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  It had been going on and on, day after day, week after week, month after month. Like the wording of a medieval torture -

  '... as much as you can bear, and greater.'

  On that day after school it was too great. A great relief came over him when he contemplated a drastic solution. It was under a bleak mid-winter miserable sky, darkened by drizzle when Simeon opened the sash window and assessed the length of drop from that second floor bedroom onto the glistening pavement below. It seemed like a high fall, but would it be enough? Would it be quick? It needed to be quick. These contemplations were a relief for the unhappy little boy. Despair had produced its own balm. The resolution itself made things better, because, now, there was a way out. The intolerable had now become just a fraction more tolerable.

  During these cogitations he leaned out further and noted the views. In the far distance, the hills of Derbyshire were shrouded with low grey cloud. He noted industrial scars of mining and, in the near distance, the foot of that long straight road. At the end of that road, just to the left there was another school - a better school.

  Simeon the man has often looked back at that moment. He often stood on Red Lion Square and looked up to his old home which still had the date marked out in carved bricks - 1888. And above the date, there was that depressing, now slowly rotting top window, the window of despair. He was thankful that Simeon the boy did not jump, because Simeon the boy was only months away from attending that better school down the hill.

  Enough of this unhealthy brooding. Heanor had better things to offer. The following autumn would see a bigger lad flying down that same hill to another regime and a much kinder campus. A left turn took the cyclist into a cul-de-sac called Allandale Road where the sun was always shining. This was the leafy glade of William Howitt Secondary Modern School. At this nostalgic east gate, years later, an American tourist often stood where a boy had once stood. Once again he admired the mottled effect cast by the same mighty lime tree and the equally splendid copper beech. This was the site of that one magical brief moment in his life when he enjoyed being part of the realm of Queen Mary McLening as she ruled over her Camelot, a culture of kindness. This school too had its rough powerful lads who were feared and respected, but to his delight, Simeon discovered that these guys where dressed differently - they wore the white hats. These tough lads gave him back not only his self-respect and dignity - they gave him a more precious gift yet - they gave him friendship.

  Today on Thursday April 17th 2003 in his home near Detroit, he was thinking of this friendship now. He wondered what had become of those good people after all these years. Often he wondered about the friend who had simply disappeared one day: an event which had haunted him all his life.

  In all the years of annual trips over the Atlantic, he had never once tried to reunite with his old school pals. Why? Was it fear? Fear that the memory and idealised image was so precious, so fragile it could so easily be shattered?

  He had worshipped Scott North, the successful athlete who ruled the school and had generously bestowed a small portion of his prestige and kudos upon Simeon. Rather like being knighted by a king. It transformed his life. Scott North was the distinctive dazzling blond hunk of popular memory who confidently swaggered his well proportioned body across the playground, flashing his good looks to admiring girls, some of whom had tried to pretend a lack of interest. It was this same Scott who had reinvented and re-moulded the image of Simeon Hogg.

  Simeon? It was not entirely a suitable name for a member of Scott's inner circle .....

  Chapter 4

  Looks Good, Feels Good, Tastes Good

  Just before 9.00am on the Monday of September 1st, 1958, a scruffy, introverted, nervous and academically weak new pupil with no self confidence was, as usual, standing with his back hard up against the school wall, as usual, trying to make himself small and inconspicuous. Auspiciously it was a warm sunny day. Auspiciously he saw a sea, a swirl of unfamiliar faces because his enemies - were gone! They were safely removed to a different secondary modern school, thankfully a good mile away, on the other side of the hill at another place called Aldercar. This was the west side of town, this was William Howitt Secondary Modern School.

  After the chronic misery, the hardness of the military macho regime up the hill, he found his new teacher, Mrs Cook, cordial, benign and encouraging. All was propitious right from the very start. The classroom, preponderant with glass, constructed of wood was cheerful, light and airy. Just outside the window, healthy light green shrubbery and beyond, shaded grassy areas under handsome mature trees. A complete contrast to the darker, hard, viewless, deadly interior of his previous Victorian classroom, built in the days when windows were deliberately placed high to deter distraction.

  Simeon proceeded with great caution taking stock of those around him. With an apprehensive spirit, his confidence and self esteem were very low. For the first time since infant classroom days he was now in mixed company. A potentially hard masculine regime of an all male school had been softened by the presence of sensible girls. The gentle sex were civilising, had a mature calming effect, shaming and reducing the yob element.

  But there was something else, something beyond a change of circumstances, a magical change had come upon him during that summer of his thirteenth year. It had crept up almost without notice. A stealthy metamorphosis consistent with the song of an airy spirit called Ariel -

  "Nothing of him that doth fade,

  But doth suffer a sea-change,

  Into something rich and strange."

  The newcomer arrived at this leafy campus with the gifts of a deeper voice, taller stature and a macho if somewhat brooding disposition. Together with anonymity, Simeon Hogg, once boy now pupated into a young man, had the golden advantage of a new and fresh start.

  Mrs Doris Cook was a dramatic contrast to the previous sadistic master up the hill. This cosy, kind, motherly teacher, presided over an odd collection of quirky characters - often the case in a group of slow learners. This was a secondary modern school where the emphasis was on practical subjects. The 'eleven plus' examination, a tool of selection, had already creamed off the more able into the Heanor Grammar School which had a more academic curriculum. Those fortunate few were destined for the professions or white collar jobs in offices. The rest of them were expected to be shop assistants at best, 'clock on' in factories or get labouring jobs such as 'going down the pit'.

  The William Howitt Secondary Modern School, one of the best of its type, was divided into same age ability groups. There was the top ability 'A' class and a lower ability 'B' class. It soon became apparent that Mrs Cook's motley brood of cheerful chicks was the very bottom class, below 'B' and therefore fell into a category which could be described as - 'the lowest of the low'!

  "So what!" were the thoughts of young Hogg. To hell with academic status! For the first time in his life since being a small child he was really happy. For the first time ever, he was in a position to shine against a background of limited competition.

  There were just two television channels: the BBC and the commercial ITV. On the latter, a brand of parakeet seed was making "Budgies bounce with health." In his new classroom, an ongoing circus of boisterous conviviality, Simeon was bouncing with joy. Heanor folk were poor, but in late 1958 they all had 'the Telly' and all enjoyed the commercials. Several times every night, a roughly spoken, dowdy, low class woman responded to questions about a new soap powder. Simeon became an amusing mimic, delighting in affecting her accent and manner.

  "Since av bin usin t' Omo, thes noow neeed fa me - ta use bleach!"

  These popular mini performances, often ending up in class uproar, were not always relevant to the lesson in hand. Neither were they conducive to class discipline. Accordingly, the ever laughing impersonator was told in no uncertain terms to restrict his performances to break time in the playground. This he did with relish, because now he had access to the caretaker's yard brush which became a crutch to do his impression of Tony Hancock, i
mpersonating Robert Newton's interpretation of Robert Louis Stevenson's colourful character - Long John Silver, from his 1881 book - 'Treasure Island'.

  "Aarr Jim lad!" and the occasional "Avast there!"

  This nautical romp consisted of hopping around the playground with a limp neck and an imaginary squawking parrot on ye shoulder screeching 'Pieces of Eight!'. It took off, and soon there were several 'Silvers' capering around the school. Simeon savoured his new found influence but had to find new material when the novelty waned.

  A half crazed, boggle eyed hermit, complete with stout wooden staff, screaming imprecations after the style of -

  "REPENT!! Ye lusting sinners! Hear me! Ye are DOOMED!!" had little impact, miserably falling short of the desired effect, especially when Rex Lloyd said -

  "Shut it!"

  "Nay, Brethren, give heed, I have seen the light."

  "Y'll see my fist in a minute."

  Miss Brentnall added -

  "Don't be so silly, Simeon. Do be more quiet."

  Undaunted, an insane exaggerated Ben Gunn, with a piercing effeminate falsetto cackle - "Sez you - sez me." had more success.

  For all his efforts, Simeon was not the class clown. That honour went to little Tom Day who was often in trouble for his 'one liners' which would cause the class to crack up into fits of laughter. This would be followed by "COME OUT!" and a short slow walk to the front. There he would stand, wearing a half grin / half ashamed expression, shuffling around in his short trousers next to the much annoyed mistress. To her dismay, the effect of this absurd situation was more amusing than ever to the audience who were trying very hard not to crack up. When Mrs Cook moved, he had the habit of jerking his head back in the expectation of a slap - evidence of previous experience.

  On one occasion, Tom, known as Titch, was discovered with pictures of naked women. Necks were desperately craned and eyes strained to get a glimpse of the grubby little booklet in Titch's naughty little fingers. Beyond a quick flash of boobs, nothing could be discerned as the outraged schoolmarm ceremoniously tore up the obscene images into small pieces. Eleven pairs of lascivious eyes sadly watched their slow descent to the classroom floor.

  Titch may have been small in stature, but he did have some standing and in no way allowed himself to be pushed around. A pecking order was certainly established in this class and the school in general, but Simeon never saw it put to the test. No one was ever tormented and no one was ever challenged in what appeared to be a tolerant atmosphere of acceptance and good will.

  Simeon Hogg laughed his way through the shortening dark winter days of 1958, up to Christmas, when his parents moved out of Heanor, four and a half miles south to a straggling mining village called Stanley Common. Travelling to school now meant a one mile walk from his tiny terraced house, westwards to the bus stop at the Rose and Crown on the Derby - Heanor road. There he stood and shivered until an elderly bus trundled along to collect a frozen Howittian determined to get to the warm cosy nest of Mother Cook.

  His fourteenth spring was the first to be noticed and completely embraced in the intoxication of delirious happiness. Adolescence is often associated with the discovery of sex. In this Simeon was no exception, but it should be remembered that all senses come of age, in that everything new and exciting looks good, feels good, tastes good and smells good. Each cycle ride to and from school was an adventure and slightly different as the season advanced. The excellent sunny summer of 1959 started early with a lime green April and was still clinging to life in the late, warm October, amid a blaze of colour.

  He savoured every moment of every day, watched the buds develop into bright green leaves, discerned flowers come and go, perceived the magnificent views to Crich Stand and the Derbyshire hills beyond.

  The morning ride out of the old mining village became more interesting as the distant westerly green patch work panorama opened out. To his left, the fragrant nodding bluebells, a sea of colour from a fragment of the larger Morleyhays Wood. Turning north up to Smalley Green between thick thorny barriers of hawthorn, and occasional tangles of white flowered bramble. Singing his little heart out at the same spot each day, a spirited soaring skylark seemed to share the boy's zest for life. Glimpses of glossy yellow celandine and patches of wood anemone flashed by as he came to the leafy inviting Bell Lane which appeared on the right. He pushed and pedalled through the pretty village of Smalley, and then onwards, into Heanor.

  A warm April turned into a hot May and he began the after school habit of cycling the seven mile journey to the old mill town of Belper, to swim and cool down in the Herbert Strutt Baths. Never actually having had a friend before, it was quite a compliment when, one day, Titch suggested in his Horsley Woodhouse vernacular that he might like to come along - "Al goow we ya!"

  At the point of leaving, two brothers from another class, Brian and Danny Forrester also came along to add to the fun. Having been crushed by the dark years before, it is difficult to put into words Simeon's ecstasy resulting from the mix of that adolescent scruffy quartet, joyfully pedalling up High Street, issuing shrieks of delight under the warm afternoon sunshine. Such a good time was had, the next day, they decided to do it all over again. This time, the four became five when Rex announced he would join them.

  Rex means 'king', and Rex Lloyd was certainly the king of Mrs Cook's class and one of the 'kingpins' of the school. A strong tough youth enjoying the respect and fear which usually went with these attributes. The vibrant up-beat personality was as big as the muscles. Always cheerful, everybody liked Rex who never abused his power and was ever popular treating his subjects kindly.

  On that day, Simeon was standing on pedals, pushing his bicycle up the steep High Street with all his might in a significant effort to remain just behind the beefy newcomer - and just behind the mesmerising and intoxicating motion of his firm, full and well rounded buttocks. An endless high pressure area created a persistent endless blue sky. Rex had stuffed his shirt into a battered old saddlebag and the sun illuminated glistening sweat beads on his bare, sinewy, powerful back. Passing the Milk Bar, they heard the slow beat of 'Lonely Boy' by Paul Anka which seemed to accord with the rhythm of their slow progress. Rex, raucously sang out and yielded to the temptation of the local current rearrangement of the words from the correct -

  "...lonely and blue, I'm all alone with nothing to do..." to the naughty substitution of "...nobody to do."

  In that glorious happy July of 1959, Simeon had climbed to achieve the status and heights of friendship with Rex Lloyd and was now a long long way from being a lonely boy.

  Some 45 minutes later five excited pals dismounted at the entrance of the Belper Baths. Eagerly they shoved their dirty scruffy bikes into a crush of other dirty scruffy bikes forming a rough cycle park outside the entrance. After stampeding up to the pay box, a grumpy and shapeless old attendant relieved them of the four-pence admission charge and warned them to "Be'ave ya sens". Inside they were hit by a blast of warm air, chlorine and a multitude of shrieks and shouts of echoing delight. As usual it was very busy, as usual all the cubicles were taken, making it necessary to undress in a large back room of stacked metal boxes. Most of them were occupied by the clothes of other bathers. Scanning for a vacant box, following Rex, they rushed round, turned several corners through the metal maze ending up in a dead-end corridor when Rex shouted - "Over 'ere, 'eres some!" After a quick strip, clothes slung into a box and tatty suits donned, they were splashing away with many dozens of others.

  Simeon was keen to show his friends that he could swim, swim fast and swim well. He boasted to Rex that he could swim underwater and was thrilled when ordered to prove it. He boasted about holding his breath underwater for more than a minute and again, with the Forresters counting, he scored more points of kudos and bathed in the glory of sweet success. After a while they were admiring the athletic feats of Rex skilfully bouncing off the high board, gracefully flying through space before spearing the water with a million bubbles. He did it over and over, standin
g proud on that board, massive confident grin, laughing, yelling for clearance, enjoying all the attention, pleased as punch sticking out firm, well formed shining wet pectorals over a rock solid abdomen. The twins were amused, Titch dismissed him as a 'show off' but Simeon - Simeon just watched and watched and watched ...

  Ahead of his friends, Simeon decided to dry off and get dressed. He set out to navigate the box puzzle which was peaceful after the ongoing screaming row back in the main hall. He turned the corners, left and right and then left again, made one mistake but, eventually he recognised the cul-de-sac at the far end where they had left their clothes.

  The sight which met Simeon's eyes was truly arresting. For a moment he stood frozen to take in and make sense of the scene before him. A big strapping well tanned youth was standing, naked, firm and confident, feet apart, hands on hips, strong and powerful, a la Henry VIII - but the kingdom of this stripling was of another time and another place. This was Big Boy - no less.

  Big Boy was smiling with condescension at his one time servant. In two years of fast adolescent growth, the tyrant had filled out in all the right places and was magnificent. The mind-blowing scene was not just the vision of this Adonis, but the stunning eroticism due to his collection of conscientious acolytes. Possibly about seven puerile admiring attendants were busy, touching, tending and ministering. One appeared to be stroking the inside of his leg and one at the back was caressing his bottom. An urchin was doing something else back there in a dark recess and another in front was examining a nipple. His scrotum was being fondled by a fair haired youth and two lads nearer to his own stature were, in turn, giving their best efforts to the one place where it counts. Things had moved on since 1957, and Simeon, mesmerised, was unable to take his eyes off it. The acolytes, some with protruding tongues, some open mouthed, were uttering tiny sounds and sighs of wonderment and scrutiny along the lewd paths of their sensuous journey - but, as to be expected, the big sounds came at the end.