# Memories of a British Boarding School #2

I have been reliably informed that, while my last series of memories about boarding school were interesting to read, they were lacking in a key element: stories about the 'boarding' part of boarding school. Music is interesting but not even in the title.

I will here endeavor to amend this error.

* * *

It is quite satisfying to share a room with someone you like. It is a pain to share with someone you don't. But what I learned at boarding school is that, to share a room with someone who is merely neutral, *also sucks*. It's no fun at all.

* * *

When I was perhaps twelve years of age, my roommate was a somewhat autistic boy. A competent musician, socially awkward, kind of tall. I recall one time that, while I was out, he took all of my belongings from my storage and strew them across my bed. One of our neighbors informed me of this with great excitement. I was aroused into a great fury, and ran through every floor of the building to find the roommate, the neighbor gleefully running with me. After failing in my goal, I returned to my room, and started to put my belongings away—only to find my roommate was underneath them! I pulled the duvet cover off and found him laughing there; the neighbor boy had covered him in them. I don't remember what happened next.

* * *

Nighttime was similar to practice time, in that the sole goal was to do anything other than sleep. At some ungodly early hour (perhaps 9:30pm? 10?) the lights would have to be off and the kids in bed. Well we had no interest. Unfortunately, if your roommate was socially awkward, they were no help. 

There were three common strategies. First, have a Nintendo DS—one that generates it's own light. (The original Gameboy Advance did not have much in the way of backlighting, so couldn't help you.) Play it under the covers. If the house assistant comes in (yes, house assistants, just like practice assistants) then fold it and hide it under the covers.

Somehow, even though you were alone in your bed, you were making noise, and they knew to come in. I had a house assistant storm in one night and demand my Nintendo, so fast that they could see me flatten out and cover whatever I had. However, they found, on looking under my duvet, that I in-fact had a torch ('flashlight') and was reading a book (I think *River Out of Eden* by Richard Dawkins). She was not expecting that, but she took the torch and the book nonetheless.

The second strategy is to go to the bathroom at the same time as other kids, and then monkey around and drag that process out as long as you can so you can chat. Being found in another kids' room is utterly *verboten,* there's no plausible deniability there, but hey, sometimes you take a while using the bathroom.

Again, like with practice time, everyone has the same idea, then at some point you're having *way too much fun* with six or so of you in the bathroom at once, hanging from the doortops to the toilet cubicles, or throwing wet paper towels at each other, and the house assistant storms in and yells at you to get out.

I am making out that they were entirely inhuman blankfaces, but to be clear, they often had nice sides, and I even liked some of them. The stern German lady who lived in the house at the end of my corridor would have her door open at night, and sometimes watch you as you walked to and from the bathroom; but a kid I knew was having a rough night one time, and she invited him in to sit beside her on the couch and watch TV for a little while, before he went back to bed.

Anyway, the best outcome, was to be using a Nintendo DS while playing a co-op game with someone in the next room. Some of my most fun childhood memories are playing PvP games, in this instance New Super Mario Bros.

At some point, when the rise of the Nintendos got too strong, the house mandated that all kids hand theirs in during the evening. Before bed you had to hand in your DS. Often kids would have neat little cases for them with all their games in too. Sometimes kids would hand in the case with no DS in it. One time, and my recollection is that it was my friend Harry from last time, handed in DS, but instead of the DS he had two tissue-packets in there, to give it more weight/shape. The next morning in assembly, the head of house called this act 'devious' while holding up the open case for all to see.

* * *

For the years 1 and 2 of secondary school (ages 11-13), you were in a mixed house, where each floor was segregated by sex. After that, you graduated to Boys' House, or Girls' House, in separate buildings.

In a somewhat unconventional move, before the 3rd year, we boys were called into a meeting. The Head of Boys' House introduced the school psychiatrist, who talked to us about a boy that I will call "Drew" who had only recently joined the school. He said that there'd been some trouble with Drew, and that he understood if nobody wanted to share a room with Drew. He asked people to raise their hands if they were willing to share a room with Drew. Now, I hadn't had any bad interactions with Drew, and somehow seemed unwilling to merely go along with the unspoken vibe of the room that this boy was bad news, and raised my hand. The shock and relief of the psychiatrist again did not cause me to second-guess my decision.

At the start of the new year, Drew told me that he was very grateful to me for sharing a room, and that he thought I was great. It was clear that this is a line he had rehearsed at his parents behest. I accepted it and move on.

I can't really tell you why, but at some point I found that I, too, could not really stand to share a room with Drew. I think we maybe got a third roommate to even it out? At some point he was expelled for his behavior. I cannot even recall what right now.

But I will say, never trust the Tuba players.

* * *

There was a different kid I'll call "George", who was also one of the worst behaved kids in the year. Sadly, his behavior led to the removal of one of my favorite academic teachers. I'll call him "Mr Trunbull". He was a wise man, far too overweight for his health, wearing suspenders. Trunbull had a good sense of humor and really cared about the kids. For example, one of my friends wanted to learn the bagpipes, and would come in early to teach them bagpipe lessons, even though Trunbull was not from the musical part of the school.

He was also a bit freewheeling. One day in class, George threw a pencil at a girl—one of the two guitarists in my quartet. I think it hurt. Trunbull kept them both after class. I don't really know how it escalated, but Trunbull evidently thought she should get some payback, and so he held George in a headlock while the girl kicked him in the shins.

These unorthodox methods got him called in with the Headmistress of the school. See, George was also the child of a senior member of the musical faculty, who wasn't going to let this go. Trunbull agreed not to do this again, but he said he wouldn't apologize. The Headmistress demanded an apology, but he didn't think what he'd done was wrong, and she fired him.

* * *

One year in Boys' House, I had the perfect roommates. My three favorite people were in the room. Tom, Dick, and Harry. Man that was fun. 

I remember at some point, someone drew a penis or two on the window using deodorant. It was there like a week? I think it wasn't one of us but a boy from a different room. Then, later, in the neighboring room, they also had penises drawn on their windows, using deoderant. One of the house assistants came to our room to tell us off. They would visit each room at bedtime to check we were all in bed, and to turn off our lights. I recall my response when they were telling us off.

> "Well you've left this up on your window, and now next door's got them on their windows too!"
> 
> "Sorry sir... I didn't know they migrated!"

* * *

I think I'll wrap up by telling a story of my crimes. I actually lived in commuting-distance from the school, and occasionally did so. I could walk to my local train station for 20 mins, ride the train for ~25 mins, then walk for ~15 mins to school. Other kids lived all across the country, or even in foreign countries.

Mum would give me the money to buy a ticket, and the station staff would want to see it. You'd flash your ticket as you passed them on the platform, but they had a hard time definitely seeing everyone, and better yet sometimes they weren't even there.

So eventually I started taking my chances. No ticket, no checking. Plus I'd have yesterday's ticket to show, and could say "Oops, I forgot to get a new one!" if they challenged me on it.

I saved up some money. And what does any precocious young teenage boy buy? That's right, [Letter to a Christian Nation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Letter_to_a_Christian_Nation) by Sam Harris. It was the first book I bought, and it was with money I wasn't supposed to be buying it with. I bought it because Richard Dawkins had a quote on it saying "Read it if it is the last thing you do".

(I still have that copy. I lent it to Dick for a while, and he returned it to me all beaten up, but it currently resides in the podcast room at Lighthaven.)

One day, as I executed my standard trick of flashing a day-old train ticket to the ticket-checkers, they told me I had to stand aside and stay with them. They knew what was up. I knew they knew. I think I tried saying that it was a mistake, that I thought it was today's ticket, but they weren't really listening. They took my name and address, and sent me a fine. That was a stressful day at school. Finally, when I came home, I had to address my mum.

I walked up to her sheepishly and explained what had happened, and said (honestly) that I wouldn't do it again. She didn't much mind, she's not a stickler for rules herself. Sometimes *she'd* have me bunk off school for a day (pretend to be sick) so she could take me on an adventure. *And she herself was a school teacher!* She forgave me; and the fine wasn't that much. After that I never tried to trick the ticket-checkers again.

* * *

The above story I have told many times, but on coming to write it down, I realize it must be merging two stories from different times. I only started taking the train in once I hit 16, but I bought the Sam Harris book when I was like 11 or 12. I do remember that I wasn't supposed to be using the money for buying a book, but it probably wasn't that I was supposed to be getting a ticket. Anyway. Perhaps I'll edit this all one day.