Friday Story 8

Story 8

Fault Lines

A boy is punished for his misadventure.

There were two boys, one big, one small. The big boy was big, a lot of meat on his bones as they would say, a solid eight year old. Everyone called him Butch. The small boy was a little six year old, skinny frame, a slightly protruding tummy. Everyone called him Tich. They were both in Grade 4. Butch had been kept back two years in a row.

On December 14, not long before school would break up for the holidays, an incident occurred in the playground that Tich would remember for the rest of his long life. It was the day after his sixth birthday and his Mom had made a birthday cake of sponge filled with jam and cream, followed by strawberries and homemade ice-cream, his favorite.

The school playground was a large one, with tall eucalypts dotted throughout the grounds, and peppercorn trees lining the perimeter. Tich and his friends played marbles among the exposed roots of the gum trees, playing games that they made up as they went along. There was a large shelter shed with the boys and girls lavatories next to it, about one hundred meters from the red brick, two story school building.

On this day, at lunch time, Tich and his friends were playing “follows” (their made up game that required each to fire his marble to a series of spots hidden within the exposed roots of the trees, the first to get to the end the winner). Butch, as he usually did, stood apart, calling them babies for playing such a silly game. Tich was close to winning, he thought, when the bell rang and at the same time he realized that he had to run to the toilet, having held it back for quite some time, absorbed in the game as he was. He wasn’t the only one. Many of his mates also ran to the toilet at the last minute. The trouble was that Tich had to do number two. All that cream the day before at his birthday party had caught up with him. And when he got inside the toilet, to his dismay, the one cubicle was taken up. He banged on the door, crying, “hurry up! Hurry up!” And to his horror, Butch’s voice rang out full of glee, “you gotta wait, I got here first anyway!” The bell rang and rang, and Tich danced around, trying to hold it back. He cried out again, clutching his stomach, bent almost double, crossing his legs, anything that would stop the inevitable evacuation. “Please! Please! I gotta go!” he cried.

Then the bell stopped and Butch emerged from the cubicle, a big grin on his face, enjoying every minute of it. Tich darted forward, but Butch’s thick body stood in the way.. “Don’t you piss on me ya little shit!” he growled.

Tich, one hand on his tummy, the other pushing at the door pleaded again, “please! Please!” But Butch held the door closed, just enough to make him wait a little longer. Then Butch suddenly let go, and Tich lurched forward as the door gave way.

Then everything was quiet. Butch was gone. And Tich to his horror felt a warm ooze push into his school pants, and a little trickle run down his legs. He stood there, unable to do anything, tears running down his face.

Miss Penny looked over her class, and glanced at her watch. The Nature Study broadcast from the ABC was about to start.

“Where’s little Freddy?” she asked, looking at the vacant seat two rows from the front.

Butch raised his hand, a serious look on his face. “I saw him go into the toilet, Miss,” he said innocently.

“What did you do to him?” demanded Miss Penny, always ready to jump on this nasty piece of work, as she always described him to her fellow teachers.

“I didn’t do nothing, Miss,” whined Butch.

“I bet you did,” muttered Miss Penny. She turned to Freddy’s desk mate. “Stewart, go down to the toilets and see if you can find him. And come straight back, do you hear?”

“Yes Miss.”

“And the rest of you. Sit up straight, all hands on the tops of your desks. Now go on! Do it now! The broadcast is about to begin.”

Gentle music of a Mozart sonata wafted into the classroom, announcing the beginning of the broadcast.

“Now sit straight and listen!” Commanded Miss Penny as she walked to the door of the classroom and peered down the passage looking for Freddy and Stewart. But only Stewart appeared, puffing a little having run as fast as he could down to the toilet and back again.

“He won’t come out!” cried Stewart. He’s howling something awful,” he panted.

“What do you mean he won’t come out? What’s wrong with him.?”

Stewart looked away. “Miss, I think he’s pooped his pants!” It was awful, Stewart couldn’t believe it. But he had to try very hard not to grin.

Miss penny looked down at him, horrified. “Are you sure of this?” she asked in a measured tone.

“Yes, Miss. I’m pretty sure. He was crying that much I couldn’t tell what he was saying, but I went in there and it smelled like….” Stewart put his hand to his mouth, trying to hold back his grin.

But Butch could not hold it back. “…shit!” He cried.

The entire class gasped and the noise of their feet scraping against the old wooden floor filled the room.

“My goodness!” exclaimed Miss Penny. “Butch you horrible dirty boy! Class, settle down, or you’ll all be kept in and there’ll be no playtime for two days!”

She turned to Stewart. “Go down and fetch the Principal this minute,” ordered Miss Penny, “and be quick about it!” She grabbed Butch by the ear and pulled him to the front of the class. “Now children,” she said, speaking sternly, her eyes narrowed under a deep frown, her lips pushed forward that, if it were not for the current circumstances, might have looked like the beginning of a kiss. She let go of Butch’s ear, went to her table and opened the drawer. The children looked with wide eyes; they knew what was coming. Or at least they thought they did. But Miss Penny did not retrieve the familiar leather strap, but instead a small block of Palmolive soap and held it out to Butch who stood motionless, a silly look on his face, clearly enjoying the attention he was getting.

“Butch Smith, you have a filthy mouth,” snarled Miss Penny “which is why you must now wash it out with soap and water. “

The class gasped as one.

“But Miss…! cried Butch.

“No buts! Go on, take a bite then go down and wash out your mouth at the tap.”

Butch stood fast, still a smirk, but nevertheless he took the soap. There was no bathroom in the building, except the one for the staff that was forbidden to children. He would have to go down the stairs and outside to the gully trap.

“Bite it! Now!” demanded Miss Penny, who then opened the table drawer and withdrew the coiled strap. “Do what you’re told or else!”

Butch was no stranger to the strap. He stood there, holding the soap near his mouth. The class was goggle-eyed.

Miss Penny unfurled the strap. “You’ll get it around the legs if you don’t hurry up and do what you’re told.”

“Oh no! Not the legs!” Butch cried, knowing from grim experience that it hurt much more when the leather curled around the legs.

Miss Penny stamped her foot loudly, causing the whole class to murmur and shift nervously in their seats, their leather shoes banging on the floorboards. The sudden bang did the trick. Butch took a small bite at the soap, dropped it on the floor and ran for the door, which suddenly opened before he got to it, and there stood the principal, Mr. Foster, Stewart standing sheepishly behind him. Miss Penny gave Butch a little shove that caused him to lunge past the principal and knock into Stewart as he entered the room.

“What is it, Miss Penny? Stewart would not tell me what had happened. Only that you had to see me at once,” said the Headmaster, a little annoyed.

“It seems that young Freddy Brambles has, er, you know, is holed up in the toilet and has had an accident,” said Miss Penny.

“You mean he hurt himself?” The principal frowned.

“No, not that kind of accident. You know…” stuttered Miss Penny.

“Good Heavens, Miss Penny, how awful. Here, I will take care of your class while you go down and see what’s the matter.”

Miss Penny grimaced. “Oh! But he’s in the boys toilet, I would think.”

“He’s just a boy, now Miss Penny. That doesn’t matter. Now off you go and look into it. If it’s what you say, I will have to contact his parents.”

It was a good hundred yards out to the boys toilet. Miss Penny was not at all pleased. And it was not until she reached the bottom of the stairs that she thought of a solution. Of course, there was a student teacher in the building, assisting with grade 4, she thought, and the classroom was right at the bottom of the stairs. She walked straight into the classroom. The children were also listening to the Nature Study broadcast. She approached the teacher who sat at her desk, looking very busy.

“May I borrow your student teacher?” she asked. “There’s been a small accident for which we need a little extra help.”

The teacher looked up, smiled a little, and pointed to the student assistant who sat studiously taking notes, at the back of the class. “Of course, take her, but bring her back before the end of the broadcast. She has to teach the lesson.”

“Thank you so much,” smiled Miss Penny. “This is one I owe you, with all my heart.”

“Miss Prendergast,” the teacher beckoned,” could you go with Miss Penny, please? She needs your assistance with a small emergency, is that right Miss Penny?”

“Yes, indeed. Miss Prendergast, please follow me.”

Miss Penny left the classroom, followed by the reluctant student teacher.

“You may leave your notebook there. You will not need it,” said Miss Penny.

Miss Prendergast followed Miss Penny out the door, down the corridor and out past the gully trap (Butch was nowhere in sight) where Miss Penny stood facing the playground and pointed. “Down there, in the boys toilet. One of my pupils, his name is Freddy, but all the kids call him Tich. I’m told he has had an accident of some sort. Could you go down there and see what’s up?”

“An accident? I haven’t done my St. John’s first aid exam yet. If it’s a serious accident…”

“It is serious, but not that kind of serious. Now off you go and get him. In the meantime I will try to find a place where we can take care of him.”

“There’s no sick room?” asked Miss Prendergast innocently.

“We’ve never needed one. There’s the staffroom, but we couldn’t use that for obvious reasons.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll see. Now off you go.”

“But it’s the boys. Shouldn’t it be a male teacher who goes there?” complained Miss Prendergast.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s just a little boy. Now get going, if you want to get this over before the Nature broadcast is finished.”

By this time, Tich was beside himself. He thought of taking off his pants, but then thought in horror what would come out and what it would reveal. He went to sit on the toilet seat, but was dismayed when he felt the squelch inside his pants when he sat, so he quickly jumped up again. He just jigged from one foot to the other. Waiting. No longer crying, but whimpering. Anticipating what was to come. And at last it did. It came in a high pitched voice.

“Is there someone in there? I’m Miss Prendergast. If there’s someone in there, could you come out please? We are all worried about you.” Miss Prendergast had already forgotten the name Miss Penny told her. . “What’s your name, young man?” called Miss Prendergast. All she could hear was whimpering and sniveling. “Now sniveling won’t help any. Just come out and we’ll see what we can do to help you. Are you hurt or something?”

“No Miss,” came a pitiful voice, cut off by another whimper.

“Now it’s no good crying. That won’t help. Where are you hurt?”

Tich’s crying all of a sudden turned into a wail. The words, if there were any, were garbled. It was no use. Miss Prendergast could not understand what was wrong. She would have to get up the courage to enter the boys toilet. Something that she, of course, had never ever done before. She entered, tried not to look at the open urinal, wanted to hold her nose, and almost turned around and ran back out. Tich’s wails were so ear splitting, she had to force herself to keep going, pushed at the door to the cubicle, but it would not open. Titch was pushing against it.

“Don’t come in! Don’t come in! I’ve pooped myself!” he cried in between his wails.

Miss Prendergast stepped back in horror. “Oh My God!” she whispered to herself. She pushed harder at the door.

Finally, Tich gave in, and retreated to the back of the toilet, now shivering, knees clasped together, arms held across his small chest. A pitiful sight curled up in the corner.

“Come on now,” said Miss Prendergast, “take my hand and we will go back up to the school and get you cleaned up.” She offered her hand and waited. Admittedly, her hand was stretched out as far as she could in a silly effort to keep as much distance from him as she could. The pitiful little creature looked up, his dark brown eyes blurred by tears, and gingerly offered his hand. Miss Prendergast forced a smile. “That’s right, come on then.” She looked around the gloom of the rather filthy cubicle and took his hand, having no idea what she would do next, except take him to the principal’s office. And who would want this smelly little crying bundle in his office? She led her reluctant little smelly boy up to the school and was met at the door by the principal who immediately put on a bright and brisk smile.

“Come now, young man, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said with a cheerful grin. But he made no attempt to hold Tich’s hand. Simply walked, assuming he would be followed, down to the end of the hallway where there was an old table that the caretaker had retrieved from the storeroom, and a big dish of water set upon it.

Tich waddled along, holding Miss Prendergast’s hand now quite strongly. And out of the principal’s office emerged a buxom woman, a parent of one of Tich’s classmates who lived nearby. She had come with a clean set of clothes, soap and washcloth.

“Let’s get him on to the table,” said the principal, meaning of course, that Miss Prendergast must lift him up. “And then let’s get those clothes off him and put in this bag here that Mrs. Foster has brought.

Miss Prendergast hesitated.

“Don’t worry Miss Prendergast,” said the principal with soft reassurance, “you can teach your lesson tomorrow or whenever it suits your classroom teacher. This is more important for now.”

Miss Prendergast tried to lift the shivering Tich by grabbing under his arms and lifting him at arm’s length. This made him heavy and she struggled to lift him up, but finally managed, when she saw that no one was going to help her.

“Now Miss Prendergast,” said the principal, “I have an old dust coat you can put on to protect your lovely dress. Then you better undo his clothes. There’s going to be such a mess, there’s nothing for it but to get him naked and wash him down thoroughly. Now I’ll leave you two to it.” He smiled and quickly retreated into his office.

Mrs. Foster laid out the fresh set of clothes at the end of the table. “He’ll be all right once we get him cleaned and dry and into these fresh clothes, poor little thing.” She handed the wash cloth to Miss Prendergast who took it, reluctantly.

“Freddy, can you undo your shirt and pull it off please? There’s a boy,” she asked.

Tich fiddled with his top button, but his shivering and whimpering got in the way.

Mrs. Foster took over. “Come on, I’ll do it. We don’t have all day! These young teachers,” she muttered to herself.

She briskly unbuttoned Tich’s shirt, tossed it into the bag, then proceeded to do the same for his shorts, trying not to look at the brown smudges that were now making their way down his legs.

“Better take off his shoes and socks first,” suggested Miss Prendergast.

“Then please do it,” said Mrs. Foster curtly.

Miss Prendergast carefully undid his shoes and managed to pull off each one without getting anything on her fingers. The socks were another matter. They were by now well soiled at their tops where Miss Prendergast would have to grab them.

“Freddy, lift your foot, now, come on. You can’t expect us to do everything for you. You’re not a baby, now, are you?” said Mrs. Foster.

The shoes and socks were off, the socks thrown into the bag, and now the shorts dropped to his ankles, followed by his underpants that Mrs. Foster, with the fingernail of her index finger and thumb, managed to pull down.

And there he stood, up high on the table, naked, his knees pressing together, his arms crossed tightly over his shivering little body.

Naturally, his underpants contained most of the nasty mess, and these were tossed into the rubbish bin. Now Mrs. Foster started to wipe him down, all the time rinsing the washcloth in the big tub of water, adding soap as she went. The water was cold, and Tich cried and cringed some more as Mrs. Foster splashed it over him then rubbed the cloth all over with her rough hands.

By the time they got him clean, and were putting the finishing touches to their good works, the bell signaling recess sounded, and the noise and rustle of kids’ voices flowed into the corridor. The table was right by the stairway where all the bigger kids from the upper grades came down.

The principal came out of his office to make his presence felt when the kids walked by, two by two, and to inspect the good works done with Freddy. The kids, including those from Tich’s own class, walked by, pointing and giggling. Tich, of course, cried even more, especially when Butch pointed and laughed loudly. At which the principal called out, pointing at Butch with a stern finger, “this is nothing to laugh at, young man! Let it be a lesson to you all. And if you don’t stop laughing this minute, I’ll bring you into my office and strap the lot of you!”

The laughter reduced itself to chatter. And then the principal, his hands on his hips beamed, “cleanliness is next to godliness, you know. Now move along, children. That’s the spirit.” And he returned to his office.

Mrs. Foster produced the clean clothes from her basket and handed Miss Prendergast a towel. Together they wiped Tich down and dressed him in dry clothes.

Miss Prendergast brought Tich back to his classroom just as the bell rang signaling the end of recess. He sat in his place, his head on the desk buried in his arms, as the class came in from recess. Sniggers and snickers passed over the classroom like leaves of autumn blown in the wind. Miss Penny stood in front of the class, her face very serious. She raised a finger, her lips pushed out a bit. The kids knew that they were going to be yelled at.

“Stand up, Freddy!” she ordered.

Tich sat, face buried, and did not move.

“Freddy! I said stand up!”

Butch started to laugh, and leaned over to prod Tich in the back.

“Butch!” cried Miss Penny. “This is no laughing matter! Come to the front this minute and stand over there in the corner.” She then advanced to Tich and pulled him out of his desk, shook him so that his had to release his arms from his head, and stood limply in the aisle. She dragged him to the front and faced him to the class. “You have all seen what happened to Freddy. Let it be a lesson to you all. When the bell rings for you to come in from the yard, you come in immediately. You go to the toilet before the bell rings. Going to the toilet is never an excuse for getting in late for class. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss Penny,” muttered the class in unison.”

“But Miss Penny,” came a little voice, Tich’s thin voice. “I would have had time but he wouldn’t let me into the toilet.” He pointed at Butch standing in the corner, a big grin on his face.

“How dare you speak up to me. I don’t want to hear any more of this. There’s no excuse. None at all.” She shoved Tich forward, and pushed him into his desk.

“And as for you,” she said looking at Butch, “you’re getting what you deserve. She returned to her desk and opened the bottom right drawer. A faint sigh of anticipation rippled across the classroom. They all knew what was in that drawer. “Put out your hand,” she demanded.

Butch, his well-known silly grin on his face, put out his hand and received one of the best.

Moral: Humiliation is the handmaiden of tyrants

© Copyright 2021 Harrow and Heston Publishers, for Colin Heston

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