Manhood

Swiftly[190] free-wheeling[191], their breath coming easily, the man and the boy steered their bicycles down the short hill which led them from woodland into open country. Then they looked ahead and saw that the road began to climb.

" Now, Rob, " said Mr Willison, settling his fat haunches[192] firmly on the saddle, " just up that rise[193] and then we'll get off and have a good rest."

" Can't we rest now? " the boy asked. " My legs feel all funny. As if they're turning to water".

" Rest at the top, " said Mr Willison firmly. " Remember what 1 told you. The first thing any proper sportsman has to learn is to break the fatigue barrier[194]".

" I've broken it already. I was feeling tired when we were going along the main road and I -"

" When fatigue begins to trouble you, the thing to do is keep going until it wears off[195]. Then you get your breath back – your second wind, they call it – and fresh energy to".

" I've already done that".

" Up we go, " said Mr Willison, " and at the-top we'll have a good rest". Breathing quickly, he stood on the pedals, causing his machine to roll from side to side as if he were finding it difficult. Rob, falling silent, pushed sullenly[196] at his pedals.

Slowly the pair went uncertainly up the straight road to the top. Once there, Mr Willison got off, pretending to be steadier than he felt, laid his bicycle careful on its side, and spread his jacket on the ground. Then he sank down to rest. Rob slid[197] hastily from the saddle and threw himself full-length[198] on the grass. " Don't lie there, " said his father. " You'll catch cold."

" I'm all right. I'm warm."

Come and sit on this. When you're over-heated, that's just when you're likely to catch –" " I’m allright. Dad. I want to lie here. My back aches".

" Your back needs strengthening. That's why it aches. It's a pity we don't live near a river where you could do some rowing[199]."

The boy did not answer, and Mr Willison, aware[200] that he was beginning to sound like a nagging[201], over-anxious parent, allowed himself to be defeated. He stopped suggesting that Rob should come and sit on his jacket. Instead, he waited a moment, then glanced at his watch. " Twenty to twelve. We must get going in a minute" " What? I thought we were going to have a rest." " Well we're having one, aren't we? " said Mr Willison reasonably. " I've got my back, so surely you must have" " My back still aches. I want to lie here a bit." " Sorry, " said Mr Willison, getting up and moving over to his bicycle. " We've got at least twelve miles to do, and lunch is at one" " Dad, why did we have to come so far, if we've got to get back for one o'clock? I know, let's find a telephone box and ring up Mum and tell her we –" " Nonsense! There's no reason why two fit men shouldn't cycle twelve miles in an hour and ten minutes".

" But we've already done about a million miles". " We've done about fourteen, I would say, " said Mr Willison stiffly. " What's the good of going for a bike ride if you don't cover a good bit of distance? " He picked up his bicycle and stood waiting. Rob, with his hand over his eyes, lay absolutely still on the grass. His legs looked thin and white among the rich grass.

" Come on, Rob."

The boy showed no sign of having heard. Mr Willison got on to his bicycle and began to ride slowly away. " Rob, " he called over his shoulder, " I'm going." Rob lay like a corpse[202] by the roadside. He looked horribly like someone who'd been in an accident, unmarked but dead from internal injuries. Mr Willison cycled fifty yards, then a hundred, then turned in a short circle, annoyed, and back to where his son lay.

" Rob, is there something the matter or are you just being awkward[203]? " The boy removed his hand and looked up into his father's face. His eyes were surprisingly mild; there was no fire of rebellion in them.

“I’m tired and my back aches. I can't go on yet".

" Look, Rob, " said Mr Willison gently, " I wasn't going to tell you this, because I meant it to be a surprise. But when you get home, you'll find a present waiting for you." " What kind of present? "

" Something very special I've bought for you. The man's coming this morning to fit it up. In the garage. That's one reason why I suggested a bike ride this morning. He'll have done it by now." " What is it? " " Aha. It's a surprise. Come on, get on your bike and let's go home and see." Rob sat up, then slowly and with difficulty got to his feet. " Isn't there a short way home? " " I'm afraid not. It's only twelve miles." Rob said nothing. " And a lot of that's downhill, " Mr Willison added brightly. His own legs were tired and shaky. In addition he suddenly realised he was very thirsty. Rob, still without speaking, picked up his bicycle, and they pedalled away.

" Where is he? " Mrs Willison asked, coming into the garage.

" Gone up to his room, " said Mr Willison. He hit out at the punch-ball[204]. " Seems to be fixed pretty firmly."

" What's he doing up in his room? It's lunch-time." " He said he wanted to rest a bit." " I hope you're satisfied, " said Mrs Willison. " A lad of thirteen, nearly fourteen years of age, just when he should have a really big appetite, and when the lunch is put on the table he's resting - " Now look. I know what I'm –" Lying down in his room, resting. Too tired to eat because you've dragged[205] him up and down on one of your –"

" We did nothing that couldn't be reasonably expected of a boy of his age." " How do you know? " Mrs Willison demanded. " You never did anything of that kind when you were a boy. How do you know what can be reasonably –" " Now look, " said Mr Willison again. " When I was a boy, it was study, study, study, all the time. And the fear of unemployment and insecurity[206] in everybody's mind. I was never even given a bicycle. I never boxed, I never rowed, I never did anything to develop my body. It was just work, work, work; pass this exam, get that certificate. Well, I did it and now I'm qualified and in a safe, secure job. But you know as well as I do that they let me down. Nobody encouraged me to build myself up."

" Well what does it matter? You're all right'–"

" Grace! " Mr Willison interrupted sharply. " I am not all right and you know it. I am under average height, my chest is flat and I'm –"

" What nonsense. You're taller than I am and I'm –"

" No son of mine is going to grow up with the same miserable physical heritage[207] that I –"

" No, he'll just have heart disease through overdoing things, because you haven't got the common sense[208] to –"

" His heart is one hundred per cent all right. Not three weeks have gone by since the doctor looked at him." " Well, why does he get so over-tired, if he's all right? Why is he lying down now instead of coming to the table, a boy of his age? "

A thin shadow blocked out part of the sunlight in the garage doorway. Looking up together, the Willisons greeted their son. " Lunch ready, Mum? I'm hungry." " Ready when you are, " Grace Willison beamed[209], going into the house. " Just wash your hands and come to the table."

" Look, Rob, " said Mr Willison. " If you hit it with your left hand and then catch it with your right as it bounces back, it's excellent training." He dealt[210] the punch-ball two amateurish blows. " That's what they call a right cross, " he said. " I think it's fine. I'll have some fun with it, " said Rob. He watched mildly as his father peeled[211] off the padded[212] gloves.

" Here, slip these on[213], said Mr Willison. " They're just training gloves. Of course, we can get a pair of proper gloves later. But these are specially for use with the ball" " Lunch, " called Mrs Willison from the house.

" Take a punch at it, " Mr Willison urged.

" Let's go and eat."

" Go on. One punch before you go in. I haven't seen you hit it yet."

Rob took the gloves, put on the right-hand one, and gave the

punch-ball one conscientious7 blow, aiming8 at the exact centre.

" Five feet eight, Rob, " said Mr Willison, folding up the long wooden ruler.

Now let’s go in", he said.

" Lunch! "

" All right. We're coming" " You're taller than I am. This is a great landmark[214]."

" Only just taller" " But you're growing all the time. Now all you have to do is to start growing; outwards as well as upwards. Put on a bit more weight and we'll have you in; that rugby team, don't you worry"

Rob picked up his shirt and began uncertainly pushing his arms into the sleeves.

" When do they pick the team? " Mr Willison asked. " I should have thought they'd have done it by now " They have done it" said Rob. He bent down to pick up his socks from under a chair. " They have? And you –" " I wasn't selected" said the boy, looking attentively[215] at the socks as if trying to discover very small differences in colour and weave[216]. Mr Willison opened his mouth, closed it again, and stood for a moment looking out of the window. Then he gently laid his hand on his son's shoulder. " Bad luck, " he said quietly. " I tried hard, " said Rob quickly. " I'm sure you did." " I played my hardest in the trial[217] games."

" It's just bad luck, " said Mr Willison. " It could happen to anybody."

There was silence as they both continued with their dressing. A faint smelt of frying rose into the air, and they could hear Mrs Willison laying the table for breakfast.

" That's it, then, for this season, " said Mr Willison, as if to himself.

" I forgot to tell you, though, " said Rob. " I was selected for the boxing team." " You were? I didn't know the school had one." " It's new. Just formed. They had some trials for it at the end of last term. I found

 

punching was better than most people's because I'd been getting plenty of practice with the punch-ball Mr Willison put out a hand and felt Rob's biceps[218]. " Not bad, not bad at all" he said critically. " But if you're going to be a boxer and represent the school, you'll need more power up there. I tell you what. We'll train together" " That'll be fun" said Rob. " I'm training at school too" What weight[219] do they put you in? " ”It isn't weight, it's age. Under fifteen. Then when you get over fifteen you get classified into weights" " Well, " said Mr Willison, tying his tie, " you'll be in a good position for the under fifteens. You've got six months before your birthday. And there's no reason why you shouldn't steadily put muscle on all the time. I suppose you'll be entered as a team, for tournaments[220] and things? "

There's a big one at the end of next term. I'll be in that" Confident, joking, they went down to breakfast. 'Two eggs for Rob', said Mr Willison. " He's in training. He's going to be a heavyweight."

" A heavyweight what? " Mrs Willison asked, teapot in hand. Rob smiled. Grace Willison put down the teapot, her tips compressed[221]. She looked from one to the other. " Boxing? " she repeated.

" Boxing, " Mr Willison replied calmly.

" Over my dead body, " said Mrs Willison. " That's one sport I'm definite he's not going in for."

" Too late. They've picked him for the under-fifteens. He's had trials and everything."

" Is this true, Rob? " she demanded. " Yes, ".said the boy, eating rapidly.

" Well, you can just tell them you're dropping it."

Tell them what! " her husband shouted. " The first time he gets a chance to do something, the first time he gets picked for a team and given a chance to show what he's made of, and you have to – to –" " But it injures their brains[222]!

All those blows on the front of the skull[223]. I've read about it –"

" Injures their brains! " Mr Willison said impatiently.

" Rob, " said Mrs Willison steadily, " when you get to school, go and see the sports master and tell him you're giving up boxing."

" There isn't a sports master. All the masters do bits of it at different times".

" There must be one master who's in charge of[224] the boxing. All you have to do is tell him –"

" Are you ready, Rob? " said Mr Willison. " You'll be late for school, if you don't go."

" I'm in plenty of time. Dad. I haven't finished my breakfast."

" Never mind, off you go, old son. You've had your egg and bacon, that's what matters. I want to talk to your mother."

Stuffing[225] a piece of dry toast into his mouth, the boy picked up his satchel[226] and wandered from the room. Husband and wife sat back, staring hot-eyed[227] at each other. The quarrel began, and continued for many days. In the end, it was decided that Rob should continue boxing until he had represented the school at the tournament in March of the following year, and should then give it up.

" Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a hundred, " Mr Willison counted. " Right, that's it. Now go and take your shower and get into bed." " I don't feel tired, honestly, " Rob protested. " Who's manager here, you or me? " Mr Willison asked roughly. " I'm in charge of training and you can't say my methods don't work. After fifteen whole weeks, you start questioning my decisions on the very night of the fight? "

" It just seems silly to go to bed when I'm not –" " My dear Rob, please trust me. No boxer ever went into a big fight without spending an hour or two in bed, resting, just before going to his dressing-room".

" All right. But I'm sure none of the others are taking the trouble to do all this."

" That's exactly why you're going to be better than all the others. Now go and get your shower before you catch cold. Leave the skipping-rope. I'll put it away". After Rob had gone, Mr Willison folded the skipping-rope into a neat ball and packed it away in the case that contained the boy's gloves, silk dressing-gown, boxing boots, and shorts with the school badge[228] sewn[229] into the correct position on the right leg. There would be no harm in a little skipping to loosen himself up and conquer his nervousness while waiting to go on. Singing to himself, he closed the small leather case and went into the house.

Mrs Willison did not lift her eyes from the television set as he entered. " All now" said Mr Willison. " He's going to rest in bed now, and go along at six o'clock. I'll go with him and wait till the doors open to be sure of a good seat" He sat down on the sofa beside his wife, and tried to put his arm her. " Come on, love" he said warmly. " Don't spoil my big night". She turned to him and he was alarmed to see her eyes spilling over with angry tears. " What about my big night? " she asked, her voice bitter. " Fourteen years ago, remember? When he came into the world."

" Well, what about it? " Mr Willison replied, uncomfortably aware that the television set was quacking4 like a duck on the edge of his attention, making the scene as laughable as it wad sad.

" Why didn't you tell me then? " she sobbed[230]. " Why did you let me have a son, if all you were interested in was having him punched to death by a lot of rough louts[231] who –"

" Take a grip on yourself[232], Grace. A punch on the nose won't hurt him" " you're an unnatural father, " she cried. " I don't know how you can bear to send him that ring[233] to be beaten and banged about. Oh, why can't you stop him now? Keep him at home? There's no law that forces us to –" " That's where you're wrong, Grace, " said Mr Willison severely. " There is a law. The unchangeable law of nature that says that the young males of the species enjoy taking part in manly trials of strength. Think of all the other lads who are going into the ring tonight. D'you think their mothers are sitting about crying and making a fuss[234]? No – they're proud to have strong sons who can stand up in the ring and take a few punches."

" Go away, please, " said Mrs Willison, sinking back with closed eyes. " Just go right away and don't come near me until it's all over." " Grace! "

" Please. Please leave me alone. I can't bear to look at you and I can't bear to hear you".

" You're hysterical, " said Mr Willison bitterly. Rising, he went out into the hall and called up the stairs. " Are you in bed, Rob? "

There was a slight pause then Rob's voice called faintly, " Could you come up Dad? "

" Come up? Why? Is something the matter? " " Could you come up? "

Mr Willison ran up the stairs. " What is it? " he said, breathing quickly. " D'you want something? "

" I think I've got appendicitis[235]" said Rob. He lay among the pillows, his eyes narrowed and his face suddenly looking deceitful[236]. " I don't believe you" said Mr Willison sharply. " I've directed your training for fifteen weeks and I know you're as fit as can be. You can't possibly have anything wrong with you."

" I've got a terrible pain in my side" said Rob. " Low down on the right hand side. That's where appendicitis comes, isn't it? "

Mr Willison sat down on the bed. " Listen, Rob" he said. " Don't do this to me. All I am asking you to do is to go into the ring and have just one fight. You've been picked for the school team and everyone's depending on you".

" I'll die if you don't get the doctor" Rob suddenly said, through his teeth. " Mum! " he shouted. Mrs Willison came racing up the stairs. " What is it, my pet[237]? "

" My stomach hurts. Low down on the right-hand side" " Appendicitis! " She turned round quickly to face Mr Willison. " That's what comes of your foolishness! " " I don’t believe it" said Mr Willison. He went out of the bed-room and down the stairs. The television was still jabbering[238] in the living-room, and for fifteen minutes Mr Willison forced himself to sit staring at the noisy little figures that jumped senselessly about on the screen. Then he went up to the bedroom again. Mrs Willison was bathing Rob's forehead. " His temperature's normal, " she said.

" Of course his temperature's normal, " said Mr Willison. " He doesn't want to fight, that's all".

" Fetch the doctor" said a voice from under the cold flannel[239] that covered Rob's face.

" We will, pet, if you don't get better very soon" said Mrs Willison, throwing a murderous glance at her husband.

Mr Willison slowly went downstairs. For a moment he stood looking at telephone, then picked it up and dialled the number of the grammar school. No one answered. He replaced the receiver, went to the foot of the stairs and called, " What's the name of the master in charge of this tournament? " I don't know; " Rob called weakly.

" You told me you'd been training with Mr Granger, " Mr Willison called. " Would he know anything about it? "

Bob did not answer, so Mr Willison looked up all the Grangers in the telephone book. There were four in the town, but only one had the letters M. A.[240] after his name. " That's him, " said Mr Willison. With lead[241] in his heart and ice in his fingers, he dialled the number.

Mrs Granger fetched Mr Granger. Yes, he taught at the school. He was the right man. What could he do for Mr Willison? It's about tonight's boxing tournament.

" Sorry, what? " The line's bad. " Tonight's boxing tournament"

" Have you got the right person? "

" You teach my son, Rob – we've just agreed on that. Well, it's about the boxing tournament he's supposed to be taking part in tonight"

" Where? "

" Where? At the school, of course. He's representing the under-fifteens" There was a pause. " I'm not quite sure what to say, Mr Willison. But there seems to be a mistake somewhere" He gave a hearty[242], protective laugh. " If Rob belongs to a boxing-club, it's certainly news to me. But in any case it can't be anything to do with the school. We don't go in for[243] boxing" " Don't go in for it? "

" We don't offer it. It's not in our curriculum[244]". " Oh, " said Mr Willison. " Oh. Thank you. I must have - well, thank you" 'Not at all. I'm glad to answer any questions. Everything's all right, I trust." " Oh, yes, " said Mr Willison, " yes, thanks. Everything's all right." He put down the telephone, hesitated[245], then turned and began slowly to climb the stairs.