Arthur & George

He was a gentle failure of a man, with a soft face behind a full, soft beard; he perceived duty distantly, and had lost his way in life.
    He was never violent or aggressive; he was a drunkard of the sentimental, open-pursed, self-pitying kind. He would be brought home, dribbling into his beard, by cabmen whose insistence on being paid would wake the children; the next morning he would lament at maudlin length his inability to support those he loved so tenderly. One year Arthur was sent away to lodgings rather than witness a new stage of his father’s decline; but he saw enough to endorse his crescent understanding of what a man could or should be. In his mother’s tales of chivalry and romance there were few parts for drunken illustrators.
    Arthur’s father painted in watercolour, and always intended to supplement his income by selling his work. But his generous nature constantly intervened; he gave his pictures away to all-comers, or at best accepted a few pence for them. His subjects could be wild and fearsome, and often gave evidence of his natural humour. But what he liked to paint best, and was most remembered for painting, was fairies.

George
    George is sent to the village school. He wears a deep starched collar with a loose bow tie to hide the stud, a waistcoat which buttons up to just below the tie, and a jacket with high, almost horizontal lapels. Other boys are not so neat: some wear rough, home-knitted jerseys or ill-fitting jackets passed on from elder brothers. A few have starched collars, but only Harry Charlesworth wears a tie as George does.
    His mother has taught him his letters, his father simple sums. For the first week he finds himself seated at the rear of the classroom. On Friday they will be tested and rearranged by intelligence: clever boys will sit at the front, stupid boys at the back; the reward for progress being to find yourself closer to the master, to the seat of instruction, to knowledge, to truth. This is Mr Bostock, who wears a tweed jacket, a woollen waistcoat, and a shirt-collar whose points are pulled in behind his tie by a gold pin. Mr Bostock carries a brown felt hat at all times and places it on the desk during class, as if he does not trust it out of his sight.
    When there is a break between lessons the boys go outside into what is called the yard, but which is merely a trampled area of grass looking across open fields towards the distant Colliery. Boys who already know one another instantly start fighting, just for something to do. George has never seen boys fight before. As he watches, Sid Henshaw, one of the rougher boys, comes and stands in front of him. Henshaw makes monkey faces, pulling at the sides of his mouth with his little fingers while using his thumbs to flap his ears forward.
    ‘How d’you do, my name’s George.’ This is what he has been instructed to say. But Henshaw just carries on making gurgling noises and flapping his ears.
    Some of the boys come from farms, and George thinks they smell of cows. Others are miners’ sons, and seem to talk differently. George learns the names of his schoolfellows: Sid Henshaw, Arthur Aram, Harry Boam, Horace Knighton, Harry Charlesworth, Wallie Sharp, John Harriman, Albert Yates …
    His father says that he is going to make friends, but he is not sure how this is done. One morning Wallie Sharp comes up behind him in the yard and whispers,
    ‘You’re not a right sort.’
    George turns round. ‘How d’you do, my name’s George,’ he repeats.
    At the end of the first week Mr Bostock tests them at reading, spelling and sums. He announces the results on Monday morning, and then they move desks. George is good at reading from the book in front of him, but his spelling and sums let him down. He is told to remain at the back of the form. He does no better the next Friday, and the one after that. By now he finds himself surrounded by farm boys and mine boys who don’t care where they sit, indeed think it an advantage to be farther away from Mr Bostock so they can misbehave. George feels as if he is being slowly banished from the way, the truth and the life.
    Mr Bostock stabs at the blackboard with a piece of chalk. ‘
This
, George, plus
this
’ (stab) ‘equals
what
?’ (stab stab).
    Everything in his head is a blur, and George guesses wildly. ‘Twelve,’ he says, or, ‘Seven and a half.’ The boys at the front laugh, and then the farm boys join in when they realize he is wrong.
    Mr Bostock sighs and shakes