Steve Mason and the Last Day of School (Part Two of Two)

Part One at: https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/steve-mason-and-last-day-school-part-one-two

Steve Mason and the Last Day of School (Part Two of Two)

Having reformed in a huddle back at the doors to the dinner hall, each envelope was opened and the contents digested. It was an unshared private moment in a public setting that each of the students dealt with in different ways. David, Kevin and Micky had all exceled as expected. Their grades would whisk them away on a magic carpet to future studies at university and even brighter futures. Except for Dave, maybe. He had been caught up in post-Punk rebellion for a while now so might give the whole Uni thing a miss. The good news for Steve was that he had, somehow, passed all four exams. The more mediocre news was that his grades were C,D,D and E - hardly great by this school’s standards but enough to bag him a place at Liverpool Polytechnic even if he had aspired to Manchester or Bath. As and Bs had proved beyond him.  

Having unveiled their grades to themselves, there was a collective release of pent up tension with a mix of grins, slumped shoulders and looks to the skies. Steve didn’t feel anything other than relief and shock that he hadn’t failed physics. They watched as a steady stream of boys went through the same process of entering through doors, eyes widening at the sight of the tables, hesitation about wandering up straight away and finally shuffling along to meet their fate. Some had parents with them, others were on their own. Either way, the music was to be faced.

Making their way through various bodies that were orbiting like satellites in a school solar system, the lads skipped down the stone steps at the front of the building and headed in the same direction as Rob Applegate from a few minutes earlier. The aftermath of collection had been pre-agreed: destination “Aston Tavern” pub via the park. It was only now that they noticed birds singing in trees and the fragrant smell of summer in the transition from urban surroundings to the greenery of fields, bushes and shrubberies that were only yards away from the educational establishment that had dominated their lives for so long. It was like stepping out of one world and into another; a new environ of adulthood and freedom. 

“How did you do then, Kev? Straight A’s?” Steve’s tone was a mix of genuine interest and mild sarcasm.

“I did OK thanks. How about you?” Ginger Kev’s reply suggested he wasn’t prepared to reveal his grades. He was planning to study physics in London and possibly go on to be a cameraman at the BBC. 

“Oh…shit grades but I might be able to do something with them. I really fancied Manchester. Went to a bostin Open Weekend there. Met a couple of lads from Belfast. We went out on the town on the Saturday night. They were telling me how their city is nothing like it’s shown on the telly. Apparently where they live, it’s all fields and greenery. No bombs, marches or graffiti on brick walls.” Steve had been on quite a few Open Days courtesy of his dad taking him by car. It had all come across as a wonderful new world that, somehow, he felt he didn’t deserve and wasn’t entitled to. He also had a steady girlfriend and didn’t want to rock that boat. Chances were, he would just go out and get a job instead. 

“So did everyone get the grades they wanted?” Micky’s voice matched his stature – tinny and tiny.

His question triggered a mix of shifty looks and smiles; nobody, it seemed, wanted to discuss it any further.

“Shall we just crack on and go to the pub? Finishing at this place deserves celebrating!” It was a statement sincerely meant as far as Steve was concerned. Maybe everyone would be more forthcoming after a few beers.

He moved to walk lockstep with Dave, leant in so that their heads were nearly touching and asked in a low tone: “What about you, Davey boy? Last time we spoke you said the whole Uni thing was bollocks.”

Dave pondered the question giving Steve a sideways glance.

“Yeah, it is. I have an interview next week with the DHSS in Handsworth.”

“Doing what?”

“They need people for admin jobs. I suspect things are pretty busy down there. Loads of people on the dole. There’s jobs going if you fancy it. Just get an application form in.” Dave pulled at stretched fingers as he spoke; a habit he had when he was thinking.

“Maybe I will. Cheers, Dave.” Steve thought of it as another option even if it sounded like the end of the world in terms of careers.

The park was an oasis in the middle of a tired, rundown part of Birmingham. Aston had known better days but it had succumbed over the years to urban decay. It was a multi-cultural hotbed of ethnicity that wasn’t necessarily reflected in the presence of a predominately white, middle-class grammar school that drew in boys from mainly privileged backgrounds. Steve was outside that particular demographic, what with his father a salesman and mum a cleaner. He had managed to pass the eleven plus entrance examination to gain a place. Most of the other students came via the fee paying route.

The boys strolled along a tarmac path that ran through the centre of Aston Park. On both sides were expanses of grass whilst ahead was the magnificent, Jacobean Aston Hall and behind them the back of the school flanked by housing on all sides. A group of youths were playing football close by. Shouting could be heard, scruffy urchins imploring for the ball to be passed to them.

Steve reached into his back pocket and pulled out a packet of Rothmans and a box of Swan Vestas. Striking a match, he lit a cigarette and gratefully drew the smoke into his lugs. Closing his eyes, he felt the satisfaction that came with a long drag. He was the only smoker in the group, the rest eyeing him with interest but without succumbing to temptation. Smoking was a bridge to adulthood but with the price tag of ashtray breath and smoke-smelling clothes.

“Cigarillo anyone?” The question was floated in the hope that nobody would accept the offer. Steve was precious about his cigarettes although would reluctantly share if pressed.

No reply came, just murmurs, looks at the ground and slight shakes of heads. Sunlight glinted through branches from the rows of ash and yew trees that stood like sentries either side of the path forming an avenue. In the distance, a football stadium loomed dominating the surrounding area. Rather than veering left towards Villa Park, the motley crew arced right towards the church of St Peter and St Paul and the pub beyond. This had been the escorted walk taken every Christmas to attend a service and sing carols with the rest of the school. Of all memories of King Edward’s, this was a happier one for Steve to hang on to. 

At this time of day, the pub was quiet. Negotiating the saloon doors, it was Steve who marched up to the bar ready to order the first round. It was a feeling of liberation that swept through all of them but none more than the skinny lad who had counted the days until senior school was at an end. The barmaid was young, early twenties with blonde, curly hair, large ear rings that dangled at the side of her head and a fresh-faced look of innocence that immediately appealed to the four youngsters.

The room was enclosed and separate from bar and lounge areas. In the centre was a pool table with cues stood upright in a rack on the wall. There were wooden stools with seats the height of a running shelf where glasses could be sat when not in use. In the corner was an electronic fruit machine making beeping and whirring noises, imploring someone to play it. Micky slipped a coin into the side of the table releasing balls in a cacophony of thunderous noise. Steve hoisted a metal tray with four pints on it after watching the last pint pulled, passing each trophy in turn to appreciative recipients. 

That afternoon passed like a dream. The liberation of libation, playing pool, talking nonsense and smoking. In years to come, Steve would forget what was said in the eventual smoky hall of memories that came with the Aston Tavern pub. He would only have a vague recollection of how they parted with irony not lost on him that he would never hear from or see Micky or Kev again. For a while, he would still mix with Dave when out and about on Broad Street or when sitting on the Holte End at a Villa game.

Nothing lasts forever and, in time, he would also lose touch with his final friend from that fateful last day of school. Not even the advent of Friends Reunited on the internet and the subsequent rush of social media sites like Facebook and Twitter would revive those friendships.

It’s said that school days are salad days when time is your own and there are no responsibilities. These aren’t the happiest times for all students. Whatever the experience, an indelible mark may be left that defines lives. It’s up to us whether we allow that to happen.

Image free to use at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aston#/media/File:Aston_church_Birmingham.jpg