A Seat of Learning by Jonah
More of the adventures of Simon and Garret and their boys. This is a loving story of good people. It features men looking after boys but do not expect to find any indecency here. Only genuine love. Not one of the characters in this story is a real person or is, in any way, based on a real person. At least one character, however, is the creation of another author. I wish to thank Jacob Lion, in the USA, for his permission to use his characters in my stories.
I hope you will enjoy this story, and I'm grateful to Nifty for enabling me to bring it to you. Nifty does not charge either me or you for doing so, but it does cost money to do it. Please consider donating to Nifty at https://donate.nifty.org/ to help keep this site going.
Chapter 2
The rest of the day seemed to drag. When you take on somebody else's problems they weigh you down. When you can't do anything about them because they won't talk to you, they weigh you down doubly.
I had my own class all the rest of the day, first for arithmetic then for geography. The lessons were well prepared, if I say so myself but, in addition to not relating to Lloyd and Philip excessively, I now had the problem of not drawing attention to Barry.
I was glad when the final bell went and the class dispersed.
"Mr. Ito!"
"Yes Barry?"
"I can't find my essay book. It's not in my desk."
"I've got it here Barry. Do you want it?"
"I've got to do that story."
"You might not be able to. Do it if you can but, if you can't, don't worry."
He took the book from me and fled.
"Is Daddy doing dinner tonight?" Philip asked.
"Yes, thank God," I replied wearily. I realised that I shouldn't be dragging the boys' spirits down with my own. "Yes he is, and I'm starving. Come on."
Philip and Lloyd were out of the door in a flash - so was I but, in my case, a much slower flash.
Simon's mini was already on the driveway when I parked my trusty 4 X 4. The boys ran straight upstairs while I found my partner in the kitchen.
"Good day?" he asked.
"Don't ask," I replied.
"Beefsteak pie in the oven, to go with new potatoes cabbage and carrots. I'm just going to do some gravy and it'll be ready. Dessert is in the fridge. How does lemon meringue pie sound?"
"Pretty well silent," I replied, "unless you drop it on the floor."
It wasn't new and the response I got from Simon was heavily laboured patience.
We dinnered (if Shakespeare can invent new words - so can I). Dinner was excellent and there was still enough daylight left for the boys to run trains for an hour. Both boys had already handed in their stories, which were among the ones I marked. I declined to discuss the stories with the boys. One of Jean's special rules for us was that schoolwork was to be confined to school. No giving my boys extra tuition.
Bedtime for boys was not long in coming and Simon had a glass of whisky poured for each of us.
"This day, that I'm not supposed to ask about the goodness of....." he began.
"Of which you are not supposed to ask about the goodness," I corrected. "I can't believe you're teaching English Language."
"Whatever!"
"I've got a boy who is so sick with worry that he can't concentrate and so convinced that he can't share it with anyone that I'm worried he may harm himself."
Simon leaned back in his chair, put down his whisky glass and looked at me for a long moment over steepled fingers.
"And who have you shared it with?"
"You for a start," I replied, "but Annabel as well. She was his previous class teacher."
"Not Jean?"
"Not had a chance to yet, but I'm going to have to."
"And you've no inkling what the problem might be?"
"Have you heard of the Fundamental Apostolic Church?"
"Castle Rise," he replied. "I've seen it on the way to work. The Rev. Esau G. Rathmore runs it and, as far as I can tell, invented it."
"That's the place, and the boy's parents attend there. He most likely does as well."
"Hmmm! That's the place where he'll learn that he's a sinner, and such a bad one that God can't possibly love him and neither can his parents. They'll eventually be told that they can't as well."
"What do I do now?"
"The obvious things. Talk to Jean, for a start. She needs to know and you may need her if the parents gang up on you. Keep an eye out for signs of physical abuse and ask his PE teacher to do the same. When does he next have RE?"
"Tomorrow morning. "
"You might need to change your planned lesson. He needs to be told that there's a wideness in God's mercy. No fundamentalist will tell him that. He probably won't believe it if he's been taught otherwise but, if he's been told he's beyond redemption, he might just begin to doubt it. I wonder which of God's supposed strictures he thinks he's infringed."
"I know the most usual one. If it's that, he really will need all the friends he can get."
"Yes, but that'll make him vulnerable as well. Be careful. Make sure Jean knows everything that you're doing."
I drained my glass.
"Amen to that," I said as I headed bedwards.
I seemed to sleep only fitfully that night. Simon always slept soundly, and I clung to him a lot, but sleep didn't come easily to me.
Next morning the boys were in the playground nice and early. It wasn't their fault. I had to be early to have a word with Jean so they had no choice.
Jean, as always, listened with every ounce of sympathetic kindness that she could muster.
"Simon's right," she said at last. "It doesn't matter what he thinks he's done, he is loved, and that trumps any amount of guilt, real or imagined. You won't get him to believe that. You know that, but it's no excuse for not telling him."
"It's his parents' love that he needs to know is there," I pointed out.
"Oh, I dare say that's there as well, but it's getting buried by the rubbish this so-called pastor is laying on them."
"So, what do we do?"
"Exactly what you're doing Garret. The biggest thing any teacher can do for his pupils is to care. It's the reason you're sitting here now. You know the things you can do, and the things you can't. You'll know what to do when the time comes, and I'll be here to back you up."
I felt a little better as I left her office. I continued to feel better right up to registration when an absence of Barry wiped the smile off my face.
"Has anybody seen Barry this morning?" I asked the class. "It's not like him to be missing."
As I said the words I realised how silly they sounded. I shouldn't have admitted to feeling a special concern for one of their number and the last bit sounded as if I was saying that any child was allowed to go missing except Barry.
There were plenty of muttered replies - all in the negative - as I should have expected.
In the absence of a better idea, I pressed on with my planned RE lesson. No point in changing it if Barry wasn't here.
At break-time I headed straight for the office.
Jean got the point immediately.
"I'll ask Bob Griffin to pop round and have a word with the parents," she said.
Bob Griffin was the school welfare officer. Attendance was one of his concerns.
"Would it help if I went with him?" I asked.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," she replied, "since you already know that, as a teacher, you're not allowed in any pupil's home unless invited by the parents."
"Sorry. Are you going to brief Bob on the situation before he goes?"
"No, Garret, I'm not. He's doing an ordinary attendance check. He's not daft. I'll ask him to report back to me afterwards and, if it's anything you need to know, you'll be told."
That was the best that I could expect so it was back to teaching for the rest of the day.
After break there was a history lesson to be conducted but, first, I asked those who had taken their essays home to hand them in. We had an exciting hour on life in mediaeval England.
After lunch I had a spare period while my charges took PE. Jean came and interrupted my essay-marking.
"Bob says are you worried about Barry, because, if you aren't, you should be."
"I was worried before he went round there," I replied.
"Well, now he is as well," Jean said. "Barry's not at home, but his father is. He told Bob that Barry told him what you said to him yesterday. Mr. Close promptly took Barry to see Rev Rathmore who told him - TOLD him mind - to bring the boy round to him this morning instead of sending him to school. "
"Dear God!" I muttered. "What's Bob doing about it?"
"Well, he immediately advised the father that he's committing a crime and that the Police would become involved. Mr. Close has tried to claim the Rev Rathmore is providing private tuition but Bob isn't swallowing that. He's reported the matter to the police. Now they're consulting the CPS to find out what, if any, options they have. "
"Is this going to result in Barry going into care?"
"I hope not, but it's a very real possibility at the moment."
That was not good.