119 The Fainter

In the news… the fifty pence piece was introduced. In time it would replace the ten shilling note. The public were not impressed.

I popped into Skinners on Twydall Green in the course of my after school paper round. As the owner of one measly 45rpm record that I was sick of playing, some new ones were long overdue. The Evening Post paid well and even though half my earnings went into the family coffers, I’d saved enough dosh for four singles. The only question was which ones to buy.

‘Have you got Sugar Sugar, please? And A Boy Named Sue. And Nobody’s Child. And er… Je Ta’ime.’

Buying Je T’aime was a big mistake. Even when I sneaked the record player up to my room and plugged it in at floor level; it was risky to turn the volume above the barely audible. The only way I could listen to it was to get down on my knees and press my lughole to the speaker. 

 

At school: I’d always been suspicious of people fainting in assembly, especially if it was one of the bolder types that hit the deck. On the scale of jolly japes and mischief, an assembly fainter would score a lot higher than an assembly farter. But I changed my mind about fainters on the day…

Standing in line near the back of the hall, I was mumbling along to a hymn with everyone else when the teachers on the stage started swaying. Or so it appeared. Then everything went dark; very dark. As I felt myself slipping away I murmured to the person next to me, ‘hold my hymn book.’

Voices… I hear voices.

‘Help me get him up. That’s it; hold him while I get his arm across my shoulder.’

Half dragged, half carried, I was being swept along in the darkness. Then I heard shouting.

‘Get a chair!’

‘Here Sir!’

I regained full consciousness in fresh air. Subdued, yet relieved to be back in the land of the living with my sight restored, I’d been plonked on a chair outside the main doors, my tie loosened.

‘Sit there for as long as you need. Just come in when you’re ready,’ said the calm voice of Mister Browne the Art teacher.

AC Medway the football team formed by Clive, Stan and Paul got off to an encouraging start. A couple of wins and a draw against sides of similar ability was a refreshing change from the school team’s routine annihilation.

Clive and Paul were impressed with the badge I’d drawn on my white football shirt. ‘We’ll have that as our official badge,’ they said. I was pleased with it too, until it came out in the wash.