Honour of the Line (9 page)

On my return we sat down on the large luxurious sofa and had our fish and chips from the paper. Although I was not really hungry I got stuck into mine, they were a million times better than the stuff the coach sold. To make sure of not getting caught I took the empty paper up the street but the rubbish bin, which was attached to the lamp post was full, but fortunately a neighbouring houses dustbin came to the rescue and I was further reminded of the class difference. There bin smelt of scent and was really pleasant, whereas those of the Arches smelt of bleach at the very best, but sadly, more often than not, of rotting compost. In our part of town we took the lid of and put it back as quickly as was humanly possible. Angela washed the cups up and put them away, we had to have all of our tracks covered which, although devious, seemed really quite exciting.

Although the front room was very large it had a very cosy feel to it and the centre piece was a 21inch television. It seemed like a cinema screen compared to our 14inch version. Money talked. We turned the lights off and left the television turned on, which meant that if the children should disturb all would seem normal to them, like any other evening. Pulling Angela close to me I slowly undid her blouse and took it right off. She then undid my shirt and also removed it. We seemed to be taking it in turns to strip each other off and I couldn’t take my eyes off of Angela. With her hair down it draped forward across her breasts, it was a fantastic sight and as we fondled each other it was obvious that neither of us had ever been this turned on before. Neither of us really knew much about Mother Nature. For us it was a live and learn exercise and we didn’t really consider the consequences. Our hormones were at boiling point. “Shall we do it” I said to Angela and she said yes with a capital Y. Rather naively we didn’t have a clue about positions but after many tries I finally slipped in. I had reached the promised land “withdraw before you get there” Angela said and I agreed but when I told her I was getting near she pulled me tighter against her and I exploded inside of her. It was obvious that neither of us had the slightest intention of stopping. For ages we lay naked on the carpet and neither of us had any regrets. This felt like going to heaven and finding out you had also won the Pools. Around 10.45 I kissed her goodbye and somehow the look in her eyes made her look even more beautiful than ever before.

Fortunately Mum and Dad were in bed when I got in so I avoided any awkward questions. As usual Angela and I met for Saturday morning flicks but we decided to really chance our arm and go to the hut. This would mean Angela having to go past the pub which was too risky or getting on a bus which would be full of people who knew us, so we asked a taxi driver what the fare would be. Unfortunately we could not scrape the fare together, the only way was to walk alongside the railway track. Platform tickets cost two old pennies at the time and were designed as a means for people to gain access to the station to either meet somebody or wave them goodbye. They were valid for one hour but this was rarely enforced. We waited until there were no trains in our direction and then ran down the ramp at the southern end of the platform, past the engine sheds and across the Arches, which looked down to the Honour of the Line. We both waved as we knew we wouldn’t be spotted. Running and sport were my domain and although Angela was good at netball I had no idea she could run so fast. She later confessed that neither did she but she needed to get to the hut so we could carry on from where we had left off the previous night. Our clothes were off within seconds and we made love for the second time. The previous evenings prodding and shoving were now not necessary as we both thought of ourselves as experienced lovers.

On Monday, Geography was our first lesson after morning break and as we rolled into the class Angela and Georgina both looked extremely tense. I was worried sick, what the hell was going on? Georgina waited for me outside the class and told me she would sneak into the school garden and meet me by the gardening shed as soon as we had finished school dinners. On the dinner menu were my favourites – Spanish meatballs, but I hardly touched them. I had a gut wrenching feeling that Angela was about to dump me.

School dinners were delivered by a large grey van from a central kitchen across the other side of town where they were cooked and prepared. This was another class distinction, the older built schools had no kitchens of their own so had their food delivered in large tins where the more modern schools cooked their meals on the premises. Spanish meatballs were about the only dinner I really liked, they were really tasty and cooked in a type of tomato sauce. Our school garden ran the width of the two playgrounds and the greenhouse and shed were at the far end. The shed provided a safe haven as it was impossible to be spotted. Unfortunately getting there undetected was somewhat of a problem. Mine was the easier task, I just ran out of the front school gate and round three corners of the block before scaling the fence into the garden. Georgina and Angela had been playing ball and deliberately lobbed it into the garden so as Georgina could disappear undetected and without suspicion. When she arrived she looked bright red with embarrassment. I asked her what the heck was wrong. She told me it was Linda Collins. Linda had lived with her brothers and Mum at St Jude’s but had recently been re homed across town. She had continued to attend our school but was never really one of us. It probably wasn’t her fault but she had a big mouth and could not be trusted. She would sell her soul for a few pennies or a packet of sweets. Her father had left when the kids were young and her Mum had made a pretty decent job of bringing them up alone. Most of us wished she was at the school in the area she had now moved to.

I asked what had happened with Linda, surely she hadn’t found out about me and Angela! Georgina said she was with Angela in the girls toilets and Angela had told her she had gone all the way. They had checked to make sure nobody was around but had no idea that Linda was in a cubicle with no door lock. They had seen the door half open but never realised anyone was inside the cubicle. Linda had rushed out without even washing her hands and had gone straight to the Staff Room to spill the beans to Miss Page.

French with Miss Page was our last lesson and all seemed to be going well, she seemed her usual self, pleasant as can be provided everybody paid more or less full attention. Books were being collected at the end of the lesson and without any trace of anger Miss Page asked if Angela and Billy minded staying behind for a couple of minutes as she needed to discuss their work. Many of the class struggled with French but Angela and I were way ahead of the rest, it caused no suspicion but I feared the worst.

Our classroom opened up onto the hall and our class was built with shiny glazed bricks for the first four feet from the ground and then glass windows divided into small squares by ornate woodwork. The door was of a similar design, the top section being small glass panels, each door had a shining brass handle which could be locked from the inside. This was only usually locked if a pupil was kept behind after school to be caned, although one teacher, a certain Mr Walsh, preferred to discipline pupils in public. He was half English, half Austrian and all of the students detested him and called him a Nazi behind his back. If he caned any of our class the boys would get together and let his car tyres down. Some would be on the look-out, which we called ‘keeping chicken’, whilst the others put matchsticks in the valves and pushed them until the tyres were flat. Everybody then took cover and watched the bastard re-inflate them with a foot pump.

Miss Page ordered me to lock the door but she didn’t seem angry. She just told us that for the next few minutes she was Sue, our friend not our teacher, and what she was about to say must never ever pass any of our lips, even as far as Georgina who she knew was privy to all our secrets as she was best friend to Angela and myself.

Sue Page had heard of the Honour of the Line and although she was not a local and therefore unable to partake in the oath, asked if we would swear on a similar principle. Angela and I both nodded, this seemed serious. Sue told us somebody had reported us but she had somehow warned this person never to mention a word to a soul and asked if we had any idea what it was all about. In semi shame and embarrassment, we both nodded. My heart seemed to miss a beat and weigh a ton. Sue exploded “What the fuck are you two doing”? Neither of us answered. There was deft silence and after what seemed an eternity Sue began explaining to us, on an adult level, all the pitfalls of young teenage sex and also offering her advice and help in getting contraception. Machines in toilets didn’t yet exist and barbers would only sell ‘rubbers’ to adults. Her lecture finished by saying she cared deeply for the both of us.

After this grilling we hurried straight to the hut and made love again, and after a brief discussion we both decided that things wouldn’t feel as intimate and proper with some sort of carrier bag stuck on my willy. Every spare moment we had we were ‘at it’ like rabbits and Saturday morning flicks became a thing of the past. Fortunately we didn’t have too many close shaves of being recognised by friends and neighbours and our love making became more ambitious as we tried different ways, techniques and positions and we had lots of fun discovering feelings we never knew existed. Our only uncomfortable time was on a Saturday morning when we really got carried away and forgot the time. As we ran back along the railway line I realised I had left my pants behind so I had to run to the station with Angela and then return to the hut to retrieve them and whilst I was there I found her purse, which she had left behind. On my way to Grandad’s to meet him to go to footie I knocked next door and gave it to Georgina, who returned it discreetly to Angela that afternoon. Close shave or what? Georgina thought it was all funny and very exciting. She was a friend in a million to both of us. We could and did tell her everything, minus the lecture which we had endured from Sue Page.

The hut was fast becoming, not just our love nest, but more like a second home. We spent more time in there than the railway workers. During school holidays the rail workers even had the audacity to use it for a couple of days, which meant we had to improvise and find a secluded spot further along the railway bank. Also at school we would sneak behind the garden shed after we had eaten our dinner and share a quick grope whilst good old Georgina kept guard should any member of staff come towards the garden.

Kids from our way rarely missed school unless they were really ill and Angela was no exception. Early in 1965 her parents made her come to school when clearly she wasn’t well enough but, as always, she still smiled at me. Miss Page sent Angela to see the school secretary who, in those days, doubled up their secretarial work with a bit of first aid, although putting a plaster on was probably the upper limit of their skills. Almost an hour later Angela returned and looked considerably better. The same thing happened over the next few days and I began to worry that Angela had something seriously wrong with her and was keeping it a secret. Miss Waldron, the girls P.E. Teacher, also noticed all wasn’t well and told Miss Page of her big concerns. Miss Page kept Angela behind after school and the classroom door was locked. Sue asked Angela if she may be pregnant and mentioned the fact she was throwing up a lot and also Miss Waldron had noticed a decided lump in her tummy when she wore her tight tee shirt for P.E. which also gave an indication that all wasn’t well. Deep down inside Angela must have known, since the first time we had made love, which was weeks and weeks ago, there had never been a time when things were ‘out of bounds’. My total ignorance meant I didn’t have a clue. Angela told me of her fears but in our innocence we decided to wait a while and see if the problem went away. I was ashamed to be so insensitive but still we were at it at every given opportunity. I told Georgina but she already knew. Angela had told her and Georgina said she thought Angela should go to a doctor straight away.

Very selfishly I still continued life as normal, although my football was suffering badly. A few months previous I had kicked a football at every opportunity but now sex had taken over and looking back it probably was just sex and not real love, although at that very young and innocent time, I really thought of it as love. Mr Tindall was the bearer of bad news as I was dropped from the County and District football teams and my place in the school senior team was under severe threat. The school team was the most important to me and I realised somehow I had to pull my socks up, and quickly. District and County teams were made up of boys from many other schools and although they were my team mates there were many that I wasn’t keen on. Mr Tindall had asked Miss Page what was up with me, he wondered if I had problems at home and also asked her if he would be able to help in any way. Sue Page proved beyond all doubt that she was a true friend to us by not saying a word about our relationship. She passed it all off by suggesting I was getting too big for my boots and that relative success had come too quick and far too soon for me to handle. He seemed to accept this as a jolly good reason and, as a result, didn’t heap too much praise on me. I probably didn’t deserve any anyway as I was playing rubbish, but slowly and surely my form began to improve again.

Visits to Woollies were becoming sparse but whenever I did go I could feel a warmth growing between me and the lass on the record counter. Thoughts of two timing Angela were non existent but I began to get the feeling that as I was growing older this lass was becoming very friendly indeed, but perhaps she was like that with all the lads and it helped improve her selling skills, although surely nobody in their right minds would buy their appalling records, they were awful. They reminded me of my Dad singing in the bath, I used to think of him as the Singing Coal Man.