Alan awoke with a start, beads of sweat dripping from his head; the sheets
in a scrimmage at the bottom of the bed. This wasn't the wood of his nightmares,
nor was it his childhood home. The objects seemed familiar; the scratched
and battered book-case with its scanty collection of dog eared books and tatty
magazines; the fireside coal scuttle and the little stand of fire brushes
glinting in the moonlight; the ancient roll top desk with its tarnished brass
fittings and its coffee stained wood that cast a shadow over half the room.
He knew that everything was very familiar, but he couldn't think why. Exhausted,
he abandoned his thoughts and began to doze again.
Whit Week, 1961.
I awoke with a suddenness that jolted me upright. In the few seconds between
sleeping and waking I observed a scene that might have been found in some
'I lived through the blitz' war story. I was in a large semi darkened room,
probably a church or school hall. Lining the walls on each side were recumbent
figures on straw palliasses, covered by khaki blankets. An electric light
bulb in one corner cast lurid amber shadows across the faces of the sleeping
boys; for boys they all were. At last I remembered where I was. The room was
the main hall of the village school at Robin Hood's Bay, and I was on the
annual 'camp' with the Cathedral choir in which I was a boy soprano.
Dawn had almost broken so I stayed awake until the others began to stir. I
was the first to get a wash in one of the bowls of cold water standing in
the yard outside the door. Being first meant that I had to stand around until
everyone else had finished; then we began morning exercises. This was the
one part of the day that everyone hated, so accordingly we did them with ill
grace.
"Come on. Raise your arms right above your heads.
That's it; stretch! Now touch your toes; and again!". The choirmaster
would shout these and other instructions every morning without fail. Finally
the command would come to fall out for breakfast, and we would gratefully
troop out of the school gate to begin the long walk to the breakfast table
in the church hall.
The church hall was over a mile away from the school, but the early morning
walk between the two was one of the best times of the day. We walked down
a country lane and there was never any traffic about. Consequently we were
able to spread out over the whole road , larking about and laughing in the
crisp morning air. At our approach a whole hidden world of wildlife erupted
into life. Hedgehogs and fieldmice scurried off into the hedgerows. Hares
darted across the fields and all manner of birds took to the sky; bluetits,
skylarks, swallows and blackbirds all soaring heavenwards.
After breakfast the plans for the day were outlined to us. A walk along the cliffs to Whitby was scheduled, so accordingly vast numbers of sandwiches and cakes were packed. We set out at about nine o'clock to much merriment.
"Please sir, how far is it?"
"About eight miles John." sir replied.
"Are we going over the cliffs or along the beach?" another boy asked.
"We'll be going along the cliff top so don't let me catch any of you going too close to the edge!"
"Will that old ship still be there like it was last year?"
"I should think it will be Peter. It's not that old though. One of the villagers was telling me that it was only wrecked about five years ago".
"Sir. Do you remember that last year you told us that the lighthouse on the cliffs was going to get washed away one day. Do you think that it's still there?".
"Oh it'll be a long time yet before the sea eats so far back into the cliffs".
Small talk such as this flew between us as we followed the cliff path out of the village. Far below us the sea pounded mercilessly at the base of the cliff, steadily, tearing away at the very foundations on which the village stood. To our right the sun was already high in the sky, and behind us the village was fast disappearing into its own smoke haze.
Once over the stile and onto the cliff top we straggled out in an haphazard line. I was already well out in front along with two friends; David and Tim.
The morning air was still keen and the night had been damp enough to leave a light dew sparkling the grass . Cattle and sheep were out in the fields as well as an occasional horse wandering forlornly across the meadow. Most of the farmers had erected electric fences along the cliff top to stop animals straying over the edge; copper strands stretched out between wooden posts with small red signs dangling from the wire at intervals. The square placards were decorated with a small white flash and bore the inscription "DANGER, ELECTRIC FENCE". They hung there brazenly, inviting the reader to test the truth of the warning.
Tim, boldest of the three, was the first to touch the gleaming copper wire. A little gasp; half fearful, half excited escaped his lips and he withdrew his hand sharply. Feeling brave, I was the next to touch the fence. The shock was sharp, though not overpowering; jolting through me like ten thousand tiny pinpricks, Every nerve-end tingled and my flesh crept with goose pimples.
We ran along the cliff path each daring the other to touch the wire again. We threw clumps of grass and small twigs in an attempt to make the sparks fly, to no avail.
"Do you think there's enough electricity there to kill us?".
"No can't be". I replied.. "The farmers don't want to kill all their cattle do they. They only want to scare them away from the edge".
We walked on, diving into the bushes after bird's nests, scanning the sea for ships and generally messing about. The path seemed endless, rising to a crest every few hundred yards and then dipping below the horizon again. Every time we reached one crest, another one reared up before us.
"How much further is it?". Ti m moaned. "We've been walking for ages".
"We're not even half way there yet" David stated with the emphasis of one who knows. David knew more about 'camp' than either Tim or I because he'd been for the past four years. The walk was so familiar to him that he seemed to know every feature and every view along the way.
"Can we stop for five minutes?" Tim asked plaintively. "My shoes are hurting me".
"Oh! I suppose so".
We settled down in a little hollow overlooking the sea. A trickle of muddy water ran down a gully many times too large for it, eventually disappearing over the edge of the cliff. The sun; now overhead; had grown uncomfortably hot and we squirmed and sweated under its glare.
"Can I have a sandwich?".
"I don't know! Mrs Moody wouldn't like us opening the tins until we get there".
"Aw! Go on!".
"Well I suppose so. But only one each".
Complete silence reigned as we munched at the potted meat sandwiches. "I think we'd better get going" David suggested eventually. "I can hear the rest of them coming". We moved off, hurrying to keep ahead of the oncoming crowd.
The travel brochures describe Whitby as ' the gem of the Yorkshire coast'. It's a small fishing town built and rebuilt over the centuries; a veritable hotch-potch of styles from medieval to modern. The high spot of the town, physically and aesthetically, is the double crown of ruined Abbey and parish church.
Approaching as we were from the South the first thing we saw was the Abbey. Rising from the fields, it pierced the sky; broken walled; blank windowed; roofless. A once proud building reduced to a magnificent but empty shell.
Nestling in the shadow of, and a little below the
Abbey stood the parish church. Built on the headland it overlooked the whole
town. The harbour with its double jetty thrusting seawards
and its many trawlers riding at anchor; the fish dock with its cargoes awaiting
shipment inland, and the Victorian hotels dominating the far promontory. All
this could be seen from the old graveyard.
A great stairway led from the quiet of the Abbey to the bustling noise of the town below; a symbolic Jacob's Ladder leading from heaven to earth. "How many steps do you think there are to the bottom?" someone asked.
"Let's count them!".
"OK. Race you to the bottom".
We all began to run down the steps counting as we went, a jumble of numbers hanging in the air. "Oh hell! I've lost count now" someone said. "I'll have to start again". He started back up the steps. Another boy quickly followed. Soon all was confusion as the boys scrambled up and down the stairs.
"There's a legend says that no-one can ever count all the steps".
"Why's that?".
"I'm not really sure but I once read somewhere that the nuns who used to live in the Abbey put a curse on them because they didn't want anyone else to be able to count as high as they could".
"Seems a funny reason that does!".
"Well that's what I read".
The choirmaster and his assistants eventually managed to round us all up at the bottom of the steps. "Now boys" He shouted. "You've got the whole afternoon to do what you want. I want everybody back at the railway station by six o'clock. It's on the other side of the harbour near the bridge. Everyone's been assigned to a group with a senior boy in charge. They know their way about because they've been here before so you new boys stay with your group. Right! Off you go".
We traipsed off down the narrow street; a straggly line of boys intent on adventure.
"Hey come and look at this model boat in the window".
"Does it say what it is?".
"Yes! There's a plaque at the bottom. It says it's a builder's model of the 'Jenny Lind'.
We gazed at the 'Jenny Lind' for a couple of minutes before moving off down the road. Then someone asked "Does anyone fancy going fishing off the harbour wall?".
"We haven't got any fishing tackle" someone else commented logically.
"I know a little shop back up the other way" a third boy offered. "It used to sell hooks and lines wrapped round wooden frames for about sixpence. We could go and see if they still have them".
Everyone trooped off after the putative fisherboys except the group David was supposed to lead. This small party consisted of myself, David, Tim and a young lad called Tony who was at 'camp' for the first time.
"I can't afford to buy anything like that" Tony confessed a little sheepishly. "I didn't bring much money with me".
"Never mind! We can't afford it either" I said, trying to make him feel a little less embarrassed and turning truth into a virtue at the same time. "Let's go down to the river and look at the boats".
We walked along in silence for a few minutes, each of us trying to think of something to say to our new companion. "How long have you been in the choir now?" Tim asked finally. "About three months isn't it" he went on before Tony had chance to reply. "You wont remember Dr. Cooper will you? He was the choirmaster before Dusty Rhodes".
"Hey!" I interjected. "Don't let anyone hear you call him that. There'll be all hell to pay".
"Aw don't be such a prig!" Tim retorted. "Everybody calls him Dusty. Anyway, Dr. Cooper retired about a year ago. Not before time either. He'd just about gone ga-ga".
"Do you remember that time he fell asleep in the middle of the Bishop's Christmas morning sermon?" David interjected. "He slipped off the organ bench and caught his elbow on the keyboard as he went down. The Bishop almost jumped over the top of the pulpit with shock when the organ started blasting away behind him.
"Yes" I said. "And do you remember that time he came storming down from the organ loft in the middle of your big solo because you were singing flat?".
"I do!" David mumbled, going red at the memory. "He gave me a right roasting and then sent me back to the choir vestry in disgrace. It was horrible having to walk the full length of the church with everyone watching me".
"It must have been awful" Tony said sympathetically. "What happened after. What did you do?".
"Well there wasn't much I could do. By that time though the tenors and baritones had suffered enough of him. They all threatened to walk out and in the end I think that he was quietly asked to resign. He'd been there nearly forty years you know. He must have been over eighty".
As we talked we were walking towards the harbour. The noise of traffic in the narrow streets mingled with the less familiar sounds of river and sea; the roar of petrol engines muffling the sound of water lapping against the harbour walls; shoppers cawing in shop doorways mimicked by gulls gossiping on the wind. Smells of the sea and the town wafted together on the breeze; the stink of diesel and the stench from the fish dock mingling with the sweet scent of flowers from many tiny gardens and the fresh tang of the sea.
We strolled across the old iron bridge that spanned the river just above the harbour, pausing in the middle to peer into the murky water below.
"It doesn't look very nice for swimming in!" David commented. "It must be the oil from the boats or something. I wouldn't like to fall in!".
We began to wander along the north quay back towards the harbour mouth. Everywhere we looked placards and signs invited us to 'take a trip around the harbour for a shilling - children under twelve half price' or to 'sample our fresh caught cockles - threepence a bag'. One particularly garish notice invited passers-by to 'have your fortune told by the original Gypsy Rose Lee'. Another hand written poster on the fish quay gate stated that 'fresh caught fish is on sale to the general public between the hours of 7am and 11am, Monday to Friday inclusive'. Spending threepence each on bags of cockles we sat by the harbour wall to eat them.
"What do you fancy doing next?" I asked.
We all considered the question for a minute. "What about having our fortunes told" Tony suggested.
"You don't believe in all that rubbish do you?" Tim asked. "My mum once went to one of those places in Blackpool. She said afterwards that the woman had told her nothing that wouldn't have fitted a couple of dozen other people. In fact she threatened to report her to the police if she didn't get her money back".
"Well my mum often goes to have her fortune told. She says that the things she gets told almost always come true".
"Don't be daft. Gypsies never tell the truth. They just make it up as they go along and end up telling you what they think you want to hear".
"Are you calling my mother a liar! I'll belt you one if you don't say sorry!".
"Come on then!".
Tony and Tim started to scrap in the middle of the footpath. David and I watched in astonishment for a few seconds then, reacting at the same time we moved in to break them up. "I'll take Tony, you look after Tim" I shouted as we plunged into the fray.
Tony was still flailing wildly as I pulled him away so I pushed him away from me to protect myself. We were very close to the edge of the harbour and I watched in growing horror as he staggered to the brink of the quay. As he teetered backwards he grabbed wildly at empty space, trying to regain his balance. For a moment it looked as though he might succeed but he suddenly toppled over the edge and disappeared with a loud splash.
The three of us rushed to the edge of the wall just in time to see Tony surface. The fast flowing tide had already carried him out into the middle of the river. I looked around in panic seeking a lifebelt or something that I could throw in for him to grab on to. There was nothing! The area suddenly looked deserted. People who had passed us only a moment before suddenly seemed a long way away. Even the boats moored below us were deserted.
David set off at a sprint towards the nearest group of people so the two of us started off after him. As we ran we could hear Tony thrashing and screaming in the water behind us. When we caught up, David was already blurting out a plea for help to a couple manning a whelk stall. Even before he finished the man had sent his wife off to phone for help. The rest of us ran back towards the quay.
There was no sign of Tony when we got there. Terrified we scrambled frantically along the harbour wall looking for a sign of him; his head; a splash; anything; but there was nothing!.
The journey home next day was subdued and tearful. The 'camp' had been cut short because of the tragedy and David seemed to be the only one of the boys who was speaking to me.
"Everyone seems to think it's my fault" I wailed, "but it's not! It's not!".
"Of course it isn't!" David said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Everyone's upset by what happened but they just don't know what to say to you. It was an accident that's all. No one could have helped it".
I began to cry. David put his arm round my shoulders and tried to comfort me. My mind was in a turmoil of noise and flashbacks; the expression of incomprehension on Tony's face as he toppled backwards, arms windmilling in the air; the screams as he thrashed about in the river; the smooth oily surface of the water where he'd vanished. Sobbing uncontrollably I buried my head into David's coat and let all the emotion wash out of me.
Tony's body was never found and it took me a long time to recover from the shock of the accident. For several weeks I wouldn't go to choir practice or school, or anywhere that any of my friends went. I had to go to the inquest of course and that was a nightmare for me. The Coroner was very sympathetic. He recorded a verdict of misadventure and said that no blame should attach to anyone at all.
During the inquest I noticed David at the back of the court with his parents.
Afterwards he came across to see how I was and we just stood together quietly
for a while; saying little; him giving me strength simply by being there.
Perhaps I should say something about David. He was fourteen, a year older than me and had a good soprano voice although it was starting to deepen and break. He wasn't particularly good looking. His nose was too large and his eyes, although sparkling and mischievous, were set too far apart in his skull. Physically he was uninspiring; dark, short and stocky. His outstanding quality was his vibrant, caring personality.
There are people who can command attention when they walk into a room. David could never be described in these terms, But he did have an almost magical knack of always seeming to get his own way, and of getting others to accept what he wanted as if it had been their idea first. I fell victim to his charm many times. I can remember instances when I really wanted to go to a particular event; a concert say, or an art exhibition, while David wanted to go to a football match. David would agree to go with me to the cultural event and we would set off to the concert hall or gallery. We would end up at the football match and he managed to make it seem like my idea.
In the months following the inquest David and I became very close friends. We went everywhere with one another, and being late summer by this time, the local cricket ground became a regular venue. On many a balmy summer night we would go to watch the local church team, armed with a large bottle of lemonade and a packet of cheese sandwiches.
One evening we were returning home quite late from a match. Darkness was falling and the air was still, warm, and fragrant with the smell of new cut grass. A short storm at tea time had done little to clear the air and we were both hot and sticky.
"I know", David said. "Let's go down to the dam for a swim.".
"I haven't got a towel", I protested, "or my trunks".
"Who needs trunks? Anyway, what's wrong with your underpants?".
"Well OK.", I said after a moment's hesitation, "you're on!".
The dam was in a small clearing in the middle of a dense wood next to the cricket field. The wood belonged to the local weaving mill and was private property. It was fenced in by a high mesh fence and in consequence no one ever went there. A few weeks earlier while looking for a lost cricket ball, David had found a small hole in the wire well hidden by bushes, and since that time we had used the wood and the dam extensively. So far we hadn't been caught.
David wriggled under the fence first and sprinted off towards the clearing. In my hurry to keep up with him I got tangled in the wire, so by the time I'd got free and run to the lake he was almost stripped . As I started to undress, David discarded his socks and underpants and plunged into the water. After a few second's embarrassment I threw caution, and my shyness, to the winds. Stripping naked, I followed him in.
After the oppressive heat of the evening the water was refreshingly cool and invigorating. We splashed about for a while and then swam to the far bank and back. David suddenly disappeared and without warning I was grabbed by the ankles and pulled under. For a few seconds he hung on firmly while I splashed about and then just as suddenly he let go. Spluttering indignantly I bobbed to the surface and quickly swam to the bank. David was already stretched out in the long grass, shaking with laughter.
"Oh Christ, you do look a sight!".
"Sod! I yelled at him. "I'll get you back! Just you wait!".
Standing there with water streaming off my back and down my legs I seethed for an instant, but suddenly my bad temper evaporated and I began to giggle. Within seconds we were both doubled up on the ground, stark naked, laughing uncontrollably. Eventually sanity returned and we lay there, David on his stomach and I on my back, drying off in the warm evening air.
I suppose that my thoughts must have drifted for a while because a growing sensation that I was being watched brought me to my senses with a start. David was propped up on his elbows looking at me intently.
"What do you know about the facts of life?" he asked me very quietly.
"What do you mean?".
"You know. Sex and making babies and all that".
"Not much really" I said , my cheeks starting to flush . "Why ?".
"I was just wondering". He lay there looking at me silently. I began to feel nervous and turned my gaze away, blushing deeply.
"Have you....?". He faltered and then began again. "Have you got to puberty yet?". The words came out in a rush.
"I'm not sure what you mean! No-one's ever talked to me about things like that before. I mean; I've heard the word but....". I trailed off.
"Does this ever happen to you?". David rolled on to his side, facing me and pointed down between his legs. "This is one of the things that happens". I looked to where he was pointing. His penis was growing larger between his legs as I stared. Finally it stood proud, throbbing slightly in the gloom. I gazed at it, fascinated.
"Would you like to touch it?" he asked in a shaky whisper.
Without thinking I began to move my hand towards him. It was trembling violently and frightening new sensations were surging through my body. Muscles began to tighten in my thighs and a massive excitement was building up in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to touch him so much that I was sweating and shivering at the same time.
David just lay there quietly. He said nothing but his eyes urged me on, begging me to complete the movement. At last my hand touched his leg a little above the knee and a shock; almost an electric charge; ran through me. I rolled towards him, groping as I moved. For a moment, David clasped me to him, pressing his body into mine and pushing one leg between my thighs; then, with a small moan; he pushed me away violently. He was crying.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry" he kept mumbling between sobs. "I shouldn't have done that. It's just that when saw you like that; naked I mean; I couldn't help myself". He buried his face in his hands. "I don't want to be queer but I just couldn't help myself" he repeated. The tears came faster.
"Don't cry David. Please don't cry" I said, putting my arm round his shoulder and pulling his head down onto my chest. We lay there for a long time unmoving, his head cradled to my body.
"Do you remember when you comforted me like this?" I asked finally. He nodded. "I suppose that's one of the things friends are for." I added.
"You're very good about all this Alan. Anyone else would of run off; or worse; if I'd done to them what I've just tried to do to you".
"Don't be daft. You've done nothing to me at all. It was me that moved, and anyway I enjoyed it".
" I don't know how you dare admit that. Aren't you scared of being called a puff?"
"I'm only admitting it to you, and anyway, no-one's ever told me about sex and things like that". I paused, then continued. "I'm not really sure about what's right and what's wrong. Will you tell me?".
David blushed. "It's sort of difficult to explain. I don't really know all that much about it myself; just the sort of thing that goes round at school; but I do know that it's wrong to do anything like this with another man. It's all right with girls though" he ended lamely.
"Who says?" I demanded.
"Well it's all to do with getting married and having a family. Also....".
" That's not what I meant. Who says that it's wrong for two men to go together?".
"Well everyone says so. It's the law I think".
"That's idiotic. For a start, I don't say so
. Anyway , have you ever done this with a girl..... Or
wanted to?" I finished defiantly.
"Well .... No ". David snuggled up to me as he answered. I began to stroke his hair gently.
"Did you want this to happen when you suggested a swim?", I asked gently.
"Well no.... At least.... That's to say.... Oh I don't know what I was thinking. Are you angry with me?".
"Of course not. In fact....". I paused for a second. " I think that I'm glad that it's happened".
"You really are very good about this" he said again.
We lay there for a while, cuddling. I began to tremble a little bit and thought at first that at I was starting to get cold. Then a deliciously peculiar sensation started to build up between my legs. My cock was twitching and aching and hardening all at the same time. I'd never experienced anything like it before.
David sensed, or perhaps felt something because he suddenly sat up and looked right at me. "Have you ever got worked up before?" he asked.
I sat up too and looked at him. " A bit I think, but never anything as good as this. It's fantastic! It's painful and I want it to stop but it's sensational and I want it to go on forever. What do I do about it?".
" You mean you've never wanked off before?".
"No", I whispered. "I'm not sure what to do".
"I'll show you if you like". Without waiting
for a reply he pushed me down gently so that I lay on my back in the grass.
Straddling my legs he began to massage my stomach with his left hand while
the other moved to my cock which was throbbing painfully by this time; his
fingers and thumb stroking it gently along it's length. For an instant he
stopped and, guiding my hand to his cock, he showed me what to do. Together
we began again. Almost immediately I began to quiver uncontrollably, My whole
body convulsed with the searing, glorious agony. Suddenly the world exploded!
