The Charmed Life Of Danny Murphy - 10. Chapter 10

"Hands up everyone who is still prepared to boycott the ceremony," he called out in a very loud voice.

He immediately raised his own right hand into the air. Everybody else, myself included, was so taken by surprise that we simply stared at him. Indeed we were that surprised that none of those of us who were still prepared to support a boycott even thought about raising our own hands.

Mr Griffiths paused in his stride. Turning and stepping back into the room he looked disdainfully at Jock, who was still standing with his hand raised in the air.

"Ah, Mr O'Connor. A trouble maker for the seven years he was at this school, and still a trouble maker now he has left," he sneered. "I see you have your hand raised, Mr O'Connor. Wish to be excused, do you? But certainly, Mr O'Connor." his voice began to rise slightly. "You may be excused!" His voice got louder still. "You are excused!" he roared. "Excused from this afternoon's proceedings! Come along with myself and Mr Byron, young man!"

But Jock just stood his ground. He didn't even lower his hand. He simply stood there, hand raised, defiantly staring down the headmaster from across the room. A few seconds of silence passed. They felt more like several minutes.

I suddenly realised I had been that shocked that I had not given my reply to Jock's original question. So I quickly raised my hand into the air to show that I was still prepared to support a boycott. Several other people at our table immediately followed suit. Hands began to be raised at other tables. Before very long the vast majority of hands in the room had been raised. Mr Griffiths stood looking at us. All the colour seemed to have drained from his face, and a blood vessel could be seen throbbing in his temple.

"I'm sorry, Sir," said Bill, actually sounding as though he genuinely was sorry. "I was explaining to Byron when you walked in that, even if he personally didn't think it was a good idea for any of us to boycott the proceedings, many of the people here had already told me that they thought it was." He looked almost kindly at the headmaster."It seems we have a problem, Sir."

"This .. This.. This is out and out blackmail," stuttered Mr Griffiths. "Out and out blackmail."

"And your attempt to deny Herbert Byron his moment of valedictory glory, in public and in front of his assembled family, friends, and peers, at the end of a brilliant school career, unless he sheers off his magnificent blond locks, is that not also blackmail?" asked Jock in a quiet and reasoned voice, as he lowered his hand. Almost as an afterthought he added "Sir?" to the end of his question.

"But that's different, Mr O'Connor. There's the school rules to be taken into account. The reputation of the school."

"But you know as well as I do, Mr Griffiths, that rules are only that. Rules. They can be bent. However, if only a handful of last year's A Level pupils are in the theatre to receive their certificates this afternoon, what will that do to the reputation of the school? Think on that, Mr Griffiths. Think on that."

The head stood there for a few moments saying nothing. Still no one else in the room spoke. No one even whispered.

"You're right, Mr O'Connor. I need to think of what's best for the school," he finally said.

He gathered himself together.

"I think I should go back to my office and ponder this dilemma. Do I have your word, Mr O'Connor, that whilst I am gone everyone here will remain in this room?"

"Absolutely, Sir," replied Jock. "Although I do think you should be asking Mr Lewis that question. He was last year's Head Boy, after all."

The head looked across at Bill. "Do I have your word, Mr Lewis?"

"Hands up all here who are prepared to remain in the dining room until the headmaster makes his decision," Bill asked.

Every ex-pupil in the room raised his hand.

"You have everyone's word, Mr Griffiths," Bill said.

"Excellent!" said the headmaster, drawing his gown around himself and heading for the door.

"Mr Griffiths," said Jock.

The headmaster turned and looked at him.

"Yes, Mr O'Connor?" he asked, in a civil sounding voice.

This was getting bizarre. It was suddenly as though Jock and the headmaster were two old friends discussing the solution to a problem, rather than a tyrannical school headmaster and one of his ex-pupils. Especially when it was an ex-pupil who had been the recipient of numerous canings by the same headmaster for his misdemeanours during his time at school. There was absolute silence in the room.

"Try not to take too long reaching a decision, Sir. It's past one o'clock already. The ceremony is due to start in less than an hour," Jock politely reminded him.

"Indeed, Mr O'Connor. Tempus fugit, as the Romans were wont to say. You shall all have my decision within fifteen minutes."

Once he had left the room an excited , though subdued, conversation started up again as we all finished eating our lunch. Most people thought the day had been won, although a few still worried that the head would not back down. Lowry was adamant that, should the head not change his mind, we should not spoil our own day by refusing to take part. He was told many times, by many different people, that their memory of the day would be spoiled if they sat back and didn't do something to show the headmaster that they were in support of him. Lowry accepted their reasoning, and kept thanking everyone for their show of support.

"Absolutely no thanks needed, old sport," said Jock. "None whatsoever. One for all, and all for one, as the musketeers were wont to say."

"Still appreciated, though," said Lowry.

"And it's always nice to receive appreciation," said Jock.

"I can't believe the old goat actually knew who I was, though," he continued.

"Why wouldn't he?" laughed Bill. "You must have visited his office more times during our time here than the rest of us put together. "

"Maybe. But he never seemed to know who I was. Even had to interview me for the headmaster's report on my UCCA form."

"He did that to all of us. Even me, his Head Boy at the time. Just likes to cross every T and dot every I, I reckon."

"What I couldn't believe was the way he spoke to you at the end," Taffy said to Jock. "Almost as though you were equals, rather than teacher and pupil."

"Broken man. That's what he was," responded Jock. "Knew he had lost and was just looking for a way out."

"Yea. But a broken man who's now sat in his office by himself. Sitting and brooding. Possibly sitting and plotting revenge. He may still not let Lowry take part."

"Well, if that happens…" started Jock.

He got no further than that before the door opened and in walked Mr Bennet, the head of Upper School. He had been the bane of many of our lives all the way through the sixth form.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said. His voice seemed unusually friendly.

"Good afternoon, Sir," we all chorused.

His eyes scanned the room. Eventually they settled on Jock.

"Ah, there you are, Mr O'Connor," he said. "I have been asked by the boss to give you a message."

"The boss, Sir?" asked Jock.

"Oops! Sorry, I meant the headmaster."

Several people gave an embarrassed laugh.

"That really was a genuine mistake on my behalf, gentlemen. Indeed, I'd be more than grateful if you would be so kind as to keep it to yourselves."

"That's fine, Mr Bennet. I certainly won't breathe a word. But what exactly is the message that the…" Jock paused for effect, "boss, as no one in this room heard you call Mr Griffiths, has asked you to relay to me?"

"One that I am sure you will understand, Mr O'Connor. He has asked me to inform you that you have come up with an excellent argument, and he agrees to allow Mr Byron…"

The rest of his sentence was drowned by the spontaneous outburst of cheering that broke out in the dining room. Several people went over to congratulate Lowry. Others came across to pat Jock on the back. It wasn't until a chorus of We Shall Not Be Moved started up that Mr Bennet called for order again.

"Right, gentlemen!" he called out in a pleasant sounding voice. "I think maybe it's time you settled down a bit, as our beloved deputy boss has a way of saying."

The singing and the chatter stopped. We all looked over at this never before seen version of Mr Bennet.

"Time marches on," he said. "You have little more than thirty minutes to make your way across the street and take your positions in the theatre. Has Mr Settle gone over all the arrangements with you?"

"Yes, Sir," many voices replied in unison. Several of us took the papers with the seating plan out of our pockets.

"Excellent. Clean up in here then, and go across there and do yourselves proud."

As he was exiting the room, he stopped in the doorway, and turned back.

"Oh, and gentlemen…"

We all stopped clearing the tables and looked at him.

"Yes, Sir?" asked Bill.

"Well done, lads! No matter what anyone else may say, I'm proud of every last one of you today. Some people may think that the purpose of an education is simply to learn facts off by heart and regurgitate them onto an examination paper. Real education should be about far more than that. It should be about turning out a fully formed individual. One who can think for himself. One who will stand up for that he believes in. One who is willing to sacrifice himself for what he considers right."

He paused for a moment.

"Sadly, we seldom manage to do that," he continued. "It almost seems at times that that's not what the grammar school system has been designed for. We so often try to take away individuality and replace it with dumb, unquestioning obedience. And all too often we just set our sights on the examination grades, the number of university places, the Oxbridge scholarships."

He paused again. No one knew what to say in reply.

"But I see before me today a group of young men who have not only managed to get through seven years of our fractured grammar school system, but have somehow managed to come out the other end with their individualities intact. I don't know how it happened. I certainly don't think that I can claim any of the credit for it. I was going to say that you are a credit to the school, but I don't believe the school has any right to attempt to claim any credit for your actions today. So I'll finish by saying that you are a credit to yourselves. And that I feel honoured to be able to stand in front of you all this afternoon and humbly say ‘Well done, lads! Well done!'"

And then he turned and really did exit the room, leaving everyone last one of us absolutely stunned, and momentarily speechless.