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  Chapter 2 - Lent Term 1964

  The First Year boys in Form 1A ran up the steep slopes of Trendrine, the hill behind the school. The rain had started again, a Cornish mizzle, horizontal and biting in the January cold. A now confident Clancy led the way; he had an objective in mind.

  “Come on. If we get up to the next wall, we can see if the coast is clear.”

  Clear of Form 1B was the message. The boys in the First Year had already formed into cliques based on Forms. The First Year boys were split into two. 1A had been given a ten minute start on the 1B boys, who always seemed larger and sportier than the boys in 1A.

  That afternoon, with the ground too wet for rugby, Mr Durrant chose a cross-country run to toughen up his young charges. For the younger boys there was little more than what he termed a ‘scramble’, but for the older boys, the cross-country run had a purpose. He wanted them to develop stamina and speed as at the end of the term there was the contest for the Staffin challenge cup.

  Armed with his stopwatch, Mr Durrant had sent the older boys from the Second Form and up off on a longer run starting along the coast path before heading up the other side of Trendrine before returning to school. That left him with just the First Year boys on Trendrine for now. Being an old hand with young boys, Mr Durrant knew the best way to get the First Year boys running around on a cold and wet January day was to divide the boys up into two teams and tell them to capture the fort at the top of Trendrine.

  Clancy looked around his small team of followers, all from Form 1A. He was pleased to be in charge. As they struggled up the steep slope, Clancy told them his battle plan, which he did in the form of a map drawn out in the mud with the aid of a stick.

  “While a small group of us takes the East Path, out of sight, we use the main group to lure the others up the direct route to that narrow bit.” Clancy indicated with his sweater-covered hand. “The main group is very important. They make lots of noise and wave their sticks to stop the other group getting past. See, it’s all brambles either side there. It’s a very important role.”

  The 1A boys all nodded. Clancy was always right. Clancy turned to the two boys he entrusted with the toughest task of acting as decoy on the West Path. “When they see the main lot blocking the path, they will try and use one of the other paths. So that’s where you two come in to play. Jonathan, you look like a stick waver. Pip, you go along as anchorman. Your job is to make sure they don’t get through on the West Path. Owen you come with me. We are going to the top and that way we can leave Jonathan and Pip to entrap them.”

  “Entrap?”

  Owen did not know the word. It was a question Pip had wanted to ask too, but had stopped. He did not want to appear stupid.

  “Trap, snare, look it up in that dictionary you got for Christmas. I’ll show you this evening if you like.”

  “Oh, yes please, Clangers.”

  Down below the boys from 1B were now visible two fields away, starting on the lower slopes of Trendrine. As they split, Clancy gave his orders to the main group once they reached the top of a particularly steep part of the direct path.

  “Stay here, look menacing and make a lot of noise to keep them distracted.”

  Led by Clancy, the lead party of four Form 1A boys made it to the next wall, climbed over the ancient stile where they were to split again. Clancy made them shelter from the wind and rain whilst he revealed the rest of his plan.

  “We can take the East Path from a bit further along here and still see where the other lot are. You two go on. It’s essential you block them from using the West Path.”

  Pip and Jonathan nodded assent and started to set off. Clancy gave more instructions, as they kept low to avoid being seen. “Hide the other side of the stile until the last minute. Make a lot of noise if they come up; bash your sticks, then run round the hill to that patch with the gorse. They are bound to chase you. We need ten minutes to get up there. So you need to keep them occupied.”

  When Pip and Jonathan reached their allotted hiding place, they hid behind the wall. It was freezing cold and beginning to rain again. Jonathan shivered and tucked his hands in his armpits. “Pip, see anything?”

  “No, nothing yet.”

  The steam from their breath might give them away. If something didn’t start happening soon, they were going to start getting cold despite the boys wearing two rugby shirts apiece.

  From his viewpoint by the coast road, Mr Durrant watched the younger boys through binoculars. Most of the 1A boys were slowly making their way up the main path. Meanwhile a smaller group of four boys from 1A were now heading towards the East Path, out of sight of the Form 1B boys below. Fooled, the Form 1B boys followed the main party of 1A boys on the direct route. That group might not stop them forever, but they would be delayed long enough for the smaller group of 1A boys to capture the flag and win the game. As he watched, the smaller group split again into two pairs. One pair with Jonathan Pierce went west to a strategic spot by the foot stile. The other pair were making for the top heading east, careful to keep themselves hidden at all times. Pip risked a look over the wall ever so often. No sign. Where were they? It dawned on him, that despite Clancy’s plan, they may have still have been outflanked by the 1B boys with Peter Morgan in charge and the Johnson twins as his lieutenants.

  Peter spoke, he also had a plan. “We are not going to let those 1A boys get there first.”

  Peter sent most of the 1B boys up the direct and steepest path where they scrambled and slipped their way up the hill, deliberately making a lot of noise and taking their time. Meanwhile Peter took Kit and Robbie Johnson along the side path to the West and hoped to outflank the 1A boys, unaware that Clancy had anticipated that.

  “How much longer Pip?” Jonathan looked to Pip as the leader. After all he was older by almost two months. Somehow that seemed important to Jonathan. Both boys were already enthusiastically covered in mud and scarred with encounters with the brambles and gorse that covered the hill.

  “Shush! I think I can hear something.”

  Jonathan remained crouched down and hugged his knees to keep warm. He was the smallest boy in the school, having joined at the beginning of term. Pip liked him instantly. Jonathan was always keen to play and always up to mischief, sometimes incurring the wrath of the staff that, despite themselves, mostly smiled at his antics. Matron, often the target of Jonathan’s mischief, could not hide her affection for him even when threatening (and occasionally carrying out) retribution on the little First Former.

  The crackling of bracken was getting louder. It was definitely coming from the path below them. Jonathan could hear it now. He looked around him and saw what he wanted, a branch about two feet long half hidden amongst the wet grass. He picked it up and inched up next to Pip. Pip pushed him down with his hand, putting a finger to his lips, to signal silence. “We want to surprise them. Keep very quiet until I give the signal.”

  Jonathan hunkered down as the noise increased.

  “This is the last stile. Let’s check first.” Peter was leading his lieutenants. Shouts and yells were coming from the main path; the main group of 1B boys had just made contact with the 1A boys at their chosen ambush point.

  Pip counted with his fingers. One finger. Two fingers. On the third Pip and Jonathan stood up on the stile. Jonathan was waved his stick in warning. Peter was no more than five yards away.

  “If you don’t clear off, I am going to hit you with this.”

  Despite being caught by surprise, Peter stood his ground, the twins backing him up. Jonathan was considerably smaller than any of them, comical in a slightly oversized football shirt, mud smeared on his face, two short parallel lines each side. Pip, was standing behind Jonathan, his hold on a smaller stick less sure than Jonathan, only one hand not two.

  “Oh yes?”

  Peter hoped the two 1A boys would run off. Instead, Jonathan brandished his stick vertically, two hands holding it securely. The ra
in was turning to a mist, lighter and no longer cutting into the boys.

  “Want to try, Morgan?” Jonathan started to taunt the boys below, his voice squeaky with excitement. “Come on, show us how tough you really are. Come up here.”

  “No, you come down here.” Helpfully, Morgan confirmed that he felt disadvantaged as the 1A boys were standing on the top of the stile giving them a height advantage of at least three feet. The twins followed Peter’s lead and stood up. They also had war paint on their faces, a line down the nose and a vertical line on each cheek. It looked suitably tribal. Pip stood slightly behind Jonathan as he began to beat a rhythm of war on the dead tree beside him using his stick.

  Jonathan added his own embellishments. Every fourth beat he accentuated and then every fourth bar he doubled up the rhythm using two sticks. He was a natural percussionist. The noise kept the lower group focused on the 1A boys as planned.

  “Come on, Pip, now!”

  With an opportunity for a fight beckoning, Jonathan could wait no longer. With a high-pitched war cry he leapt down from the stile on to the ground and rushed along the path on the upper side of the wall, but only as far as the bramble patch, standing at the top. Pip followed. He climbed half way down the stone steps before judging it safe to jump the remaining three feet and ran after Jonathan to back him up. It was a challenge that Morgan and the twins could not ignore. They abandoned their ascent and rushed along the path after the 1A boys only to realise that Jonathan and Pip were now stationed at the top of a steep and muddy part of the path with no sidetracks.

  “Come on then!” Jonathan, increasingly confident, threw out his challenge.

  “Yes, come on!” At last Pip found his voice and copied Jonathan in waving his sticks. Peter and the twins were now trapped into either a fight or a humiliating retreat. Pip and Jonathan stood their ground as Jonathan continued to make threats until Clancy appeared above them, far up the hill, trophy flag in hand.

  “They’ve got the flag!”

  Peter and the twins realised not only had they lost the flag, but that they were also cornered on a slippery slope with Jonathan and Pip bearing down on them. Given no alternative, the three older boys made a dash through an uncomfortably thick patch of gorse to escape.

  “We’ll get you,” Peter shouted in retreat as he scraped and tangled his way through the gorse and brambles, his shirt ripping as he went. The twins fared no better. Humiliated, they made their way back to school trophy-less. The day had not gone well for Form 1B.

  Jonathan was triumphant. “We won the war, in 1964!” he sang to no one in particular as they too returned to school in search of the warmth of the communal showers, the red flag in his hand, a deserved display of his role in the victory.

  Mr Durrant was waiting for them at the bottom of the hill to see all the First Year boys safely across the road. He could see the cuts and grazes and guessed what had been going on. It was something that he normally turned a blind eye to. These days the boys always seemed to be playing at war. It had replaced cowboys and Indians.

  Jonathan had arrived that term. He was the last of four Pierce brothers and the youngest brother of Christopher Pierce who had left at the end of Pip’s first term at The Rocks. Right from the start Jonathan stood out. He was instantly one of the most noticeable boys in the school with a shock of almost pure-white hair. Legend had it that Jonathan had been streaky blond like Pip until he fell out of a tree at the age of seven. Almost overnight Jonathan’s hair lost all colour and became snow white, contrasting with his tanned complexion.

  In the cacophony of the showers the boys played with the jets of warm water. Pip was in the corner with Jonathan sharing a bar of soap between them. The boys set to cleaning off the Trendrine mud and trying to sooth the scratches from the gorse and brambles that covered their legs and arms.

  Apart from his hair Jonathan was a smaller version of his brother Christopher with an athlete’s body. His short stature meant he was good at anything to do with gymnastics. Jonathan climbed like a monkey, could do cartwheels, head stands, hand springs and even things which no other boy at The Rocks could dream of like back somersaults and multiple forward somersaults across the gym floor, something he would regularly do without the protection of the gym mats as Jonathan had no fears about safety. In the end, spying other boys clumsily attempting the same manoeuvres, Mr Wallace called a halt to Jonathan’s displays. “No thank you, Pierce. It’s not you I worry about. It’s just that some of the other boys might try and copy what you can do and they can’t.”

  Jonathan stood in front of Mr Wallace. As always he was perfectly poised in his PE shorts, bare foot, as was his preference, both hands crossed on top of his head. “Yes, sir, I’m sorry.”

  “Well, I hope we can bring some of the other boys up to your level of gymnastics one of these days, but in the meantime, only do gymnastics when I say. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jonathan was not a naturally obedient boy; he was more curious and adventurous than that. He took risks all the time and shrugged when sometimes he had to accept the consequences of some of his more rash decisions.

  That afternoon, as they dressed, Jonathan decided that he wanted to involve Pip in a new adventure. It was raining – they were having a wet new year and Jonathan was bored when he could not go outside.

  “I’ve got something to show you,” Jonathan ventured when he was sure no one else was listening.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve found a new place, a place where we can hide out.”

  “Oh, okay.” Pip wondered what Jonathan had to show him this time? A hideout was a top priority for Jonathan as part of his overall view of their world that saw the school as two secret armies at war with each other. The one side was led by Peter Morgan and the twins, the other side led by Jonathan with Pip, Owen and Clancy.

  Pip was not so sure about this version of reality, but mostly he went along with it as this rivalry led to many exciting games which formed a diversion from the constant round of lessons and sports that otherwise kept the boys busy.

  After prep and supper Jonathan took Pip exploring whilst the older boys were kept occupied with more organised activities. They went in the entrance to the barn that formed the school hall and gym. Their pretext if challenged was to fetch some ping-pong balls. They went up to the main first floor level. Jonathan held his fingers to his lips to signal absolute silence. Sure that the coast was clear he gently pushed open the doors, first to the gym and then the hall. Both were empty. They were alone. Jonathan led the way down the steps to the changing room and dining hall underneath. They did not check the dining area as the clatter of pans told the boys that the catering staff were still clearing up. Pip was nervous; they were surely out of bounds?

  The lights were on in the changing room as they made their way along the windowless room to the end where the showers were. The area was still steamy from earlier. In one corner there was a small door Pip had never noticed before.

  “This is it. I saw it open the other day.”

  Pip hoped it was locked so that they could go back, but Jonathan knew better. He turned the handle slowly so it made no noise and gently opened the door. Inside there was a roar from the boiler and the all-embracing smell of fuel oil.

  “Come on in.”

  Pip followed, a low light coming from a small window. The boys crossed the boiler room to another door which opened to a set of steps leading up under the stage in the main school hall. As they explored, Pip could see the potential. It was a mostly forgotten storage area, scenery and props from school plays, old broken desks and other miscellany. The boys poked around, exploring the space.

  “None of this stuff is ever moved from here, except for the school play which was at the end of last term. It would be a great place for a camp.”

  “A camp indoors?”

  “Yes, for when it is wet or in the evening.” Jonathan looked at the dark dusty space
, illuminated with one dimming torch borrowed from Owen.

  “Well so long as no one else knows, even Owen and Clancy.”

  “Okay, just our camp, a real secret.”

  “We need to rearrange things a bit, though, to create a hide. Here, help me shift these.” Jonathan indicated two stage blocks each the size of a hay bale. Pip grabbed the other side and helped him move it away from the wall creating a dead space about two feet wide. Over the next two days, the boys organised the space. Once inside there was a narrow crawling space, first to the front of the stage and then left, parallel to the front to what appeared to be a dead end, but by pushing the stage block you could enter a passage to the back and then to their den on the far side. It was a perfect space for a den, even heated by the hot water pipes. With a crack clear through to the front it was possible to glimpse what was happening in the assembly hall.

  On the first day as they emerged, they checked themselves over in the mirror in the showers. The dust had created smudges on their faces. Jonathan, who was more into imaginative games, realised what they looked like. “We look like pirates.”

  “The Pirates of Penzance.” Pip was vaguely aware of something of that name.

  “The Pirates, that’s a good name for a gang. That’s what we’ll call ourselves.”

  They stood side by side admiring their piratical appearance before cleaning off the incriminating dirt and returning back to the more mundane world of the rest of the school. The Pirates. It was an excellent name for a gang and indeed it was used for times of war and adventure and when the boys made camps out in the rough grounds that formed the fringe of the school estate. Owen and Clancy soon joined Pip and Jonathan. Four seemed the right number for a gang, small enough to be elite, but large enough to be a proper gang. However, the hideout under the stage was something shared just between Pip and Jonathan. Inside their hide out, Pip and Jonathan let their imaginations work. Sometimes they were pirates on the high seas; sometimes they were in planes flying over enemy territory carrying out dangerous missions as they lay side by side on a scrap of carpet.

  Pip could see nothing in the dark, but he could feel the presence of his friend beside him, it was a presence that excited him in some mysterious way that he did not yet understand.