This is a story that involves sex between males. If such a story is offensive, or illegal for you to read where you live, then do not continue,
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This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. If there is any similarity to any real persons or events it is entirely coincidental.
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My thanks to John and Michael who have read this through and made a number of corrections and suggestions. Any remaining errors , grammatical, spelling or historical or whatever are entirely my fault.
I am trying to use terms that were used by us who were young in the UK at that time, and not to use anachronistic terms, like gay, blow job, wank, and cum. It is surprising how difficult it is.
If you want to comment on the story then do contact me on Jeffyrks@hotmail.com. I aim to reply to all messages.
Two Jubilees and One Spitfire. Part 15 The last of Trevor's School days.
Resume:- Trevor is now eighteen, and in his final year at School.
Part 15
Trevor greatly enjoyed being in the Sixth Form. He was able to concentrate on the particular subjects which he most enjoyed. He appreciated being treated in a more adult way by members of the teaching staff.
The lower Sixth had one lesson a week with Dr Jones, the headmaster. It was not on a set subject. More often than not they did not know what they were going to be doing. The boys would be waiting in the classroom and the Head would stride in, his black gown billowing out behind him. "Now boys, what do you think about...?" They would discuss the new National Health Service, or the Nationalisation of various industries that the Labour Government was carrying out. They talked about the Iron Curtain that Churchill said had descended on Europe 'from Stettin on the Baltic to Trieste on the Adriatic.' Sometimes the discussion was more philosophical. Just the simple question 'Who are you?' led to a profound debate. Dr Jones had the ability to get them all talking. He encouraged the most nervous and shy of the boys to contribute. Life with Isaac had been a good preparation for Trevor. He took to this like a duck to water. Dr Jones noticed with delight and approval that Trevor was one of those boys who would argue from one side one week, and the opposite the next. When Trevor was in the Upper Sixth Dr Jones split the form into smaller groups. Dr Jones took one lesson a week with the boys new to the school, and then these classes with the Sixth formers. He did no other teaching. Many boys in later life had reason to be grateful to Dr Jones for these sessions.
Trevor joined in other school activities. He was in the Combined Cadet Force. He got his second stripe when he was in the lower sixth, and had his own squad to instruct and drill for Certificate A. He was a sergeant for his time in the Upper Sixth.
He was also a prefect. This involved duties round the school, like watching over the distribution of school milk and the queues for buying a bun at break. It also gave privileges. The prefects had their own room and did not have to mill around with the 'hoi polloi' in the locker room.
Each summer there was the usual arrangement with Fergus. The Ladies of Strontian, as Isaac and Trevor called them, were getting older and more frail. As long as there were the three of them they could help and support each other. There was however one concession to their age. Isaac managed to persuade them to get a man to help one day a week in the garden, and someone to help twice a week in the house. They could afford the help; it was only pride in their independence that had held them back.
There was no Con around in that first year in the Upper Sixth. Trevor missed him, both as a close friend and as a sexual companion. No one filled Con's place in Trevor's life.
Trevor took his Higher School Certificate Examination in the summer of 1950.
After the actual exam Dr Jones summoned Isaac and Trevor for another conference. Once again they were ushered into the Head's study. For Trevor this was no longer the Holy of Holies that it had been when he was lower down the school. School matters had often brought him into the Head's study.
Isaac and Trevor sat on the two chairs in front of the Head's desk.
"I have asked to see you both because I want to talk about Trevor's future. Let me put my cards on the table. I expect him to have done well; I shall be disappointed if he has not done very well in his Highers. I want him to try and get a place at Oxford or Cambridge. It will not be easy. It is not easy for a boy with Trevor's background or from a school like this to get into one of the ancient Universities. Too many places are tied to Public Schools. But it has been done. And it can be done again. It will involve a lot of hard work, especially over the next few months."
"We had been thinking of University, it is true, Dr Jones. But our sights were lower: Durham or London, or even one of these newer redbrick Universities. But Oxford or Cambridge!" said Isaac.
"What exactly is involved?" asked Trevor.
Dr Jones explained that the ancient Universities had their own system, examination and interview. "And the interview is more important than the examination. That is part of the problem."
"Why's that?" asked Isaac.
"They seem to go on some sort of intuition. I have long given up trying to understand exactly how they work."
"When is the examination?" asked Trevor.
"Just before Christmas."
"As soon as that!" exclaimed Isaac.
"What do I do for the rest of the academic year?" asked Trevor.
"You could either stay on and take Higher again, or leave school at Christmas, and either work, or go off and do your National Service. That has to be fitted into your life somewhere."
Trevor and Isaac looked at each other, while Dr Jones watched them both. The silence was long and thought filled.
"Go for it, Trev," said Isaac softly, breaking the silence.
"Can I? What about money? Cambridge would be expensive."
"I've had a good rise this year. I only have two mouths to feed. Regard it as an investment, you can look after me in my old age." said Isaac with a wink at Trevor.
Dr Jones, ever observant, saw the wink, and smiled inwardly.
"Good," said Dr Jones. He was as pleased with that decision as were Trevor and Isaac.
As they walked home Trevor kept muttering under his breath, "Cambridge, Cambridge. Me, sometime urchin, and petty criminal from the East of London, and now Cambridge."
"I notice you are saying Cambridge and not Oxford."
"Yep. I want to go to Cambridge. I've always supported the light blues in the boat race."
Isaac laughed. "You haven't got there yet, Trev. But we'll get you there."
The next afternoon Trevor was summoned to Dr Jones' study again. "I want you to work hard during this summer holiday, Russell."
Trevor's face fell.
"But not on the subjects you have been studying. In the interview they like to find a broadly educated man. They won't be interested in Henry VII's foreign policy, or your knowledge of irregular French verbs. I am giving you a book list. It is a long one. It is divided into sections. You will not be able to read them all. But do read properly at least one book from each section. Try to learn to skim through a book. And skim through two or three books in each section. For example here is a Dickens. Read any Dickens?"
"I've read Christmas Carol, once. Didn't take to it much."
"Well, here's Nicholas Nickleby. Much longer than Christmas Carol." Dr Jones handed Trevor the thick volume. "Come and see me after assembly tomorrow morning, and tell me about it. You will not be able to read it all in that time. Just see if you can skim through it. It is not the best way to read a book, certainly not a work of literature, but it will enable you to give the impression that you may have read it properly. And no burning the midnight oil, trying to read it. Allot two or three hours at the most to do it."
The next morning Trevor reported to Dr Jones. For twenty minutes they sat in his study and discussed Nicholas Nickleby. Trevor made a creditable contribution. He decided to try and allow between four or five hours a day to reading. This was difficult when Fergus was with him, and when he went up to Scotland, but Fergus too had work to do, - he was aiming to follow his father and read medicine at Edinburgh.
It was just after Trevor had sat his final examination in June 1950 that international events began to impinge on his life again. But the event was hardly noticed at first. It was a small item of news. North Korea had invaded South Korea. After WWII Korea had been divided into two, the north under a communist regime, and the south under a corrupt regime led by Syngman Ree. The north were the blatant aggressors. South Korea had little strategic value, except for its closeness to Japan. Harry Truman, the US President, decided that to give way would send the wrong message. The UN Security Council, with the Russians absent, and so unable to veto, agreed.
The UN under US leadership found itself resisting communist aggression. The British government under Clement Attlee decided, not for the last time,
to stand alongside the UN/US in this affair. But to Trevor and Isaac, and so many in Britain, it all seemed an insignificant event in a far off unimportant country.
When Trevor made his way to Cambridge in December 1950 the University was down. The town's people had their town to themselves. Even with the pre-Christmas shopping rush, the place was quieter. Trevor got a taxi from the station to Beaufort College. He paid the taxi-man and made his way through the five hundred year old gateway. He was met by a medium sized man of military bearing, wearing a bowler hat.
"Have you come for the entrance examination, Sir?"
"Yes," answered Trevor.
"What is your name, please, Sir?"
"Trevor Russell." He almost wanted to say 'Sir' back.
The porter looked at the clip board he was holding. "You, Sir, are in the Gray Building, staircase B room 5. If you go through that archway the Gray Building is on your right, B staircase is the second doorway in the building, and room 5 is at the top. If you have any questions do not hesitate to ask. You are lucky being in Gray, the bathrooms and lavatories are at the bottom of the staircase. You are to be in the ffoulds Room at 5.00 where there will be an introductory meeting. Other information is in an envelope on the desk in your room, Sir."
Trevor made his way to his room. He made his way upstairs, and saw a large stout wooden door with 5 written on it. He pushed it open, and went in. He was confronted by two further doors. He opened one. He entered a small bedroom, with a single bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. He then went into the other room. This was larger and was the undergraduate's study. There was a small gas fire, a desk, bookshelves, a couple of easy chairs. It was a homely room. He looked round the room, and examined the books on the bookshelf and came to the conclusion the man whose room it was, was reading Mathematics.
Trevor soon saw that on the desk there was the envelope addressed to him. Inside was information about the examination, interview, and also a list of the other attendees and the school they attended. He noticed with a sinking feeling that there were two men with the title of The Hon...., and one Sir. The schools listed were either well known Public Schools like Eton and Harrow, Rugby and Winchester or, by their names, Minor Public Schools. There were very few from Grammar schools like himself.
Trevor had deliberately arrived early, so that he would have plenty of time to settle in and explore. He set off and wandered round the college, and then decided to look round town. He soon found himself outside King's College. He realised that this was where the Christmas Carol Service came from that was broadcast on the BBC every Christmas Eve. The huge chapel stood end on to the road. He went in and walked round the quad to the entrance to the chapel. He opened the door and entered. He was totally unprepared for the sight that greeted him. The winter sun was low in the sky and the chapel was still filled with the softest of winter lights. He stood in the middle and gazed around. The mighty pillars set in the walls rose from the floor to fan out in vaulting high above his head. The walls seemed to be more glass than stone. He stood transfixed at the size, the majesty, the glory.
Religion had never played a major part in his life. He had only attended church regularly for the few months that he had lived in Somerset. Isaac went regularly to his synagogue. Trevor had gone with him once, more to find out what went on than for any spiritual quest. Judaism was not a missionary religion, and Isaac would have been embarrassed if Trevor had wanted to convert. They often discussed religion but never as a spiritual issue. At school religion was taught as a subject, not as something to be believed or acted upon. There was a daily assembly at school where a short passage from the Bible was read, a hymn sung, and prayers said, but it was a sterile ritual.
Trevor was totally unprepared for the impact of King's College Chapel. It seemed filled with a sense of the Other. Trevor felt his own smallness and creatureliness. The words of a psalm which he must have learnt at some time at school came into his mind. "What is man that Thou are mindful of him, and the son of man that thou visitest him." It was a numinous experience for Trevor. He prayed for the first time in his life. "God, help me to pass." His eyes were moist as he left the chapel, now much darker as the sun had set.
The introductory meeting was an ordeal for Trevor. Others like him were already there. He could hear the plummy accents of the men from a Public School. He may have stopped pronouncing his T Hs as vees, but his accent was still largely of the London suburbs. He felt a lesser being. He felt out of it. He stood for a few minutes, lost and wishing he was somewhere else.
Then a fair haired man from one of the groups, spotted him standing alone, and came across to him.
"Bit daunting isn't it. My name is Paul Driffield." He put out his hand.
"My name is Trevor Russell," replied Trevor, shaking the offered hand.
"Have you had to come far?"
"No, just up from London, or rather that part of London that is in Essex. And you?"
"I am from Gloucester. Quite a jaunt having to cross London. I don't know your part of the world."
"I've never been to Gloucester."
"You must be nice and handy for things in London. Theatres, concerts, sporting events and so on."
"My guardian takes me about once a month to something up in town. Went to see Christopher Fry's 'Lady's Not For Burning' the other day."
"Did you? Lucky man. Everybody is talking about it. Richard Burton's in it, isn't he? Is it good?"
"Well, I enjoyed it. Brilliant use of English. It just sparkles, very witty."
"Some are even saying Fry is the new Shakespeare. What do you think?"
"I am not sure about that. We'll have to see where he goes from here."
The meeting was called to order. They all took seats, and they were told about their three days in Cambridge. Later when he got back to his room Trevor looked down the list of those present. He read 'Driffield, Paul - Eton'. And Paul had seemed human! Over the next two days Trevor and Paul often sat together. They spent one afternoon walking round the Backs talking. They talked about their schools, Paul eager to know what life was like at a Grammar School, and Trevor asking questions about Eton. They seemed to be two totally different worlds. Paul asked Trevor what he wanted to read if he got a place. "I want to read History, but I also want to keep up my German and French. And you?"
"I want to read Theology. I want to be ordained."
"Sights on becoming a bishop?"
"I don't know about that, perhaps a minor canon, but, please God, not a perpetual curate - surely that is the saddest title and position for anyone in the church." This led on to a discussion about theology and Paul trying to explain the Church of England.
Trevor was surprised that there was nothing stand-offish or snobbish in Paul. He soon felt totally at ease with him.
One of the papers he had to do was an essay, he chose to discuss Napoleon's remark, 'It is but a short step from the sublime to the ridiculous.'
Then came the interview. There were four men on the interviewing panel. One appeared to be in his thirties and was very energetic, and asked the most questions. Two of them were probably late forties or early fifties. The fourth was a parson, dressed in a black suit, with his black M.A. gown relieved only by the white of his dog collar. His face was lined and Trevor thought he looked as though he must have been the chaplain on Noah's Ark. He stared at Trevor the whole time. The interview was wide ranging and the questions searching. At the end of the hour the clergyman, who had said nothing the whole of the time, was asked if he had any questions.
"Yes," he said. "Do you row?"
"No," answered Trevor, "but I've always wanted to, since I first saw the Boat Race at the age of twelve."
The parson looked down briefly and wrote something on a paper in front of him.
Trevor and Paul had a final lunch together.
"I hope we both get a place here," said Paul.
"That would be good," answered Trevor, who at that stage was feeling unlikely he would be awarded a place.
"Shall we let each other know how we've got on," suggested Paul.
They then exchanged addresses. Trevor noticed that Paul's address was Winchfield Manor, Winchfield. His own address of 37 Chelmsford Road seemed so plebeian. They then talked about National Service. They both had decided to do that before they went up to University.
When he was leaving Beaufort College the porter handed him a letter. Puzzled as to who would be writing to him, Trevor opened it. It was from the Revd Dr Percival Crampton- Brown, the ancient cleric who had been on the interviewing panel. In spidery writing that was almost illegible Trevor read:- Dear Russell, Please give my compliments to your headmaster, Dr Jones. We served for a while together in the Great War. Percival Crampton-Brown.
But it was a rather depressed Trevor who arrived back at Leytonstone. He got the meal ready for Isaac's return from work. Their serious talking was as usual when the were in bed together. They both realised this would be, so it was by mutual consent that they were in bed just after 9.00pm.
Trevor gave Isaac a full account of his days away. They discussed whether Trevor had reason for feeling down, or whether it was a reaction to the strain of the days in Cambridge. Dr Jones had said he need not appear again that term, and in any case the school was a turmoil of carols and Christmas expectancy.
It was three days before Christmas when the letter arrived. Trevor was at home alone, and heard it land on the mat at the front door. He took it through to the living room. He took a deep breath and opened it. He pulled out the letter. Dear Mr Russell, I have great pleasure in informing you that we are able to offer you an exhibition at this college. [This meant a large part of his fees would be paid by the college, i.e. he had done very well] I understand you intend to do your National Service first, so we look forward to seeing you at the start of the Autumn Term in 1953. He hardly read the rest of the letter.
Trevor sat down and buried his head in his hands. He'd done it. Then he remembered his prayer in King's College Chapel. Quietly he said, "Thank you, God, whoever you are."
He then made two telephone calls. The first was to Isaac at work, and the second to Dr Jones at school.
Then he wrote two letters. The first was to the college accepting the place for 1954. The second was to Paul. He worded the letter carefully, as he knew how down Paul would be if he had not got a place. The letters crossed in the post. Paul too had been given a place.
Con came home on leave for seven days over the New Year period. He was now over half way through his National Service and well into the countdown stage of keeping an exact account of the number of days and an early breakfast that he had to do. [See footnote]
They spent some quality time together when they could. Isaac had New Year's Day off from work, and there was the weekend so they could not retreat to Trevor's bedroom during the day while Isaac was around. Somehow they did not feel that they could justify to Con's parents the spending of a night together.
They were standing in Trevor's bedroom on the last day of Con's leave.
"Have you managed to get with anyone in the RAF?" asked Trevor.
Con blushed before answering. "Just a couple of times. It is difficult and risky. You get thrown out with a dishonourable discharge if you are caught."
"Spunky discharges risk dishonourable discharges," muttered Trevor.
Con laughed. "It was nothing more than a mutual tossing off while on guard duty at night. It helped relieve the boredom. What about you and that Etonian chap? I bet there's plenty of it there, boys all locked up together, and all the sexual urges flying around."
"I don't know. We didn't discuss anything to do with sex. Did not even discuss girls."
"I reckon that shows he'd be into it. Is he attractive?"
"Very! Tall, blond, blue eyed, good athletic figure."
"As for me I want my tall, strong, dark haired and brown eyed friend," said Con. He walked over and took hold of Trevor, and pulled him close. He kissed Trevor softly on the mouth.
Trevor responded with a stronger kiss, and put his hands down on to Con's buttocks and pulled him closer.
"Do that, and you'll feel something hard down there."
"And so will you," replied Trevor. "Con, I do want you."
"Well, you'd better get me."
Trevor started undressing Con. First the jacket, and then pullover, shirt and vest. Then trousers undone, and removed, quickly followed by pants. "That's what I want to see. One lovely swelling cock, knowing it's excited at seeing me."
"Can I get into bed? I am getting cold," said Con. In those days there was no heating in bedrooms, and it was freezing out of doors. Con pulled away, and got into bed.
He watched Trevor undress. As usual Trevor undressed in front of another totally unaware that he was doing it in a suggestive and provocative way. "I love watching you undress. Though I have seen you do it many times, it still stiffens up my prick."
"Good," said Trevor, as he joined Con in bed.
They had a long time of being close, kissing and cuddling.
"Can I fuck you, Trev?" asked Con.
"Of course, you can." Trevor prepared himself, and then Con. "How do you want me?"
"On your back with your legs on my shoulders or round my back."
Trevor got into position.
Slowly Con pushed his penis into Trevor. They had done it many times, entry was smooth and easy. "I love that. It slips into you so easily."
"It was made to be in there," commented Trevor.
They looked at each other, and smiled.
Con controlled his movements skilfully. He knew how to trigger the full response from Trevor. It was a quarter of an hour after the initial penetration that they both shot their loads simultaneously. They collapsed back into lying side by side under the blankets. There were gentle kisses and words of endearment.
What neither of them dreamt was that it would be the last time they made love together. Con and Trevor had arrived at the point where their paths in life began to diverge, although they were to remain in contact for several years. Con was to come out of the RAF and take up a job in Insurance in the City. Within six months of starting work there he would start courting a typist in the office. Two years later they were married. For Trevor Cambridge lay ahead, but first there was two years of National Service.
Footnote:- National Servicemen always counted the days. Two years, seven hundred and thirty days. These were often counted, and a note made, but always it was "So many days and an early breakfast."
Jeff on jeffyrks@hotmail.com