New School and Love

Back from another overseas posting.
Usual organised mayhem, and we arrive.
No Married Quarters available and so we stay at Granny and Grandad’s two up and down with outside loo.
We five double the occupancy.
And the local council puts us kids into a school.
Any school.
And not together.
They object to their obligation to service families and it is us kids that suffer.
The Voice refuses to separate my sisters aged six and eight.
Just back from Kenya and they know nobody.
The powers that be cave and they go to the same school.
And I to mine.
I am ten, deeply tanned and starting school halfway through term on a Thursday afternoon in Bawtry.
I have my first beating that afternoon.
New boy.
Friday and I see her.
Pretty, confident and surrounded by friends.
I am on my own.
An outsider.
Wrong accent.
Wrong everything.
And another beating, but Hagan taught me well.
And one boy has to go to Matron.
I see nothing but her.
Unbelievable.
She has looked at me, said hello and smiled.
Her look makes me smile and my lip starts bleeding again.
Lunchtime queue.
School dinners.
After two years of sandwich lunches , I cannot wait.
An arm brushes mine.
And a gentle hand just folds into mine.
And I cannot help the grin from within.
And my lip bleeds again.
But she is holding my hand.