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  Lost Lad

  A Mystery set in Derbyshire 1960

  by

  Narvel S Annable

  Copyright 2003 Narvel Annable

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available

  from the British Library

  ISBN 0 9530419 6 4 (original paperback version)

  Originally published by

  Narvel S. Annable

  [email protected]

  www.narvelannable.co.uk

  For

  All victims of homophobic school bullying

  FOREWORD

  by

  John Holmes

  of

  BBC Radio Nottingham

  Narvel has a penchant for subjects 'close to home', but until now he's always written about the lives of others in relation to his own. There was the social history focusing on his "Heanor Schooldays" which inspired the entertaining and intriguing novel which follows. Such was the influence of his first teacher, not only has he written an affectionate reminiscence of "Miss Calder's Children", but he's also woven a fictional murder mystery, "Death on the Derwent", around the formidable schoolmistress! His major biographical work centred on his former teacher His Honour Judge Keith Matthewman QC.

  "Lost Lad", in contrast, places Narvel centre stage, along with five other pals on a cycling holiday in Derbyshire. As the journey unfolds, one member of the gang goes missing and it takes nearly a half century before Narvel finally reveals to us the secret of his devilishly clever conjuring trick. Here is an interesting tale in which the line between truth and fiction is blurred. How much is true? Even I'm not sure and I'm part of it when Narvel visits me at BBC Radio Derby requesting help from our listeners.

  I've never featured in a mystery thriller before, and I must say that I've enjoyed every minute of it. And stand by: there could be a sequel!

  MAP

  Pronunciation

  In the speaking voice of some of the characters, I have attempted to show the Derbyshire accent. A principal feature is the closed 'U', which is sounded 'oo' as in 'took', not the sound as in 'boot'. The native Derbyshire tongue makes no distinction between the past tense of take - 'took' and 'tuck' - something to eat. To the Derbyshire ear, the open 'U' or standard pronunciation of 'tuck' sounds rather like 'tack', a short nail. Accordingly when local Derbyshire folk say 'duck' (which they often say), I have indicated it as 'dook'.

  Relatives are often referred to as 'our' pronounced 'arr', such as 'Arr Fred'.

  In an attempt to maintain the flavour and accuracy of the 1960's, I have referred to African-Americans as Negroes.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1 Fantasy of Death

  Chapter 2 The Dreaded Confrontation

  Chapter 3 The Agony, the Erotic and the Ecstasy

  Chapter 4 Looks Good, Feels Good, Tastes Good

  Chapter 5 The Golden Oarsman

  Chapter 6 Journey to the Far North

  Chapter 7 Adventures Along the Cromford Canal

  Chapter 8 Water-cum-Jolly Dale

  Chapter 9 Fairies, Goblins and Sacrificial Groves

  Chapter 10 Wormhill

  Chapter 11 A Gallery of Light in Tideswell

  Chapter 12 Hell for Leather

  Chapter 13 The Servant at Cressbrook Hall

  Chapter 14 "He Comes Not Still, tis Dark No Moon"

  Chapter 15 Acetous, Aloof, Cold and Haughty

  Chapter 16 A Seductive, Suggestive, Silver Tongue

  Chapter 17 Cracker Biscuits in the Cottage

  Chapter 18 Guzzly Granddad

  Chapter 19 Dolly, Dolly, Deep Dark and Devious

  Chapter 20 A Writhing Tangle of Lubricated Bodies

  Chapter 21 Butch Numbers and Bitchy Queens

  Chapter 22 Babbacombe to Horsley Woodhouse

  Chapter 23 Put Ya 'At on Joey!

  Chapter 24 Clothes of the Dead

  Chapter 25 The Hustler the Pimp and the Murderer

  Chapter 26 Sluts Slags and Strumpets

  Chapter 27 An Appeal on BBC Radio Derby

  Chapter 28 The Other Twin

  Chapter 29 Ghosts

  Chapter 30 The Thoughts of Simeon

  Chapter 31 Nymphs, Naiads and Dryads

  Chapter 32 St John's Chapel in Belper

  Chapter 33 Fantasy of Life

  Introduction

  My first novel published in 1999 was called "Death on the Derwent" - A Murder Mystery set in Belper 1949, ISBN 0 9530419 2 1, which features the formidable Miss Florence Calder and her cantankerous sister Miss Madge, as they go on the trail of a clever criminal in a leafy, smaller Belper, half a century ago. Miss Florence Calder was a real person, the subject of my first book - "Miss Calder's Children" - A Social History of Belper, Biography and Critique on Modern Education, published in 1997.

  For this second novel it seemed fitting that I draw on the setting and atmosphere of my second book, an autobiographic work published in 1998 - "Heanor Schooldays" - A Social History, ISBN 0 9530419 1 3, which majors on the period 1955 to 1960. It tells the story of two schools. The hard forbidding Dickensian Mundy Street Boys School was claustrophobic, hateful and cruel, but in the September of 1958 I went down the hill to William Howitt Secondary Modern School which was open, sunny and leafy - a culture of kindness.

  For this fantasy of my imagination I have subsumed part of "Heanor Schooldays". The pupils in this novel are fictitious, but are a composite of the types of boys I have known, those good people who changed my life for the better in that wonderful period of 1958 to 1960.

  It is the passage of four decades and these considerations which are the inspiration of this book. It is an attempt to re-visit the 'lost' world of a happy adolescence which once existed in a place we all knew as William Howitt Secondary Modern School.

  Apart from a few agreed cameo roles, all the characters in this book are pure fiction.

  Chapter 1

  Fantasy of Death

  Simeon Hogg was thinking of death.

  His 12th grade history students, silently sitting before him in their correct places, in neat rows, scratching away on their exercise books were quite oblivious to his utter despair. To them he looked much the same as ever, old, stern, hard and unfeeling, staring at them with a familiar forbidding countenance which held complete control. Of late he seldom smiled, had become even more strict than ever: no talking would be tolerated, no turning round, no fidgeting and no rocking on chairs.

  Simeon Hogg was thinking of death. He was sitting very still in this chamber of silence, looking at his class when, suddenly - he was visited by a grotesque fantasy. An intriguing thought which was possibly born out of the depths of his misery.

  What if he suddenly died? Here and now in front of these thirty young people. He would not fall over. As ever, as an example to others (especially other staff) he was sitting bolt upright, perfectly balanced on his chair. The authoritarian eyes, if now unseeing, would continue to remain open and, as ever, continue to maintain discipline in that classroom. The occasional face would, now and then, look up to test the rigorous regime and, quickly, return to work.

  Suddenly the bell would shatter the oppressive silence, ringing out to announce the end of the school-day. In most other classrooms it would trigger an immediate uprising of excited youthful humanity - all rushing and crushing to the door, a joyful evacuation and escape from the Dwight D Eisenhower High School located on the south side of Lincoln Gardens, near Detroit, Michigan in the USA. In most other classrooms the sole adult
voice would be raised to out-shout the din caused by the stampede in a futile attempt to, perhaps announce homework, or at least try to end the day in a civilised manner with a few words of conclusion.

  But this was not most other classrooms. This was the dreaded Room 76, the room of Mr Hogg who had thirty-four and one half years of experience in dealing with youngsters who (possibly from other more lax members of staff) might have formed the extraordinary idea that the bell is a higher authority than that of the schoolmaster. Mr Hogg's students had long learned the lesson that he, and he alone, at his pleasure and convenience, dismissed a class in his own time - and that time was usually at some point following the sounding of the school bell. After his short valedictory address, they would hear the command 'stand' followed by 'lead on' when each row in turn would file out of the door.

  Tracing through this day-dream of sudden death, the master imagined his cadaver, still motionless in that academic chair, throughout the shrill ringing of the bell, a corpse continuing to command absolute obedience through the sightless eyes set in a frozen pale face. Perhaps after a few minutes a brave boy would venture -

  "Bell's gone, Mr Hogg."

  After two seconds of meeting the hard unflinching stare, the student would fear an imminent sharp reprimand, lose courage and return to his task. A second student would make a similar attempt and interpret the same ominous silence in the same way - and again, continue to apply himself to composing acceptable answers to the test before him.

  At some point shortly later, a student might rise to her feet, approach the master's desk and ask a question. Mr Hogg would appear not to see her. He does not move his head. He still stares to the mid-distance of his class. He ignores her question. She is fearful of his stony silence. The 'Horrible Hogg' is today even more grumpy than ever, but her feminine temper is aroused by his refusal to, at least look at her! Rank bad manners! And now, six minutes into her free time, she is becoming angry and about to summon up the courage to think the unthinkable, to openly complain to the unapproachable Mr Hogg when ....

  Something odd ... something different ... he is too quiet, too still ... She has an instinct to reach out and touch ... Mr Hogg falls to the ground - dead. She screams.

  Enough of this nonsense - he could not get so lucky. Simeon wearily looked at his watch to find that the bell was indeed imminent. After all, this was a good class and they had worked well during this last hour. They deserved to be dismissed on time. A few words were followed by the usual orderly exodus which left this miserable master alone, but now, in a different kind of silence. As with many times in the last few months, he considered his position - and he considered his position to be grave. How long could he carry on?

  In total despair, but with new resolve, he marched to the office of the Principal, fully prepared to put his job on the line.

  Unfortunately the Principal had gone home. It was Wednesday, April 16th 2003.

  Chapter 2

  The Dreaded Confrontation

  Simeon Hogg and Principal Betty Lou Vanderburgh had tolerated an uneasy professional relationship over the previous eight years since her appointment after the Easter of 1995. Always pleasant, friendly and caring, she was a difficult woman to disagree with. When she imposed a 'comments only' form of student assessment and outlawed all traditional grades in 1996, Mr Hogg was outraged, but could only summon up the courage to politely express -

  " ..... serious concerns!"

  " Oh, how unfortunate you see it that way, Simeon! I do hope you don't mind me calling you 'Simeon'? Please call me Betty. After a semester or two, I'm sure you'll notice how much happier our students have become when they're free from the pernicious doctrine of segregation by outcome. We must move forward, release their self expression and unchain their spirits. Let them fly!"

  They flew all right! Many to more traditional schools. And many were 'much happier', especially the bone idle who no longer had to worry about returning home with a grade 'D' - or worse. The new 'Records of Achievement' had replaced the report cards and were largely written by the students themselves - with minimum input from the staff. All remarks were required to be couched in positive terms. It was the opinion of Mr Hogg, one of a minority from the 'old guard' plus a majority of parents, that the end of semester report had now descended into a nebulous and worthless evaluation of euphemistic verbiage.

  Every graduate of Eisenhower was now a winner! There were no losers and therefore no distinction between the hard working conscientious and the lazy disruptive contemptible. Indeed, if you attended classes at least half the time you were guaranteed to graduate. In desperation, at a second meeting, Mr Hogg raised this very point with Principal Vanderburgh. But once again, he was thrown off balance with her firm hand in the iron glove of clever diplomacy -

  "But, Simeon, you surprise me! A well respected educator such as yourself is much better off. Think of all the extra time you now have to invest in your lessons. Time which was once wasted on preparing tests and exams which only serve to distress and disadvantage our young charges."

  Once again he emerged in a daze of confusion. Had it really happened? Had accountability gone for ever? Worse was to follow in the following months. Students were addressing teachers by their first names. It had become school policy, but Mr Hogg had adopted his own policy of being deaf to the word 'Simeon' and only hearing 'Mr Hogg' from the lips of any student.

  Unbeknown to Mr Hogg, during that very Wednesday afternoon of his imagined demise, a fourteen year old girl had decided to drop into the office of her 'new friend' Betty Lou, and complain about the 'old fashioned' practices still being perpetrated in Room 76. The next morning Mr Hogg found an affable note in his pigeon hole -

  Hi Simeon, Would you be kind enough to pop into my office sometime today? Thanks, Betty Lou.

  He looked at this missive for some moments. In spite of the friendly casual tone, he felt sick to the very pit of his stomach.

  He decided to counter attack and confront her with a list of all the recent philosophical changes which had damaged the school, a school which had once been the pride of Lincoln Gardens. He would draw attention to the sloppy dress of some teachers turning up to classes in jeans, track-suits and tasteless body piercing rings and studs. He would complain about the pressure from his newly appointed young and trendy Head of History, who was implementing fundamental changes to the teaching and very understanding of the subject. Indeed there were structural changes afoot regarding the total abolition of history as a separate and discrete subject. He would object to that particular rankling occasion when he walked into his room to find that all the desks had been moved into a group arrangement, where the students would face each other - instead of the teacher. He would protest about the new 'discussion document' which spoke of getting away from traditional 'content led and factual history' and into a 'more meaningful skills-based approach'.

  The ever increasing gobbledegook was driving him crazy. The stress was mounting, not least that he could no longer exclude difficult adolescents who disrupted his classroom -

  "These disturbed people need us, Simeon. We mustn't keep sending them to the counsellor. Try not to see it as bad behaviour, try to see it as challenging behaviour. You've taught in that same room for the last 34 years, Simeon. We're all so very proud of you and we're all trying to help you. You're experienced. You can do it, I know you can!"

  This from the diminutive and politically correct Principal, who was little more than half his age and looked even younger, rather like a little girl with her long, straight, shoulder length hair. Despite the up-beat words, her fresh pleasant face regarded him sadly. It was unspoken, but they both knew that Mr Hogg had nowhere to go. No other school, no matter how traditional, would appoint him (nine years from retirement) over younger applicants in their twenties and thirties. After a lifetime of specialisation in British History, his command of the subject was absolute and he delivered lessons which were exciting and dramatic. They held their audience in complete silence. Th
e Principal and other progressive colleagues respected, but could not agree with his strict classroom management which was inconsistent with the new relaxed approach.

  Furthermore, there was something nasty and insidious about this charming, friendly, smiling little girl. She had power. She was imposing an alien and flawed philosophy upon the frightened man before her. It was like science fiction films where invading creatures from another planet get into, and take over human minds. Many had already been 'converted', but Mr Hogg was the only one who was still able to see real education. He could imagine her persuasive, soothing and sinister voice with an eerie echo saying -

  "Don't resist us, Simeon, we're too strong. Join us. Give in. Yield. Come with us over to the left. Sleep. You'll feel so much better when you wake up and then ... and then, Simeon ... you'll be one of us."

  He was swimming against a tide of left-wing liberalism and losing the battle. Indeed Simeon Hogg was suffering from battle fatigue after eight years of prolonged and useless struggle. He was becoming the butt of jokes from the new appointments who seemed to be getting younger, more trendy and more progressive. Every day he was getting more depressed, and the job to which he had given his life, and once so much enjoyed - was becoming meaningless.