Off To See The Wild West Show Part 1, Chapter 8 (1/5) By Frank Beill 1886: Hull, Yorkshire

(1/5), (2/5), (3/5), (4/5), (5/5). Part 1 Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Part 2 Prologue, Chapter 1, 2, 3.

Morning assembly in the hall and once again the Master's voice rang around the rafters. 'Ten children will be selected by Mr Jason from his class, ten by Mr Childs and ten by Mr Rodgers.' All hope died with these words. There was no chance of Jolly Rodgers selecting his 'little brown friend' for anything - except for more strokes of his cane. 'That's us out of it then,' George muttered under his breath, echoing my thoughts.

I shook my head and gazed blankly at the floor, holding back tears of anger and frustration. 'Got to get there!' I hissed to myself. After two gruelling hours of arithmetic I was repeating the same words in the playground. Jolly Rodgers took every opportunity to pick on me and test my ability in long division, knowing arithmetic was far from my strongest subject. He was taunting me, wanting me to trip up in front of the class. Humiliation was his favourite form of torture. Physical violence was only used when he lost patience - a commodity in limited supply with him at the best of times. He must have known how desperate I was to perform well, but we both knew I could never please him. The cat was playing with the mouse.

'Perhaps, Mrs G could put in a word with the Master.' George was clutching at straws and he knew it. I shook my head and we kicked our heels slowly around the yard. Sunshine was bouncing off the flagstones, not a cloud in the sky. The birds were singing. Joining in with their joyous chorus was a happy whistling drayman driving past on a cart laden with wooden beer barrels. For me it was the depths of winter. Mr Jason was on yard duty again, keeping a check that mayhem did not rule. He walked in our direction.

'Well, boys. You'll be looking forward to going to see Buffalo Bill.' He smiled at us. 'Don't think we'll be going', sir.' I didn't look up preferring to examine the toes of my boots. 'Unless you pick us to be in your ten, sir.' Now it was my turn to clutch at straws. 'Won't Mr Rodgers be picking you?' A look of mystification came over his face. 'I don't think so, sir.' I shook my head and went back to appraising my toecaps. 'We're not exactly his favourites, sir.' George gave a shrug.

'That's a pity boys.' His lips tightened and the smile disappeared. A hand went into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of newspaper. 'I thought that you might want to see this.' He held out the paper to me. 'The Master said he was finished with it.' I accepted the offering with a mumbled 'thank you.' I unfolded the newspaper but before I could say more to the teacher he was attracted back to his duties by raucous shouting at the other end of the yard. The crumpled sheet was a page from the Eastern Morning News.

A day ago it would have felt like the answer to my prayers but now it was more like rubbing salt into a sore wound. I stared at the large advertisement for 'Buffalo Bill's Wild West' and a tear blobbed onto the sheet. 'Steady on.' George's arm went around my shoulder. 'It's not the end of the world.' But it was the end of mine.

Continued... Next Page

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