Spud - Learning to Fly (38 page)

All third years to report to the Great Hall at 20:00 tonight

Boggo’s convinced that somebody, somewhere is deeply in the dwang and currently packing his trunk.

‘It’s probably another one of Glock’s pathetic sieges,’ said Rambo.

Just in case it dragged on for hours, Fatty took along extra snacks and I brought the laborious
Tess of the d’Urbervilles
by Thomas Hardy. How The Guv maintains it’s an example of a fine novel is beyond me …

Not for the first time, a relaxing long weekend at home has been snatched from our grasp. Instead, seventy-five third years are converging on the Umgeni Valley Gorge for a leadership camp. The third years from each house will reside in a different section of the reserve under the watchful eye of two leadership instructors. These two instructors will observe us for three days and then fill out a report, which will be sent to Viking who will then use this as his basis for selecting his head of house and prefects. The Glock issued a long and emotional speech on house prefects being the most important entity in the school after him. The seven housemasters all nodded along to this in what Boggo later called ‘a nauseating display of arse-licking’.

The leadership camp announcement was a terrible shock for Fatty who cried, ‘If rope climbing and stupid obstacle courses are what’s going to decide the prefects, then they might as well just give all the positions to the rugby players and leave us alone!’

He didn’t mention it, but the real reason Fatty was so upset was because it’s now impossible for him to see Penny until December.

Boggo was strangely inspired by the leadership camp idea. After returning from the hall he immediately kicked Plump Graham off a phone call to his mother and dialled up his secret weapon in Tzaneen for wilderness survival tips.

I made another stylish 23 runs for the thirds in our emphatic victory over Lincoln. I bowled one over and took a wicket before Norm (I don’t believe in spinners) Wade instructed our captain Jason Wilson to remove me from the bowling attack and bring on the fast bowlers.

Norm (I don’t believe in spinners) Wade told me after the innings that he was using my spin bowling as a partnership breaker, and that it was the job of the fast bowlers to take all the wickets.

It still gives me great pleasure to watch his face drop after I’ve taken a wicket. It’s my small rebellion, on behalf of the cause of maligned spinners everywhere.

My father had a complete nightmare today. He drove all the way up to school only to discover that our cricket match was taking place back in Durban. He then roared back down to the coast and was caught in two speed traps, one of which he bribed himself out of. When the station wagon finally arrived at the Lincoln field, we had just shaken hands with the opposition and were packing up our bags to leave. My father was furious and blamed me for the disastrous wild goose chase that cost him over five hundred bucks in petrol, tolls, fines and bribes. ‘I thought you were making a fortune at the pub?’ I replied after Dad had finished with his bad tempered rage. He seemed a little stymied by my question and eventually said, ‘When you’re rolling in cash, that’s when you realise time is money.’

He then said he was off to the pub and left without shaking my hand.

Norm Wade, despite not believing in spinners, is about the only cricket master who doesn’t drink in the opposition staff room after the match. He was first onto the bus and read two cricket magazines cover to cover on the long ride home.

I listened to U2’s Achtung Baby, and because I had no other reading material I analysed the words for each song in the album sleeve. For some reason the album makes me highly emotional. The words are sexual and dark. In fact they aren’t songs, they’re dark poems of love gone wrong. For the first time in ages my thoughts turned to girls, and to two in particular that may well haunt me for the rest of my life.

How far are you gonna go?

Until you lose your way back home

You’ve been tryin to throw your arms around the world …

Fatty wished me heartfelt luck for the month of November.

‘It’s the dying season, Spuddy,’ he said with a grim look on his face.

I nodded, and informed him that I already had it marked down in the diary.

‘Then you’d better also mark down Friday 13th next week, because that’s going to be massive.’

Fatty watched me noting down Friday 13th in my dairy and then said, ‘Howzat, Spuddy – Friday the 13th and the dying season in one month.’ He shook his head in amazement and said, ‘Now that’s a perfect storm.’

Boggo, Garlic and Vern have begun an intensive training regime for this weekend’s leadership camp. I asked if I could join them, but Boggo refused, saying they were working on tactics and secret plans. I watched the three of them marching off towards the gym like they were on important business.

Did ten press-ups in my cubicle when nobody was around. Discovered that I’m badly unfit and have no strength in my arms whatsoever.

Even The Guv has jumped on the bandwagon! He gave us a long lecture on how far we were behind in our yearly revision. He blamed us for being incompetent and predicted wholesale failure in our coming exams.

After class I took The Guv to task about his fear-mongering. He told me he was being bribed by The Glock to ratchet up the heat in his classes.

‘He’s offered me a night with his wife if I successfully terrorise my students,’ he confided, before adding, ‘I’ll do my best to dominate on both fronts.’

I laughed loudly at his joke. At least, I hope it was a joke.

Confirmation class focused on the taking of the sacrament. Reverend Bishop used red grape juice as the blood of Christ and small ginger biscuits to represent the body of Christ for our trial run. He then demonstrated how we should kneel at the altar and cup our hands and shouldn’t ever lunge or gulp at the holy chalice.

We took turns kneeling in front of the chaplain and then sipped from the chalice in his hands. Unfortunately, we couldn’t rehearse the body of Christ section because the chaplain’s biscuits were stolen during the second prayer. In the end we had to mime it, which didn’t quite feel right.

Fatty denied stealing the stand-in body of Christ, despite there being obvious traces of ginger biscuit on his chin.

11:00 The first years charged for the exits, eager to grab their bags and flee for their lives. Second years were next, walking at a good pace, but still chatting and laughing with their mates and foes. The third years looked sneaky and distracted, with each boy plotting and scheming about how he was going to tackle the Umgeni Valley, while the matrics, who only have a weekend of slogging ahead, exited the hall slowly, chatting in small groups about what everybody else is spotting or not spotting. The post matrics very seldom lower themselves to attend assembly, since they already consider themselves to be university students and above all other school activities except for sport. Pike wasn’t there either, which meant I didn’t have to feel insecure or alarmed.

6:00 Awoke to find Garlic sleeping with his arm around Fatty in the bottom bunk. They both appeared to be smiling. (?)

Rambo and Simon won all three of the morning challenges, which included an obstacle course, a treasure hunt, and a compass and map reading challenge.

Fatty and I came second in two challenges and were disqualified in the obstacle course when Fatty refused to take part and pretended that his scoliosis was playing up. Boggo was livid with Garlic’s poor map reading skills and also said Vern was beyond retarded.

14:00 Simon and Ranger Nicky spent over an hour talking on a rock away from the rest of us. Either it was a long-winded spading attempt or Simon’s on the verge of another setback.

15:00 Rope jumping.

It was Fatty’s worst nightmare. A swinging rope that carries you over the edge of the gorge. Then it’s a leap into the air and a crash into the deep river pool twenty feet below.

‘Noways, hosays!’ shouted Fatty as he backed away from the edge of the gorge. Ranger Nicky was unsympathetic and informed him that there would be no getting out of this one. Fatty shook his head and took a place at the back of the group.

Rambo jumped first and landed safely in the water below. Garlic was next, screaming with delight as he disappeared over the gorge. Boggo followed looking terrified and then it was my turn.

‘Go!’ shouted Ranger Neil and I jumped out of the tree. Then I was flung over the edge of the gorge. I let go of the rope and sailed through the air like a bird before crashing into the freezing water. Luckily, I quickly moved aside because Vern would have landed on my head otherwise. The Crazy Eight gathered on the riverbank below and waited for Fatty to sail off the gorge. Nothing happened. Boggo and Rambo were already making sarcastic comments about Fatty being a coward and said this could be the end of his prefect chances. Time dragged on and there was still no sign of him.

I eventually decided that as Fatty’s partner, I ought to make an appearance and staggered up the bank to the sound of loud slurping noises behind me.

When I arrived at the top, Fatty was crying and pleading with the rangers to let him off because he said he was terrified of heights. Ranger Nicky had no sympathy for Fatty and stood with her fists on her hips and an aggressive look on her face.

The rangers had succeeded in forcing Fatty up into the tree, but now he was refusing to jump and also would not come back down.

I asked the rangers if I could have a chat to Fatty in private. They backed off some distance and seemed to be having an argument about how best to deal with the situation. I raced up the tree to where Fatty was hiding like a nervous gorilla in the foliage.

‘I can’t do it, Spud,’ said Fatty in a quivering voice. ‘My oath to God this rope is gonna snap or the tree will snap, or I’ll let go at the wrong time and kill myself …’

I told him to imagine Penny was waiting at the bottom with all the others. If he didn’t jump, she would forever think he’s a coward and will probably end up going home and snogging Boggo.

I’m not sure if it was my inspiring speech or whether Fatty thought Penny was really waiting for him at the bottom. Either way, he seized the rope, screeched a terrible Tarzan call, and leapt dramatically out of the tree. I watched the vast, screaming figure disappear over the gorge and shouted, ‘Let go, Fatty!’

I scampered down the tree and raced up to the edge of the gorge just in time to see Fatty staggering out of the water with his arms raised in triumph. Just for a moment there, I thought it was the dying season and I’d have blood on my hands.

17:00 Our final task was to cook up a chicken potjiekos. (Ranger Neil insisted on calling it ‘Bush Stew.’) Each group was handed a small black cast iron pot and a bag of ingredients.

‘You have two hours,’ said Ranger Nicky as she noted her watch. ‘May the best chefs win!’

Fatty was delighted, and while I set about making a small fire, he sifted through the ingredients and separated the vegetables from the chicken pieces and potatoes. He looked crestfallen. ‘Only two pieces of chicken,’ he said sadly as he rechecked the bag once again.

Suddenly my partner became a flurry of mad activity. He diced an onion in seconds, although half of it shot off the chopping board and into the sand. Fatty didn’t seem to worry about this and piled the fallen onion pieces into the pot without even washing them.

Once the fire was blazing, I joined Fatty to lend assistance, but he told me to back off and concentrate on the fire. He didn’t seem very impressed with my cooking credentials and instructed me to leave it all up to him.

I shrugged my shoulders and returned to my little blaze, from where I observed Fatty sampling each raw vegetable and nodding his head solemnly as if he was a famous French chef.

18:00 Growing a little concerned with how many tastings and samplings Fatty was conducting. I tried to warn him about our scarce ingredients, but he said it was vital that the chef takes regular tasters.

‘It’s a subtle art, Spuddy,’ he said rather grandly. ‘It all comes down to timing.’

Time ticked on and every few minutes Fatty would plunge his fork back into the cauldron and then scoff something so quickly that he would burn the roof of his mouth. He would then stare out into the darkness and nod slowly as if he was deeply satisfied with the results.

19:00 ‘It’s perfect,’ declared Fatty as he carried his pot into the middle of the circle and plonked it down beside the other two. Rambo and Simon were already looking smug while Boggo appeared decidedly twitchy.

Simon and Rambo won again.

I wish they would lose sometimes, just to have that smugness wiped off their faces.

Unfortunately, there was hardly anything left in our potjie by the time it came round to the official tasting. The chicken leg was now just a bone floating in a sauce, and Ranger Neil had to poke around in our pot for ages before finding anything to taste. Turned out the only thing that was left were brinjals – one of the few things the chef refuses to eat.

The only reason we came second was because Boggo thought he had discovered some wild sage growing behind the ablution block and added a huge clump to his pot. Bad news for him, Garlic and Vern was that it wasn’t sage but weeds, and their potjiekos was inedible. Fatty and Garlic remained steadfast and refused to move from the bottom bunk despite Boggo and Rambo’s mockery and loud rendition of ‘Love is in the air’.