Ordinarily, a minor outbreak of horseplay in the school’s library didn’t attract much attention. Only if it developed into something out of the usual did such incidents attract spectators.
There is general agreement Forfar was the one reading what was left of a newspaper comic page when Don Booth sat down beside him. The debate, or more correctly the struggle, that ensued centered on whether or not Forfar had finished reading them.
Forfar’s efforts to read the comics had been hampered by a pesky junior boy sitting on his other side who kept distracting with unwanted pokes. Booth took advantage of Forfar’s divided attention and almost succeeded in snatching the page out of his hands. Unfortunately his escape route between the tables was too narrow for an easy getaway and he quickly found himself in Forfar’s burly clutches.
The first thing to give way was the comic page, as Forfar grabbed at an exposed portion. Next went one of the tables. The steel legs under the plywood tables buckled, spilling books and boys all over the floor. But the upset provided Booth with an open avenue for escape. In a flash, he slipped Forfar’s grip and ran for the door.
Normally that would have been the end of it except Booth ran straight into two older boys who were known to enjoy a physical altercation. Instinctively they formed an unmovable wall in the doorway. When Forfar saw Booth was trapped he bounded after him and pinned him to the ground.
Then he started administering noogies to the head. Booth reared up causing Forfar to crash into a closed and unused door. It was believed to be blocked off by Father Sargeant’s bed.
He used another door to enter his two-room suite. To their surprise the door gave way. Forfar couldn’t resist pursuing this opportunity further. He hurled Booth against the door and again it moved. Now Booth’s curiosity was aroused.
“Is Sog around?” he asked. Forfar released his grip as the two discussed this intriguing new development.
“He’s supposed to be in Winnipeg all day,” replied Forfar with a grin. “What do you say we see how far it opens?”
Booth just smiled. If Forfar was willing to take all the risk, who was he to stand in the way. Another shove and it was wide enough for someone to squeeze through.
“He’s probably got our cycle test marks in there,” Booth said.
Cycle test results were due to be announced that week which would begin the next round of free weekends. Booth still remembered when free weekends meant you could actually go home overnight Saturday.
That policy had changed and now you were free at the school on Saturday and time away was restricted to Sunday afternoons. The only exception was the three-day long weekend in the middle of each term. The change had been made to reduce morale problems that developed after a weekend at home and give students more time to develop recreational interests at the school. Needless to say, the change was not popular.
A comment in my letter home on October 19th was probably fairly representative of the general feeling:
'I guess you know about the new system this year. Well, it's really not worth working for, from my point of view, because two hours on Sunday afternoon is hardly worth it.'
Forfar knew no other system and so he enjoyed being able to lounge around on Saturday and then go to a movie or visit a friend’s house on Sunday afternoon. He liked Booth’s idea a lot. He was pretty sure he’d also find the black turtleneck sweater Sog had seized a few days earlier.
“Okay, I’ll go in but you keep guard in case someone comes,” said Forfar.
As Booth took up his post at the top of the stairs Forfar squeezed through the door and closed it. He stepped around the bed and moved to the doorway which joined the two rooms. He could only hope he had lots of time as he surveyed the clutter of paper and lost clothing that lay piled up in the office area.
To his disappointment, he did find the marks were but they hadn’t been tabulated into an overall letter grade. As he pored over the papers looking for grades for himself and Booth, he momentarily forgot the risk he was taking. A commotion in the hall gave him cause for concern. Then someone gave the door a kick and barked under his breath.
“Sog!”
His heart skipped a beat. Momentarily frozen with fear he was incapable of doing anything. He could hear Sog’s voice and realized there was probably no way out. Then he heard Booth say something hopeful.
“Father Sargeant, it’s urgent. I need a new scribbler so I can finish an essay,” Booth pleaded.
“I’m sorry Booth, you know I only open the supplies room at set times,” said Father Sargeant. “I’m sure you can find someone with a spare one to loan you,” he added pushing past the crowd outside his room.
“But I’ve already tried. No one has an extra,” he persisted.
“Yes, well you should have thought of that when I was open this morning. Just keep asking. You’re sure to find one,” he insisted.
The imminent prospect of getting caught red-handed quickly brought Forfar to his senses. He stopped fearing and started thinking. In a shot, he was under the bed. Well, almost.
He got the lower half of his body under okay. It was the top half he had more trouble with. One end of the bed gave a heavy clunk as he finally got under.
Father Sargeant immediately sensed something was amiss as he unlocked the door and entered.
“Who’s in here?” he inquired cautiously.
Silence.
“I know someone’s there. Come out immediately.”
“It’s me, Sir,” chirped Forfar.
“Get out here Forfar,” he snapped. “What are you doing in here?”
“Just looking for some marks,” he offered as he emerged from under the bed.
“I think you’d better go see Mr. Wiens about this,” he replied, visibly shaken by the seriousness of the offense.
Forfar adopted an honesty-is-best policy and came clean about what happened. Mr. Wiens said it would be up to Father Sargeant to determine the punishment.
Those of us waiting in the library counted eight swats. Forfar emerged complaining that, in customary Sog fashion, none of the swats were on target. His swing always got hung up in his cassock and the blows landed well down the leg.
Richard de Candole has been working in British Columbia and Alberta as a reporter and editor for over 40 years. Toughest School in North America is about his five years as a student at St. John’s Cathedral Boys’ School in Selkirk, Manitoba from 1962 to 1968. Richard lives with his wife Wendy in Qualicum Beach, British Columbia.
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I recall SOG having a train set in his room, mounted up high on the walls. Do you recall that?
No, it must have been after my time. The rooms in this chapter were upstairs in two tiny adjoining rooms in the old dining room building vacated in 1967 and torn down in 1968. I don’t remember where his room was in my Grade 12 year.
SOG definitely had a train set in his room. second floor, Old Stone building, mounted on his walls (mostly running around the perimeter of his room). Do you remember the word, Tintinnabulation? one of his favorite words.
Yes, I remember him saying it. He liked those big Latin words.