“Coventry” – For Heather Pedley

Coventry

It’s the late 1960s in the grounds of an English ‘Prep’ school.  At the bottom of the playing fields there is a small wood the grounds-man is shooting rooks. A young man is watching the killing with interest. The suicidal birds return only a few minutes after the last shot, it is of course the lure of the nests which brings them back to the slaughter. Man in his ingenuity designed the rook gun, a specialist weapon, a double barrelled rifle which uses a heavy bullet fired with a light charge of powder. The bullets do not travel far and have a heavy hitting power, ideal for shooting upwards in woodland.

Gerry is a kind man who knows the little boy is watching.  A bird fly’s down into the rookery and just as it lands on the tree Gerry lifts his double barrelled Westery Richards to his shoulder and fires a well aimed shot.  A puff of feathers and the bird is dead.  The boy and the keeper watch the bird fall through the bare branches of the oak tree and hit the ground.  The twenty-first to die this morning.

“You’re in a spot of bother son aren’t you?” Gerry talks in the opposite direction to where the spy is hiding. “Come and have a shot, nobody will know.”  There is still no reply “Come on, there is no need to worry about the house master and the others will not cross me, you know that.”

He struggles to get out of the thick hedge and as he frees himself the grounds man watches the struggle and thinks the damp winter mornings mist has depressed the portrait of the young fellows plight even more. He’s tall for his age he should be six or eight inches shorter. His duffle coat is oversized as are all of his clothes. Grey shorts and shirt, deep blue crew necked jumper, thick grey knee length socks and thank goodness for the Dunlop wellington boots, scarf and woollen gloves.

Gerry continues to study the boy as he walks over to him and he wonders at the cruelty of man.  God knows he saw enough of it in Germany in the last year of the war.  Cities demolished by Bomber Harris’s Lancaster’s, millions gassed in the camps, women raped by Russian soldiers and others prostituting themselves for a G.I’s chocolate bar.  The boys eyes reminds him of the day his tank arrived at the Belsen horror.  As he looked upon the systematic evil of the camp it was the hallow eyes sockets of the children which haunted him. He remembers thinking that the child is strangely similar to animals when suffering pain. There is a vacancy with their misery and as you look through the eyes into the soul you know they are asking why?  Although the child suffers more than the animal because human intelligence compounds the torture, making the sufferer unable to understand the actions of those who were supposed to look after and guide them.  Food and family happiness is exchanged for, rape, scientific experiments, gas and the inferno of the oven. He knows this boy should not be asking the ‘Why?’ Gerry also knows there is no answer.

A cup of hot soup is poured from the Thermos flask “Here son drink this.”  The oxtail taste reminds him of home and his grandmother who would know what to do about the situation. He feels like crying although no one is allowed to see fear or pain the word ‘courage’ flows though his character. As he sips the warming beverage and watches the man who has a reputation of being uncompromising and brusk with the pupils. “I did not do it Mr Coates.”  “I know son, lets get on with our work shall we?” Gerry will talk about the situation in an hour or two there is no rush.

 

“Have you used a rook rifle before?”

“No, but I shoot a four-ten and my Airsporter.”

“One seven-seven?”

“No it’s a two-two.”

“Don’t you find the ‘sporter’ a little big?”

“Possibly, but I’m used to it now and the heavier calibre is fine for rabbits on the farm.” Gerry wonders at the boys articulate speech and is impressed that he uses a shot gun and air rifle.

“You’ll have no problem with this Westerly then?”

“I do not think I will Mr Coates, its about the same as my four ten, double barrelled  and light.”

Gerry pushes the top lever with his thumb, the rifles breach is unlocked and the spent case is ejected by the powerful ejector spring, a live round is dropped into the chamber and the open gun is given to the boy who rests it on his forearm. Kahrrr! Kahrrr! Is the cackling siren announcing the approach as a hundred or so of the family circle above the wood the black scout glides down for one final time. The boy’s eye is steady watching the corvid, his left hand grips the forend as his right lifts the wooden grip, the lock snaps shut, safety pushed forward, the stock comes into contact with the shooters shoulder. Crack! The guns report is followed by a final Kahrrr! The bird falls dead though the tree and hits the ground.  Gerry knows its no fluke, the boy is a demon with the rifle.

The Westerly is opened, spent case ejected and replaced and the ‘broken’ gun again rests on his forearm. The weathered face of the man changes from dour as a rare smile betrays his delight. The following two hours are a rare pleasure as he watches the boy consistently repeat the exhibition of excellent marksmanship cut short by the dimming of the afternoon light. “Thats it lad, lets tie the dead birds to the fence and we’ll call it a day.”  The anticipated disappointment is eased with “When we’re finished we’ll go and get sandwich and tea at me cottage if yer like” “Yes please Mr Coates.” The pair clear up the corpse’s and collect the empty brass bullet cases then walk the half mile to the cottage on the far side of the wood.

“Who’s this then Gerry?” Asks a pregnant wife.

“He’s the young fellow who comes from Coventry sweetheart.”

“Oh, how sad for you, never mind. I’ll mek a nice cheese ‘en ham sandwich, would you like mustard pickle or chutney they’re both home made.”

“I cannot make my mind up, could I have chutney on one half and pickle on the other?”

“Could you eat two sandwiches?”

“You bet Mrs Coates.”

“Two it’ll be then, Gerry pour our guest some tea and Coventry remove that duffel, get them boots off, sit by AGA get your sen warm.” The way she talks is like the workers on his families farm, shortened words and country dialect. Coventry knows the bread will be fresh baked and that he’s safe, very safe, in the company of Mrs Coates.

Gerry fills a white mug and without asking puts in three heaped teaspoons of sugar.  The brew is fresh, dark and strong.  “Is that ok for yer?”

“Yes thanks Mr Coates” The day is getting better for Coventry and when a massive piece of fruit cake is put in front of him there’s a feeling inside he’d forgotten. “Well then old chap do you want to talk about your predicament?” “I did not do it Mr Coates and I would never have walked out of the common room if I’d have known what was going to happen.”  Gerry Coates looks at the boy seeing the pain of the injustice in his wide and sad eyes and the anger in his clenched fists. And more memories of the war enter the veterans head. The ‘why me’ wide eyes of his friend as he lay dying in Gerry’s arms. Standing by as the Jewish skeletons used their last atoms of strength to beat the Kapo’s to death.  It was amazing the guards were spared and Jewish traitors slaughtered.

The fountain pen ink spots were a deliberate act of vandalism.  One of the boys had flicked his fountain pen and left his mark on many of the walls of the school. Within a month every one of had been questioned by the staff.  The questioning turned to interrogation as senior prefects were tasked with using a more robust method to discover the guilty child.  All was to no avail although the bulling prefects’ suspicions were beginning to fall upon a naturally nervous and intelligent boy in the third year stream.  The pressure was on and Head boy David Ross (a publicans son) had made his mind up to break the boy.  Constant questions, bullying and covert threats came to a head yesterday evening when the whole of the school was summoned in to common room where they were told by the house master “You will all stand here until the vandal leaves the room” Two hours passed before Coventry was cajoled by David Ross and most of the others to leave the room.

That was a Friday night one month ago.  Mr Hemming the House Master decided the punishment should be severe and instructed that no pupil should talk to the boy for the rest of the term. It is fair to say the staff and majority of the pupils believed the sentence excessive.  The judge had set the tariff there was no turning back or place of appeal.

Gerry Coates’ war was a long one, he served for the duration.  Many said he is fortunate and a few still believe him to be a lucky talisman.  The ex-sergeant major does not see it this way, his turmoil is that he did survive and the small wound inflicted on D-Day was of no comparison to the way the conflict had hardened his heart. As he watches the young man talk to his wife he sees the future. Watching the boy talk and giggle with his wife as they wash the dishes in the Belfast sink, Gerry realises that if Coventry is not helped in this war of attrition, this terrible loneliness and cruelty, he will become scarred. laughter and trust of adults could be lost.  He rises from his chair by the warm cream coloured AGA and walks over to the old oak dresser which belonged to his mother. He opens the right hand draw and takes out a small box.

“Time to walk you back to the school old chap.” Coventry senses a softness in the Sergeant’s voice even though it’s a parade ground bark.  Mrs Coates helps him on with his wellington’s and duffel then give him a hug and embarrassing kiss.  In truth its the best feeling he can remember.  The walk back is misty and Gerry choses to go through the wood and the pair walk across the playing fields.  At the main door to the school he rings the bell and the house master opens the door.  “I’ve bought the lad back.” He says and then “You should be ashamed of yer sen Hemming.”  Gerry looks at the boy and gives him the box “Its for you lad and you keep it, you deserve it… You seen me give it to him Hemming so no more lies or you’ll be dealing with me…I’ll be watching you and that bastard Ross… mek no mistake.”

Later in the dorm Coventry opens the four by two and one half inch box.  There is a crimson ribbon below it is a bronze cross on which the words ‘For Valour’ are engraved.

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