Off To See The Wild West Show Part 1, Chapter 1 (2/4) By Frank Beill 1886: Hull, Yorkshire

(1/4), (2/4), (3/4), (4/4). 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.

'Have you brought his things?' The man looked up from his papers and towards me for the first time. This was Mr Mason or 'Old Stoney' as we called him. (Behind his back, of course.) Officially he was known as the Master. 'Aye. I have, sir.' Grandmother held up the small brown paper parcel containing my whole world - all except the patched clothes I stood up in and the crumpled book squashed into the torn pocket of my oversized woollen jacket. (I would grow into it.) I was going to keep a tight hold of my book. Dad gave me that.

'There are formalities to be taken care of.' There was almost a sneer in his voice. 'I'll get one of the boys to look after Samuel.' He turned and disappeared from sight. I was crying again. 'Stop snivelling!' Grandmother raised her hand; ready to let me feel her bony knuckles. It wouldn't have been the first time. Before her hand could fall, the inside door of the vestibule opened and the man reappeared. Following him was a gangly, red-haired boy nearly as tall as himself. The man became more than just a face. A white wing collar strangled a neck emerging from a lean body strapped in a suit of undertaker black. It was the boy's clothes that really took my attention: a long blue jacket, with waistcoat to match, over a white shirt and blue corduroy trousers. Never before had I seen a boy dressed so smartly. He was wearing boots so black and shiny I daren't look at the toecaps for fear of being blinded. The man scrutinized me with the hard stare of a carpenter sizing up a hunk of wood, trying to decide what possible end product could be fashioned from it. 'This is George,' he said after examining me for what felt like an eternity. The boy took a half pace forward. 'Take him to Mrs Grainger and get him a slice of bread and dripping and a mug of tea. He looks as though he could do with feeding up.' 'You be a good boy, Sammy!' Grandmother called after me. She pulled up her shawl to hide her head. 'Don't give nobody no cheek!' They were the last words she ever said to me. I never saw her again. Without a word the boy gripped my elbow and led me through the inner door and into the building. From one world into another.

George led me into a huge stone flagged hall. Its wide staircase climbed so high it must have reached up into the clouds. The only light in the room came through a stained glass window half way up the staircase. 'Is this a church?' I paused and stared upwards. 'Does God live up there?'

'Don't be daft!' George grasped my hand and pulled me towards another door at the far end of the hall. 'Only the dormitories up there.' 'What's dormitories?' George continued dragging me along but I was still looking behind and upwards. His look conveyed amazement at my ignorance of a word he must have first heard himself less than a year before. Meanwhile I pondered the existence of strange creatures called dormitories living at the top of the stairs. George pulled the door open and yanked me out of the building. I stumbled down more stone steps into the bright sunlight and a yard full of boys, all dressed in suits identical to his. 'It's playtime,' George said but I guessed this for myself, although playtime here looked more exciting than the rough and tumble I was used to in the yard at Runcorn Street Board School. There were games of cricket taking place with real cricket bats and proper balls, not lengths of stick and cobbles tied with rags. Mind they were still using wickets chalked up on the red brick walls. Other boys were chasing around on the stone flags, playing tag.

Continued Next Page

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