The Rumour Mill

Children it is said can be very cruel and on the whole this statement is completely true, as they point out the glaringly obvious to their parents and others around them. Their blunt honesty and unawareness of the dreaded social faux pas, are however, as nothing in the cruelty department, when compared to a school full of pubescent young chaps.1

This from my point of view was always rammed home by the vast, varied and physiologically damaging array of nicknames inflicted upon the entire school population, by their so called chums.2

It has to be remembered however that a nickname at secondary school, no matter how bad, was better than having no known moniker at all. Take my own group of chums, hardly any of whom were known at school by the actual names their parents had bestowed upon them. 3

Apart from Dave of course, as every chap has a chum called Dave, it’s the rules.4

Firstly there was Knubnutts, called so because, how do I put this kindly? He was no mental gymnast. Next Nimble, also called because he clearly wasn’t. Quickly followed by Phil da Block, Phil’s first name was and is indeed Philip, however due to him having a head shape, that clearly showed he had more than a passing genetic link to Frankenstein, hence his nickname.5

Get the picture?6

Scene set! Job done!7

Excellent!8

Let us move on to 1982,where by now we were all starting the first year of secondary school education. Secondary school education in Scotland at the time was an eclectic affair, where being the only reasonably sized town for miles around all of the local villages and outposts sent their children to our towns high school.9

These pupils on the whole were just like us, inbred Hill Billy’s and mentalist half wits not withstanding.10

However there were on this occasion three marked exceptions. Firstly there were a pair of twin sister who had joined our school over the summer from a school in Edinburgh. These two extremely shapely additions were, to any young, red blooded heterosexual chap, clearly far ahead in the development process when compared to any of the other young ladies in our year.11

They wore skirts, but not as we knew them, as they were cut well above the knee, high heeled shoes, lip stick, perfume, tight white shirts and what was even more striking to us, the shirts had large bumps in them.12

What’s more they sat directly opposite myself and Oss in art class, providing Oss with all of the imagery he would require for, and I quote “His wank bank!” 13

The third member of the trio who had joined our number was one Rodney King. Not the Rodney King famed for getting a good kick in, in 1991 at the hands of the Californian branch of the Ku Klux Klan, I mean Los Angeles Police Department.14

No, Rodney, or Roddy as his mother called him, had moved north with his family due his father working within the oil industry. Roddy was an instant hit with all of the chaps, due to the fact he was a handy right back at football, regaled us with numerous tales of his heroic fisty cuffs and even claimed to have achieved the holy grail of doing the sex back in his native Glasgow.15

For reasons clear to all, he was a role model for the upwardly mobile young chap and any tips we could acquire on getting our hands up the jumper of the opposite sex would be gratefully received.16

Cracks however did start to appear in his story, when it was ascertained that he had been telling different versions of the same stories to anyone who would listen and there were, to put it mildly, some glaring inconsistencies in his tales.17

He finally crossed the moral rubicon when he claimed that the aforementioned twins had called round at his house the evening prior, where upon, if he were to be believed, he had and I quote “Fingered the pair of them!”18

Still, a new school, a new start, who could blame him for perhaps over gilding the lily a little?19

We could, that’s who and Roddy would pay, in the next month or so, a heavy price for his bare faced lies.20

In late May of that year, Wheezer Williams our chain woodbine smoking art teacher, announced that we would, as a class, be spending the night up one of the local glens to try our hand at landscape drawing. He further went on to explain that the boys would be sleeping in one hut, the girls in another and would have two same sex teachers in each hut by way of supervision.21

The long dreaded trip rolled round and so off out in to the wilderness we went.22

The first day dragged by with what can only be described as a terrible collection of hand daubed finger paintings being the only outcome.23

Piss poor art work aside, this trip was at least a break from the usual drudgery of trigonometry, geometry and the ever present dread religious studies. The trip was however cut short by a day, when Roddy got completely hammered on a half bottle of vodka he had purloined from his fathers drinks cabinet, and proceeded to sing at the top of his voice, outside the girls hut, the Matt Munro classic “On a clear day you can see my penis!”24

Oh how the teachers laughed.25

Top marks to Rodney for knowing his crooners and of course for being a prick.26

The upshot of his drunken crooning?27

A weeks suspension from school, the lucky dog!28

A few weeks later however and Roddy was not present at school for a whole week for reasons unknown. To our dismay, the day after, both bumpy jumpered twin sisters went off as well.29

The following morning and the boys first year cloakroom was rife with rumours as to why the objects of all of our preteen fantasies were absent. 30

The most common theory?31

Brace yourself for this now!32

The shapely duo had been round to see that Roddy was alright and when left alone with him in his bedroom had, proceeded to sex him to death. The rumour grew a long pair of legs, as these things tend to do, and it wasn’t long before it was common school knowledge. That they had in fact snapped his foreskin with their overzealous “Shagging!” What’s more he had been rushed to hospital for an emergency circumcision.33

Poor foreskin less Roddy returned to school the following week none the wiser, to howls of derision and what’s more to a new school song. The lyrics of which were sung along to the tune of “Donald where’s your trousers!” 34

However the new ditty was “Roddy where’s your foreskin?”35

Then as is the usual way of things, the nicknames began, Roddy Foreskin, Roddy Fore and for reasons clear to all preteen boys, who find these things very amusing, Cheesy Rod. 36

Poor, poor Cheesy Rod was henceforth known by this cruel name for the next four years of secondary school.37

Children as I said, can be very, very cruel.38