“Hare krishnan!” says one of the Saranjit girls enthusiastically.
“When you grip the curved wand between your hands, let one thought run through your minds: Glory to St Rodence. Let there be no one of whom it can be said ‘She did not try her hardest on this day’. When that first whistle sounds, cry ‘God for Harry, England, and St Rodence!’”
There is a hushed silence as the words sink in. Then Eliza Dunnalot raises a hand. “You’ll have to stop the coach. I feel sick already.”
“You can see what we’re up against,” says Penny as we settle down with a pile of magazines confiscated from the girls. She points to one of the photographs, “I wouldn’t mind being up against that, either.”
“Penny! How could you. I think male nudes are disgusting. Don’t let the girls see you looking at it.”
“I think they’ve done a bit of retouching there.” Penny holds the magazine up to the light while I cringe.
We get to St Belters without further incident and my heart sinks when I see how large the school is. There are a lot of new buildings, too. So different to St Rodence where the science laboratory is situated in a prefabricated shed.
“Right, girls,” says Penny as the door slides open and the driver starts running towards the nearest building. “Good luck, and remember to control yourself at tea. I don’t want to see anyone filling their knickers with eclairs.” She steps to one side and I feel a thrill of excitement as our charges stumble out into a stiff north-easter. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten—Ten?
“I was waiting for this,” says Penny grimly. “Sometimes, one of them tries to stay behind in the coach and slope off when everybody has gone. No school spirit.”
This time, Penny is wrong. When we find Roxane slumped in the corner of the back seat there is plentiful evidence of spirit. An empty hip flask is in her hand and she is snoring loudly.
“Greedy little swine!” hisses Penny. “She never passes it round.” She starts to shake Roxane viciously. “Wake up! Wake up! You’ve got a game of hockey to play!”
“That was dreamy, Hank,” murmurs the girl.
“She’s never going to be able to play!” I say.
Penny sniffs the empty flask. “I think you’re right. This stuff would rot the elastic in your knickers. They’ve obviously been distilling gym shoes, again.”
“What are we going to do!?” I say desperately.
Penny stands back and looks me straight in the eye. “There’s only one thing we can do.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll have to play.”
“Me!? I’m useless at hockey. It’s dangerous.”
“Stop snivelling, Dixon. You sound just like one of the girls.” Penny bristles angrily. “You look young enough and none of the staff of St Belters have ever seen you before. What are you worrying about?”
“But the girls will know.”
“They won’t say anything. If we promise to let them stop at a pub on the way back they’ll play ball.”
“But, Penny—”
“No buts. I’ve got to go now. You get Roxane’s clobber on and I’ll tell the rest of the team.”
Penny disappears and I see her striding across the quad to be greeted by a man and woman both wearing academic gowns. Oh dear. What am I going to do? There seems to be nothing for it but to follow Penny’s instructions. After her stirring address I can hardly let the school down.
It is much easier to get Roxane’s clothes off than I would have imagined. I wish she would not keep calling me Hank, though. I drape my coat over her and scramble down the steps of the coach.
“Hello, darling. What are you doing after the game, then?”
The speaker barely comes up to the tip of one of my boobs and is wearing a scruffy blazer and a crop of what look like last year’s spots. “Fancy a suck of my lolly?” The odious little creep can’t be more than fifteen and has clearly mistaken me for one of the team. Maybe I should be flattered.
“Miss Gleen doesn’t like us talking to stlange boys,” I lisp.
“Don’t listen to her. I can show you a good time. Come up to my study and I’ll sport the oak.”
The very idea! I don’t know what he is talking about but it doesn’t sound very nice. Probably one of those Australian slang expressions.
“Let me pass!” I practically have to walk over him to get to the pavilion. What with that and him trying to put his hand up my gym slip I am in a state of nervous exhaustion before I get over the threshold.
“Are you all right?” asks Penny.
I tell her what happened and she takes my hockey stick and goes outside without a word. There is a shrill scream and when I look out of the window my erstwhile attacker is coiled up like a spring. Penny comes in and hands me back my stick. “It’s not just for playing hockey with,” she says.
“You struck him?” I say, horrified.
“A little something I picked up at Miss Bondage’s Kung Fu classes.”
“Kung Fu?”
“They were marvellous. Up to the time they stopped not one of our girls had been assaulted.”
“Why were they stopped?”
“Complaints from the headmaster of the local grammar school. Six of his boys had been raped.”
I hardly have time to consider the full implications of what Penny was saying before the umpire comes in with the captain of the St Belter’s team. “Shall we toss up in here?” she says. “It’s absolutely beastly, outside.”
She is not kidding. From the window I can see that puddles are beginning to form on the pitch. Only a handful of spectators are huddled under the surrounding trees. What a lousy day to make my comeback. When I left school I vowed that I would never touch a hockey stick again.
“Heads,” says Rumna who is captain of the team.
The umpire throws the coin in the air and it rolls under one of the benches. Quick as a flash, Fiona Fladger has retrieved it and put it in her purse. “Heads it was,” she says calmly.
“Oh,” says the umpire.
“We’ll choose ends when we get out there,” says Rumna, signalling that the tossing up ceremony has been completed. “Come on, team. Let’s get stuck into it.”
When I get to the pitch I assume that she must be referring to the mud. I stand on the ball while I am trying to stop it and it all but disappears.
“Good luck,” says Penny as I take the field for the bully off. “I’m just off to talk to James about next year’s fixture.” She is accompanied by a man with crinkly blond hair, flashing white teeth and a broad smile. I wish I had something to smile about.
“I should be back by half term—I mean, time.”
They go off, practically arm in arm, and I can’t help feeling jealous. When I entered the teaching profession it was with the hope of enjoying a meaningful relationship with an intelligent male teacher of the opposite sex. All I seem to have ended up with is a spotty little boy shouting “Wack it one for me, Big Knockers!” while he is carried away on a stretcher. It is all very disappointing.
“We’re playing downhill,” says Rumna. “Give it everything you’ve got!”
“Don’t start yet! My nail polish hasn’t dried.” Eliza Dunnalot waves her arms in the air and the whistle blows.
I