For the Reckord Page 7

  COLMAN: Yeah that’s true.

  CRAGGE: That’s what I said. (Viciously, to COLMAN.) Didn’t you hear me say it you weak-headed bum.

  COLMAN: (A bit sheepish.) You’re the big ‘ead ain’t ya?

  CRAGGE: Well he come round to what I say, didn’t he?

  BROOK: Blimey! They’ll be so supple them legs, they’ll be kickin’ both ways. Colley, let ‘im ‘ave ‘is bloody match and let’s go up to Soho tonight.

  CRAGGE: Tonight’s the match. You can go up to Soho any night.

  COLMAN: (To CRAGGE.) It was a rotten swiz we paid twelve and six for that time. Why don’t we try for a quid.

  BROOK: How about it, Craggsie?

  COLMAN: (To CRAGGE.) After the match.

  CRAGGE: D’you think paying twice as much means they strip right down to the niff.

  COLMAN: ‘E can’t afford a quid. His dad’s hard up.

  BROOK: Dunno about his dad. E’s as tight as a crab’s arse and that is watertight.

  CRAGGE: Look, we’ve seen it once. You won’t see no more in Soho for a quid than you see for three and six in the flicks. The only difference is in Soho you’ll get coppers asking ‘ow old you are.

  BROOK: You teether. (To COLMAN.) Let’s push.

  CRAGGE: (Fighting.) Push nothing. (To BROOK.) Three weeks time I’ll be getting as much money as you ‘cos we’ll ‘ave the same wages.

  BROOK: ‘Ow much do you think my uncle’s gonna pay me to ‘elp ‘im run ‘is garage?

  CRAGGE: It ain’t ‘is garage. ‘E only works there.

  BROOK: Who’s bleedin’ uncle is it any’ow?

  CRAGGE: Bein’ your uncle don’t make it ‘is garage.

  COLMAN: (To CRAGGE.) He runs it.

  CRAGGE: If your uncle runs it why does he clean bloody cars?

  BROOK: ‘E cleans bloody cars, I won’t.

  CRAGGE: You’ll be a mechanic. Mucky as ‘ell. All over grease. Fingers. Hands. Ugh. You’ll never be clean.

  BROOK: D’you think I’m gonna spend my life being a mechanic making a few lousy nicker a week. I’ll sell second-hand cars on the side. I’ll make thousands doin’ that. You wait till I start pinchin’ cars myself and floggin’ ‘em. File off the engine number. Swap the chassis.

  CRAGGE: That’ll be the day.

  BROOK: I nicked that motor-bike and flogged it, didn’t I? You start on little jobs and work up to the big. I’m gonna be the biggest. And the great ones never get caught. They’re king.

  COLMAN: What about people losin’ hard-earned money from thievin’?

  BROOK: If they’re poor they’re still poor. But a gang aren’t half rich. They ain’t earnin’ twenty quid a week in a dead-end job. Their kids go to fee-payin’ private schools not to great work-houses like this. Rubbin’ shoulders wiv Clore’s son. Richer than Clore ‘cos there’s no tax on it. And they ain’t only rich, they’re known. If you ain’t got their name you ain’t as good as them, no matter how honest.

  CRAGGE: Yeah, they got a name; rammin’ vans in daylight, bashin’ up the old blokes in ‘em.

  BROOK: It’s nerve and brain. Thinkin’ it up, plannin’ it, then doin’ it there in broad daylight in the open street and not leavin’ off till you’ve bagged every tanner. And when you think what they planned mightn’t be what’s wantin’ – some geezer might have narked or a little word goes wrong and it’s a stretch in store for ‘em. But they ain’t spendin’ their life like you’re gonna be doin’ makin’ ten quid a week on a building site and havin’ to fight off them blacks and the Irish.

  COLMAN: Wot if ‘e’s a famous footballer fightin’ off fans then? Runnin’ a natty little sports job and busy as ‘ell with the wimmen.

  BROOK: Wimmen! Do me a favour! What about me and Helen.

  COLMAN: (To BROOK.) You got off wiv ‘Elen?

  There is a banging of a bell for the first period.

  CRAGGE: (Shouting above the bell.) Girls ain’t gonna make you a livin’.

  COLMAN: Did you then?

  BROOK: Ask me no questions, Colley boy, and I’ll tell you no lies.

  COLMAN: Oh, go on, tell.

  JORDAN and ADAMS enter. CRAGGE wants to keep off the subject of HELEN.

  CRAGGE: What do we ‘ave this period. (He looks busily at COLMAN’s timetable.)

  JORDAN: (A lout.) Dunno.

  CRAGGE: English. But old Barker’s away.

  ADAMS: (A small boy; drily.) Bet ‘e’s left for good. The good ‘uns go, the ‘orrible ones keep.

  COLMAN: (To BROOK.) Did you scratch Helen?

  CRAGGE: (To JORDAN.) Have you seen about any sort of job for when you leave, or are you gonna be poncin’?

  BROOK: Football fills his bloody head so he give the teachers nothing but trouble at school. And last cricket season there was ‘im at the wicket, one hand on his bat, the other over his eyes, prayin’.

  CRAGGE: Concentratin’.

  BROOK: Makin’ a big score meant so much to him he was prayin’.

  CRAGGE: Makin’ a big score means you get a good paper from ‘em when you’re leavin’. You gotta kiss ‘em till you can kick ‘em.

  BROOK: Bet you’ll be borrowin’ Colley’s boots this evenin’.

  CRAGGE: I never thought my borrowin’ a pair of boots gets talked about.

  BROOK: Ain’t only boots. It’s spikes, everything, ain’t it, Colley.

  CRAGGE: All right, because I do everything.

  COLMAN: (To CRAGGE.) ‘Ave you done ‘Elen?

  BROOK: (Lewd.) ‘E done ‘imself. Cost ‘im nothing. (Loud laughter.)

  JORDAN: (Discovering a slogan.) Do it yourself. Fantastic.

  CRAGGE: If we stay quiet we might ‘ave a free period.

  JORDAN: Listen to ‘im. He wants a paper from the headmaster.

  CRAGGE: You need a good word from ‘em to get a good job.

  BROOK: Wot’s the good of a paper. The bloody Irish foreman can’t read any’ow.

  ADAMS: If you get a paper from them, they let you dig the pavement instead of the road.

  COLMAN: (To CRAGGE.) Them blokes cleanin’ windows say you could get one a them jobs easy.

  BROOK: (To CRAGGE.) Why not ‘ave one a them. (Nasty.) It’s honest.

  CRAGGE: (Laughing it off.) Cleanin’ school windows. You couldn’t never see four bare legs in a bed.

  BROOK: Yeah, you don’t get a chance nickin’ much, window cleanin’ a school.

  CRAGGE: It ain’t interestin’ neither. Come day go day. God send Sunday.

  BROOK: You don’t ‘ave to stick it. No one sticks it.

  CRAGGE: No. You can move on to pressin’ washers. All day the same little round washer instead of all day the same big square window. Who’s done them homework sums? (He glances at COLMAN’s book.)

  COLMAN: No copyin’.

  CRAGGE: I can do ‘em.

  COLMAN: Well then, do ‘em.

  CRAGGE: What’s one over five plus two over seven in the winged brackets. They don’t mean nutten.

  COLMAN: (Sarcastic, over-simplifying.) One over five is a fifth. Like four shillings is a fifth of a pound. One seventh of a guinea is three shillings. Two sevenths is twice that. Six shillings.

  CRAGGE: And you gotta find L.C.M. you bloody fool. I know about that. But them brackets.

  COLMAN: And L.C.M. is least common multiple.

  ADAMS: (Mocking CRAGGE.) ‘Ave an apple.

  CRAGGE: All right. So what’s a multiple then?

  COLMAN: ‘Ow do you mean?

  CRAGGE: What’s a multiple?

  COLMAN: I don’t know what a multiple is. I know ‘ow to do L.C.M.

  CRAGGE: You don’t understand what you’re doin’ but you’re doin’ it. (For a second he feels this victory justifies his doing nothing.)

  BROOK: (To CRAGGE.) Who’s gamblin’?

  CRAGGE: (Resolution forgotten.) For ‘alfpennies?

  BROOK: Pennies.

  CRAGGE: ‘Alfpennies.

  BROOK: Whoever plays with my cards plays for pennies.

  CRAGGE: I gotta do this writi
n’ any’ow. (Now he really settles down.)

  BROOK: Resolution Jim. I’m layin’ odds you write nothin’.

  CRAGGE: It’s on.

  JORDAN: (Out of the blue.) A do-it-yourself kit. Why did I never think of it. Get one cheap from Japan. (The boys laugh.)

  BROOK: Japs. The yellow bastards. (To the others.) Did you see Son of Dracula the other night?

  ADAMS: No, nor ‘is old man neither.

  CRAGGE: (Looking up briefly from his sums to mock the weak joke.) Ha, ha.

  BROOK: … this bloke caught snoopin’ y’see. ‘E’s a spy and ‘e knows what the price is. ‘E knows ‘e’ll ‘ave ‘is tongue out so ‘e can’t tell what ‘e’s seen.

  CRAGGE is making what effort he can in spite of BROOK’s babble.

  So when they start workin’ on ‘im – tyin’ ‘im down, they strap ‘im to a table like – when they start on ‘im the poor bastard screams like ‘e’s ‘aving babies and swears ‘e’ll work on their side instead. They ‘ad ‘im where they wanted ‘im. They just look at ‘im till ‘e gets very jumpy. Then one of them says to ‘im that ‘e’s a two-faced bastard and they say, ‘you two-faced twister we’ll give you two tongues as well’. So they ‘old ‘is tongue and slice it down the middle.

  CRAGGE: (Trying to concentrate.) Belt up.

  COLMAN: Did they show ‘em slicin’ ‘im?

  BROOK: They didn’t show all of it. But you saw the startin’ off like. And you know they done it because for the rest of the picture the bloke couldn’t make nothin’ but a dumb noise. (Imitates the noise. The boys laugh.)

  CRAGGE: (Looking up from his sums.) I wouldn’t pay five bob for that.

  BROOK: Why?

  CRAGGE: (Looking up again; pointing at JORDAN’s book.) ‘Cos the Japs do worse. They slit your eyeballs and chew ‘em. Unless you’re a woman.

  ADAMS: What do they do to the women?

  COLMAN: They just leave ‘em to Cragge.

  ADAMS: (Going down on his knees, his hands clasped, his voice fervent.) Why didn’t they leave ‘em to me?

  BROOK: You don’t ‘ave what it takes.

  CRAGGE: I ‘eard in prayers last night that Chelsea’s sending over a talent scout.

  BROOK: (To CRAGGE.) You can’t wait can you? (To the others.) ‘E’ll be killin’ time till then.

  CRAGGE: (With absolute self-confidence.) If I’m playin’ well I’m best on the side…

  BROOK: One match.

  JORDAN: (Affectionately to CRAGGE.) Big ‘ead.

  BROOK: (Utter scorn.) Professional footballer! £65,000 transfer man.

  CRAGGE: What I ‘ave which the talent scout can’t miss is a body swerve which no one else in the side ‘as, ‘ardly. I don’t always get it. I get it when… (Wiggling with anxiety.) Dunno ‘ow I get it. But if I’m on form and it ‘appens I stand a good chance. The trouble is I’ve never played well twice running, so perhaps bein’ good tonight won’t make no difference.

  ADAMS: What ‘appens if they spot you?

  CRAGGE: Dunno. Then I shouldn’t ‘ave to worry about no paper from no ‘eadmaster. My legs’ll be insured for a few hundred thousand like old Stan Matthews.

  JORDAN: (Embracing CRAGGE with admiration.) Stanley Matthews.

  CRAGGE: Stan! Stan fusses about too much. And ‘e don’t often drive to goal from right out on the wing. (Then begins a dramatic account that gradually brings the others crowding around.) A good pass to centre would do instead of all this dodging about on the wing. ‘E’s a crowd pleaser, Stan Matthews. I wanna develop a kinda lob that goes right over the bleedin’ defence and drops right on the centre forward’s boot and then it’s up to ‘im, in’t it? I done my job. I want that lob and this is what I want again. Just look at this. Ball over to me. I’m dribblin’ down the line, beat the left half about thirty yards out the area; instead of waitin’ to draw more defence, slowing the game down, holding up the forward line, I shoot. From right where I am. Right out.

  ADAMS: From thirty yards out!

  CRAGGE: I shoot, low and hard, from thirty yards out. And not to the far side of the goal, either. No cross-shot that they might dive and save. But on my side. Just inside the upright.

  COLMAN: (Excited.) If anyone can develop that and the lob ‘e’d be the bloody best in England.

  BROOK: Five hundred years’ time! What about me last night.?

  ADAMS: What about you last night?

  BROOK: Last night I borrowed me uncle’s motor bike. And ‘ad ‘Elen on the back, ‘ugging me round the midriff… and then what?

  COLMAN: You got off wiv ‘Elen?

  CRAGGE: Liar.

  BROOK: I done ‘er.

  COLMAN: ‘Ave you?

  BROOK: Twice. She made me swear I wouldn’t tell so don’t tell her I told you.

  CRAGGE: (Unable to bear this detail.) Liar!

  BROOK: Sez you who knows nothin’ about nothin’. (Pointing to CRAGGE.) ‘E dunno ‘ow it works. ‘Is mind’s all blurry about it. She said when ‘e mucked about wiv ‘er ‘e couldn’t do nothin’.

  COLMAN: (To CRAGGE.) You let on to me you learnt off ‘er, you liar.

  CRAGGE: ‘E knows everythin’ don’t ‘e.

  COLMAN: There was the two of us talkin’ about it and neither of us done it.

  CRAGGE: (Beating the air.) What a lie. What a damn liar.

  COLMAN: (Laughing against CRAGGE.) ‘E used to go out of ‘is way to cycle past my sister but didn’t ‘ave the guts to talk to ‘er. So one Saturday ‘e was passin’ and wanted to impress ‘er. So guess what ‘e did. ‘E didn’t ‘ave no chocolate or nothing like that to offer. ‘E just starts talking loud to me and puttin’ on the dog like, so she could ‘ear what a nice boy ‘e was.

  BROOK: (On top of the world.) Come week after next Friday no more idlin’ no more books, no teachers dirty looks.

  CRAGGE picks up a book and kicks it across the room.

  ADAMS: Head.

  JORDAN: Saved.

  BROOK kicks wildly, misses and falls down; they all laugh at him.

  COLMAN: (To JORDAN.) Don’t bloody push.

  BROOK: Belt up.

  CRAGGE: Goal.

  ADAMS: (Hugging CRAGGE.) Beauty.

  COLMAN: The cover’s come off.

  CRAGGE: Hide it in the desk.

  BROOK: Another!

  JORDAN: They’ll start bloody missing ‘em.

  BROOK: (Kicks the book against the wall, throwing up his hands and smiling.) Score one like that tonight Craggsie, and the girls will love you.

  ADAMS: (On the lookout at the door.) That new bloke’s comin’.

  Enter FREEMAN. Dead silence.

  FREEMAN: What were you playing with?

  ADAMS: Playin’?

  FREEMAN: This book, wasn’t it? (He takes the ragged book off the floor.)

  ADAMS: (Producing a football boot.) This book, sir.

  The boys laugh.

  FREEMAN: Then I suppose there’s no point in asking who did this.

  JORDAN: We came in here and found it there.

  BROOK: (Insolently.) That’s the truth,

  FREEMAN: (Quietly to BROOK.) What’s your name?

  BROOK: What’s yours?

  FREEMAN: (Ignoring the insolence.) Are there only five of you? What’s happened to the rest of the class?

  ADAMS: Gone down the drain.

  The others often glance at BROOK for applause.

  COLMAN: Left sir.

  JORDAN: Left, left, right, left.

  FREEMAN: Be quiet you.

  ADAMS: The rest skidaddled the minute they touched fifteen.

  COLMAN: We’re leaving.

  FREEMAN: So you leave when the term ends.

  ADAMS: Tell us a little about yourself, sir.

  JORDAN: (A low grumble.) What’s ‘appened to Barker?

  ALL except CRAGGE: (Led by BROOK.) We want Barker, we want Barker!

  FREEMAN: (Gently.) Quiet boys… I said quiet… Mr. Barker is away. I’ll be teaching you for the next few days to the end of term.

  COLMAN: A
few days! There’s the whole soggin’ week.

  FREEMAN: (Gaining a laugh.) Worse luck for me.

  ADAMS: Brooksie won’t stay the week, I bet.

  BROOK: I never ‘ave been ‘ere a whole week, since I been to this school.

  COLMAN: The worse lot in the school they’ve ever ‘ad, they reckon us.

  FREEMAN: (To the leader, BROOK.) Why don’t you stay on in school?

  Jeers and catcalls.

  Doesn’t your father want you to stay on and learn more?

  The boys laugh.

  VOICE: More!

  BROOK: (To them.) Shut up. (To FREEMAN.) Wot’s my dad got to do with it? It’s my life.

  FREEMAN: Doesn’t anybody want to stay for the G.C.E.?

  CRAGGE: ‘Ands up who want to stay?

  Everybody groans. No hands go up.

  ‘Ands up.

  No hands.

  (To FREEMAN.) Bashful, ain’t they?

  COLMAN: No point in my stayin’.

  JORDAN: ‘E’s got an apprenticeship.

  COLMAN: My dad’s in the print and ‘e’s getting me in.

  FREEMAN: But you could stay on at school and learn. You don’t have to be content with a trade.

  JORDAN: I’m going into the docks, it’s a skill and a privilege.

  FREEMAN: Privilege?

  JORDAN: I got two uncles in. You got to ‘ave your family in the docks to get in.

  FREEMAN: Don’t any of you want to be educated?

  CRAGGE: Look at you – you’re educated and where did it get you – teaching!

  ADAMS: What a life.

  BROOK: You teach me to make dough and that’s teaching.

  FREEMAN: So money is all that counts?

  ADAMS: (Quite sincere.) What else?

  JORDAN: What’s wrong with it?

  FREEMAN: What’s wrong with it!

  COLMAN: (Nasty, and resenting FREEMAN’s attitude.) You tell us, you’re the teacher.

  CRAGGE: Look at you. You’ve got G.C.E. and that. You’ll be forty before you can buy a car without worrying. Look at you riding a pushbike and teaching.

  ADAMS: What a life.

  CRAGGE: Footballers drive a Cresta when they’re twenty.

  BROOK: (Jeering at CRAGGE.) He’s gonna be one of them.

  CRAGGE: (To BROOK.) Yeah, and we’ll see who the crowd follow then. (To FREEMAN.) Look at Cliff Richard, Johnny Haynes, Helen Shapiro. D’you think they’re educated. But they’re the names ain’t they. They make the news.