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CHAPTER SIX
Christopher Ellingham's plan to have Martin in boarding school by the age of seven had come to fruition. Martin had breezed through Infant School , having already been tutored in the things he was made to learn there. It was a great boost to his father's ego that Martin was the youngest boy to ever be enrolled at Lord Malvern Hall, and congratulated himself on getting his son's education on the fast track. He had little doubt that Martin was extremely intelligent, but in his mind there was a much bigger concern, and that was the boy's tendency to lose control of his emotions. The way he had carried on when they had left the farm had been appalling, with him sobbing and wailing in near hysterics and clinging to Joan like he was being led to slaughter. Christopher had been embarrassed and disgusted by the scene and had spent part of the trip home chastising Martin for his behaviour. The rest of the drive he fumed silently as Martin continued to cry in the back seat. Yes, he was absolutely certain now that getting Martin into Lord Malvern Hall as early as possible was the best course of action. It would toughen him up, make a man of him. And then there would be no more of his ridiculous histrionics.
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Nine year old Martin Ellingham was becoming very skilled at the art of avoidance. He had learned by his first night at Lord Malvern Hall two years before that the only way he would make it through boarding school alive was to keep his eyes and ears open and his mouth firmly closed. It had become apparent very quickly who the bullies were and which teachers to avoid eye contact with in the halls, and he had discovered many small spaces in which to hide until the coast was clear. Above all else he had learned in his short career as a student, these things were the most important. And yet, even though he tried his hardest at being completely invisible, there were a few things he was not able to keep his peers from noticing: the first being his ears.
Martin vaguely knew that his ears were a bit larger than average, but hadn't really given it much thought; his father's stuck out a bit as well, so it was just another family trait he had inherited and that was that. Unfortunately for him, the other lads at school didn't see it quite the same way. One boy in particular, a third year student by the name of Graham Pearson, seemed to take Martin's ears as a personal affront. Graham had given him the moniker of 'Wingnut' within the first fifteen minutes of the first day. Since he seemed to be the unofficial 'leader' of the group, being older and larger, all the other boys followed suit. Although it bothered him a great deal at first, Martin soon realized that Graham and the other boys seemed to have a nickname for everybody, not just himself. He learned to just let them get on with it and ignore them as much as possible. He obviously didn't enjoy being called names but, he reasoned, there were much worse things to endure.
And as if fate were waiting for him to make that pronouncement, his bedwetting suddenly became common knowledge to his peers. It wasn't a surprise, really; it was bound to happen sooner or later, due to the fact that the younger students slept all together in one large dormitory. Even though Graham was older and didn't share the same sleeping quarters, word spread like wildfire that Martin had yet another flaw that could be exploited. The bully couldn't have been happier to oblige. Bedwetting put Martin in a whole new category of children to torment, one that went beyond name-calling and entered into something much uglier. Now, Graham and his minions began to lay in wait for him, tripping him as he walked past. Now they tried to catch him alone so they could shove him, rough him up. That was when Martin learned never to be the last one left in a room, and when his knowledge of hiding places came in quite handy.
He made the mistake once, within those first few weeks, to run crying to the head of his dormitory after having been shoved to the ground by one of the bullies. The man only rolled his eyes at Martin and told him if he would stop being such a crybaby then maybe the other boys wouldn't feel the need to push him around. His heart sinking, Martin went away feeling completely alone, once again. He knew his father and mother would have said exactly the same thing to him, so telling them about the situation would be a lesson in futility. And so he went on enduring it, in the end, feeling he had no other option. He had never been one to fight back...he would just go through the day the best he could and if he was still standing by bedtime, he considered it a success.
Despite his big ears, his wetting the bed, and his crying, Martin Ellingham did have one thing going for him-one thing that set him above the majority of the other students at Lord Malvern Hall. Martin had a brilliant mind. He picked up on new areas of study twice as quickly as the other boys, and was able to retain information at an unprecedented speed. He could read a paragraph twice through and recite it back to you perfectly. He could multiply and divide large sums in his head and never had to write any of it down. And most amazing of all, it came as easily to him as breathing. Martin's teachers were in awe of his abilities and took time to acknowledge him when he had done something well. Knowing that he was able to please them by working hard on his studies was a great encouragement to Martin. He had been born with a natural curiosity, and now he dove into learning head first, determined to gain as much knowledge as possible in every subject.
Although his intelligence was added to the list of reasons to be tormented by the other boys, Martin had found that concentrating on his school work kept his mind from worrying about what the bullies might do next. When he was memorizing all the bones in the human body, it was much easier to ignore a rude nickname being called out to him from down the hall. After a while, Graham and his delinquent posse started to get a little bored; Martin wasn't nearly as much fun to abuse when they could no longer make him cry. There was no love lost between them, but things did quiet down a bit for a while.
Through all of this, one thing Martin could count on was his Aunty Joan, who wrote to him faithfully twice a week and occasionally sent him packages of sweets or other goodies. He wrote to her as well, but was careful not to say too much about the bullies or about how lonely and sad he often felt. He knew it would only worry his aunt if she knew he was unhappy and wasn't able to do something about it. He mostly told her about all the things he had been learning, and she in turn sent him pages of praise and encouragement and always told him how proud she and Uncle Phil were of him.
Martin was fortunate enough to have spent all his summer, half-term, and Easter holidays at the farm since he had been in boarding school, and the last time he spoke to his father he had tried to convince him to let him go there for his Christmas break as well. Christmas with Mummy and Daddy was a rather tense affair, with Mummy barely tolerating sitting in the room as he opened his gifts and dashing off as soon as he was finished. Daddy always had his mind on other things; even when he was physically in the same room, Martin never really felt like his father was 'present'. If his parents consented to let him go, this would be his first Christmas in Cornwall, and he was excited at the prospect of spending it with Aunty Joan and Uncle Phil. It didn't take much effort to imagine how warm, how festive it would feel in the farmhouse; he knew there would be a fire in the fireplace and a Christmas tree in the corner, and Aunty Joan baking cookies in the kitchen. And even if he was imagining it completely wrong, Martin thought, it would still be a much happier place than his home in London.
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As it happened, it was Aunty Joan who ended up getting Martin into his first bit of serious trouble at Lord Malvern Hall-indirectly, anyway.
It was a fortnight before the Christmas holidays, and Martin and his classmates were in the dining hall finishing breakfast when the post arrived. When his name was called, he raised his hand to receive the envelope and smiled when he saw it was postmarked 'Cornwall'. He tore it open immediately and began to read:
Dear Marty,
We were so pleased to hear you got top marks in your maths and grammar tests last week-well done! I spoke to your father and he said you can come down to the farm for your Christmas break. Uncle Phil and I are both looking forward to having you for the holidays; it will be even more special with you here with us.
I've just had the film developed of the photos we took last time you were here, and I have enclosed the one Mr. Slater took of you and me at the harbour. I think you look quite handsome in it, though I do wish you would smile more, Martin!
Study hard and we'll be together again before you know it!
With all our love,
Aunty Joan and Uncle Phil
Martin studied the photograph in his hand, his own serious eyes staring back at him. He wasn't smiling, exactly, but he still thought he looked well enough. Aunty Joan had her arm around his shoulders in the picture, and the way she was smiling at the camera more than made up for his reserved expression.
Suddenly, the letter and photo were snatched out of Martin's hands, and he realized with horror that it was Graham Pearson who had taken them.
'Well, look here, chaps, ole' Wingnut got a letter from his Mummy,' he taunted. 'I hope she sent you some nappies as well.'
Martin felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He stood helplessly as Graham began to read his letter aloud in a high, singsong voice. Several of the boys at the table looked uncomfortable, while others giggled at Martin's obvious discomfort.
'I think you look quite handsome!' Graham teased in his falsetto, and then said in a normal tone, 'God, your Mum must be either blind or stupid...or both!'
Martin found his voice and said indignantly, 'she's not my Mum, she's my Aunty Joan!'
'Oh, your Aunty Joan!' the bully mocked him. He looked down at the photograph in his hand and exclaimed, 'she looks a right old cow to me. I can see the family resemblance...she is nearly as ugly as you are!'
It happened so quickly, Graham was too late to react; all he felt was complete surprise as Martin took two steps toward him, fury in his eyes, and swung his fist. The punch landed squarely in the space between his left cheek and the side of his nose and the impact knocked him flat on the ground. Blood poured from his nostrils onto the front of his school blazer and tie, and he looked up at Martin, dumbfounded. Martin stood glaring at him, his hands balled into fists and shaking with anger.
'Don't ever,' he spoke intensely, his teeth clenched, 'say another word about my Aunty Joan.'
Graham's eyes widened. He hesitated, then nodded once. It was understood.
By this time, everyone in the dining hall was watching the scene, and two teachers had hurried over to assess the damage.
'What is the meaning of this?' Mr. Dawes demanded, looking between Martin and Graham, still bleeding on the floor. 'Ellingham! This barbaric behaviour will not be tolerated in this school! What has gotten into you?'
Martin suddenly realized the seriousness of the situation, and felt tears stinging his eyes as the shock of what he had done started to sink in. He was at once frightened of the intensity of his anger, ashamed of losing his temper...and yes, a bit proud that he had actually been the one to give Graham a taste of his own medicine.
'I...I'm sorry, sir,' he stammered, swallowing the lump in his throat. He wouldn't make any excuses; he knew that hitting another person was very wrong, no matter how much they deserved it.
'I should hope so, young man! Now I want you to go directly to the Headmaster's office and wait for me there,' Mr. Dawes pointed to one of the older boys standing nearby. 'You, Nicholson, take Pearson to the infirmary to get sorted out. The rest of you gentlemen, I suggest you get to your classes at once.'
As Martin moved toward the door, his stomach knotting at the thought of being punished by the Headmaster, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Graham Pearson, silently holding out the letter and photograph-a peace offering. Martin took them from his hand, nodded a thanks, and walked out into the hallway.
Note: Having never attended an all male English boarding school (I am neither English nor male, as it happens), I did some research, thought about it, and then decided to just fly by the seat of my pants. I hope it was plausible and take full responsibility for any errors! And, as always, thank you for the reviews...keep them coming!