Forget the Celebrities: Read about MY Crazy Life

My CRAZY Life: Hobnailed Boots, A Grandfather Vest, Faded Blue Jeans And a Short, Scut of a Jacket

When I was at Grammar school, in Lincoln, there was a certain pupil, named Tony. Let me tell you

about him…

He was a small child, a child who although baptized by the name of Anthony, was invariably called Tony

by everyone who knew him, a child who constantly found it necessary to do bold things, as a way off

diverting everyone’s attention from the bugbear of young life - his unfortunate lack of height.

While Tony was in primary school, this strategy worked quite well for him, with no real harm coming

from any of the naughty things he felt so impelled to do, to impress his taller friends. Unfortunately,

when he progressed into grammar school, Tony’s wayward actions opened a up whole new kettle of

worms that was to have far reaching consequences…

This alternative lifestyle that Tony had chosen to adopt, culminated in An unwelcome crescendo one

Monday morning, when he arrived at school wearing hobnailed boots (bovver boots as they were at that

time known), Levi jeans, grandfather vest and a faded cord jacket. Now please bear in mind that he was

going to a strict grammar school, which had a policy of zero tolerance when it came to breaches in

presentation of their beloved school uniform. I can still remember the strange, surreal atmosphere as the

bell rang and the pupils lined up in the playground, in their pristine school uniforms, staring at the odd

pupil out.

Despite his diminutive size, Tony stood out like he was ten feet tall - and he was proud, he was so very

proud that the eyes of every pupil in the entire school was fixed doggedly on him. Tony was still feeling

proud when the teacher in attendance singled him out, calling him up to the front, to explain his actions.

And do you know what Tony said to him? I’ll tell you what he said, Tony informed the teacher that he

had fallen into the canal, while he had been on his way to school, and having rushed home the only

clean clothes that he had been able to find were the ones he was now standing in.

Silence prevailed as the teacher slowly digested what must have been the tallest tale he had ever been

fed. He just stood there, staring down onto the minute, diminutive figure wearing jeans, vest, a short

scut of a jacket and the biggest meanest pair of boots you could ever imagine.

When the teacher eventually spoke, he said, “Go stand outside the headmaster’s office, he will know

how to deal with the likes of you.”

“Okay,” said Tony as he walked happily away into the old school building, accompanied by tremendous

cheers from every child assembled in the playground.

As he waited patiently outside the headmaster’s office, Tony felt every inch of the ten feet in height his

fellow pupils had imagined him to be. He felt like a veritable film star as his mates (and even those who

weren’t) discreetly cheered him on, as they passed him by, on their way to their classrooms.

Eventually the door of the office opened, and a stern voice called out, “Enter”

Tony entered the office.

The headmaster, an old man, thought had witnessed every conceivable misdemeanour that it was

possible for a pupil to perpetrate, from stink bombs to itching powder, from broken windows to truancy,

from missing homework to bullying and everything else in between, but the moment he lifted his eyes

from his work on his desk, to the small child standing in front of him, he almost laughed at the ridiculous

sight he saw.

“Now what have we here?” the headmaster asked, struggling to regain his composure.

“A boy,” Tony replied, honestly.

“Hmmm,” said the old man, without taking his eyes away from the rebellious clothing.

“I hear you fell into the canal…”

“Yes, sir - headmaster,” Tony answered, happy to hear that his excuse had been relayed to the old

codger.

“It happened to me, once, many years ago,” said the headmaster, “smelt like a drain, I did, for a whole

week…” Circling Tony, the headmaster’s sniffed the air. “It’s funny, but I can’t get a whiff of canal water

from you…”

Thinking fast, Tony relied, “They dredged it, last year. The canal is now as clean as a whistle.”

“As clean as a whistle, you say.”

“Yes, sir - headmaster.”

“I am so glad to hear that,” the headmaster replied dryly, “and I am also happy to ask you to go home,

where you will put on your school uniform and return hence to me, with a note from your parents

explaining your actions…”

Tony gulped - his plan had backfired, the headmaster had seen through his deception. “I really did fall

into the canal,” Tony spluttered unconvincingly.

“Off with you, child,” said the headmaster, his eyes darting to the cane hung threateningly close on the

nearby wall.

Tony was in dire straits. The headmaster’s orders meant that he now had to tell him mother what had

really happened, and that in turn meant a hiding from his father. Tony desperately needed an alternative

plan.

No one cheered as Tony pedalled through the school entrance on his racing bike, and no one cheered

when he got home to an empty house where he began putting on his clean uniform, alone and desolate.

Tony was at his lowest ebb. He could see no way out from the punishments he would soon be receiving.

Tony had almost finished dressing, when it came to him, the spark of an idea, which his imaginative

mind fanned into one brilliant solution. Smiling from ear to ear, Tony ripped off his school uniform and

once again put on his jeans, boots, grandfather vest and his cord jacket. Racing downstairs, he

searched frantically for a carrier bag. Finding one, he stuffed his school uniform into it, and after pulling

the front door closed he jumped onto his bike, pedalling away furiously in the direction of the canal. He

felt like his life depended on it, and he kept on pedalling, pedalling, pedalling until he reached the canal,

where he jumped off his bike and crept furtively across to the waters edge. With eyes darting from left to

right, Tony made absolutely sure no one was watching as he carefully dipped the entire bagful of clothes

into the murky, smelly waters.

“Phew, what’s that dreadful pong?” said a group of boys holding their noses as they passed by the

headmaster’s office, where Tony waited patiently outside in his dripping school uniform. Hearing this

comment, Tony smiled, his plan, his alternative plan was working.

By the time the headmaster bid Tony enter, most of the school that knew he was there - and so very

smelly!

Entering the headmaster’s office, Tony closed the door and then turned round to face the old codger.

And when he did, he saw how livid the old man had become. His eyes were bulging in their sockets, the

veins in his neck were swelling and throbbing, in a most alarming manner, to his rapidly increasing

heartbeat, and his face, the old man’s wrinkly face began turning a bright red hue as he exploded in a

raging fury at Tony’s all too blatant snub at his authority.

“WHAT IS THIS?” he roared at the diminutive figure standing in front of him.

“My uniform,” Tony replied in his humblest voice.

“YOU CALL THAT A SCHOOL UNIFORM?” the headmaster hollered. “YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO THE

SCHOOL,” the headmaster roared again as he reached into his trouser pocket for his handkerchief.

“I fell into the canal, remember?” Tony explained calmly to the headmaster who was now shaking and

sweating profusely.

With trembling hands, the headmaster patted his sweating brow with his handkerchief. Then after wiping

his face with it, he stuffed the wet handkerchief into his pocket.

“Are you all right?” Tony asked as the headmaster began to sway unsteadily behind his huge desk.

“I WAS, UNTILL YOU ARRIVED!” the headmaster roared at him again.

Then it happened, the headmaster felt a terrible, shocking pain (like he were being kicked by a horse)

deep within his chest and, clutching it, he dropped like a lead weight to the floor.

Tony was stunned; all that he could do was stand there in silence, staring at the figure lying so still on

the floor.

The walls, the walls of the headmaster’s office crowded in around Tony, as his mind searched frantically

for the best thing to do for the old man - and for himself.

As the clock on the wall ticked the seconds slowly away, seconds that each seemed to last an

eternity, Tony knew that he had to act immediately, if the old codger was to have any hope of recovery.

Spurred into action by his awakening conscience, Tony picked up the telephone and tried to call for

help, but the line was as dead as the headmaster appeared.

“How many more things are going to die around here?” Tony moaned as he dashed out from the office,

shouting for help, for anyone who might be able to save the ailing old man. But he saw no one. Not one

single person was anywhere to be seen. Realising that the headmaster’s chances of recovery were fast

slipping away, Tony returned to the office, trying desperately to remember the first aid training he had

only recently been given.

Pulling the heavy desk away from the fallen man, Tony leant over the headmaster and loosened his shirt

collar and his tightly knotted tie.

“It’s no use!” he shouted, “he’s not breathing.”

Realizing that he had no other option other than giving the headmaster artificial respiration and - the

dreaded kiss of life, Tony set to work on the old codger. Pressing down on his chest, Tony tried to

restart the headmaster’s injured heart. He counted out the seconds; one, two, three, four, five, and then

pinching the headmaster’s nose, he breathed life-giving air into the old man’s still lungs. He spluttered,

the headmaster spluttered and groaned ever so faintly - he was alive!

As he opened his eyes, the headmaster knew only too well that he owed his very life to the quick

thinking of the smelly, awful, disrespectful pupil, and he whispered his thanks.

“That’s okay,” said Tony, who was so very relieved the old man was still breathing, and not dead

because of his disrespectful behaviour.

“What on earth is going on?” asked the Assistant Head, Mrs Whittaker, as she walked into the room.

“I think sir has had a heart attack,” Tony explained as he stood up.

“Nonsense,” said Mrs Whittaker. “Now get out of the way and let have a look.”

When the Mrs Whittaker set eyes on the old man, she knew only too well how truthful Tony’s words had

actually been. Telling him to keep an eye on the headmaster, she picked up the telephone to call an

ambulance.

“It’s dead,” said Tony, “I’ve already tried it.”

With that Mrs Whittaker ran out from the Headmaster’s office and into hers, where she frantically

telephoned for an ambulance.

Although Tony was sent return home that day, the school management did accept his version of events

regarding his uniform. After all, he was a hero, the person who had actually saved the life of the

headmaster, no less.

Tony’s friends, however, saw the incident in an entirely differently light, they now saw him as a pupil who

was favoured by the enemy - the staff - because of his ‘heroic’ actions in saving the headmaster. Instead

of standing in awe at the rebellious little boy he once was, his fellow pupils now saw him as something

quite the opposite. They saw him as part of the establishment of the school, and to add insult to injury

Tony had actually, really, given the headmaster the kiss of like - yuck! This was both unforgivable and

also a source of constant teasing they found so easy to hurl at the ‘reformed’ Tony.

How did Tony feel about this? Well, he knew and fully accepted that he position in the pupils hierarchy

had been shot to pieces, but he also knew that because he was now trusted by the teachers, he was in

a unique position to carry out his own private agenda, where anything and everything might be possible.

Over the following months, Tony exploited this position no end, carrying out many cheeky schemes that

no one suspected were down to him.

There was, however, one temporary drawback to Tony’s plans; despite bathing three times a day, Tony

smelt like a sewer for more than a fortnight!

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Gerrard T Wilson 2008