing gallus like other boys
and sent him out in clothes which were in no way in vogue with what other boys
were wearing, once even knitting him
a ‘college jumper’ which were in style but no one else was wearing one their
mother knitted for him. These things mattered.
They mattered a great deal.
Any pals he had on the estate were pretty much outcasts like
himself, and even they weren’t many. Any friends he had at school suffered the
same status; the socially disenfranchised. That is except Jamie of course who
was a special case. Jamie had his own group of select friends. Apart from Liam,
none of these came from the estate, they all lived in the more well-to-do
catchment areas. Liam had briefly been a part of this group as at first year in
Secondary he was placed in the top class – 1:1 – first year, top class; the
only one from the scheme to be in this select band. Now he was in 4:8 – fourth
year bottom class. How had this happened? Why had no-one addressed this
dramatic fall? He had no answer to this. Only Jamie, who was still in the top
class, still wanted to know him, it seemed, but Liam sensed that even he was
embarrassed by the association, much as he might want to deny it to himself. Liam’s
new classmates were the likes of McAdam, and some other knuckle-heads who were
a charge away from List-D schools.
Mr Crossens invited Tommy Hutcheson and his wife to sit down
in the seats provided on the other side of the desk from him. They felt like
honoured school-children not expected to stand across from the Headmaster.
-now you said on the phone Mr Hutcheson. He felt very odd to
be addressing him so formally, previously he would be calling him merely
‘Hutcheson’ –about young Liam having some problem at school...?
Tommy Hutcheson had never wanted to set foot in this school
again, a place of hard memories for him, not unlike his son’s current
experiences. Now, he was sitting here expected to make demands of the
Headmaster. It was his wife that took up the cudgels.
-we’ve heard, Mr Crossens, that he’s being badly bullied. He
comes home with cuts and bruises and his clothes all torn. He’s been telling us
he’s been in fights but that’s not been the case...
-Can I ask how you learned of this, is it from the boy
himself?
-Well, he’s admitted it now, but only after we found out
from someone else..
-Can I ask who..? The headmaster doubted very much that any
names would be forthcoming, and he was not disappointed in his assumption.
-That’s just it headmaster, eh..Mr Crossens, Tommy felt he
had to interject before his wife blurted out any names – we’d rather not
mention any names at this point, it would just make it worse for Liam..
-well, I’m not sure what I can do Mr and eh..Mrs Hutcheson,
if I don’t know any of the facts
-well, if it’s happening in broad daylight, in the
playground..Joanie Hutcheson had taken a dislike to Mr Crossens and could tell
that he didn’t want to help in this matter at all.
-I’ve had no reports of any incidents involving your son Mrs
Hutcheson, only what you’re telling me here. Now if you can tell me who it is
you believe to be bullying your son I can look into this further..
-we can’t tell you that Mr Crossens, I think you know why we
can’t, but I can tell you that we are not the only people who are aware of
what’s going on, there are witnesses, and we will take this further if
nothing’s done about it. Tommy didn’t know where this courage was coming from to
speak to his old headmaster in this assertive manner, but suddenly he wasn’t
willing to be fobbed of. Also; he had to admit he had felt strengthened by the
knowledge that Jack Campbell had said he would be writing his letter.
Mr Crossens was taken aback. What were theses threats about
witnesses? This worried him. Witnesses? Who would come forward in such a
matter? It would be unprecedented.
-I’m not sure what I can do without knowing who’s involved.
I will though, keep a very close eye on the matter and instruct your son’s
teacher’s to do the same, and if what you tell me is actually the case, then I
can assure you that you’re son will be protected and anyone found to be
bullying him dealt with in the strongest possible manner. We are not fond of
bullies at this school and endeavour in every way to make sure it doesn’t
happen. I hope that gives you some re-assurance..
It didn’t. Not for Tommy anyway. He’d been bullied
consistently at this very school for years and nothing was ever done about it.
If anything, he was treated with contempt by bullies and staff alike. Never
mind prevent it, they seemed to join in.
-Well, we’ll have to hope that helps Mr Crossens. I can tell
you that my son appears to be generally bullied but there is one individual who
we’re told does it to him regularly and seems to pick him out. So if yourself
and your staff are keeping an eye out, you may want to look for that...
With that they said their polite goodbyes, leaving Mr
Crossens watching them cross the playground toward the school gates. If
confronted, McAdam would just deny it, and there would be no ‘witnesses’ brave
enough to pipe up, pupils or staff. ‘Take this further if nothing’s done about
it’, he didn’t like that, not one bit.
He didn’t much like the letter he received the next day
either signed Jack Campbell, Barrister at Law.
“I enrolled my son,
Jamie, at your school in good faith, confident that he would be well-educated
in a safe and well-controlled environment. What I have heard alleged about the
treatment of Liam Hutcheson, and I have no reason to disbelieve its veracity,
makes me appalled and alarmed that my son is attending a school where such
brutality goes unrecognised and unpunished.....”
It went on to demand that the matter be looked into or the
matter would be taken up with the local education authority. Mr Crossens knew now
that he would have to find some witnesses
of his own and that Mr McAdam would have to be summarily dealt with. Higher
authorities must not hear of such matters, and if they do, only that they have
been dealt with efficiently by the Headmaster and his staff. To do this, they
would need to catch McAdam in the act.
Liam dreamed of a life as a warrior. He daydreamed about
beating the living shit out of Tam McAdam among others, usually in defence of
some fair maiden, latterly Angela Giffen. Other times he dreamed of living on
an island alone; just him and the birds – though he’d read a book about
dissident Covenanters being imprisoned on Bass Rock and being driven insane by
the sound of thousands of gannets. Was there to be peace nowhere for him?
He thought of suicide far too much than was healthy; if ever
thinking of it at all at aged fifteen was healthy. He couldn’t get over the
idea that ending his life was infinitely more desirable than facing up to
someone, even Tam McAdam. He knew perfectly well that in his community even the
act of just squaring-up was enough to
win you sufficient respect from your peers for them to leave you alone. You
were considered OK then. The fact was
that most would leave you alone because
they knew you would square-up. He suspected that most lads didn’t really want
to fight, would do much to avoid it in fact, but had this ability that he so
apparently lacked just to do the honourable
thing, go through the motions, then be left-the-fuck alone.
This one thing in his life was holding everything else back.
It was like an anchor you didn’t want that wouldn’t let you move forward.
Without it he would surely be a happy young man, doing the usual things; seeing
girls, going to the disco, playing football. Yet, he had this ball of fear and
trepidation inside him that crippled any chance of happiness. He awoke
miserable, and he went to bed miserable, all because of this one stupid hurdle
he could neither jump nor walk around. And yet, he possessed anger, and in turn
aggression, he just couldn’t direct them in the appropriate direction. He took
it out on the only person he could – himself, and sometimes his wee brother.
That gave him such pain that he should turn bully on his brother. He could see
his wee face looking up at him as he held him down and growled at him; full of
fear and love, looking up at and to this beloved brother who was being cruel
and unfair to him. He ought to kill himself for the wee man’s sake, so that he
didn’t have to share in the embarrassment, be associated with it.
He knew that nothing good would come of this new
development. His mother and father had visited the school last week and
everyone knew about it. They also knew why
they had visited. Tam McAdam knew why
they had visited and, for the meantime had left him alone, apart from the
sneering comments of snide and mummy’s boy. Even McAdam wasn’t daft
enough to continue bullying him while attention had been on him. Jamie had told
him about his dad’s letter. The effect of all of this was that now the
playground was monitored by two
members of staff who patrolled like prison guards breaking up even the most
minor scuffles and infringements in football games. Everyone knew in whose
honour this was being done, and it could hardly have made him less popular. The
only school kids whose kinship he inspired were the others that were used to
being bullied. He was their King and saviour. They did not make a prestigious
legion.
He was at the same time grateful to Jamie for what he’d
instigated and extremely resentful. He realised the compassion of his action,
but he knew it had demeaned even further. He could barely now look him in the
face, and was actively trying to avoid him. He was trying to avoid everyone
including Angela. He hadn’t done what she had suggested and taken the
initiative himself, he’d let Jamie’s dad and his own mother and father fight
his battles for him.
He found himself taking bizarre, circuitous routes home,
through woods and unfamiliar parts of town just to avoid meeting anyone, but
one day he was followed.
Tam McAdam had been biding his time. He knew that the
Headmaster was just waiting for him to slip up and catch him giving Hutcheson a
bad time at school, so he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He’d followed Liam
Hutcheson to the little copse of trees next to the garage on the ring-road.
-Heh Poofy...!
Liam froze inside; he didn’t need to look around. His worst
nightmare was happening.
-Poofy Hutcheson, fucken stoap when I call you, ya big prick..!
Liam stopped and turned around just as McAdam strode and
kicked him squarely in the balls. He fell to the ground and writhed in agony.
-Get up..! McAdam bawled into his face which was contorted
with a demented rage
-Get fuckin up...!
Liam tried to get to his knees and McAdam kneed him in the
face, his nose burst open and blood gushed from it.
-Ah sais get up ya cunt...!
A strange clarity came to Liam’s mind. He knew this was the
end. Either he would die or he would live, but he knew this was the last time
this would happen. This was all McAdam’s rage –at him, at the world, at
whatever made McAdam tick – it was all being spewed out of him now. His life
was in the lap of the God’s and McAdam’s wrath.
Every time Liam tried to comply with McAdams commands to get
up he got kicked and punched to the ground again, but this wasn’t enough.
McAdam stopped assailing him to go off and find a stick or a brick to save his
knuckles. Liam glimpsed a space through the trees and made a staggering run for
it. He ran onto the ring road and was struck by a car travelling at fifty miles
per hour.
Peace can come to a tortured soul in a million different
ways. For some narcotics, others Spiritualism, and for some due to a task
completed. For Liam Hutcheson all he remembered about being flung twenty feet
in the air was not pain, but a sort of serenity. If he had been able to laugh
he would have, if the breath hadn’t been heaved out of him. Here was an end to
his troubles, and he hadn’t a care in the world.
Waking up in the hospital, the peacefulness hadn’t
disappeared. He no longer owned the dark bleakness that he’d lived with for so
long. All secrets were out in the open and the worst had happened. Broken hip,
busted ribs, fractured arm and leg – he’d been lucky, no head injuries, not
from the car incident at least, though he had a broken nose and jaw from
McAdams beating.
His mother and father were beside his bed as he opened his
eyes, each held one of his hands. His mother was crying.
-O son, thank God you’re awake. We were that worried..!
-You’re in good hands noo son. Everything’s gonnie be be
fine..! His father offered.
He smiled and drifted off back to sleep.
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