The Charmed Life Of Danny Murphy - 2. Chapter 2

"Hey, Danny Boy! Penny for your thoughts," exclaimed a familiar voice from in front of me.

I lifted my eyes from the ground to see the smiling face of one of my best friends from school, James O'Connor. We'd been in the same form for the whole seven years, and had done almost identical subjects all the way through, even into the sixth form. James, on account of his initials, had acquired the nickname Jock while at school, which he thought was the biggest joke going, since jock is a slang term for a Scotsman, and both his parents were Irish. That, and also the fact that he knew my own father was Irish, was why he tended to call me Danny Boy instead of Spud. Mind you, he had tried to get my nickname changed to Bottom when we found out in French class that the French word for behind was derrière. That was a play on words, due to the fact that the song Danny Boy is also known as the Derry Air, and someone's bottom (or bum) is often referred to as their behind. Fortunately for me, Adrian Robert Smith, on account of his initials, had already been given the Bottom nickname.

"Hey, Jock! Good to see you. Sorry, was just waiting for Carrots to read my results for me."

"Sure, and why wouldn't you just read them for yourself? And, anyway, just when did Carrots become your own personal slave? Golly, I wish I could get myself a slave!" he said in mock seriousness.

"I've already read them. Just don't believe them, is all."

"Don't be telling me you've failed."

"Well, if I read them correctly I've done bloody well. That's what I can't believe."

"Sure, you're a worrier. Always have been and probably always will be. Anyway, here he comes now. His face looks serious enough, though. Looks like either you've done badly, or he has, or you both have. Let's just look on the bright side and hope it's not the third of those options."

I watched Carrots walking towards us. I couldn't really read any expression on his face.

"And how's my be-freckled, fiery haired, English excuse for a leprechaun this bright and sunny morning?" Jock asked Carrots in a voice that suggested we were on our way to the seaside for the day or something, instead of having gathered to receive news that could possibly, for better or worse, affect the rest of our lives. That's one thing I had always liked about Jock; his ability to inject humour into any situation. It was almost impossible to remain down in his company.

"Could be better. Could be worse."

"And how have you done in the old examination stakes?"

"Could be better. Could be worse."

"A veritable man of many words today, aren't you?" laughed Jock. "So tell me, oh eloquent one, did you happen to check the results for Danny Boy here? And if so, how has he done?"

"Could be better. Could be worse," repeated Carrots, still maintaining his serious face.

This was beginning to get to me. I'd thought after the exams had finished that I wouldn't care what results I got. I had just assumed they would be that bad that I'd need to repeat the year. Now a germ of hope had been placed inside my head. I was still convinced that I'd probably read the wrong set of results. But if I hadn't, and I really had done far better than I would have ever thought possible, I wanted that confirmed as soon as possible.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Carrots! Just give me the news!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, Master Hayes," said Jock, in another display of mock seriousness. "Can't you see how young Master Murphy is in imminent danger of wetting his pants here? He's worried. He's a worrier. Always has been and probably always will be. But he is not one usually taken to using vulgarities like the F word. So stop this nonsense right now and put the poor wee child out of his misery. Tell us how you did. And, more importantly, tell us how well or how badly he, himself, has done. And if he has done that badly that he heads off and throws himself in the River Mersey, where, if he doesn't drown, he will almost certainly die from the old typhus disease, you will have no reason to blame yourself for being the mere bearer of the bad news. He will have brought it upon his own head due to his lack of proper revision and study technique during these past two years."

I almost felt like hitting Jock. I also found myself starting to smile at the sheer loquacity of his speech. However, I killed the smile at birth and simply rolled my eyes at him.

"The results, Carrots. Just give me the results," I begged. And, almost as an afterthought, added "Please."

Carrots' face suddenly broke into a huge grin as he raised his right fist into the air, shook it violently, jumped up and down on the spot, and shouted "Yes! Yes! Yes! Two A's and a B for me! Two B's and an A for you!"

And, before I could react, he hit me on the left shoulder with the same clenched fist. I think it was meant to be a congratulatory thump, but I also reckon I would have fallen over completely had Jock not caught me from behind.

"Oh dear, the poor maiden has fainted," he laughed. "You really should not have congratulated her in such a violent way, young Hayes." He pushed me upright again and propelled me towards Carrots.

"Here," he continued, "Take her by the hand and lead her to that bench over there. Then have a look in her handbag to see if you can find any smelling salts to waft under her delicate wee nose. In the meantime, I really must join that gaggle of jabbering hobbledehoys over there and see if I can push a path through them to find out whether I have done well enough to be considered worthy enough to join the pair of you on the aforementioned piece of outdoor furniture designed for the placement of derrières."

"You're a clown," I retorted. "A veritable court jester. Always have been, and probably always will be."

"Sure, and isn't that's why you all love me so?" he laughed back.

When he rejoined us a while later it was with the news that he had got exactly the same grades as I had. He'd be off to Liverpool to study Zoology where, as he put it, he intended to further his main aim in life of pursuing his two favourite sports, namely rugby (his main passion) and women (his favourite pastime). He tried to have a dig at me for choosing to study Botany instead of Zoology, but I think he understood where I was coming from when I explained that I hoped to go on to do research in either the ecology or conservation fields, and felt that the course on offer at Sheffield would stand me in good stead for either. I also mentioned the fact that the main reason I'd originally chosen Biology at A-level instead of Maths was that I'd planned to study Veterinary Science. However, the dissections we'd been forced to do on dead rats, frogs, dogfish, and cockroaches, as part of the A-level Biology course, had quickly made me realise that I was just not cut out for a career as an animal doctor.

I think Carrots, who was going to a university somewhere in the South of England to study something like Politics and Law, finally got bored with our conversation. So he announced that he'd better go and ring his parents with the good news before heading off to the Dog and Partridge to join the rest of the gang, who would either be celebrating their good results or drowning their sorrows. We watched him march down towards the school gates with a definite spring in his step. I was silent for a few moments as I found myself admiring the curves of his hips, and the way they swayed from side to side as he moved away from us.

It had started to concern me in the previous year or so that I seemed to have been developing a fascination with the male body. Most of my school friends either had a girlfriend or were obsessed with girls. I had assumed I was just a late developer, but was starting to wonder whether I might actually be one of those poofs, or homosexuals, that everyone seemed to make fun of. Damn, I had even I tried looking at pictures of naked women in Tit-Bits (a rather tame sort of a British version of the Playboy magazine) whilst masturbating, but had found I couldn't get turned on by them at all. And yet I could find a picture of a fully clothed man totally erotic. Even though there was a lot of talk in the news about some government report into homosexuality, and the Wilson government possibly even legalising it, I certainly had no wish to be classed as a poof because, apart from the fact that all my mates seemed to poke fun at them, I fully expected that I would eventually meet a woman that I liked, get married, and raise a family.

As these confused thoughts were running around inside my head I realised that I was still staring at Carrots' rear end as he headed towards the school gates. I sighed and deliberately focused on the trees along the side of the school playing fields.

"Penny for your thoughts, Danny Boy," said Jock, for the second time that morning. He had obviously picked up on my sigh.

"Erm… Nothing really, Jock. Just thinking about all the years we spent in this madhouse," I replied, feeling relieved that I had been able to come up with a quick answer.

Jock laughed. "Ah, yes! 'The best days of your life' and all that claptrap. Complete and utter bollocks, if you ask me. I reckon the best days of our lives are still to come."

"Mind you," he continued, "there have been the occasional good times whilst we've been here. Remember the time a gang of us climbed up one night and painted 'Mr Griffiths shags sheep' on the school roof?"

"God yea! It was in block capital letters about two foot high and could be seen from the main road. The head went mental over it."

"Aye. He held the whole school in the assembly hall for hours the next morning, ranting and raving about the ‘guttersnipes‘ who had done it. Reckon if he'd found out we'd have been expelled. ‘I demand to know the perpetrators! And I demand to be told this instant!' he roared over and over again in his Welsh accent."

"Yea. And then he sent us all back to our form rooms and came round each one in turn. ‘I will know by your eyes if you are telling lies,' he said. And then went round the class asking each and every one of us, one at a time, if we were either one of the ‘perpetrators' or knew who they were."

"Oh god! One of the most terrifying moments in my life, that was. I could feel the blush on my cheeks as I looked him in the eyes and said in as calm a voice as I could muster, ‘No sir.'"

"It was worse for me," I said. "I'd actually spotted a speck of blue paint on one of my shoes just before he got to me. I was sat there with one foot on top of the other when he did finally get to my desk. I was sure he'd notice and ask me why I was hiding one shoe like that."

Jock laughed. "Yea. And you got a detention later for being out of uniform when the form teacher noticed you were wearing gym shoes."

"Yea. Fortunately Lowry spotted my predicament and offered to lend me his plimsolls. Changed into them as soon as I could get an excuse to go to the toilet. Hid the evidence behind the seat till home time. I was worried for the rest of the day they'd be found by one of the cleaners before detention ended, and traced back to me. And even if they weren't traced back to me, I was also panicking about what I would say to my mother had I returned home without my only pair of school shoes."

"I can imagine it now," laughed Jock. "Old Griff would announce to the whole school the next day after assembly ‘The perpetrator has been found. The guttersnipe's face will not grace the inside of this establishment ever again!'"

"Just as well we weren't spotted actually doing it," I said. "And the best thing is that even now, four years later, you can still make out the original words under the paint job the caretaker did trying to cover it up."

"Sure, it'll be our memorial. In years to come we can point it out to our children and proudly proclaim: ‘I did that!'"

"Or we'll be bribing our mates not to let our kids know what idiotic things we got up to when we were their age," I laughed. "For fear they'll turn out as bad as we were."

"The old fart didn't even know who we were. Seven years he was our headmaster, and he still had to interview us before he could fill in the bit on our UCCA forms where he had to write our references."

"I'm surprised he didn't know who you were!" I laughed. "Not only the captain and highest point scorer on the rugby team that won the inter-schools' knock out three years running, but also an almost constant visitor to his office for a caning over most of the past seven years."

"He might be Welsh, but he's not a rugby man. Cricket is his passion. But I've lost count of how many times the old bastard caned my backside for me."

"He caned me just the once. Six of the best for throwing stink bombs. ‘This will hurt me more than it will hurt you, boyo,' he intoned as he deliberately flexed the cane in front of my face, before telling me to bend over a chair. I was tempted to tell him that in that case he should just hand the cane to me, and let me hit him with it instead."

"Happy days, Danny Boy. Happy days!"

"Mind you, I can't help wondering, with the paint job we did on the school roof, whether we might have been responsible for putting the idea into John Stevenson's head that earned him his nickname the next term," I mused.

"Oh, God! Maybe it did," laughed Jock.

We both threw our heads back and laughed uproariously, getting more than a few curious looks from ex-pupils and teachers alike.

When Jock stopped laughing, he turned his head to study me, and his face took on a very serious look.

"You've come a long way, Mr Daniel Michael Murphy."