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Authors: Annie Murray
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Lowry.’
Stung by the boy’s sullen tone, the headmaster straightened up, laid the riding crop very deliberately on the desk and took up the cane.
‘You must be punished.’ There was exaltation in his voice. ‘Give me your hand, boy. You’re a disgrace!’
Mr Lowry took a deep breath through his nose with each hard swipe of the cane on Joey’s hand. Six times he raised it and whacked it down. The boy flinched physically each time but his expression didn’t alter. There were no tears. Joey stood picturing that man he’d seen on top of his mother. One man, a stranger, who could have been any of the others whom she’d let use her. Pain went through him. He stuck his chin out and clenched his teeth. Mr Lowry stopped for a moment and Joey looked up at him. At the sight of Joey’s hard eyes something seemed to snap in Mr Lowry. He seized the boy by the shoulder and spun him round.
‘Bend over. You will be affected by me, boy. You will be.’
Joey heard the cane as it came through the air. He screwed his eyes shut. Mr Lowry thrashed him again and again. Joey couldn’t count. He was lost in the pain. It cut through his buttocks, travelled in shock waves down the backs of his legs, but he didn’t cry out. Mr Lowry was grunting. At last he stopped and there was silence for a moment in which all Joey could hear was Mr Lowry’s panting breaths. The boy clenched his jaw and forced himself to stand straight, steeling himself against the pain, forcing it away in his mind as he had done with his feelings so many times in his life.
Mr Lowry’s face was flushed. He ran a hand over his sparse salt and pepper hair.
‘Now.’ He laid the cane methodically back on his desk and adjusted the shoulders of his jacket. ‘I shall be checking with Miss Purdy, and I want to see an end to this truancy, Joseph. You will be in school every day from now on. If your record deteriorates again I may have to think about expelling you. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, Mr Lowry.’
Joey left the room, his face blank of expression.
‘Joey – stay behind at the end of the morning, please.’
Gwen knew Joey Phillips had had a caning that morning. But he had come in after his punishment, not wearing the defiant grin boys usually put on to show how little they minded. Nor were there any tears. He just looked as he always did: closed and indifferent.
He stood beside her desk once the others had filed out.
‘You have school dinner, don’t you, Joey?’ He nodded, glancing at her, then away. Gwen sensed that he was somehow overwhelmed by the sight of her. She was wearing her pretty crimson dress again with a matching ribbon, which made her more colourful than anyone else around, except for Lily Drysdale. Gwen was darned if she was going to give in to the grime and just wear black and grey! She climbed down from her chair so as not to tower above the boy. He was still wearing the clothes she had given him a couple of weeks ago. They had not reached the rotten state of his last set of garments, but she wondered if they had parted company with his body at any time since she had handed them to him. Their state was of general, all-over grime. He had no shirt on, but seemed to have some sort of vest under the grey jersey and his neck and face were uniformly grubby. He was such a poor little thing! Up close this was even more obvious. His limbs were very thin, his pallor evident despite the grime. He stank of poverty. Yet, in his expression, beneath the puckered brows, was something that both puzzled and affected Gwen. In this pathetic, dirty child’s eyes was a mysterious strength. Over the past month, after she had offered him the clothes and he had accepted them with silent dignity – if not a word of gratitude – she had found herself paying more attention to him, watching him sometimes when he was bent over his sums or geography. His work was poor. His mind never seemed to be on his lessons. He didn’t make many friends. The only boy she
Stung by the boy’s sullen tone, the headmaster straightened up, laid the riding crop very deliberately on the desk and took up the cane.
‘You must be punished.’ There was exaltation in his voice. ‘Give me your hand, boy. You’re a disgrace!’
Mr Lowry took a deep breath through his nose with each hard swipe of the cane on Joey’s hand. Six times he raised it and whacked it down. The boy flinched physically each time but his expression didn’t alter. There were no tears. Joey stood picturing that man he’d seen on top of his mother. One man, a stranger, who could have been any of the others whom she’d let use her. Pain went through him. He stuck his chin out and clenched his teeth. Mr Lowry stopped for a moment and Joey looked up at him. At the sight of Joey’s hard eyes something seemed to snap in Mr Lowry. He seized the boy by the shoulder and spun him round.
‘Bend over. You will be affected by me, boy. You will be.’
Joey heard the cane as it came through the air. He screwed his eyes shut. Mr Lowry thrashed him again and again. Joey couldn’t count. He was lost in the pain. It cut through his buttocks, travelled in shock waves down the backs of his legs, but he didn’t cry out. Mr Lowry was grunting. At last he stopped and there was silence for a moment in which all Joey could hear was Mr Lowry’s panting breaths. The boy clenched his jaw and forced himself to stand straight, steeling himself against the pain, forcing it away in his mind as he had done with his feelings so many times in his life.
Mr Lowry’s face was flushed. He ran a hand over his sparse salt and pepper hair.
‘Now.’ He laid the cane methodically back on his desk and adjusted the shoulders of his jacket. ‘I shall be checking with Miss Purdy, and I want to see an end to this truancy, Joseph. You will be in school every day from now on. If your record deteriorates again I may have to think about expelling you. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, Mr Lowry.’
Joey left the room, his face blank of expression.
‘Joey – stay behind at the end of the morning, please.’
Gwen knew Joey Phillips had had a caning that morning. But he had come in after his punishment, not wearing the defiant grin boys usually put on to show how little they minded. Nor were there any tears. He just looked as he always did: closed and indifferent.
He stood beside her desk once the others had filed out.
‘You have school dinner, don’t you, Joey?’ He nodded, glancing at her, then away. Gwen sensed that he was somehow overwhelmed by the sight of her. She was wearing her pretty crimson dress again with a matching ribbon, which made her more colourful than anyone else around, except for Lily Drysdale. Gwen was darned if she was going to give in to the grime and just wear black and grey! She climbed down from her chair so as not to tower above the boy. He was still wearing the clothes she had given him a couple of weeks ago. They had not reached the rotten state of his last set of garments, but she wondered if they had parted company with his body at any time since she had handed them to him. Their state was of general, all-over grime. He had no shirt on, but seemed to have some sort of vest under the grey jersey and his neck and face were uniformly grubby. He was such a poor little thing! Up close this was even more obvious. His limbs were very thin, his pallor evident despite the grime. He stank of poverty. Yet, in his expression, beneath the puckered brows, was something that both puzzled and affected Gwen. In this pathetic, dirty child’s eyes was a mysterious strength. Over the past month, after she had offered him the clothes and he had accepted them with silent dignity – if not a word of gratitude – she had found herself paying more attention to him, watching him sometimes when he was bent over his sums or geography. His work was poor. His mind never seemed to be on his lessons. He didn’t make many friends. The only boy she
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