Brother Sebastian left with the senior rugby teams, the First and Second XV, for a tour of boys’ boarding schools in country New South Wales. They were playing for the Macquarie Shield, which Brother Sebastian vowed to bring back to St Bart’s and hang in the Great Hall. We formed a guard of honour along both sides of the main school driveway, cheering them on their way. As I waved goodbye to Brother Sebastian, I wondered who’d be replacing him as junior dorm master for the next two weeks.
I was running again – not away from St Bart’s just yet – but on the athletics track. With the plaster on my right arm long gone, I could swing it as good as my left, and I felt free as a bird. I was the ‘most improved’ at athletics training two weeks in a row: first in the Under 13s fifty-yard sprint, and first in the hundred yards. My wins scored me a place on the junior relay team for my house, Mawson, named after Douglas Mawson, the Antarctic explorer. The Athletics Carnival would be on soon, and if I won my races, I’d be representing St Bart’s at the big interschool athletics carnival in July. I didn’t own a pair of spikes – I prefer to run barefoot – it suits my style.
That day was a good one, better than most: sending off the rugby teams, winning all my races at athletics training and roast lamb, a rare treat, for dinner. Not as good as Mum’s, but it still tasted great. I had no kitchen duty and no homework except for reading Great Expectations for English.
After supper, it was time for bed. Kneeling down to say my prayers, I looked at Mac and Teddy’s empty beds and felt very alone. I prayed to God that my mates would come back soon. ‘In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, Amen.’ Then I jumped into bed.
‘Lights out in one minute.’ The voice was unmistakable. Of all the Brothers at St Bart’s they could’ve chosen, they had to pick him!
When Brother Felix came and sat on my bed, I was alarmed but not scared. ‘Your suspension finishes at midnight tonight,’ he said. ‘I expect you to be at altar practice tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He squeezed my shoulder. ‘You’ve always been my favourite, Joe.’ I couldn’t believe that Brother Felix had actually called me ‘Joe’ and that I was his favourite! ‘I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want the other boys to be envious. As you know, envy is one of the seven deadly sins.’
When he got up and turned off the lights, I couldn’t see him anymore. Then I heard footsteps and felt someone sit on my bed.
‘Shhh,’ he said softly, as he stroked my face.
I couldn’t believe that Brother Felix was actually stroking my face! I felt him put his other hand under the bed covers. His fingers were near my belly button. For a split second, I felt him touch me where he shouldn’t.
Something snapped. I punched him in the face with all my might. We both cried out in pain. I shook my hand – it was killing me. I rubbed my eyes with my other hand – there was something warm and sticky on my face. When one of the boys turned on the lights, I saw blood everywhere.
‘You little bastard, I think you’ve broken my nose!’ Brother Felix held a handkerchief to his nose and then hurried out of the dorm. Everyone clapped and cheered. I was shaking. If Brother Felix could’ve seen me through all the blood that was on his face, I think he would have throttled me.
Brother Damian, the senior boarding master, ran in and dragged me out of bed. ‘Come with me to the office. Back to sleep, the rest of you.’
When I told Monsignor Reynolds and Brother Damian what had happened, they wouldn’t believe me. The Monsignor said I was telling lies to get out of trouble and that if I didn’t repent my sins and change my evil ways, I’d go to hell. I felt like I was already there.
‘I could contact the police and have you charged with assault,’ he explained, ‘but that is not the way we address problems like yourself at St Bartholomew’s. If word gets out, respectable parents might start taking their boys out of the school. The reputation of this college is paramount.’
For breaking Brother Felix’s nose and telling ‘defamatory lies’ about him, I was put into one of the isolation rooms where ‘in solitude, you can reflect on your hideous deeds and pray to God for forgiveness.’ I kicked the walls of the isolation room and pulled my bed apart, shouting out every swear word that I knew. The room was the size of a confessional or large dunny, with a small window at the top that was too high to reach, even when I stood on the upturned bed.
As soon as my parents could be contacted and arrangements made, I was being sent to St Mary’s Farm School, a reformatory on the south coast run by some nuns. I hoped and prayed that Mum and Dad would refuse to go along with their plan and that I could go home.
For three nights, I was kept in the isolation room under the watchful eye of Brother Damian, who brought me breakfast, lunch and dinner on a tray. I was only allowed out to go to the dunny, and so was forbidden to take part in any school activities, which, he told me, included the Liturgy on the last day of term as well as the long-table dinner hosted by the senior boys for staff, parents (except mine) and special guests. I think he expected me to be upset or, at the very least, disappointed about what I was missing out on. He hasn’t got a clue! I thought. But when he told me that my parents had agreed to the reformatory and that I wouldn’t even be going home for the holidays, I flew into a rage, kicking the walls and pulling my bed apart again. I managed to break the window with a broken bed leg, and when the glass fell on my head, I swore like a trooper. The threat of hell and damnation had no effect on my rage.
Monsignor Reynolds had to make another home visit because as far as he knew Mum and Dad didn’t have a telephone. One of Dad’s mates had installed an illegal line for us so that some of the punters could call their bets in. Dad had bought the telephone cheap from another mate at the pub. We have an unlisted number that only a select group of people know about.
Brother Damian was smirking when he told me that St Mary’s was at the foot of a mountain, ten miles to the nearest railway station. ‘Running away won’t be possible. Through manual labour, prayer and sacrifice, you will learn humility, respect and responsibility.’
I spent my last night at St Bart’s with Brother Damian’s words and crooked, yellow teeth going around and around in my head.