Spud Read online

  Back in the dormitory the realization was beginning to set in that we could be seeing Rambo and Mad Dog for the last time ever. It all seemed such a waste. A huge drama about nothing! Mad Dog was actually crying a bit and said I should visit him on his farm in the holidays. Rambo put on a brave face and said he didn’t give a shit anyway and that this school was no place for born leaders and lateral thinkers.

  I packed my Walkman and wallet into my bag. Eventually the time came and we all shook hands. Rambo said that he hoped that we would find out who had betrayed us and why. Fatty said he was already onto it. As I shook Rambo’s hand he squeezed my shoulder and said, ‘You know what? Now I’m glad you wrote it all down in your diary – because then one day maybe people will know what we did.’ Then Mad Dog seized me by the shoulders and said, ‘And you’d better make sure you write how amazing the Mad House was – I don’t want people thinking it was just a kiddies’ tree house or something.’ I said, ‘Don’t worry, Mad Dog, they’ll know it was a mansion.’

  We watched Rambo and Mad Dog carrying their trunks across the quad and out through the archway. Suddenly Mad Dog charged back into the quad and rugby tackled a fleeing Darryl. He picked up the screaming first year by the collar and threw him head first into the fountain. Mad Dog turned to us, barked loudly and then sprinted across the grass and out the archway.

  The Crazy Eight has gone forever.

  Sunday 29th September

  I’m back.

  In all the rush and confusion of my suspension I stupidly left my diary back at school. I’ve been praying every day that it’s in my classroom locker and not up in the dormitory where it could have been found by Pike, photostatted and shown to the world. I also had regular nightmares of Sparerib smashing open my locker with the handle of his squash racket and reading his report cards that I’d written about him. My hands trembled quite badly as I turned the combination lock backwards and forwards and then backwards again. The locker door popped open and there lay the most beautiful thing in the world. My shiny red diary. I checked if anyone was watching and then danced a jig and screamed silently with relief. (Unfortunately, for some unknown reason I’d also left an apple in my locker which was now badly decomposed and covered in two weeks’ worth of fruit flies.) I read back over my last few entries before I was suspended but then started depressing myself so I stopped and turned over to a clean new page.

  Mental Note: Whenever in doubt, just turn straight over to a clean page.

  21 DAYS OF HELL (NO-LIGHTS PACKAGE)

  My twenty-one days at home was no picnic. In fact it was more like a Nazi concentration camp with my mother shouting orders and blasting me for the slightest thing I did wrong. She even banned me from seeing the Mermaid. (Foolishly, she didn’t ban my afternoon bike rides – so Mermaid and I met up every Wednesday and Sunday for twenty minutes in the park near her house.)

  Worse news is that I still haven’t kissed the Mermaid! It’s now become so normal not to kiss her that it would be weird if I did. Last week I plucked up the courage to hold her hand but Mermaid giggled, squeezed my hand and then let it go. She says I’m the best friend she’s ever had while I get more desperate and pathetic every time I see her. I’m too scared to ask her if she still wants to be my girlfriend in case she gives me savage bat again.

  I’ve never seen the folks so angry as the day they picked me up. Dad wasn’t really that mad – he was just pretending to be angry because Mom had obviously told him to be angry. I could tell by the way his eyes kept darting across to Mom after he’d finished every line of his long lecture on bad behaviour. Mom on the other hand was truly livid and remained truly livid for twenty-one days. She seemed to take the whole thing very personally and snapped at anyone who crossed her path. Things got even worse when Mom blamed Dad for my ‘drinking problem’ and then banned alcohol from the house during weekdays. This meant that Dad stayed out in the garden watering his roses until nine o’clock every night. On the weekends the folks got snot-flying drunk and had nasty fights about who was to blame for my irresponsible behaviour.

  Wombat advised Mom to send me to Boys’ Town and said I was practically a criminal. She stared at me like I was a lowlife scum and said, ‘He’s definitely looking more like his father by the day.’ She then asked Mom if it was too late to give me up for adoption. Mom gave it some thought and then said it would be too complicated. Wombat looked at me full of distaste and said, ‘I suppose you’re right. I mean, who’s going to take him anyway. He’d be like Oliver!’ Wombat’s the kind of granny who kicks you when you’re down and praises you when you’re up. I now understand why Dad has repeatedly tried to kill her.

  Mental Note: Beware the Wombat who kicks you when you’re down.

  On the plus side I did manage to get through piles of work. In fact I think I might well be far ahead in most subjects.

  The Guv called me every three days or so to chat and find out how I was doing. He told me not to feel too bad about things because one day I’d be remembered as a hell raiser. I’d always thank him for his advice and he’d say something like, ‘Advice is free, Milton. It’s just sex one has to pay for!’ The problem is that when it comes to The Guv, it’s very hard to separate the genius from the ridiculous. This gets even more difficult when he’s been drinking. He ended the last call on Friday by shouting, ‘Rather be a McEnroe than a Lendl!’ He then slammed the phone down but obviously missed the cradle because I heard a screech and a shout and then a door slam.

  Monday 30th September

  Not much has been said about the whole Mad House debacle. Boggo says he spoke to Rambo in the holidays and apparently Rambo’s dad has set his lawyers on the case because he plans on suing Sparerib. With only five of us in the dormitory everything feels weird and a bit boring.

  Sparerib called us into his office after lunch and told us this was our last chance to make a fresh start. He said we needed to prove to ourselves and to him that the school’s good faith in us is justified. (Glad he thinks suspensions, expulsions and brutal beatings are showing good faith.)

  We were attacked in the night by intruders who set on us with pillows and laundry bags stuffed with shoes and books. By the time I woke up I was surrounded by attackers and the only thing I could do was cover my head and take a pounding. Fatty managed to break away from our attackers and switch on the lights. The poundings thankfully stopped as the attackers backed off. The five remaining members of the Crazy Eight staggered to their feet and looked on in horror as the gloating victors marched triumphantly out of our dormitory and straight into the first year dorm. We had just been thrashed senseless by the Sad Six!

  Our humiliation is complete.

  Wednesday 2nd October

  Pike came over to gloat at roll call. He and Devries have now christened us the Faggoty Five. Even Darryl and Runt were laughing at us without showing any fear.

  Fatty made a bid to take control of the dormitory. After prep he moved his stuff into Rambo’s cubicle and took over Rambo’s old bed. He tried to christen us the Fatty Five but Boggo refused and argued that this excluded Roger who was still a member. Boggo then suggested our new name should be ‘Boggo’s Boys’. We all laughed and Simon said it sounded like a gay porno movie. Simon then tried to show his power by ordering Vern to shine his cricket boots but Rain Man gave him the middle finger and marched off to the bogs with Roger trailing along behind.

  Thursday 3rd October

  We all gathered in the tiny telephone room while Boggo phoned Rambo to ask for guidance. When Rambo heard about us being beaten up by the Sad Six he didn’t laugh like we thought he would. In fact he started screaming at Boggo and calling us all a bunch of fags and a disgrace to the Crazy Eight. Rambo ordered Fatty and Boggo to seize joint control of the dormitory and immediately take revenge on the Sad Six. He then said something strange. He told Boggo to tell the rest of us to answer truthfully should anyone ask us about Eve. Not sure what’s going on but Rambo’s definitely up to something.

  Mad Dog called
five minutes later and abused us for being dominated by the Sad Six. He reckons he’s missing school except for work, chapel, prep and Sparerib. He then said he wanted to speak to Runt. I found Runt hanging around the urinal and dragged him into the phone room and handed him the receiver. Within thirty seconds Runt was crying and saying, ‘Please don’t, Mad Dog, please don’t!’

  It’s amazing that Mad Dog can terrify first years from a thousand kilometres away. It’s also a bit embarrassing that we can’t do it ourselves.

  Boggo and Fatty psyched us up for a vicious return attack on the Sad Six. Fatty explained the whole thing through, but unfortunately Vern didn’t realize that it was just a rehearsal and charged into the first year dormitory screaming like a madman. When he realized nobody was behind him he stopped dead and his hand shot onto his head. He then screamed loudly and galloped back into our dormitory, dived onto his bed and pulled the duvet over his head. Fatty and Boggo agreed that the element of surprise was gone and we’d have to save the brutal attack on the Sad Six for next term.

  Friday 4th October

  After breakfast Simon was hauled into The Glock’s office. He came out ten minutes later and said that The Glock wanted to see me. My internal organs did a 360 and my leg started shaking again. I didn’t have a clue what I had done wrong this time but my brain had clearly decided that this was the end for me.

  The Glock has now hung the wildebeest head on his office wall. I bet he tells parents he shot it himself. It would definitely sound better than saying that he’d expelled the hunter who killed it and then stole his trophy!

  Thank God I wasn’t in trouble.

  In fact it turns out that Sparerib could be in trouble.

  THE GLOCK’S QUESTIONS

  Do you feel that Mr Wilson victimized Rambo?

  Has Mr Wilson ever encouraged you to incriminate Rambo unjustly?

  Do you believe Rambo was unfairly placed on final warning?

  Did Rambo have a non-platonic relationship with Mrs Wilson?

  Would you be willing to swear to this before God in a court of law?

  I said Yes five times.

  Then I told The Glock that Gecko had caught Rambo and Eve last year having sex in the cricket pavilion. The Glock went blood red and his eyes bulged. He mopped his brow with a white handkerchief and said, ‘Well, in that case, er… send in Gecko immediately.’ I reminded the bumbling psychopath that Gecko was dead. The Glock didn’t seem too fazed and said, ‘Oh, all right, well, send in Blackadder. He’s still alive, is he?’ I nodded and went off to find Vern.

  Vern refused to speak to The Glock and climbed into his trunk and pulled the lid down over his head. We tried to persuade him to come out but he was convinced The Glock was going to cane him again. I was getting a bit desperate because no doubt The Glock was fuming in his office and tapping his watch and perhaps even looking around for his big cane. Eventually, with the help of Fatty and Boggo, we carried Vern and his trunk down the stairs and all the way to The Glock’s study. We left Vern in his trunk outside the door in the passageway and told The Glock’s secretary to tell him that Vern Blackadder was waiting for him outside his office but inside an army trunk.

  Mom phoned for a Milton catch-up. Thankfully, I think she feels that her point has been well and truly made and apart from the odd sniping comment it looks like she’s forgiven me for bringing shame on the family. Much to my father’s relief the booze ban at home has been lifted and Mom even allowed Dad to book us a three-night holiday in the game reserve so that we can all unwind after what she said had been ‘a traumatic month’.

  Sunday 6th October (one month since the big bust)

  MILTONS’ UMFOLOZI GAME RESERVE ADVENTURE

  09:00 Milton departure.

  09:25 Dad did a dangerous U-turn on the freeway near Umhlanga Rocks because he’d forgotten the meat in the freezer. He blamed Mom for not reminding him.

  10:00 Just as well we returned home because Dad had also left his bird books, torch, cheque book, potjie pot, penknife, map of Zululand and the Peaceful Sleep behind.

  10:20 Dad led a loud chorus of We All Live in a Yellow Submarine as we roared down Broadway and veered onto the freeway. Unfortunately, none of us knew anymore than the first line so after repeating it about five times the sing-song ran out of steam and Dad turned on the A programme on the radio instead.

  13:30 Dad shat all over the security guard at the Umfolozi gate because the road from Mtubatuba was full of potholes (most of which Dad succeeded in hitting). The security guard didn’t really seem to know what was cracking and kept saying, ‘Okay, okay’ and then ‘All right, all right.’ Eventually, Dad gave up and returned to the car in a sulk.

  13:40 Before driving into the reserve my father gave us a long lecture about how we were now entering the animals’ world and that the only things we should leave behind were our footprints.

  13:45 Our first animal sighting was a large troop of baboons sitting in the middle of the road. Dad got so excited that he wound down the window and made loud baboon noises to try and get the apes to do something interesting. The baboons didn’t look very impressed and carried on with their daily chores of looking for ticks and sleeping on the road. Dad threw a handful of peanuts out the window to try and encourage some funny baboon action – they ignored Dad and his peanuts. I asked Dad if calling, feeding and scaring baboons was not against the rules. He snapped back, ‘Oh, so now you’re an authority on rules, hey?’ I sat back in my seat, stared out the window and said nothing.

  We arrived at Mpila camp which is stationed on top of a steep hill. Dad says that if the blacks come to power the first thing they’ll do is destoy the game reserves, kill all the game, and turn the place into Ethiopia. He crunched his empty beer can on his forehead and told us to enjoy the natural beauty while it’s still around. He then spotted a crow sitting on a dead branch and shot it with an imaginary gun.

  We took an afternoon drive around the Sontuli loop. According to my father the Sontuli loop is the best game viewing section in the world. The loop runs along the Black Umfolozi River and Dad kept showing us where the great floods of ’87 had reached up to. We didn’t see any predators – unless you count a sleeping leguaan.

  ANIMALS SPOTTED BY MILTONS

  Impala

  Nyala

  Kudu (a male with huge horns, which Dad also shot with his imaginary rifle)

  Wildebeest (made me think of Mad Dog and Rambo)

  White rhino

  Giraffe

  Baboons

  Monkeys (Mom had a giggling fit because of their bright blue balls)

  Leguaan (sleeping, maybe dead)

  Fish eagle

  Vulture

  Warthog

  Dad told us stories late into the night about his days growing up on the farm in Namibia. Most of them involved meetings with leopards, lynxes and deadly snakes. I sipped on my Coke, watched the fire and thought that it must have been cool to be growing up in the 1950s.

  Monday 7th October

  Still no predators. Dad stormed into the camp office and asked the game ranger where he was hiding his lions. The game ranger thought Dad was joking and grinned at us without answering. When we left the office Dad told me that Afrikaners are a very strange race of people, especially those with moustaches.

  The best spotting of the day was a huge owl sitting on a telephone wire in the camp.

  At last we saw a hyena. Unfortunately, it was charging into the bush with a roll of Milton boerewors in its mouth. Dad charged after the animal with a Castle Lager in one hand and his braai tongs in the other. He shouted ‘Voetsek!’ at the fleeing scavenger but it was too late and half our dinner was gone.

  Tuesday 8th October

  Still no big cats.

  Dad fed the camp warthog a slice of toast and the thing nearly took his finger off. Dad reckons the animals in the park are becoming angry because people aren’t sticking to the rules. He blamed the Frogs (French) and the Krauts (Germans).

  18:00 In a last di
tch effort to find a big cat we set off on a night drive with a truckload of Krauts and two Frogs. Unfortunately, the only cat we saw was a small spotted genet which, although very pretty, can’t really be considered Big Five material.

  Dad had to stop the night drive so that he could take a pee. The game guide wasn’t very impressed and made Dad stand in the middle of the road and instructed one of the Krauts holding the searchlight to keep it fixed on my father in case a lion attacked. Poor Dad then became very nervous and stood for ages in the middle of the road without anything happening. Eventually Dad let out a huge groan and had an exceedingly long and loud slash that left a mark on the road that looked suspiciously like the map of Africa.

  Wednesday 9th October

  Dad had us up at first light for one last shot at the Sontuli loop. After driving for about an hour something spotty caught my eye against the blur of green.

  When I pointed the leopard out to my parents all hell broke out. Dad cheered so loudly that the leopard fell out of the tree and disappeared into the bush. Dad then raced the station wagon along the dirt road with his head out the window. Suddenly there was a flash of spots and the leopard crossed the road in front of us in two leaps and disappeared into the thick bush on the other side. We waited another twenty minutes but the big cat was gone. Dad reckons that he definitely got an award winning photograph of it as it sprinted across the road.

  Dad was so proud about the leopard sighting that he had to stop every car on the way back to camp to tell them about it.

  For the first time in ages I was toasted at a Milton meal. Thanks to my sharp-eyed spotting my shares with the folks are back up to the old levels. I even sang The Final Countdown at full volume with the folks screaming along with me. It was the first time I’ve sung anything in months and my voice sounded deeper and didn’t knack-jump.

  Got home and ran a bath. I didn’t stop singing for half an hour. Spud Milton’s singing career soon to be back in business!