The Shadow of War, Jack Murray [story books for 5 year olds TXT] 📗

age territory between forty and eighty. Althoughchild years seem longer, it was as if she had been around forever. She was justover five feet tall. What she lacked in height she more than compensated for inmeanness of spirit, violence of temper and a left jab that would have had Jack‘Kid’ Berg’s corner reaching for the towel.

Shewas kinder towards the girls in the class, humane even. Perhaps it was out ofsympathy for the fact that many would marry the boys sitting, bovine-bored, withthem. This was their misfortune, she concluded. Consequently, Mrs Grout viewedher job as to knock, quite literally, sense and respect into the rebellious youngmales that ended up in her classroom year after year with the depressingregularity of winter rain.

Thethree boys sat at the back of the classroom. Another two years and their schoolcareer would be over. None of them could wait. They had long since lostinterest in anything Mrs Grout had to communicate. This process began with therealisation that what they learned at school barely impacted what they would berequired to do on the farms.

Theyeach sat at long wooden desks with inkwells. Pens scratched messily on paper. Surroundingthem were walls covered in artwork and even a map of the world. The artworkcould, kindly, have been described as modern although Mrs Grout in thetwenty-five years she had taught in this classroom, had yet to uncover anyonewith a modicum of talent. Often the only noise in the classroom, for hours onend, was the sound of pens crunching through cheap paper, suppressed mirth andregular yelps from a casualty in the ongoing war between Mrs Grout and theboys.

Theterror rained down by the fiendish lady was extraordinary. Slightly built, shecould easily have been picked up and thrown through the classroom window by anyof the bigger boys. All of them towered over her. Such was her boilingintensity, however, no boy in living memory had ever challenged her authority.In fact, it was inconceivable. Rebellion took the form of internecine warfarewhen her back was turned and, of course, truancy.

Inbetween bursts of truancy and clips round the ear, the three boys had, somehow,learned how to read and write. Mrs Grout had treated their teaching rather inthe manner of a dog handler training a puppy. Reward came in the form of food,or denial thereof. Punishment was delivered quickly, painfully and with afrequency that suggested Mrs Grout had a natural proclivity towards sadism.

Onlyone boy was excused from this guerrilla warfare. Harold Goodnight was the sonof a farmer, although something of the runt of the litter. He had two olderbrothers, both working on the farm. Strapping lads they were.

Haroldwas puny but smart. Very smart. Oddly, Danny quite liked him and defended thepoor boy on occasion. In return, Harold offered to help Danny and his friendswith the occasional homework. Part of this sympathy was due to the fact thatHarold was often picked on by the rival gang to Danny’s. It was comprised threeboys. All were thirteen; all were bound for farms within a year. One of themwas the biggest boy in the year, Bert Gissing’s brother, Hugh.

Likehis Bert, Hugh was big, probably smarter than his brother, but sorely lacked a sense of humour, at least in Danny’sview. The three boys had an ongoing war with Danny and his friends that hadlasted as long as they could remember. The cause of the conflict was lostsomewhere in mists of time. No armistice hadever been offered. The war of attrition would go on.

Therethey sat, impervious to authority, six elder boys, occupying territory ateither side of the class. In front, were the pupils who were either younger, orhad some desire to learn. And of course, there were the village girls. The boyshad ignored them over the years but now things were changing. It added a freshdimension to the war with Hugh, Fred and Greg. Soon the males would be fightingover the females. It was the way of the world, wasn’t it? The only thing worthfighting for, said Bob.

Theclass went on interminably. Outside the clouds were funeral-dark. Maybe it wasas well they’d gone to school. The sky finally released its weight and rainrattled against the window like a machine gun. Danny shivered involuntarily. Itfelt like an omen.

-

Afterschool, Danny ambled back home in a break from the rain. His mum was manningthe kitchen like a sentry facing German trenches. She barely noticed Danny’sarrival, or indeed, his exit again clutching ahandful of bread. The wireless was on in the background. She was listening to thenews. Her face seemed grave. Danny, as a rule, ignored the radio unless it wasplaying music. He walked a few yards to the forge to see if anything was needed.Although he would not admit as much, he was desperate to help out.

‘AnythingI can do?’ offered Danny to his eldest brother

‘Disappear?’suggested Tom before his face erupted into a massive grin.

‘Funny,’responded Danny. He walked forward and watched Tom take a hammer and beat thehell out of a luckless piece of iron.

‘Whatdid it do to you?’ asked Danny turning and walking out again. He saw his fatherarriving through the gate. His face looked troubled, but then, it always did.He looked down at Danny.

‘Wereyou at school, boy? Don’t lie.’

‘Yes.’

Hisfather nodded and strode forward into the forge. He took off his hat, moppedhis brow and looked over Tom’s shoulder.

Dannyglanced at the two of them and then headed out the garden gate. He didn’tbegrudge Tom not wanting him around. He knew he wasn’t ready yet. They’d bringhim in when he was needed. The sky seemed to have cleared but it was gettingdark. He wondered about heading down to the brook but decided against it. Heturned and saw his mother walk out to the forge and motion for his father tojoin her. The two of them walked into the house.

Somethingwas up.

Nevermind, he thought, I’ll hear about it soon enough. He walked towards thevillage. There was a high street of sorts comprising a shop, a bakery and apost office. Further ahead was St Bartholomew’s. Little Gloston was not, andnever would be, a metropolis.

Alongthe way he passed a couple of younger girls from his