A New Term By Jonah
We're once more at the Norwich City Technology College with Simon. Not that there is any such place. None of the people in any of my stories are real. Many of the places are, though the people attached to them aren't, but none of the schools are real either. There are some things you don't want to inflict on real people or institutions by writing stories about them. In this context I should mention that, in the previous chapter, I described (not for the first time) the North Norfolk Ralway at Sheringham. I must make it clear that, in common with all institutions mentioned in these stories, although the North Norfolk Railway is a real railway - and, to those in the UK, I strongly recommend a visit if the opportunity arises - none of the people who really work on that railway are portrayed in the stories. I don't know the people who actually operate the line, and wouldn't have put them in the story if I did. Although I invented most of the people in this story, one of them - Garret - is the invention of another author - of Jacob Lion in the United States - as are some characters that only get a mention. I want to thank Jacob for his kind permission to use his characters in my story. If you've enjoyed my previous stories from 'A Letter from America', to 'On Sea and Sand', I hope you'll enjoy this one. if you do enjoy it, please spare a thought for the kind man who published it for you. Nifty doesn't charge you to read these stories, and he doesn't charge us authors either, but it does cost money to publish them. He bears this cost from his own pocket and from donations via https://donate.nifty.org/ . Please consider donating.
Chapter 8
Sunday morning was sunny. It was sunny when we got up, showered and breakfasted, sunny when we went to Church and sunny when we came home again. The sun streamed in as we ate our dinner.
Sunday afternoon was sunny too. It was sunny as Lloyd extracted the baby deltic from its shed.
Since all three boys were members of the junior group at Sheringham, there was no longer the sort of demarkation that had previously existed when the railway was in use. Lloyd was still allowed to be in charge of driving engines, but his job wasn't surrounded by the same sort of mystique as previously. Indeed, he didn't automatically take with him an adult to operate the signal box. He had decided that, on this sunny Sunday afternoon, Barry would do.
Garret, taking his job with the junior group as seriously as he took all other such actvities, had also taken to compiling competition papers for the group. These were simple exam papers that were set in the spirit of fun and usually involved Garret in discussing the questions with those of our household who knew more about railways than he did - which amounted to just about everybody. Paper-compiling time would be the day after a visit to the railway, while he was still excited about it, and would usually take place in the armchair in the corner of the signalbox. The paper would consist of five simple questions, one of which would be pictorial. On this particular day, it resulted in Garret and Barry being holed up in the signal box for most of the afternoon while Lloyd took Philip and Paul for rides on the trains.
Yes, Paul Jordan had joined us for dinner, having been dropped off by his father. I was to take him home to Horsham St Faith after tea. He had been in deep discussion with Barry, until Lloyd collared the latter to work the signalbox. He played rough games with Philip until the train was ready. He joined Barry in the signal box when Garret finally took the hint and left them alone and, after a guided tour of the railway with Barry, he helped put away sandwiches, jelly and ice cream , not to mention cake. My suspicion was that Barry's real problem lay, not with Paul, but with young Nottingham. Paul was a good looking and personable youngster who was generally liked by staff and students alike. If he had a fault, it was that he could be impulsive. Rickie Nottingham was the exact opposite. He was withdrawn and insecure. He had few friends and dealt with his insecurity by seeking out those who he felt made a better target than he did. Paul, undoubtedly, felt sorry for him and was prepared to be Rickie's only friend. He hadn't got round to persuading Rickie that it would be better to side with those who he tried to undermine. I was sure that Barry had spotted this and determined that Paul would be able to do that with his help.
Barry and Paul went back outside to help Lloyd put the train to bed. It would be school tomorrow so I didn't want the boys to be playing for too much longer. As the three came back inside I said
"Is all your homework ready for tomorrow Barry?"
"Did it on Friday".
"What about you Paul?"
"What?"
"It doesn't matter. I was only winding you up. You don't have to answer to me for your homework - unless it's English, of course".
Paul looked serious.
"In that case", he said in his poshest voice, "I refer the honorable gentleman to the reply my friend gave some moments ago".
"Blimey Paul", I responded, "you must watch all the best television".
"My dad's in local government", he said with a sheepish grin. "He always watches PM's question time".
"Must be a laugh a minute", I observed. "Come on, let's get you back home".
As soon as the car was off the drive, I observed to Paul,
"I reckon you must be the only friend young Nottingham's got".
He brushed his luxurious blonde forelock out of his eyes and, after a moment's pause, said,
"I wondered when we were going to get around to that".
"It's my job to", I said. ""It's also my job to be on your side".
"Good, but I still think Barry can handle him, Sir".
"I'm happy to let the two of you work it out", I said. "I trust you both to be sensible. If you need my help, shout up but, so long as things don't get out of hand, I won't interevene unless you ask me to".
I dropped him outside his home without incident. His mother came to the car to thank me. She seemed genuine enough.
Back at home the boys had been sentenced to bed. There didn't seem to be a lot of enthusiasm as they crawled up the stairs.
Actually, there was enthusiasm, but it was from Garret. He produced two small glasses and the bottle of Glenlivet. It was time to relax.
"And breathe!" he commented.
"Mmmm!" I replied. "What did you think to young Paul?"
"I don't think Barry will have any problem with him," Garret said. "It's unlikely that our boys' gaydar is working properly yet, but mine is pretty finely honed. Gay boys are seldom aggressive or judgmental, but it might cause difficulties with his mate. The antipathy won't have started with Paul, but have you thought that Paul might be going along with it just because he is determined to stay in the closet?"
"No, I can't say that I've ever thought that".
"I've thought it often", said Garret, annoyingly smug because he knew that I hadn't noticed I was quoting 'HMS Pinafore'. "It could be a problem because, if his obnoxious mate has suspicions, he might try blackmail - he could force Paul to be his ally by threatening to expose him".
"Not a problem", I replied. "If he tried that, Paul would just come out - assuming that your gaydar is right".
"I think you can safely assume that. In any case, I'm sure that won't be the last time he is round here to play trains. Have you had a look at next week's paper?"
He produced a computer printed sheet. It comprised a picture of a signal box diagram and a few questions underneath.
"Since you only just printed it, it's highly unlikely", I told him as I took the paper from him.
"Hmmmm!" I said as I scanned the paper. "His station limits are from his first stop signal to his last one. That's from that one to that one. The petticoat pipe is the part of the chimney that's inside the smokebox. The standard for vacuum brake is twenty one pounds per square inch. That headcode is for an ordinary passenger train, and the signalman knows the train is complete because its tail lamp is on the back. I gather those are Barry's work rather than yours".
"I can't deny it", he replied, "but he'll soon have taught me everything he knows".
"Don't be too sure. He knows a lot".
"I know it's bedtime - unless you want another, that is".
"Bedtime sounds good to me", I said, draining my glass.