Date: Sat, 19 Aug 2023 13:40:42 +0000
From: Jonah
Subject: A Seat of Learning   Chapter 2

A Seat of Learning
by Jonah

More of the adventures of Simon and Garret and their boys.  This is a
loving story of good people.  It features men looking after boys but do not
expect to find any indecency here.  Only genuine love.  Not one of the
characters in this story is a real person or is, in any way, based on a
real person.  At least one character, however, is the creation of another
author.  I wish to thank Jacob Lion, in the USA, for his permission to use
his characters in my stories.

I hope you will enjoy this story, and I'm grateful to Nifty for enabling me
to bring it to you.  Nifty does not charge either me or you for doing so,
but it does cost money to do it.  Please consider donating to Nifty at
https://donate.nifty.org/ to help keep this site going.

Chapter 2

The rest of the day seemed to drag.  When you take on somebody else's
problems they weigh you down.  When you can't do anything about them
because they won't talk to you, they weigh you down doubly.

I had my own class all the rest of the day, first for arithmetic then for
geography.  The lessons were well prepared, if I say so myself but, in
addition to not relating to Lloyd and Philip excessively, I now had the
problem of not drawing attention to Barry.

I was glad when the final bell went and the class dispersed.

"Mr. Ito!"

"Yes Barry?"

"I can't find my essay book.  It's not in my desk."

"I've got it here Barry.  Do you want it?"

"I've got to do that story."

"You might not be able to.  Do it if you can but, if you can't, don't
worry."

He took the book from me and fled.

"Is Daddy doing dinner tonight?" Philip asked.

"Yes, thank God," I replied wearily.  I realised that I shouldn't be
dragging the boys' spirits down with my own.  "Yes he is, and I'm starving.
Come on."

Philip and Lloyd were out of the door in a flash - so was I but, in my
case, a much slower flash.

Simon's mini was already on the driveway when I parked my trusty 4 X 4.
The boys ran straight upstairs while I found my partner in the kitchen.

"Good day?" he asked.

"Don't ask," I replied.

"Beefsteak pie in the oven, to go with new potatoes cabbage and carrots.
I'm just going to do some gravy and it'll be ready.  Dessert is in the
fridge.  How does lemon meringue pie sound?"

"Pretty well silent," I replied, "unless you drop it on the floor."

It wasn't new and the response I got from Simon was heavily laboured
patience.

We dinnered (if Shakespeare can invent new words - so can I).  Dinner was
excellent and there was still enough daylight left for the boys to run
trains for an hour.  Both boys had already handed in their stories, which
were among the ones I marked.  I declined to discuss the stories with the
boys.  One of Jean's special rules for us was that schoolwork was to be
confined to school.  No giving my boys extra tuition.

Bedtime for boys was not long in coming and Simon had a glass of whisky
poured for each of us.

"This day, that I'm not supposed to ask about the goodness of....." he
began.

"Of which you are not supposed to ask about the goodness," I corrected.  "I
can't believe you're teaching English Language."

"Whatever!"

"I've got a boy who is so sick with worry that he can't concentrate and so
convinced that he can't share it with anyone that I'm worried he may harm
himself."

Simon leaned back in his chair, put down his whisky glass and looked at me
for a long moment over steepled fingers.

"And who have you shared it with?"

"You for a start," I replied, "but Annabel as well.  She was his previous
class teacher."

"Not Jean?"

"Not had a chance to yet, but I'm going to have to."

"And you've no inkling what the problem might be?"

"Have you heard of the Fundamental Apostolic Church?"

"Castle Rise," he replied.  "I've seen it on the way to work.  The
Rev. Esau G. Rathmore runs it and, as far as I can tell, invented it."

"That's the place, and the boy's parents attend there.  He most likely does
as well."

"Hmmm! That's the place where he'll learn that he's a sinner, and such a
bad one that God can't possibly love him and neither can his parents.
They'll eventually be told that they can't as well."

"What do I do now?"

"The obvious things.  Talk to Jean, for a start.  She needs to know and you
may need her if the parents gang up on you.  Keep an eye out for signs of
physical abuse and ask his PE teacher to do the same.  When does he next
have RE?"

"Tomorrow morning. "

"You might need to change your planned lesson.  He needs to be told that
there's a wideness in God's mercy.  No fundamentalist will tell him that.
He probably won't believe it if he's been taught otherwise but, if he's
been told he's beyond redemption, he might just begin to doubt it.  I
wonder which of God's supposed strictures he thinks he's infringed."

"I know the most usual one.  If it's that, he really will need all the
friends he can get."

"Yes, but that'll make him vulnerable as well.  Be careful.  Make sure Jean
knows everything that you're doing."

I drained my glass.

"Amen to that," I said as I headed bedwards.

I seemed to sleep only fitfully that night.  Simon always slept soundly,
and I clung to him a lot, but sleep didn't come easily to me.

Next morning the boys were in the playground nice and early.  It wasn't
their fault.  I had to be early to have a word with Jean so they had no
choice.

Jean, as always, listened with every ounce of sympathetic kindness that she
could muster.

"Simon's right," she said at last.  "It doesn't matter what he thinks he's
done, he is loved, and that trumps any amount of guilt, real or imagined.
You won't get him to believe that.  You know that, but it's no excuse for
not telling him."

"It's his parents' love that he needs to know is there," I pointed out.

"Oh, I dare say that's there as well, but it's getting buried by the
rubbish this so-called pastor is laying on them."

"So, what do we do?"

"Exactly what you're doing Garret.  The biggest thing any teacher can do
for his pupils is to care.  It's the reason you're sitting here now.  You
know the things you can do, and the things you can't.  You'll know what to
do when the time comes, and I'll be here to back you up."

I felt a little better as I left her office.  I continued to feel better
right up to registration when an absence of Barry wiped the smile off my
face.

"Has anybody seen Barry this morning?" I asked the class.  "It's not like
him to be missing."

As I said the words I realised how silly they sounded.  I shouldn't have
admitted to feeling a special concern for one of their number and the last
bit sounded as if I was saying that any child was allowed to go missing
except Barry.

There were plenty of muttered replies - all in the negative - as I should
have expected.

In the absence of a better idea, I pressed on with my planned RE lesson.
No point in changing it if Barry wasn't here.

At break-time I headed straight for the office.

Jean got the point immediately.

"I'll ask Bob Griffin to pop round and have a word with the parents," she
said.

Bob Griffin was the school welfare officer.  Attendance was one of his
concerns.

"Would it help if I went with him?" I asked.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," she replied, "since you already know
that, as a teacher, you're not allowed in any pupil's home unless invited
by the parents."

"Sorry.  Are you going to brief Bob on the situation before he goes?"

"No, Garret, I'm not.  He's doing an ordinary attendance check.  He's not
daft.  I'll ask him to report back to me afterwards and, if it's anything
you need to know, you'll be told."

That was the best that I could expect so it was back to teaching for the
rest of the day.

After break there was a history lesson to be conducted but, first, I asked
those who had taken their essays home to hand them in.  We had an exciting
hour on life in mediaeval England.

After lunch I had a spare period while my charges took PE.  Jean came and
interrupted my essay-marking.

"Bob says are you worried about Barry, because, if you aren't, you should
be."

"I was worried before he went round there," I replied.

"Well, now he is as well," Jean said.  "Barry's not at home, but his father
is.  He told Bob that Barry told him what you said to him yesterday.
Mr. Close promptly took Barry to see Rev Rathmore who told him - TOLD him
mind - to bring the boy round to him this morning instead of sending him to
school. "

"Dear God!" I muttered.  "What's Bob doing about it?"

"Well, he immediately advised the father that he's committing a crime and
that the Police would become involved.  Mr. Close has tried to claim the
Rev Rathmore is providing private tuition but Bob isn't swallowing that.
He's reported the matter to the police.  Now they're consulting the CPS to
find out what, if any, options they have. "

"Is this going to result in Barry going into care?"

"I hope not, but it's a very real possibility at the moment."

That was not good.