Fakery and Parlour Tricks

As I have already mentioned in a previous tale our trigonometry teacher was the dreaded Morty. An old-fashioned school teacher if ever there was one, as he terrified the mass ranks of feebleminded teenagers with mock shows of machismo and the promise of six of the belt, for anyone who dared transgress his zealot like classroom etiquette. 1

Yet another dreadful teacher in a school who's staff room was already wall-to-wall with humourless miserable teachers. As if being a practitioner in the dark art that is trigonometry was not enough. We also had to suffer one period a week in addition to our torture by triangles in the company of Morty, when he donned his cassock; metaphorically speaking and doubled as the schools teacher of R.E. or to give it it’s full title Religious Education.2

If we thought he was humourless when he was wearing his mortarboard in fearful mathematician mode it was nothing as to his attitude when doing his scripture spouting, ranting preacher impersonation. So it was then that anyone would do absolutely anything to avoid his R.E. class. 3

This led to some of my classmate’s faining illness, the upshot of which led to them being cared for in the school’s sickbay by our bulldog faced school nurse. Two of my chums, the Irish brothers, Smarty and Trevor, suddenly saw the light and found they’re way back to, and I quote from Smarty directly the sentence he delivered to Morty with a dead pan expression. “ My family are all devout Catholics!” 4

Following this Oscar winning performance the fortunate pair not only avoided Morty’s gloomy biblical proclamations, but were also allowed to spend the forty-minute period playing darts and ogling gentleman’s magazines in the second year common room. 5

Keith the Thief was not far behind them in the spouting bull shit department, but unfortunately his halfhearted attempt at being excused this class fell on deaf ears. I think the clincher came when he said he was a “Jedi” when the disbelieving and it has to be said growingly frustrated Morty asked of his denomination.6

For my own part and having genuinely never been christened and therefore having no allegiance to any form of organised religion. I tried to play the atheist card, alas to no avail as Morty, the glum bastard, saw straight through my “I’m not sure about any of this because…” line and I was forced to sit through his holy but mind bogglingly boring procrastinations.7

It couldn’t go on, something had to be done or something was going to give, as we just couldn’t take it any longer. So it was then, that Tuesday lunchtime, in my mother’s kitchen, at the arse end of April 1984, that Bounce came up with a ridiculously simple solution to both of our religious educational woes.8

“Let’s not go in to school this afternoon! That god botherer does my head in! There’s snooker on the T.V.!” He said while rummaging through the biscuit box.9

Snooker or religious education, snooker or religious education I thought to myself, it was a tough choice. Snooker on the T.V. for the rest of the afternoon it was then, once of course the obligatory ham fisted effort at parental sick note forgery had been gotten out of the way. Which incidentally involved Bounce penning my note and myself his, an illegible signature at the bottom of the letter and job done.10

I must say I felt not a little trepidation the next morning having to hand in my counterfeit sick note to Mr. McRanter our second year form teacher. He snatched the note from me as his beady little eyes flitted from side to side as he read its contents. Which incidentally contained the word diarrhoea far more times than was absolutely necessary.11

“Fine go and sit down!” Hissed McRanter.Unbelievably he had inexplicably fallen for our terrible fakery and we had for the first time in a long time gotten away with it. Unfortunately for us, flushed with this success we could not help ourselves as we both mugged it to our associates in the boy’s cloakroom before heading off home for lunch.12

All well and good, no harm in that, no harm at all, until the great, second year, religious education, diarrhoea/dysentery outbreak the following Tuesday afternoon. Whereupon nearly half the boys in class had failed to make roll call following the lunch break. 13

Well the snooker was still on the television and to be fair who would rather hear about long dead men and their do gooding? When you could watch Canadian snooker playing behemoth, Big Bill Werbeniuk, down about fifteen pints during a match, get totally slaughtered and still win.14

I was blissfully unaware of the mass absenteeism that had occurred the preceding afternoon. Unaware that the jackboot of adult authority was hovering over us waiting to crush our little scam under its heel. 15

I confidently strode in to the classroom and handed my forged parental note in to McRanter that Wednesday morning. Whereupon he did not even bother to read it, he simply handed it back to me, his eyes scowling back at me as he hissed in a low voice “Mr. Crampbell’s office. Now!”16

Oh spoons! 17

I left the class and climbed the staircase to his office, on reaching the landing, standing sullen faced were all of the rest of the condemned men. The usual suspects Oss, Swoopster, Nimble, Knumbnutts, Phil da Block, Keith the Thief and a few hangers on. 18

By the time the fearful Crampbell was through with us the bodies were pulled up six deep at the end of his austere office.19

Four of the belt each, parents summoned to the school and an hour a day, week’s long detention after school. 20

Who with?21

Yes you guessed it, the miserable bastards, miserable bastard Morty. Learning all about long dead do gooders.22

Needless to say I was not allowed to watch the snooker or indeed any other T.V. for what seemed like the rest of the year, as part of my punishment dealt out to me by my parents for my troubles.23

Will I ever learn?24