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  Several squeals of surprise came with a powerful ejection which passed over the heads of two workers. The only indication of this finality was a softening of Big Boy's arrogant smile. It dissolved into a countenance controlled by the ecstasy of that special one moment which had so often been fashioned by Simeon's own hand at Mundy Street Boys School.

  Most impressive about this bizarre show to the voyeur was the total lack of fear or embarrassment. Simeon's arrival on the scene had not fazed any of them - why? Was it due to the cast iron protection which would be afforded by Big Boy himself? Had he ever been afraid of anything, this youth, who simply took his pleasure at will?

  An unsettling event! It had exited and stirred Simeon beyond measure. Painful memories and instinct warned him to carry on and show no reaction. He fumbled with his shirt, tried to dress, tried to hide the embarrassing effect of the previous minutes - but could hardly concentrate. The others were quicker and filed out in front of their hulky master who was still wearing his superior handsome half smile. Languidly he strolled towards his former slave - and then stopped! One hand cupped the balls and the other closed round the hard secreting shaft. Simeon stood perfectly still and looked up into that dark face. It was a pleading look. Again, just as in the old dark days, he was entirely at Big Boy's mercy. Again he caught the familiar distinctive body scent of physical closeness. He was vulnerable. At that moment that big strapping youth had the power to inflict pain or pleasure - fortunately the grip, although locked and firm, did not, as feared, tighten.

  Simeon Hogg would remember those seconds all his life. A myriad kaleidoscope of mixed emotions. He hated Big Boy. He loved Big Boy. Smouldering eyes, unwilling to forgive a mountain of past humiliations defiantly met the cruel attractive dark eyes just inches away and he lusted a lust which would never be equalled. The warm hands very slightly relaxed. They become more mobile, more kind, and, during those precious seconds - gave intense pleasure. In retrospect it could be described as a passing grope, a leisurely grope, but a short lived grope which was soon ended - much too soon - devastatingly too soon. Big Boy moved on. Big Boy was gone.

  Simeon Hogg was a bit better off than most of the other pupils of William Howitt Secondary Modern School. Mum and Dad had always been generous and two incomes made it possible for Simeon to be given five shillings a day for food and bus fare. Cycling to school released extra funds to dine out for lunch. Having an independent spirit, he preferred to leave the campus at midday, walk the half mile up the hill and enjoy the delights of the comfortable Market Cafe. Mr Hogg the young schoolmaster was coerced to stay, suffer the daily cacophony of clink and clatter and force down poor quality school dinners during a daily penance which was called 'supervision duty'. Simeon Hogg the boy, (having an aversion to slugs) was appalled to hear accounts of unwashed lettuce and the occasional appearance of a slimy mollusc creeping across a plate.

  Miss McLening the headmistress once lined up the daily chip shop and cafe brigade and put them under pressure to abandon their midday wandering habits and dine in the school canteen. This line included the meaty and muscular Rex Lloyd. She singled out Simeon and directly challenged his judgement: why should he reject such good value, a full meal costing just one shilling?

  "I get choice, Miss," was not well received from the impudent acned urchin who stood before her august presence.

  "Oh!" replied She, lovely eyes blazing, "What a pity it is not possible to go and check the canteen menu and walk out if it is not to sir's taste!!"

  Silently standing, sensing being on very firm ground - he stood his ground, savouring the point scored. After a regal dismissal the little group walked back to class, proud smiles quietly cheered the rebel a hero. Mrs Cook heard the full drama from the power house of the form, Rex Lloyd, no less. To have earned his good opinion was for Simeon, a big step up the ladder of prestige.

  Yet Simeon was sad to have annoyed the enchanting dark handsome lady who had become a goddess. His eyes were always drawn to a beauty mole on the face of that charming and gracious headmistress who reigned over an all too brief magical and happy period of his life. A woman held in great affection by all her subjects, a queen who filled the school with sunshine and love. Love! That was the one word which continued to re-occur. The love from, and to, Mary McLening permeated the very fabric of the building and hallowed the ground of William Howitt Secondary Modern School.

  At the Market Cafe, Simeon chose from various items on toast costing 'one and something'. 'Something and chips' went into the two shilling mark, add three pennies for a cup of tea. The cafe had two halves. To the right of the central corridor was the snack bar and to the left a quieter dining room for meals. Above the clatter of pots, cutlery, comings and goings and the continuous hum of conversation, the young diner could hear and enjoy melodic strains which travelled across the two rooms and passageway. The music came from something very un-Heanor, something new and different, something rather like Simeon's dream car: a space aged, push buttoned chrome and gaudily illuminated cabinet called a 'jukebox' which needed to be fed a threepenny bit for one play, a silver sixpence for two plays, or five plays for a silver shilling. Fascinated eyes watched a mechanical arm lift selected popular 7" 45 rpm records and place them precisely on an automatic deck. As the needle fell into the lead groove, an anticipatory delicious electronic 'thud' would precede the ecstatic sounds to follow.

  For the teenager in the next room munching through his beans on toast (or whatever) - this was the birth of real music. The charts of 1959 and 1960 were the very epicentre of his musical experience. Simeon Hogg would spend the rest of his life worshipping at that shrine of talented excellence. He will, forever more, listen with nostalgic reverence to the lush orchestrations and sexy boyish voices which sang out through that small window of creativity. Marty Wilde, Bobby Vee and Adam Faith crystallised and defined his fresh green hopes, inspired his dreams and fuelled his fantasies.

  One day he was entranced by what seemed like a sweet sounding choir of angels ascending and descending the scale, complemented by a resonant twangy bass guitar. Into this euphonious mix came, exactly at the right time, a deep masculine voice with just a hint of the sexy adolescent croak so typical of this new young genre. He could easily have been mistaken for Elvis but, these dulcet tones were a touch lighter and, for Simeon's taste, with great respect to the King - better. This sensuous singer had composed both the music and lyrics for this beautiful work which lasted barely more than a precious two minutes. After such an orgasmic audible experience, in complete contrast to the hateful pious dirges of just a stone's throw away; this new music now became an important part of his life at William Howitt Secondary Modern School.

  During the following weeks, the same record was played every day. Simeon struggled to hang on to those illusive, hypnotic notes, above the ambient din of the busy Market Cafe. A few occasional words were discerned -

  " ... and in the evening, by the moonlight ... "

  He knew not the name of the singer nor the song title to be able to ask for it in a record shop. A pointless exercise not possessing a record player, let alone the expensive seven shillings needed to purchase. Eventually the time came when, nervously, this scruffy youth entered a shop and held the precious vinyl disc, with its grooved integral encoded magical music, bearing the legend - "Maybe Tomorrow".

  Later, in that same store, examining the sleeve of a prized long playing record, he stood very still and looked. He peered long and hard into the stunningly handsome features of his teenage idol - Billy Fury: a typical image of the popular culture of 1959.

  Chapter 5

  The Golden Oarsman

  The long hot summer of 1959 slowly and reluctantly cooled into a blazing, bright red and yellow sunny autumn. Cycle rides clung to life until finally, cold, fog, frost and early murky damp nights forced an end. Christmas saw the leaving of pupils who had already turned fifteen. Into the power vacuum, ascended a new crop of those high ranking lads who already held status by virtue of physica
l size, competence and prowess on the sports field, together with sheer force of personality and popularity. So by January 1960, it came to pass that Scott North, the handsome, flaxen haired, record-breaking athlete from the 'B' class, became the new King of the School.

  This new status quo in top management had little relevance in the chatty, cheery classroom of Mrs Cook where Simeon continued to develop and prosper, savouring the agreeable flavour of daily life.

  It was gradual, little by little, imperceptibly at first, but Scott North started to notice the dark haired pimply associate of Rex Lloyd who was forever spreading sunshine with his funny voices and infectious laugh. This was the consolidation of a totally new personality and a million miles away from his previous existence of living death in a never ending series of 'Mundy mornings'. A few witty words were occasionally tossed at Simeon's 'John Silver' within the accepted good natured framework of working class youth culture.

  "That parrot needs oiling!"

  Such comments were an important form of 'lads together' communication. Communication with a complex hidden agenda. Scott was telling Simeon that he enjoyed the show, but more important, was the fact of public approbation. Simeon had been lifted in the eyes of the others, and over the days and weeks which followed, steadily but surely, Simeon Hogg became a friend of the mighty Scott North.

  The hard cold winds under the grey skies of early spring had no discouraging effect on the bubbling boy who enthusiastically jumped on his Palm Beach Raleigh bike every morning, eager to get to school. Among his many physical accomplishments, Scott was a keen cyclist and made frequent excursions up, and into the hills of Derbyshire, sometimes with other lords of the school and sometimes alone. He was fast and it was said that he could keep up with any bus. Simeon reflected that buses made frequent stops, but was wise enough to keep those thoughts private. In the week after the Easter holidays, the weather was looking very promising and Scott caused a flurry of excitement when he turned up one morning on his brand new, gleaming BSA 'Golden Wings' 10 speed racer. In this rather grimy mining community, Heanorians were not well endowed with income or material possessions and it was very unusual to witness this level of opulence. Admirers, including a curious teacher, asked questions and paid genuine compliments. The handsome top calibre machine and its tall well built powerful owner were a good match.

  This little moment of respectful appreciation was rudely and loudly interrupted by Carol Bestwick violently agitating her old [probably Victorian] clanging hand bell. She was completely indifferent to this particular gathering of approbation, being one of a minority of girls who were well able to resist the renowned 'pulling power' of Scott North. Big and well built, the mighty Carol was enjoying her few moments of power and importance, enthusiastically proclaiming the start of the school day.

  Cycles were simply leaned next to the school wall as the boys and girls drifted to their various classrooms to be registered. They were never chained and never locked. After being formally noted and counted, staff and pupils assembled in the bright, open Main Hall, where happy voices rang out with -

  "Glad that I live am I, that the sky is blue.

  Glad for the country lanes and the fall of dew

  After the sun the rain, after the rain the sun ..."

  One of their number was an exuberant adolescent with a raucous voice, over active oil glands and greasy black shining curls, carefully arranged after the style of pop idols to fall over a shiny forehead. For this bad case of acne, the uplifting melody and words struck a chord. The sky was blue and indeed Simeon was glad to be alive.

  True to form, March came in 'like a lion' and had gone out 'like a lamb'. Simeon the cyclist was very 'glad for the country lanes' where, like the previous year, he would soon be enjoying the fragrant nodding bluebells in fragments of woodland under that same spirited soaring skylark.

  That evening after the final bell, Scott was mounting his new bike and making plans with a few senior strapping disciples about a visit to some sort of a castle. Not knowing of any nearby castles in the area, the eavesdropping Simeon was intrigued and very agreeably surprised when Scott suddenly addressed him directly with a terse -

  "Are ya comin' then?"

  The youthful quintet raced two miles to the north, through the village of Loscoe and into the next rural community of Codnor. Bikes were then carried over a few styles and they rode across open fields until an ancient ruin came into view. A cool easterly wind tempered what otherwise would have been a warm sunny early April evening. Noisy cawing crows combined with the sweeter song of blackbirds. Despite a dry spring, bright lime green had not failed the grass or healthy hawthorn. Craggy, crumbling, grotesque shapes could be seen in the outline of the southern wall which appeared strangely top heavy. Ancient windows, chimneys and dramatic zigzag cracks due to age or mining subsidence completed the picture.

  During the exploration of Codnor Castle, little was said except for the usual jocular comments from Scott, firmly in command, who frequently made reference to somebody or something called a 'dobber'. One of the group pointed out to Simeon that it was in fact a reference to himself and added -

  "Well wot d'ya expect! 'E can't call ya 'Simeon' can 'e?

  Simeon Hogg understood this at once, but, notwithstanding, was still a little hurt. He had always rather liked his unusual Biblical name, but had to agree that the odd sweetness of sound in several awkward syllables, was unsuitable for a youth who would aspire to an association with the likes of Scott North. The former Mundy Street Boys School inmate was grateful that surnames were never used as a form of address at Howitt Secondary Modern School, either by staff or pupils. Thus he was spared the dreaded derogatory appellations in connection with filthy swine and mucky pigs. On the contrary, it was explained to the new recruit that Scott had honoured and christened him well.

  In the Heanor youth culture, a large heavy 'dobber' was the king of marbles used to knock lesser marbles out of a ring drawn on the pavement. A boy was lucky if he owned this cast iron ball which was about an inch and a half in diameter. So the next day at school, the boy who was previously known as Simeon, received further advancement and extra kudos when equals yelled out 'Dobba!' across the playground. One greasy teenager had been remoulded and reinvented.

  Many weeks later the long balmy days of June had arrived and on one occasion an old Will Hay comedy was shown in the canteen after school. At the conclusion, Scott North and his pals tumbled out of the pre-fabricated building in an ecstasy of joyous camaraderie giggles and fun. Hearty 'cheerio's' and 'see ya's' echoed around the campus as the jolly guys and gals dispersed, some of them heading up the hill to savour the delights of Santa Elliot's large chip shop and cafe, a social centre for teenagers.

  Later on this particular celebratory evening, the sun had already set leaving a gorgeous deep red to purple glow over Loscoe, and over the direction of Ilkeston, there emerged a fat smiling orange moon as if to bestow a blessing upon the happy youth of Heanor.

  Noting the lateness of the hour, Dobba hurriedly left his friends on the Market Place and raced back down to school. He mounted his bike and was launched onto a fragrant journey of growing darkness. Soon in open country with fields at either side, there were multitudinous scents of meadowsweet, saxifrage, cowbane, cowparsley, hemlock, yarrow, evening primrose and the occasional nostalgic whiff of damp ramson, together with any number of roadside weeds.

  Growing coolness gave an exulted increase in energy as he stood rampant on pedals for greater power, acceleration, more and more speed through the balmy aromatic darkness. Such a blissful fleetness, un-measurable, never exceeded since that enchanted ride which was more like flight!

  In the idyllic world of early teens with minimal responsibilities, Dobba and his friends had all the time in the world outside of school hours. This was not quite the case for Scott who rose early each day for his paper round and apportioned principal evenings (Friday, Saturday and Sunday) to a seemingly endless supply of willing girlfriends.

 
Within the world of teenage boys ranging between their fourteenth and fifteenth years there is a great diversity of physical development. In retrospect, most former pupils described Scott North as being nearly six foot tall. The reality was a little less impressive at five foot ten inches. Dobber and the Forester twins were a typical 'five foot seven', but looking up into the handsome countenance of the school hero had the effect of exaggerating the memory of those extra three inches. At the age of fourteen, being endowed with extra inches is vitally important for one's social standing. Scott was justly proud of his advanced physique and on one occasion at the baths drew attention to the space between the top of his trunks and his naval. His luxurious pubic hair had extended up into public view proclaiming new manhood. To hammer the point home he commented on those less well blest -

  "D ya know, Dobba, Foresters 'aven't an 'air between 'em!"

  His erotic fame may well have been exaggerated in Howittian circles. After all, it was common knowledge that Scott never had need to boast about any particular conquest. Indeed, he was never heard to name names, times or places: a fact alone which gave extra fuel to the reputation of this legendary 'jack the lad'. The rumours flew, very often with regard to girls of another school or even older girls who were working, but salacious claims were always attributed to a third party. When these lewd tales were ever repeated within his hearing, Scott North simply responded with a maddening enigmatic smile.