The Complete Pratt (31 page)

He sat suspended between his past and his future, in that dimly-lit, fetid, smoky, noisy, beery room.

‘And now,’ said a voice that filled the room, although Henry alone could hear it. ‘Now, the moment you’ve been waiting for, our star turn tonight. He’s droll. He’s daft. He’s Henry. Let’s hear it for Henry “Ee By Gum I am Daft” Pratt.’

Dreams sometimes come true.

Life at Dalton College, in the spring term of 1950, still had its unpleasantnesses. Getting up at seven fifteen, in the freezing dorm, long before the dawn. The Spartan diet. The pale orange night-light in the stifling san when half the school went down with gastric flu, and the male nurse with the twisted lip came round with his night-time tray of Ovaltine, Horlicks or Milo, all of which made Henry feel sick. Hockey on Lower Boggle in a hailstorm, and a huge boy from Tudor House tripping him deliberately and sending him nose-first into the thick Somerset mud. The agony of those six-mile runs along the Somerton Road, gasping for breath, frozen, red, chapped legs smeared with mud, and the disgusting smell of Broadlees Farm’s silage. The sound of crashing feet bounding off the walls of the gym as he struggled to climb a rope, hands cold, arms so feeble, up, up so slowly, and far below the supple vaulting of some natural athlete over the horse, across which he would shortly stumble in knee-wrenching, skin-scraping horror. Being beaten at table tennis 21–8, 21–7 by Brownlow, 21–6, 21–4 by Paul and 21–1, 21–2 by Prince Mangkukubono of Jogjakarta. There was the ever-present absence of Diana Hargreaves, in whose presence his courage had failed.
There
was the pervasiveness of homosexuality, whose dark vapours invaded dorm and changing room. He interrupted glances, smelt entanglements, heard about orgies, and felt both disgusted and neglected.

But there were pleasant things, too. The friendship with Paul. The semi-sexual sparring with Lampo. The memorable day when Orange became cock house at hockey, beating Stuart 3–1, with two goals from Tosser Pilkington-Brick. How they cheered on Middle Boggle! With what fervour they sang ‘Jerusalem the Golden’ in house prayers that night, with the windows slightly open so that farmers, corn chandlers, labourers and auctioneers could pause on street corners in the little market town, if they so wished, and hear the proud, patriotic lines that sent the pimples goosing across the flesh of Dopy S and every boy except Lampo Davey, who closed his eyes and thought of Tuscany. Then there were the joys of self-abuse, and the redecoration of his partition, which consisted now entirely of pictures of Patricia Roc.

But lessons still took up the bulk of the day. It is time to consider Henry’s progress at his lessons.

Art. This subject was not considered important at Dalton College. He sat quietly and caused no trouble.

Chemistry. ‘Give me a test tube and I will show you a disaster,’ might have been Henry’s cry. Poor Stinky G. In Henry’s hands even simple tests like the solubility of potassium permanganate or the preparation of oxygen from hydrogen peroxide H
₂
O
₂
became dangerous adventures. As for the acids, whether sulphuric, hydrochloric or nitric, the less said the better. But Henry Pratt, budding comic, didn’t seem to mind his disasters any more. He would grin vacantly. ‘Ee, by gum, I am daft,’ that grin would seem to say. Usually he came about twenty-first out of the class of twenty-five.

English. Doing less well this year, because Mr Lennox (Droopy L) didn’t take to his style. Droopy L didn’t take to any style. He didn’t like style. He looked like a bloodhound which has lost its zest for life, but this morose exterior was merely a blind for his stony heart. Droopy L shredded your essays. His sole criterion of merit was that there should be no unnecessary words at all. ‘“We set off
along the road
.” You amaze me, Pratt. I thought you would
have
set off
on top of the hedge
.’ Under Droopy L, he usually came about fourteenth.

French. Improving all the time, partly due to a secret ambition to become a bi-lingual comedian. Henri ‘Ah par gomme je suis stupide’ Pratt. Fifth to seventh.

Geography. Henry shared the enthusiams of his teacher, Mr Tenderfoot, who was hairy, grizzled, six foot three and known as High T. (This was a joke about food, not anticyclones, despite High T’s preference for the latter over the former.) Henry and High T loved the bits of Geography without people in them. River erosion, corrasion and attrition. Lateral and medial moraines. Deltas, archipelagoes and gorges. Weather. Rainfall figures were High T’s pornography, sunshine records his Bible. Once, in chapel, in the middle of a sermon given by the Bishop of Bath and Wells, High T strode boldly out, to watch a particularly severe thunderstorm. Unfortunately, Geography exams were mainly about the bits with people in them. Reasons for population densities, nature of farming, reasons for the location of industries. Fifth or sixth.

History. Henry sympathised with Mr Trench and his nervous breakdown. A very demanding subject, with its mixture of facts and interpretation. There was a lot to remember and a lot to understand. The understanding was not helped by doing History in blocks, so that you had no idea what happened before or after. It was a bit like studying a bottle of milk in order to understand the evolution of the cow. Not a lot like that, but a bit. Toady D claimed that Henry saw things too simply, because of his background. To Henry all history was the exploitation of the weak by the strong. This was simplistic. Usually about ninth.

Latin. His favourite subject, now that Droopy L had ruined English. Lampo Davey mocked him for this. ‘But those Romans were so dreary, so greedy. All marching and plumbing and vomiting, and no imagination. Not like the modern Italians.’ Could it be that Lampo was right about modern Italians, and the
Beano
wrong? ‘The only Roman who comes over to me like a human being is Catullus,’ said Lampo. ‘I wouldn’t have minded a stroll in the woods with him. No, forget the Romans. Go on to the Greeks.’ Next year, Henry would. In the meantime, he usually
came
second in Latin.

Maths. He was doing worse as he came upon more advanced concepts. Calculus in particular was a closed book, and geometry and algebra sometimes hurt so much that he seemed able to feel the cracks in his brain across which the connections couldn’t leap, and that gave him a pain in his toes, of all places, and made him worry about being dependent on such a complicated system of life-support as the human body. Had been as high as third, usually about fourteenth now.

Physics. It certainly wasn’t as bad as Chemistry. Henry had difficulty in remembering the difference between Torricelli’s experiment and Pascal’s experiment, between Boyle’s Law and Charles’s Law. He tended to make silly jokes about this subject. ‘I’m dense about density and relatively dense about relative density.’ ‘I’ll tell you about good and bad conductors. What? Oh yes. There was this tram…’ or ‘The only magnetic pole I knew was Stefan Prziborski.’ Partly this was due to a natural element of facetiousness in his personality, partly to his ambition to be a stand-up comic, but that alone would not explain why this eruption occurred so much more in Physics than in other subjects. The truth of the matter was that the nature of matter didn’t matter to Henry. More, he felt that he couldn’t function in the physical world
unless
he took it for granted. It was hard enough wielding a cricket bat without knowing about its molecular structure. He usually came about thirteenth in Physics.

Scripture. This subject was not considered important at Dalton College. He sat quietly and caused no trouble.

Henry’s progress would have seemed very disappointing to Miss Candy, but it seemed good enough to him. He had no idea that anybody had ever had any special hopes for him.

In March, 1950, two events occurred, one of which showed Henry in a very negative light, the other in a much more positive light.

He was shown in a negative light during the general election. Shant held a mock election, with political meetings in Shant Shed. Henry went to the meeting of the Labour candidate, E. J. G. Holmes-Hankinson, of Stuart House. It was sparsely attended.
Only
about fifty boys sat in the huge, tiered, semi-circular hall.

‘In 1945,’ said E. J. G. Holmes-Hankinson, ‘this nation voted for a government of the people.’

‘My father didn’t,’ shouted somebody.

‘The people of Britain had fought together, as one nation, to win the war. Every man and woman, however humble, played their part.’

‘My father didn’t,’ shouted another boy, and there was laughter.

‘Now, they wanted a part to play in the peace that followed. Was that too much to ask?’ said E. J. G. Holmes-Hankinson.

There were several cries of ‘yes’, and more laughter.

‘The British people can no longer be cast off like old socks, when they’ve been used up,’ said E. J. G. Holmes-Hankinson.

‘Pity,’ came a cry.

There were cries of ‘S’sssh!’ at this.

‘They have rights,’ said E. J. G. Holmes-Hankinson. ‘They have proper unemployment pay and health insurance. They have the finest health service in the world, given by the Labour government. It will last for ever.’

Henry found it difficult to concentrate. E. J. G. Holmes-Hankinson’s words about the achievements of nationalisation passed over him. He was imagining himself up on that stage, holding the school in thrall with his comical capers.

‘Groundnuts,’ shouted somebody.

‘Do you think a government which has achieved so much, in such difficult times, should be pilloried for one mistake?’ said E. J. G. Holmes-Hankinson.

There were cries of ‘yes’ and more cries of ‘groundnuts’.

‘Over a million homes have been built.’

‘On our land.’

‘Would you deny people the right to live? The Labour government has been forced to apply rationing and severe austerity longer than it would have wished to. Is that its fault? The nation was bankrupted by war. How could it recover overnight? Labour has sown the seeds for…’

‘. .more groundnuts.’

‘. .a gradual return to prosperity. The Labour government has
been
criticised for allowing the breach with Russia to grow so wide. Did Labour invent the Cold War? It had been made inevitable before we came to power. The Labour government has behaved responsibly, moderately, some would say conservatively. It has expelled communists. It has begun the painful, but inevitable, process of decolonisation.’

There were roars of anger, and more cries of ‘groundnuts’.

‘Yes. Inevitable,’ said E. J. G. Holmes-Hankinson. ‘All you can find to say is “groundnuts”. That proves how good the government’s record is.’

A bag of flour exploded over E. J. G. Holmes-Hankinson.

‘You fear the Labour government,’ said E. J. G. Holmes-Hankinson, his hair streaked with flour, his shoulders white. ‘Why? You’re still here, aren’t you?’

A few boys cheered and applauded E. J. G. Holmes-Hankinson. Others jeered. Henry remained silent. He simply didn’t know enough to do otherwise.

At Westminster, Labour were returned to power, with a majority of six. At Dalton College, E. J. G. Holmes-Hankinson got eight votes. The Liberals got nine. The Conservatives got 657.

The event which saw Henry in a more positive light occurred two days before the end of term. He knocked on Lampo and Tosser’s door, received no reply, and entered, to find Lampo rehearsing a mime.

‘I didn’t say “come in”,’ said Lampo.

‘You didn’t say “stay out”,’ said Henry.

‘I couldn’t say anything,’ said Lampo. ‘Mime is silent. In future, wait till you’re told.’

‘You like me to clean your study when you’re out,’ said Henry. ‘If you’re out, you can’t say “come in” so if I have to wait for you to say “come in” I can never clean your study while you’re out.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Lampo. ‘I was upset at being interrupted.’

‘What were you doing?’

‘I’m appearing in the end of summer term concert. I’m doing a satirical mime about Sir Stafford Cripps in Hell. I’m calling it “Austerity in the Underworld”. It’s a satire on the mean spirit of
post
-war Britain. It’s going to be
a
sensation. A sensation. Tosser’s appearing too.’ Lampo Davey sighed. ‘A ballet skit done by the rugger fifteen. I ask you, Henry. What is that but the hoary old anti-art gag in new clothes? I am trying to do something avant-garde. Tosser is about as avant-garde as a mangle.’

‘My auntie had a mangle,’ said Henry. ‘I won’t say she was ugly, but I talked to it for five minutes before I realised it wasn’t her.’

Lampo Davey stared at him in astonishment.

‘What?’ he said.

‘I’m practising for my act,’ said Henry.

‘What act?’ said Lampo Davey.

‘My act in the end of summer term concert,’ said Henry.

Lampo Davey gawped at him. Henry would have gawped at himself, had it been physically possible.

He spent the Easter holidays researching for his act. Twice, he went to the first house at the Sheffield Empire. He went on the Tuesday. That way he could buy the
Star
and read the review of what he was going to see, and build up his anticipation.

To his astonishment, Uncle Teddy and Auntie Doris came with him. He would have preferred to be on his own, for professional reasons, but he couldn’t say this. They had taken his January strictures to heart.

On April 4th, he saw the Five Smith Brothers, who sang with lots of energy. Second on the bill was Robb Wilton, a hero of his. He was upset because Robb Wilton wasn’t top of the bill. Uncle Teddy explained that he was on the way down. Others on the bill were Kay ‘On the Keys’ Cavendish, Tony Fayne and David Evans, with amusing impressions of BBC performers, and Donald B. Stuart, more comic than conjuror.