Remember Me - Labienus

Fifteen miles from the school Sharon Routlege tried again. She spoke
quietly, as befitted the wife of a computer company chairman.

"All my friends say it is the place to go," she said. "You`re an Old
Boy, you might get something off."

"It`s not the money," said Jocelyn, sighing.

"What then?"

He didn`t answer. She had kept this up since the prospectus arrived,
promising a modern curriculum, happy atmosphere, and a brilliant
scholarship rate to the best Public Schools. They had no doubt promised
the same when he had first arrived in the front hall, aged eight,
complete with trunk, tuck box and health certificate.

He had not been back since the day he left.

"You`re not going to be difficult, are you?" said Sharon.

"Am I ever?"

"I want the best for Ben."

"Me too."

"You could have fooled me."

"Rubbish."

After two more silent miles, she said, "What are you hiding? Were you
expelled or
something?"

"No ... No!"

The silence returned. Sharon stared out of her window. Twice Jocelyn
opened his mouth, but shut it again. No point in involving her in his
own hang up - not at this stage.

In silence they turned off the M4.

The school gates loomed as they had always loomed. Jocelyn`s gut
tightened as it
always had. He was startled - he thought he had expunged the years he
had spent here
from his memory.

He began to chant quietly. "Amo, amas amat," he murmured and stole a
glance at
Sharon. She was asleep and still beautiful. He supposed it was love
which had
brought him here. Sharon really believed in preparatory schools.

Negotiating the drive, with its fields of sheep (near) and goal posts
(distant),
words slipped into his head uninvited.

"The barbarians will wound Labienus with an arrow." He had failed to
put that
sentence into Latin three times and had been beaten for it with his own
slipper.
When he had asked why Labienus was always being wounded while Ceasar
was always
defeating the Gauls, he had been told to stick to the point and put
Labienus into
the accusative.

Freestone had put him wise. "I`m Caesar, and you are Labienus," he had
said. "I`m
the general and you are my number two. You do what I say - you get my
orders carried
out and you take the blame if things go wrong."

Freestone knew his Roman history. Freestone was in the first fifteen at
the age of
eleven. Freestone would be taking a scholarship exam. It was an honour
to be liked, or even used by Freestone.

Sharon woke as he pulled up at the main entrance. The house looked much
the same -
purpose built in the nineteenth century by a High Anglican priest
turned school
principal. But there was less ivy on the three story red brick wall,
and there was a
scattering of expensive looking huts where the "wilderness" had been.
No more arm
twisting among the bushes!

The hall hadn`t changed, but the Headmaster had. He looked young and
enthusiastic.

"Mr and Mrs Routledge! How are you? Always good to meet an ex-pupil.
Nineteen ...?"

"Fifty will do."

"I expect you will find some differences." The Headmaster laughed a PR
laugh.

"This looks much the same. I remember the panelling."

"Yes. We try to keep what is best. My deputy insists. Bullies me."
Another laugh.

Jocelyn looked at Sharon. She seemed to be appreciating it all.

The Headmaster beamed. "I think you will find my study familiar.
Perhaps not the
happiest of memories, eh?"

"Perhaps."

The only thing missing from the study was the smell of pipe smoke.
Jocelyn glanced
at the grandfather clock, wondering if there was still a cane inside.
He pointed to a
stain in the worn turkey carpet.

"We always tried to stand on that when we bent over," he told Sharon.
"It was
supposed to make it hurt less."

Sharon looked nauseated.

"Nobody bends over nowadays," chimed in the Headmaster. "There are no
canes in this
establishment ... Now, shall I show you round?"

They used to call him "Joyce," until Freestone had appointed him
"Labienus." This
had put an end to the baiting which had often left him sobbing with
rage in the
bootroom - when "Ceasar" smiled on him the other boys fawned. Of course
there had
been a price. His servitude had been a mixture of love and fear, and he
had settled
for being Number Two to Freestone`s One.

Standing in what had been the scholarship classroom now cheerful with
formica tables
and bright informative pin boards, Jocelyn visualised tired brown desks
and the too
shiny blackboard.

He could also hear voices - whispered voices.

"Lend me your Kennedy, Labienus."

"Where`s yours?"

"Someone took it. Come on. Give."

"No. I need it."

"OK, Labienus. Court Martial."

"What for?"

"Letting down your commander in battle. Drumhead Court Martial. After
Lights Out."

"Not fair."

A deep male voice. "I heard you, Routledge. Detention tomorrow."

"This," said the Headmaster, entering a dormitory, "is
'Barnard'."

"Alamein," murmured Jocelyn.

"Pardon?"

"This was Alamein. Great Battles, that`s what they used to be."

"Tempting providence wasn`t it? Battlefields for dormitories."

"Not really. History as we knew it. Battles and dates. Let`s see now -
there was
Waterloo of course, and Trafalger, and the Somme for the babies."

"What a horrible idea," said Sharon. "I`m glad you don`t have that now.
I like the
idea of famous doctors much better."

"The scholarship class," said Jocelyn, grinning without mirth, "were
all in Thermopylae."

"Oh dear." The Headmaster's smile was glassy. "Hundred per cent
casualties."

"Counting the cost didn`t come into our curriculum. Honour and
brotherhood in that
order."

"Well it`s ever so cheerful now," said Sharon, picking up an Action Man
from one of
the beds, "and I like the duvets."

"No more apple pies," said Jocelyn. "Folding the bottom sheet upwards
to halve the
leg room. Very uncomfortable if you were made to spend the night like
that."

He sat down on the bed near the corner and shut his eyes. His head swam
and the
voices returned.

"Keep still Joyce, or I`ll hurt you."

"Shall I sit on his head, Freestone?"

"In the dark he could hear treble breathing, smell coal tar soap and
toothpaste.
Well scrubbed hands held him down on the bed while "Caesar" whispered
the
indictment."

"Labienus, you are charged with Treachery and High Treason in that you
failed in
your duty as my obedient and faithful second in command. How plead
you?"

There hadn`t been any point in pleading. The sentence had been carried
out at once -
it had been, as usual, painful and degrading. He had thought that time
had blotted
out the details.

Sharon`s voice brought him round.

"It`s a very nice room," she said. "Cosy."

"A dormitory," murmured Jocelyn, "is made up of children, not bright
curtains,
carpets and jolly beds. Put a bully in here trying to prove himself and
the result
will be the same." But Sharon was listening to the Headmaster.

"They enjoy coming to bed. We turn the lights out and they tell each
other ghost
stories."

"Really?" said Jocelyn. He paused. "Would you mind very much if I
wandered round on
my own for a bit? I ... well, you know," he finished lamely.

The Head master obviously didn`t know, but he made no objection.

"We`ll go and watch the Rugger. If you need anything, look in to the
Staff Room. My second Master should be there - you might know him. He`d
be about your vintage. Freestone, his name is - David Freestone."

For a moment Jocelyn`s stomach tightened. Freestone, David Freestone in
charge of
Ben ... David. But they had never used Christian names. Too
cissy.

He hurried to the back stairs, and descended to what had been known as
the Underworld. He realised that he was sweating.

The cellars had housed the various essentials for the transition In and
Out. All the
"rooms" had possessed a permanent ambience of mud, sweat and
polish.

But now it had all been updated. Now the place only smelt of lemon air
freshener. No
gobbets of mud from football boots - no filthy towels fresh from
flicking naked
victims. Only a row of smart modern doorways labelled "Physics",
"Chemistry" and
"Combined Science."

The last doorway, leading to the old bootroom, was labelled "Computer
Room" and
stood ajar.

The Boot Room had been the most popular place for meetings, friendly or
otherwise.
It was there that "Caesar" had given out orders to his "Legion", and in
it dwelt the
more painful memories. There among the wellies and sensible black shoes
in their
neat rows, had been enacted the scenes of pain and humiliation which
had swept the
Legion to power,

Jocelyn forced himself to enter the room. As he surveyed the rows of
screens and
banks of boxed programmes, the worst memory of all surged into his
mind. Freestone`s voice sang in his ears and his eyes began to
sting.

"Oh stop blubbing you silly baby. We didn`t hurt you that much."

"I ... thought you liked me."

"Oh, I do like you. But I like you more when you don`t let me down. You
like me,
don`t you? Say you like me ..."

"I ... like you."

"Then had come the bad, bad thing ... Freestone`s hot breath, which had
smelt of
liquorice, and his hands ...

That night he had tried to run away but Freestone had heard him and
talked him out
of it. From then on he had been a true Labienus, taking the blame for
Caesar`s
mistakes, and cheering when Freestone won a top scholarship to a famous
school. He
himself at his own request, had gone on to the local grammar school as
a day boy,
and his teens had been happy.

He surveyed the games on offer and smiled as he took down one labelled
"Asterix."
Choosing a powerful machine he loaded the software and began to play.
Soon he had
the Romans on the run.

At this point the door creaked behind him and he looked up.

The red hair was greying at the edges, and the blue eyes were mild, but
-

"Mr Freestone, I presume," he said.

Freestone hadn`t recognised him. He merely said "I thought it was one
of our boys."

"It is. One of the grown up ones. Look - Caesar has crossed the river
and Labienus
has been wounded. I`m just pondering my next move."

"Oh." Freestone was at a loss.

"I`m a prospective parent. Your Head knows I`m here."

"I see. He didn`t tell me."

"His tone implied that he was normally kept in the dark and resented
it."

"I found the door open," said Jocelyn, "so I came in."

"Er - quite. What do you think of it?"

"This one is a good game. Educational."

"I meant the whole set up. We had to work hard at fund raising for
it."

"I`m sure you did. Were you the chief fund raiser?"

"Well, yes. Yes I was. What made you think so?"

"I remember how good you were on the Pavilion Fund."

"Oh that! That was when I was Captain of cricket." Then, "How
...?"

"Oh Caesar! Come on! Remember me."

Freestone said nothing. He frowned. He ... he was embarrassed! Jocelyn
enjoyed this
for a moment, then -

"Labienus," he said, and returned to his game. When he looked around,
David Freestone the new age Labienus, had gone.

Back in the study Jocelyn stared out of the window at the rose garden,
bleak after
its spring pruning. Behind him Sharon was all ears for the Headmaster
"running over
as few general details."

"... most of the staff are young at present. Young and energetic. Then
of course
there is David - David Freestone - he was here when I took over. Came
here straight
from college and keeps us all in order when we try to be too
trendy!"

"I`m sure he does," murmured Jocelyn. "He kept us in order when he was
Head Boy."

"Now he`s a sort of 'Mr Chips'. I doubt if he will ever want to move.
His wife is a
semi invalid and ..."

"Did he never fancy becoming a Headmaster himself then?" asked
Sharon.

The Head coughed.

"That is not the sort of question one asks!" said Jocelyn, smiling
without turning
round."

"We`d all be very sorry if he did go," carried on the Head. The boys
think the world
of him. Perhaps because he runs the computer room."

At this point there was a knock on the door and a young teacher
requested the urgent
presence of her leader. The Headmaster departed with the briefest of
apologies.

Jocelyn continued to study the roses. Outside could be heard the
cheerful sound of
warriors returning from the games fields.

"I beg your pardon," sang Jocelyn. "I never promised you a rose
garden."

Sharon laughed. "Didn`t deliver one either," she said without
malice.

"Not me - the school. If that song had been written while I was here
I`d have
suggested it as the School Anthem."

"Oh. Oh dear," said Sharon. But it`s not like that now is it."

"No," said Jocelyn. "I don`t suppose it is."

"You sound more cheerful. Are you?"

Before he could answer the Headmaster returned.

Jocelyn drove down the long carriageway humming "Rose Garden."

He commented on the daffodil shoots and made an obvious joke about
Wordsworth, at
which Sharon laughed too heartily.

They had arranged for her to take Ben down the following week, but had
not indicated
any commitment. As they approached the M4, she ventured to say,
"Well?"

"Is that what you really want for him?"

"How about you?"

"How about Ben? What does he want?"

"He`ll like it when he sees it. He`ll love the dormitories."

"Will he?"

Keep still Labienus or I`ll really hurt you." (But now I have hurt him
more.)

"And you know he watches all the Rugby internationals."

"So he does."

"Oh well tackled Freestone! Move yourself Routledge, that was your
man." (But I had
a trial for the County.)

"What did you think of the art room?"

"Didn`t see it. Saw the computers though."

Suddenly he accelerated.

"Steady on Jocelyn! Remember the speed cameras."

"To hell with the speed cameras. Tell you what. If Ben wants to go
there I`ll give
the school four of our new modern jobs. Give Labienus something to play
with."

"Who`s Labienus?"

"The sad soul in charge of the boot room. Labienus. For ever. For the
rest of his
working life."

Sharon shook a puzzled head and left it at that, while the Chairman of
Routledge
Electronics PLC drove on regardless, leaving sad Labienus to his
future.