Mr. Andrews of St. Andrew’s
Well, well, Mr. Armstrong, I see you made it.
Andrews was grinning like he had won the lotto and the woman who presents it on telly. I was beginning to look at him in a very different light. He was enjoying every millisecond of this.
All right, sir, I’m here so let’s not make a big deal of it.
On the contrary, Mr. Armstrong, it is a big deal. Here you are on a Saturday at our hallowed and revered school, reinforcing its good name as an educational institution that produces outstanding and accomplished young men such as yourself.
English teachers speak such crap!
Give it up, sir.
No, no, I think we should all give recognition where it is due and celebrate the fact that you are indeed here, regardless of the reason why.
Sarcastic bastard. I looked around to find we had an audience. The teachers were loving every minute. Even some of those little geeks were smiling, but my snarl quickly whipped the smirks off their faces. Fortunately I was saved by the unlikeliest of heroes, Brother Pat.
Brother Pat had been kicking around St. Andrew’s since Chris’s dad had gone there. Which was a long time ago. He’d been principal for years and was now retired. After he’d hung out in Ireland for a year, he came back to St. Andrew’s to help out. Music was his thing. He was a bit like a musical Santa Claus: old, fat and great with kids. He could play any musical instrument he picked up and his singing practices were a St. Andrew’s institution.
Hello, young Will. It is wonderful to see such enthusiasm from one of our most high-profile senior students. This will be an excellent example to the younger students.
Yes, he’s good at setting examples, Brother Pat.
I threw Andrews a look, and turned to Brother Pat for more praise. Well, why not, it had been a little scarce over the past week.
You’re an accomplished musician, so I have been hearing, William. Guitar, isn’t it?
Yes, Brother.
A fine instrument. Perhaps not as well regarded in classical circles but still an excellent instrument. Fancy yourself the next Paul McCartney, eh?
Probably more of a Daniel Johns, Brother, offered Mr. Andrews.
Daniel Johns, Brother puzzled. Isn’t he a football player?
Not this one, Brother.
Anyway, son, I’m proud of you. Giving up your time to be here on a Saturday so as to help with the auditions. You know, Will, I’m going to be relying on your help over the next couple of months. This is a great opportunity for you. We can’t have your mate Christopher Holden thinking he’s the only one with leadership ability.
First Danielli and now Brother Pat. What was it with this leadership crap? But he was wrong about Chris. He didn’t rate himself. I reckon that was why all the rest of the boys did—because he didn’t.
Right, well … Brother scanned the geeks. We’ll have you set up next to that young chap who plays the trombone.
Yes, Brother.
I walked over and started to remove my one prized possession from its place of residence. At least I could still retreat into its world when it all became too much.
Cool, they’ve put you right next to me!
I looked up to see the geek grinning at me. I grimaced back. Could this possibly get any worse?
Andrews called us to attention.
All right, everybody, let’s meet in five minutes to give a running order for the day. I’ll then hand over to Brother Pat to announce the choice of musical for this year! There has been a great deal of debate and the final decision was quite contentious.
The teachers really needed to get a life!
Many of us thought we should be looking at more contemporary musicals, more up-to-date, but Brother Patrick was insistent that the oldies are always the best. And I have to say I think I agree with him.
Come on, sir, what’s it called?
This came from one of the midgets with a clarinet hanging out of his mouth. The kid couldn’t be serious!
Brother Pat and Andrews exchanged smiles. It was becoming pretty clear to me that everyone in the hall seriously wanted to know. Brother Pat moved forward.
All right then. He raised his hands and the hall stilled.
It’s called The Boy Friend. It was written in 1954 and is set in 1920s France in a girls’ finishing school. It is what we call in the business a pastiche…. But that will do for now.
What do you mean a girls’ boarding school? Do we have to wear dresses?
This came from one of the guys in Year 10, who was cracking up like it was the joke of the century.
Andrews stood up, frowning. Brother Pat indicated for him to sit down.
Finishing school, not boarding school. And, if you wish to try out for one of the girls’ parts, Paul, by all means do. The rest of the boys will be auditioning for the roles of the dashing young men who accompany the ladies.
The hall cracked up and gave Paul crap. He shrank a little in his seat. I was sitting stunned in mine.
The Boy Friend?
There was no way I was going to be part of a play set in the last century that was about boyfriends! They couldn’t be serious.
It was official—even before Jock and Tim found out—my life was over.