The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin

one of the lad’s carved wooden fruit bowls, breaking it in half. ‘Does
anyone
know the whereabouts of Geoffrey Larkin?’ Ashness shouted, his face now turning purple with rage from the neck upwards.
    â€˜Excuse me sir, but both him and my elder brother complained of a bad stomach after lunch so they went for a lie down on their bunks.’ Terry Ashness, with his hammer still in his hand, walked up the aisle between the work benches and stopped in front of Derek Bolton. He could see the boy had been fighting, but that was nothing to do with him, these lads were always fighting with one another, settling scores as they crudely put it.
    â€˜You think they’ve got a bad stomach, eh? Don’t you know? Why didn’t you say this before when I first asked? Well boy! Answer me. Has the cat got your tongue?’
    There was a ‘Mee-Oww!’ from the rear of the room, this brought a ripple of laughter from the rest of the pupils which was quickly stifled as Ashness turned and glared at the class.
    â€˜Well Boy! Answer me!’ continued the red faced Ashness. Derek Bolton was sweating; he did not have the nerve for this type of subversion.
    â€˜I thought I’d get detention like the other lads, sir,’ came back the meek reply.
    â€˜Those other idiots deserved punishing. You are just a fool Bolton, you had better improve very quickly or else you could be next in line for detention and reporting to the principal. See me when this lesson ends, we’ll both go and find Larkin and your brother!’
    Terry Ashness went back to his bench and continued to complete the registrar without any further problems. He did not enjoy teaching but he wouldn’t be able to get another job as well paid and as secure as this one if he resigned. He had served an apprenticeship in joinery but he was a very poor tradesman, quickly getting the sack from the building sites and joiners’ shops that had employed him. It was his uncle, a member of the Local Education Committee and a school governor who had used his influence to acquire this position for his nephew.
    Ashness also knew the nickname that the school inmates had given him; he didn’t like that at all, it only added to the hatred he felt for these boys, resenting the fact that he couldn’t lay in to them with the cane like his teacher used to do when he was at school.
    He would have liked to have gone straight away to the lads’ dormitory to check their story but he couldn’t leave this class unattended with all these sharp tools. These lads were untrustworthy, a bunch of idiots, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get another teacher to stand in for him at such short notice as the school was already short staffed.
    There were several minutes to go before the end of the class. Derek Bolton was watching the large clock fixed on the wall above Ashness’s little office, it showed 2.45pm, not long to go before the sound of the bell that would end this dreaded lesson.
    I wish that bastard Whiplash would move from that doorway,
he thought as Ashness continued to hover around the bench near the entrance to the workshop. Derek was hoping that he could slip out unnoticed with the rest of the boys when the class was dismissed, and not stay behind as instructed.
    Where were Larkin and his brother? They were supposed to be back by now, had they been caught by the shop assistant and handed over to the police, or had they missed the train? Would they be caught with whatever they’d gone to get, when they tried to re-enter the school?’ All these thoughts were flashing through Derek’s mind and he was finding it difficult to concentrate. He had cut his piece of wood too short and made a mess of the joint he was supposed to be making; that would bring another telling off from Ashness. Oh what the hell, he was fed up messing about with bits of wood; anyway this was more of the thing that his brother enjoyed doing.
    Whiplash