Rhattigan - Boy Number 26

This book first published by Mirror Books in 2019

Mirror Books is part of Reach plc
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London E14 5AP
England

www.mirrorbooks.co.uk

Tommy Rhattigan

The rights of Tommy Rhattigan to be identified as the author
of this book have been asserted, in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

ISBN 978-1-912624-17-1

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a
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Every effort has been made to fulfil requirements with regard to
reproducing copyright material. The author and publisher will be
glad to rectify any omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Names and personal details have been changed

WARNING: this book contains graphic descriptions of sexual abuse.

For my beautiful wife and family for the love,
care and understanding.
Thank you. x

Oh Happy Day

The playground of St Vincents Approved School in Formby near Liverpool is lit by a bright, early-morning sun. Its 1966 and I am 10 years old. Im not alone, though I wish I was. I am in the company of 47 other young boys aged between eight and 14, many of whom are in floods of tears. I, on the other hand, feel very happy. The unexpected news weve just heard from Sister Ignatius came as a pleasant surprise to me and the dozen or so boys who are not crying. And I am truly baffled as to how the events unfolding on this autumn morning could possibly have anything to do with the outpourings of grief I am witnessing from this bunch of wailing idiots.

Any stranger happening by could be forgiven for assuming we are mourning the passing of a dearly departed friend, or that an outbreak of mass hysteria has suddenly swept over the whole show. But though its true I only have a handful of friends (none of whom are dear to me) I dont think Ive missed anyone suddenly departing from St Vincents Approved School, unless you count Sean Murphy, who did a bunk a few days back and hasnt returned yet.

The cause of the mass hysteria was a surprise announcement made moments earlier by Sister Ignatius, Mother Superior of the Order of the Sisters of Mercy, and batterer of little childrens arses.

She was standing on the portable wooden rostrum, used for outdoor prayers, looking down upon us like a saggy, red-necked vulture on the hunt for dead meat. And as the rostrum groaned under the weight of the hippo-sized nun, I muttered a silent prayer to Jesus, asking him to make the whole thing collapse. But, as usual, Jesus wasnt listening to me, and the rostrum creaking under its burden held fast. Quiet, children! barked Sister Ignatius in her thick Irish accent. We had no idea what she was going to say next, but we knew it was big news.

For the past few days, a rumour had been going round the school that an important announcement was on the cards. And along with the rumour came the usual gossip: Mr Guinness, the schools 69-year-old storeman, was having an affair with 75-year-old cleaner Mrs Cuthbert, and both were going to be sacked; Sister Jennifer was up the duff and had been excommunicated from the church; Mr Sands, the schools 80-year-old shoe repairer, had really died this time. Thered been many false alarms about Mr Sands abrupt end, which were understandable given how he would suddenly drop off to sleep at any given moment midway through hammering a nail into the heel of a shoe, for example, or just as hed taken Holy Communion at Mass. The fact we hadnt seen him around for a few days added credence to the story, making it the likeliest of all the rumours.

But, as usual, wed all been wrong. The bombshell delivered by Sister Ignatius had been much better than that. It saddens me ta have ta pass on this news ta yah all, she began. With the exception of the domestic staff, wholl be retained at the school, The Sisters of Mercy will be leaving St Vincents, with immediate effect.

With immediate effect! That meant now! Today! Yippee! Id been unable to contain my emotions and was clapping like a sea lion in a circus, making my hands sting. But the pain was worth it, knowing she and her coven of witches were leaving St Vincents. Today! For good! Forever! Theyd already packed their bags and broomsticks and were on their way.

Hip-hip-hurray! I shouted as I clapped and danced a jig. And some of the boys followed my lead, cheering on the good news, whilst most of the others wailed like hysterical children abandoned by their mothers.

Yah can stop all that, snapped Sister Monica, giving me a clip around the ear. Dont be so disrespectful to the Holy Mother.

But Im not being disrespectful to the Holy Mother, Sister Monica. Its great news, isnt it?

She responded by giving me another stinging clout around the same ear. But I didnt care, I was overjoyed. This was the most welcome news I could ever have dared to dream of. For nearly one whole year, Id had to put up with these distant, frocked shadows, floating like ghosts in and out of our everyday lives. And I couldnt wait to see the back of them.

As for the Mother Superior, I could have sworn she was a man. In fact, all the boys had been taking bets on who would be the first to expose her dark secret. Wed stand at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the dormitories, peering upwards as she walked up or down them. Or wed accidentally trip over ourselves in front of her or pretend to faint, just to get a quick peek up her flowing black habit. But besides seeing her long, hairy legs, whatever secrets shed had hidden further up remained a secret between herself and the Devil.

This, continued Sister Ignatius, is Mr Lilly. Your new headmaster. As she casually dropped her second bombshell, the Mother Superior gestured towards a short, plump man, one of a group of unfamiliar faces wed seen earlier on. He was dressed in a three-piece tweed suit and had a chequered trilby with a few small, coloured feathers poking up from the ribbon trim sitting snugly on his large head. Standing with his hands clasped tightly behind his back and his chest puffed out, military style, the new headmaster peered at us dispassionately through the small, gold-rimmed spectacles resting on the end of his nose. Above his smug, thick lips sprouted a Hitler-style stubble of hair.

Mr Lilly originates from Austria and speaks fluent German, said Sister Ignatius. He is also a member of the Round Table and the Magic Circle. No mention of the Nazi Party. So, come now children! Let us show our appreciation for your new headmaster! She clapped her huge hands together, as did the few of us who were not crying. The other nuns clapped extra loudly, attempting to make a good show above the hysterical sobbing. I didnt understand the tears. As far as I was concerned, any change at St Vincents was a change for the better.

With 48 delinquents from all walks of life and every corner of Great Britain forced to live together under the same roof, it was inevitable that rivalry, antagonism, hatred, sodomy and, on the odd occasion, outright war would play an integral part in our daily lives at St Vincents Approved School. We were, at worst, appallingly heartless and cruel to one another, and at best, just able to tolerate one another.

By the time the nuns announced their departure, I had endured 11 months there. Every day was a trial as we battled for the higher ground, constantly jockeying for a better position in the pecking order of acceptability amongst our own peers. By higher ground I dont mean the moral high ground we didnt have any morals.