Little Tim, Big Tim by Tim Roy Page A

but I don’t know that I am meant to attend. Although there is Army gear in the comer of my bedroom, I have no idea that the Old Man has signed us up and collected the gear and equipment from the officer who raped Little Big Tim.
    The Old Man tells me to be ready tomorrow morning to go to Army camp. He has gotten to the stage that he doesn’t look at me when speaking to me. This is a form of intimidation he uses since I stood up to Mum. I think it is bizarre that he behaves this way but I can’t be complacent because I know he is still pulling strings behind the scenes.
    The camp is held in Megalong Valley; the set up takes all evening to complete. I just begin eating out of my first ration pack and am enjoying the experience when the corporal in charge approaches.
    ‘When you finish, the boss wants to see you. ’
    I front the Cadet Officer and immediately recognise him as the one who attacked us. He starts intimidating me by telling me that no one will believe me, and he can choose to do anything to me whenever he wants.
    ‘Try it. I will eventually fuck you up,’ I promise.
    He is shocked. I assume that the Old Man has portrayed me to him as an easy hit, but I am that no longer.
    ‘Return to your sleeping spot. I’ll guarantee that I will be the one that fucks you up,’ he threatens.
    This threat seems idle in comparison to what our body has suffered. I suspect that this man will not place himself in a personal battle with me; I am right. The next morning I become the brunt of bastardisation that is extremely minor; others might think the torment I am enduring is severe, but they haven’t experienced what I have undergone since the age of five.
    Peter joins me when the pain level rises sufficiently enough to warrant his existence. The push-ups in the rain, the running up and down the hills, the water jerry carries; I am a toy in their personal boot camp.
    The children—for that is what they are, just seventeen year-olds—who are giving me orders admire the strength, stamina and pain tolerance of the fourteen year-old. The bastardisation treatment lasts five days.
    They give up on the physical stuff and use ideas of torment that I’m sure they’ve seen on TV. When the sun comes up I am made to cook the senior boys’ breakfast, clean their boots and then move to the camp kitchen to do the pans. I perform all these tasks with a smile.
    By day six they give up on tormenting me and some take the opportunity to get to know me personally. Captain Waters is furious that they haven’t broken me. It’s obvious that the senior boys, the highest ranks in the cadets, are being berated for failing to break me.
    I spend the last two days of the camp sleeping in a hutchie (shelter) by myself. I’m not included in any of the organised activities. The senior boys sit with me when the activities have been concluded. They call Captain Waters a ‘wanker’ and say that I needn’t worry about them tormenting or torturing me anymore.
    The camp finally finishes and I leave, knowing that they can’t break me and that I am never going to quit. I choose to stay in the cadets, making it difficult for Captain Waters to win. Inadvertently, my presence does not allow Captain Waters to prey upon other boys.
    School starts again. I study every waking minute, but because I’m doing it by myself I’m not sure that what I learn is correct.
    In my first term of fourth form (year ten) I’m in a class where the teacher is homosexual for sure, as his interest in looking at the boys’ bums as they come into class is repulsive. I begin his class by holding my pens and ruler and banging them on my desk until it annoys him, a daily ritual. When chastised for my behaviour I demand a transfer. I do this with all teachers that have homosexual tendencies.
    Finally I am only in classes that have female teachers. I am well behind in my grades as ‘F’s’ and ‘D’s’ are predominately handed back to me. I find myself in the lowest