John
"Shut up, you little bastard"
John looked up at the bedroom window, in alarm, expecting the angry shout from Brian to be accompanied by an equally angry face. Luckily - luckily for him - there was no face, just the flutter of the dark brown curtain moving across the open window. His older brother, Brian would be in their shared bedroom doing his homework, and as usual tolerating no interruption whatsoever. He'd even swore at their mother once! Just once! He'd not do it again. His dad said "you'll not do it again!" all the while their mother tried to pull his dad away. It was his dad, but not Brian's. That's a different story, but to cut that long story short, Brian's dad had been killed when Brian was just a baby in the war. Somewhere in France, but as John didn't know what or where France was he didn't ask, and no one seemed too bothered to talk about it. But there it was, step brothers, with a 7 year difference and no love lost between them.
He hadn't been doing anything wrong anyway! He considered throwing one more stone, just to annoy Brian, but decided against it.
Bored, Bored, Bored!
(If people cared about such things, John would have been considered small for his age, but in truth, no one noticed or cared. His mop of unruly brown hair and shabby clothes, with the obligatory knee length trousers (holes in the knees) and clogs, as well as the jacket (way too tight) would have not made him stand out from a crowd of any average 10 year old living in the town at that time. The only thing that made John stand out, and it was a great feature (his mother told him) was his blue eyes. Extraordinary blue eyes, in fact. )
But he was bored. He wished Bill was here! He missed Bill. He didn't know what a best mate really was, but Bill would have been it. But it was so long ago, he had trouble remembering what his mate had even looked like. He just knew that a few years ago (2?), they had been inseparable at the church school. Memories of the nuns and that old smelly priest teaching them sums and bible class were still vague in his head, but he knew - he did at least know this - that he was happier! Why had it been closed down? He knew something bad had gone on, but as usual he was kept out of it. Just the memory of the nuns crying and Father Whatshisface being loaded into the truck. A tall man shouting "marksy" or something like that.
"You"
"Oh, shite! A pig", John thought.
"Were you just throwing stones at that house over the street?" said the young man.
"Hell", thought John. The pig had a local accent, he was from around here. They were the worst ones. He knew this, without even having to listen to the conversations of his parents and other adults. The others, the taller ones, weren't just smarter looking and kind of cleaner looking, but they just seemed a bit, well, more nice. At least they smiled at you before (or after) slapping you.
"Me sir? No sir"
He adopted the stance, he'd been taught since for as long as he could remember. Hands behind the back, feet together, head bowed forward. "Always avoid eye contact with a pig, John", his mum had repeatedly told him.
"Why are you not at school? You look old enough"
"No Sir, I'm only 10. I don't start school for another 5 years"
"Are you sure you aren't 15? You look to be 15 to me" he said.
This was what Brian called 'scar-tastic' or something. John liked those sorts of games and he was good at them! Quick as a flash - "thank you Sir! I am told I am quite tall for my age"
The problem with the local pigs is that they had no sense of humour. If it had been one of the others, he was sure he would had laughed and ruffled his hair. But no, not with the locals. A punch in the face would be the order of the day, and that's exactly what John received.
"Now you scum, stand up!"
He stood.
"Thank me"
(remember the words John!) "Thank you sir for teaching me to respect my country"
"Salute me!"
Jesus, this one thinks he's the bees knees! He saluted in the way he had been taught.
"Who do you love?"
His mum, for sure. His dad (a bit). Even Brian? hmmmm? A word came into his head that sounded a bit like 'winstant' then he remembered the other word he knew - 'the king'.
John wasn't daft though. He knew the procedure well enough.
He clicked his clogs together, raised his arm at the spotty pig, who thought he was a real copper, and stated with no hesitation
"mine fu-ru. Long live the fu-ru - Hermon Goose-ring"
Shit! Run!
"Shut up, you little bastard"
John looked up at the bedroom window, in alarm, expecting the angry shout from Brian to be accompanied by an equally angry face. Luckily - luckily for him - there was no face, just the flutter of the dark brown curtain moving across the open window. His older brother, Brian would be in their shared bedroom doing his homework, and as usual tolerating no interruption whatsoever. He'd even swore at their mother once! Just once! He'd not do it again. His dad said "you'll not do it again!" all the while their mother tried to pull his dad away. It was his dad, but not Brian's. That's a different story, but to cut that long story short, Brian's dad had been killed when Brian was just a baby in the war. Somewhere in France, but as John didn't know what or where France was he didn't ask, and no one seemed too bothered to talk about it. But there it was, step brothers, with a 7 year difference and no love lost between them.
He hadn't been doing anything wrong anyway! He considered throwing one more stone, just to annoy Brian, but decided against it.
Bored, Bored, Bored!
(If people cared about such things, John would have been considered small for his age, but in truth, no one noticed or cared. His mop of unruly brown hair and shabby clothes, with the obligatory knee length trousers (holes in the knees) and clogs, as well as the jacket (way too tight) would have not made him stand out from a crowd of any average 10 year old living in the town at that time. The only thing that made John stand out, and it was a great feature (his mother told him) was his blue eyes. Extraordinary blue eyes, in fact. )
But he was bored. He wished Bill was here! He missed Bill. He didn't know what a best mate really was, but Bill would have been it. But it was so long ago, he had trouble remembering what his mate had even looked like. He just knew that a few years ago (2?), they had been inseparable at the church school. Memories of the nuns and that old smelly priest teaching them sums and bible class were still vague in his head, but he knew - he did at least know this - that he was happier! Why had it been closed down? He knew something bad had gone on, but as usual he was kept out of it. Just the memory of the nuns crying and Father Whatshisface being loaded into the truck. A tall man shouting "marksy" or something like that.
"You"
"Oh, shite! A pig", John thought.
"Were you just throwing stones at that house over the street?" said the young man.
"Hell", thought John. The pig had a local accent, he was from around here. They were the worst ones. He knew this, without even having to listen to the conversations of his parents and other adults. The others, the taller ones, weren't just smarter looking and kind of cleaner looking, but they just seemed a bit, well, more nice. At least they smiled at you before (or after) slapping you.
"Me sir? No sir"
He adopted the stance, he'd been taught since for as long as he could remember. Hands behind the back, feet together, head bowed forward. "Always avoid eye contact with a pig, John", his mum had repeatedly told him.
"Why are you not at school? You look old enough"
"No Sir, I'm only 10. I don't start school for another 5 years"
"Are you sure you aren't 15? You look to be 15 to me" he said.
This was what Brian called 'scar-tastic' or something. John liked those sorts of games and he was good at them! Quick as a flash - "thank you Sir! I am told I am quite tall for my age"
The problem with the local pigs is that they had no sense of humour. If it had been one of the others, he was sure he would had laughed and ruffled his hair. But no, not with the locals. A punch in the face would be the order of the day, and that's exactly what John received.
"Now you scum, stand up!"
He stood.
"Thank me"
(remember the words John!) "Thank you sir for teaching me to respect my country"
"Salute me!"
Jesus, this one thinks he's the bees knees! He saluted in the way he had been taught.
"Who do you love?"
His mum, for sure. His dad (a bit). Even Brian? hmmmm? A word came into his head that sounded a bit like 'winstant' then he remembered the other word he knew - 'the king'.
John wasn't daft though. He knew the procedure well enough.
He clicked his clogs together, raised his arm at the spotty pig, who thought he was a real copper, and stated with no hesitation
"mine fu-ru. Long live the fu-ru - Hermon Goose-ring"
Shit! Run!
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