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The afternoon dragged on and though I was sick with fear I resolved that I would show none when the moment of my ordeal
arrived. The boys went in to tea and afterwards two prefects came for me. I was led into the hushed dining-hall and stood facing
the three hundred boys. The Governor rose to his feet and mounted the rostrum; for a long moment he glared at me coldly then
turned to the assembled boys.
'This boy is a disgrace to the good name of this establishment,' he began vehemently, 'an absolute disgrace. I will not tolerate this
kind of behaviour. . . .' He continued for several minutes in censorious tone then roaring like Captain Bligh he sentenced me to:
'Six strokes of the cane, to be well laid on." The PT instructor stepped forward and flayed the air with his trusty cane several times
menacingly. Then he ordered me to bend over. Mutely I obeyed, the rod swished the air once more - the odious ritual had begun. I
did not flinch as the first of the blows landed squarely on the seat of my short pants, followed swiftly by the second and third. Still
I uttered no cry of pain. Incensed by his inability to make me scream for mercy, he administered the fourth stroke with such force
that I lost my balance and fell to my knees. For a few seconds I did not move, a murmur of complaint rippled around the hall as I
painfully dragged myself to my feet, first crouching on all fours then clutching at the rostrum for support, gritting my teeth I
determinedly remained silent. My backside was now numb and I hardly felt the fifth and sixth lashes. The ignominious flagellation
now well and truly administered, I stood erect and faced the assembly. I knew that I had acquitted myself well and that this would
be a day that no one, staff or boys, would forget in a hurry.
Though I had been the immolated victim I had, through showing no cowardice or tears, won the day. From now on I knew that I
would be respected by the boys, the prefects would no longer pick on me and even the staff would think twice before punishing
me again. Such is the stupidity of human nature.
'He has problems and I am anxious about his future,' states the Governor in a letter to head office about me. This excessively witty
observation comes as no surprise to me whatever.
For a time after this life went on fairly uneventfully, my behaviour did not improve or get worse - it remained about the same, but
they left me alone. Though I was just about able to read and write my orthography and grammar were unorthodox to say the least
of it. Indeed I have never been able to master either of them proficiently. One or two afternoons a week I attended classes and a
desperate attempt was made to improve my education, but my lethargy and lack of co-operation made all hope of progress futile.
In the end the teacher gave up and I just sloshed about in the kitchen day after day week in week out, waiting for the day that they
would let me go, for that they would certainly have to do after my sixteenth birthday.
I contributed to the war effort during this period by volunteering to be a guinea-pig for the Ministry of Health. Among the million
things that there was a shortage of was toothpaste. Ministry scientists had discovered after many months of research that negroes
in Jamaica all had marvellous teeth in spite of the fact that they had never found the need to use toothpaste — excepting in
sandwiches perhaps. Upon closer investigation it was discovered that the Jamaicans kept their teeth sparkling by daily gnawing on
sticks of sugarcane. It was thought that if the chewing of sugarcane had the same effect on white people as it did on coloured,
thousands of tons of it could be imported and distributed to the troops, whose teeth it seems were suffering greatly from decay due
to the acute shortage of toothpaste.
A ministry dentist called at the Home one day and inspected the teeth of all the boys and wrote down the names of those with the
dirtiest. Mine was among them, indeed I would not be at all surprised if mine were not at the top of the list. For my teeth in those
days looked like gorgonzola cheese, caused by neglect and a lack of calcium in our diet. When asked if I would be willing to take
part in the experiment I was more than delighted to volunteer: for on the face of it there seemed to be nothing I could lose excepting
perhaps a few teeth, which no doubt I would have been a lot better off without anyway.
Each morning I was given a great lump of succulent sugarcane to chew on and told that under no circumstances was I to use a
tooth-brush. The boys with good teeth were extremely jealous of those with bad. For a few days I conscientiously chewed on the
stuff but was not over-keen on the taste of it. One day a boy offered me a cigarette in exchange for my morning stick of sugarcane
and without the slightest hesitation I agreed to the trade, firmly convinced that I was getting the best of the deal. Every morning
after that I swapped my unexpected perquisite for cigarettes. The experiment was to go on for a month, at which time the ministry
dentist would visit the Home to see how much improvement there was in the condition of our teeth. As the date of his arrival drew
near, I began to scour my teeth frantically with salt mixed with tooth powder; the results were staggering for my teeth, once brown,
became a dazzling white. Indeed they could hardly have been bettered by a film star.
When the day of inspection arrived the dentist was so pleased with the improvement in the condition of my teeth, that he
commended me to the governor for my zealous cooperation. The experiment had been a success but as far as I know the ministry's
report was not put into effect. (Twenty years later I had my teeth capped. With showbiz money.)
The highest honour that could be bestowed on a boy at Goldings was to be made a prefect: a boy would have to 'excel at sport' or
be 'of exemplary character'. For a prefect there were many perks (being allowed to stay up later than the rest of the boys, use of the
prefect's room, in which there was a billiard-table and dart-board; they were also permitted to smoke. though I do not think that this
was official It was also the prefects who were usually chosen to go to Wimbledon, to act as ball boys at the famous tennis
tournaments. But their greatest privilege was that they could place any boy on report whom they caught breaking one of the
hundred-and-one rules. They could also, within reason, inflict the punishment themselves. It was no joke if a prefect had it in for
you, particularly if it happened to be the school captain who, like the other great dictators of our day, had omnipotence.
It is extraordinary how changed a boy could become once he had been elevated to the hierarchy. He would immediately drop all
his old friends and join the ranks of the establishment. Very often they would abuse their authority and become tyrannical bullies;
they were feared and loathed by the other boys, but not one of them would have turned down the promotion had it been offered him.
Even Pedro became a prefect; he however did not take advantage of his power, certainly not with me anyway.
On Saturday afternoon we were sometimes allowed to visit the market town of Hertford about three miles away. It was quite a treat
for it was the only glimpse we ever got of the outside world. After lunch, dressed in grey flannels and green Barnardo's blazers, we
would set off under threat of dire punishment if we were not back by five o'clock tea. There not being a bus route from the Home
to the town we usually had to walk; it was against the rules to hitch a lift, but it was a rule often broken. Most of the boys made a
bee-line for the Odeon cinema where in those days half-price front stalls could be got for ninepence. We paid our money at the
box-office and had our tickets torn in half by a pretty usherette, half the ticket she retained and half was handed back to us, so that
the girl inside would know which price seats to put us in. After a few visits to the picture house I discovered that if I got two halves
of a torn ticket and meticulously stuck them together with thin sticky paper, the girl on the door could not tell the difference between
the forgery and a newly purchased ticket, for she never looked very closely at them and was anyway in the dark. I knew from bitter
experience that it would have been unwise to tell any of the other boys about the fiddle, so I kept it to myself and was never caught.
In the summer I would go for long walks in the country, sometimes with Pedro or Ginger but more often alone. For now that Pedro
was a prefect we hardly ever spoke to each other any more, an almost insuperable gulf had come between us. Outside the grounds
we could recapture some semblance of our former friendship, but inside relations were strained for we were caught between
opposite poles. Ginger on the other hand was trouble and though he was often entertaining I avoided him like the plague most of the
time. For although I was obviously a difficult case myself I preferred to make my own bed to lie on.
On one of our rare outings together Pedro and I spied two pretty young country girls sitting on a gate. As we approached they
giggled coyly and brazenly called to us. Cautiously we drew near to them. I was fantastically bashful of girls in those days
(and still am, though I now manage to cover it up extraordinarily well). As we came abreast of them I was acutely embarrassed
when they suddenly barred our way and demanded a kiss as toll to go through the gate. They were out for a lark and had dared
each other to kiss the next boy that came along (the boys from the Home often passed that way).
Going as red as a beetroot I tried to climb over the gate without giving a kiss, but one of the girls grabbed hold of me and pulled
me off. I glanced around and saw Pedro meekly submitting to the ordeal in the arms of the other girl. The girl who had pulled me
off the gate bore down on me and threw her arms around my neck.
'Leave off,' I exclaimed trying to push her away.
'Don't be silly,' she replied smashing her lips against mine, my struggles were in vain for she had me firmly pinioned against the
bars of the gate, the full weight of her body pressed on top of me. Gasping for breath I eventually made my escape, vaulted the
gate and ran for my life across a field, with the girl in hot pursuit. Glancing over my shoulder I saw Pedro sitting on a grass bank,
his arm about the waist of the other girl; both were laughing fit to bust.
None of us had noticed a 'BEWARE OF THE BULL' notice obliterated from sight by an overhanging branch of a tree by the gate.
The flashing colours of the girl's summer frock must have caught his attention, for he suddenly appeared from under the shade of
an elm tree, snorting and pawing the ground. Pedro jumped on the gate and yelled to us to watch out as the lumbering beast, his
head down, suddenly rampaged after us. We had a good start but he was rapidly gaining on us. The girl screamed and tripped
over a clod of earth and fell to the ground. Seeing that she was in grave danger Pedro leapt over the gate, rushed across the field
waving his blazer and yelling 'Toro! Toro! ' The bull came to a dead stop about twenty-five yards away from where the girl was
lying and menacingly turned in Pedro's direction. The Spanish boy showing no fear continued to advance upon the bull, shouting
'Toro bravo Toro bravo and taunting him with his blazer. The bull then charged at Pedro but was ridiculously outclassed. Pedro
laughing his head off zigzagged around the field, thoroughly confusing the beast who in the end gave up and trotted off to a corner
of the field by himself. Approaching him cautiously, his blazer spread like a cape in front of him, Pedro goaded and insulted the
bull mercilessly, the savage-tempered beast bellowed fiercely but would not be drawn into battle.
'Toro de paja,' remarked Pedro in disgust and turning his back on the defeated animal walked triumphantly across the field to where
we were quaking with fear behind the safety of the gate.
'Toro de paja,' (bull of straw) he said again in a disgusted tone of voice as he mounted the gate and dropped nimbly to the ground
the other side. Pedro had been an aficionado almost from birth - bull-fighting was in his blood and he was extremely disappointed
at the cowardliness of his very first opponent. A disgrace to the national sport of his homeland. I smiled when this incident came
to mind many years later when I was watching bull-fights in Madrid and Granada.
The girl's names were Janet and Mary, both were beautiful and in their early teens. Janet was Pedro's girl friend and Mary was mine,
each Saturday afternoon that we were allowed out we went to meet them. Sometimes we took them to the pictures, at other times
we took them for long walks in the country. I cannot say that I was in love with Mary in the way I had been with Irene or the
wild-eyed Hilda May at the Bedford Home, nor even in the same way as with Miss Love, for they will forever be set apart. But I
liked her a lot and tolerated her perpetual giggling, though it irritated me considerably at times. During this period Pedro and I
became close friends once more and though it endangered his position as a prefect he now fraternized with me as much within the
precincts of the Home as he did when we were out with our girls. And when after several weeks Mary announced that she was in
love with me, and demanded that I see her more than once a week, Pedro covered for me when I stole away in the dead of night to
meet her. Sometimes he even came with me to meet Janet, thus putting himself in grave Peril.
I gave the matter several days' thought and decided that the quickest and easiest way of making extra money was to go scrumping,
for there was always a market for apples which could be sold for a penny each - twopence for large ones. If caught it was a caning
matter, but all in all the risk seemed worth taking. A few days later as Ginger and I stood shoulder to shoulder washing the infernal
dishes, I mentioned my plan to him, for although I could have gone scrumping on my own it was really a two-handed job. A second
man was needed to climb the trees and shake the fruit down whilst the other gathered it up into a sack; with two the burden was
easier to carry home and the haul could be greater.
Ginger, having even more larceny in his soul than I, leapt at the idea and said that he knew of an orchard not too far distant that had
fruit in abundance. So that very evening during the recreation period we set out on our apple-stealing expedition. Between six
o'clock and lights out at nine we would not be missed; according to Ginger that would be ample time to make it there and back.
The orchard was something under a mile away and by keeping to footpaths and stalking behind hedges we managed to avoid the
main roads, thus minimizing our chances of capture before reaching our destination.
'It's not far now,' smiled Ginger as we jogged along at a steady trot.
'Is there a dog there?' I asked, the idea occurring to me for the first time.
'Not that I've seen,' said Ginger, his face still wreathed in smiles. He was enjoying himself immensely, this kind of caper being
right up his street - in later life he would be a national hero or rot in prison an ignominious criminal, it would depend entirely on
Kismet.
Soon we reached the orchard and, dropping on our bellies scanned the terrain for signs of anyone about. All was clear, so without
delay we scrabbled under a hedge and Ginger shinned up the nearest tree with the agility of an orangoutang. Gripping the trunk of
the tree by one hand and shaking the branches with the other made him look even more like our closest relations in the animal
world. The apples rained down on me like cannon balls and I had to call to him to take it easy as I scrambled on the ground picking
them up and putting them into a potato sack that we had borrowed from the kitchen. 'There's a pear tree over there,' shouted Ginger,
swinging to the ground and racing to another tree near by. Pears were certainly better than apples and fetched a better price from
the boys. I left the apples and dragging the sack behind me I chased after him, up the tree he went and down came a shower of
juicy ripe pears. As fast as I could I filled the sack, then called to him that we had enough. Immediately he swung to the ground,
filled his shirt with the remaining fruit, and took hold of one end of the sack whilst I took hold of the other; we made off with our
booty as fast as our legs would carry us.
In spite of our heavy load, we covered the distance home in less time than it had taken us to make the outward-bound journey. Fear
of being caught had sped us on. We got back into the grounds unobserved and hid our sackful of fruit under a pile of dead leaves
near the dell (which was also used as a rubbish tip). We took back only those that Ginger had in his shirt. The bugler was sounding
the Last Post as we entered the back door and ran up the stairs to the dormitory, the operation had gone off without a hitch, almost
as though it had been planned by the joint chiefs of staff. How elated I was as I lay on my back munching a gigantic pear when the
other boys had gone to sleep. The following morning we were open for business - cash only, no credit, and do not ask for it for a
refusal often offends. What a marvellous costermonger Ginger was; taking the sack of fruit round the back of the recreation hut be
began to do a roaring trade.
Several boys were employed as lookouts, in case any masters or prefects should come in sight, but all was clear and within half
an hour he had sold the lot; apples a penny each, pears twopence, huge ones threepence. Later in the kitchen we had a count-up
and share-out; we made over seven shillings, which we split down the middle. The following Saturday Mary would be able to have
her heart's desire.
Having got away with it the first time Ginger and I got big eyes and tried it a second. Miraculously, again we were not caught;
pushing our luck we raided the orchard a third time and were caught red-handed by the owner who was lying' in wait for us with
a great big doe. We tried to make a run for it but were held at bay by the vicious-looking brute. Terrified that the dog would tear
us to bits, we gave ourselves up meekly and were escorted back to the Home by the man with his canine protector in close
attendance. Once more I found myself standing in the passage outside the religious martinet's study waiting to be whipped. Ginger
was called in first and after a pause there came the sound of the cane dusting his seat, the first two strokes brought no sound but
the last four were accompanied by cries of pain. Red-eyed and tearful the cowardly Ginger emerged from the room and I was
called inside. After the usual censorious lecture the Governor much to my consternation gave me a choice of punishment. Either
I could have six strokes of the cane in the normal way across the seat of my trousers or alternatively I could drop my trousers and
receive three slaps with the flat of his hand on my bare bottom. Thinking that the latter would be the less painful I made that my
choice (perverted implications did not occur to me at the time). I touched my toes and he administered the three stinging slaps in
rapid succession, as I hitched my pants up I saw that his lower lip trembled and beads of sweat moistened his forehead.
The following morning I absconded again, this time with Ginger as companion. As before we had no destination in mind. To get
away from the frightful place was our only object. We walked for miles across the ploughed fields and pastures where cattle
grazed. By late afternoon we were tired, hungry and soaked to the skin, for it had been raining intermittently all day long. Then
as we rounded a bend in a country lane, we saw a farm wagon parked by the wayside and decided to investigate. Our hope was to
find some food. As we clambered into the back of the wagon, we noticed a man working in the fields some way off. He was
totally absorbed in whatever it was he was doing and did not see us. I do not remember which one of us it was that found the
man's jacket, but suddenly there it was in our hands. We wasted no time in rifling the pockets. We found a packet of cigarettes
and a wallet containing some papers, a few photographs and a ten-shilling note. Without hesitation we pocketed the money and
cigarettes and ran away.
Later that evening we were stopped by a policeman who questioned us about who we were and where we had come from. Now
completely exhausted, we told him and were taken to the police station. The farm-hand must have reported the theft. For no
sooner had we entered the police station than we were searched by a sergeant, who found the note in one of our pockets. We
grudgingly confessed to the crime, were charged, and appeared in court the following morning. After the reading of the evidence,
we stood petrified before the Magistrate who inveighed against us mercilessly and then somewhat surprisingly adjourned the case
for three months for a 'Report on the Conduct and Progress of the Boys.' Ginger was hastily transferred to another Home. (I have
not seen nor heard from him, from that day to this.) I was given my very last chance.
Upon being returned to the Home the Governor summoned me to his study. I was decidedly alarmed when for the first time he
spoke kindly to me, telling me that the incident was now closed but that I had really had my last chance. Much to my amazement
he then asked me what I would like to do. I immediately said that I would like to work in the gardens; I had had enough of the
kitchen. He agreed that I should be transferred to the gardening party forthwith, but warned me again about the consequences of
failure, though he did not say what they would be. What could they be ? How could I know ? In my dossier he states that he
thought I was laughing at him up my sleeve. Was I ? I cannot recall.
Work in the gardens had far more to do with agriculture than with horticulture. We felled trees, rolled the cricket pitch, dug the
ground and humped hundredweight sacks of potatoes. It was back-breaking work, how miserable I was that I was being trained
to be a carthorse instead of a floriculturist.
For a time after the court case I was confined to the grounds, the staff and prefects kept a close eye on me so I had absolutely no
chance of slipping away unnoticed, to meet Mary. She was not at all pleased when Pedro told her what I had done. She sent me a
few love letters via Pedro saying that she would wait for me, but they soon stopped coming and the relationship just petered out
8th May 1945 was V.E. day and 15th August the same year was V J day. The war was over. There was much jubilation, but it
didn't seem to affect us overmuch; for many months now we had hardly been aware that it was still going on. In celebration we
went to a Summer camp that year at Saint Mary's Bay on the Kent coast. It was the first time I had seen the sea for many years
and my longing to serve 'seven years before the mast and visit exotic oriental ports became unbearably acute. It was to be an
ambition never fulfilled. (Perhaps it is still not too late.)
It was during this holiday that I had my second sexual experience, with a fat girl guide inside a smelly disused pillbox up against
the wall. It was not much of a conquest but nevertheless something to boast about to the other boys, whose reaction I remember
was one of disgust mixed with a slight tinge of envy. Actually in those days I aspired to be a satyr and thought only of girls from
dawn to dusk. Pubescence was well and truly upon me
During the last months that I was incarcerated in Goldings, I was left more or less to my own devices. They no longer punished
me arid indeed ignored my general behaviour, which was by no means exemplary. I had I suppose won the battle which had been
raging for just under ten years, but it was an ignoble victory. They had merely given up on me, they had tried force without success.
And I think in their opinion they had tried kindness and failed. Giving a demented boy a 'last chance' under threat of 'dire
consequences of failure' hardly constitutes loving kindness. And that I think is the crux of the matter; as stated earlier I do not
entirely blame Barnardo's for the mental anguish of my childhood and early youth, for no doubt the seeds were sown at birth. But
their system only served to nurture my lamentable mental condition which manifested itself in violence, hate and appalling
loneliness, stemming from deep-rooted insecurity. (The residue of which remains with me to this day. It will stay till I die, I expect.)
The less apparent side-effects of my upbringing are almost too numerous to name: EGOMANIA! CRIMINALITY!
INTOLERANCE! TIMIDITY! MEGALOMANIA! MISANTHROPY! are but a few. Many of these grey-matter derangements I
have succeeded in bringing under control, and some I have exorcized completely. But there is still an uncontrollable expression
of distrust in my eyes when I am introduced to someone for the first time, particularly women. As a matter of fact, though I am
entirely heterosexual, I have never had a really successful relationship with a member of the opposite sex. God knows I have had
enough goes at it. The trouble is that when I embark on a brand-new affair, the paramount thought in my head is of the pain I am
going to suffer when it is over. I am not deluded into thinking that it is the fault of women that I am the way I am, for though I
deplore the lack of love in the world, it now becomes a moot point as to whether I am capable of it myself. My friendships with
men, however, seem to be made of sterner stuff, because emotionally I have less to lose if they go wrong, I suppose.
Situation
QUITE UNPREPARED FOR IT I was released from Barnardo's care on 11th October 1946. The D.B.H lorry arrived to take me
to head office where I would be kitted out with bare essentials. An ill-fitting suit, shoes, two shirts, two sets of underclothes, socks,
working boots and overalls, etc. I was then photographed. A Barnardo's Welfare Officer escorted me on the train to Waltham
Cross on the borders of Greater London and Hertfordshire - indeed it was not that many miles away from Goldings. He took me
to the house of a tyranical woman, whom I can only describe as a professional landlady. The house was by no means clean and
smelt revoltingly of boiled cabbage. I was to share a small bedroom with two other ex-Barnardo Boys and pay thirty shillings a
week board and lodging. There were many rules to be strictly observed: no smoking in the house, clean the bath out, make your
own bed, be home by ten at night or be locked out till morning. The dear lady never tired of telling us how unwanted we were and
how lucky we were to be taken under her roof. She fed us filthy food and I am certain she made a fair profit out of the money we
paid her each week. Conditions were foul, far worse than in any of the Homes.
I was found a situation in a Tomato Nursery near by
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