Faraway The Gownboys

Boarding school drop-offs are bound to be an angst-ridden affair. Not that I have much experience. For me, n = 1. But everyone's bound to be charged up. Happy. Sad. Scared.

Three weeks ago, mum and dad broke it to me that they were sloughing me off to Charterhouse for the next four years. My best mates—Shawn, Edgar, Tyler—are off to Eton or Wycliffe or else they're staying home. It’s not like we don’t have top schools here in Birmingham. 

In soft rebellion, I put off packing. I’m going away from mum and dad, and Janey and Charlie--and then what? Off to university. So, I get thirteen years or so at home, and then out, and I have nothing to say in the matter?

They try softening the blow. “It’s one of the top boarding schools in the world.” They try talking me off the ledge. “It’ll be great for your future—for university and beyond.” 

At thirteen, I wonder if I’m the only adult in the room. I ponder whether playing me like a chess piece in the name of setting me up for a 'bloody good future’ is good for me. The person. 

Sure, I’ll meet new mates and we’ll get on and we may be tight into young adulthood. But, this side of growing a forest in my armpits, I’m whisked away from my parents, my sibs, and my best mates. This is good for me?

The three-hour drive down to Surrey was deafening silence between us for most of the way. Mum asked as we drove off, “you sure you have everything, sweetie?” I was sullen. “This’ll be an adventure,” dad said. 

I know without looking that my face is a portrait of red and blotchy. Big emotions always bring out the blotchy face. And I feel like I’m being hauled off to Belmarsh, to live with a hectare’s worth of captured terrorists. The lord only knows what I did to deserve this, and it's no use asking. They've already spun my sentence into a sort of magnificent gift. 

Dad plays classical music for most of an otherwise quiet drive. We finally pull into the grounds at Charterhouse and drive around a bit. It has an ancient and sort of pristine academic vibe. Well, ok. It looks nice. 

Dad asked an older man and woman for directions to my dorm. Knowing we were new, they both turned up all the octogenarian charm they could muster. Follow Queen's Drive. Right on Princess Avenue and left after Founder's Court.

That's the way to Gownboys, my new home away from home. It appears I’m moving into a castle here in Surrey. A quasi-Blenheim Palace, only not.

Instantly I’m an omelet of emotions. I cried when I hugged Janey. I tried not to cry when I told Charlie to “be good to your sis' and your parents!” I stewed the whole way here. I'm angry, and a wee bit nervous about, well... missing everyone. And, having seen the place, I wonder if this is as bad as I imagined. 

Anyway, I do not want to cry when mum and dad pull away and wave bye-bye. For now, I’m just keen to see the castle. 

We walk inside over ancient stone floors and immediately come upon a girl at a table. She has magnificent brown hair, wide brown eyes, and perfectly American-looking teeth, which are a gate that opens to a mellifluous Irish accent. “Welcome to Gownboys! You must be the Chopman family. I’m Ruby!” 

I plunge out my hand. “I’m Ollie. This is my mum and dad, Thomas and Eleanor.” Ruby’s still glowing and self-assured. Wait! Am I still blotchy?

She insists it’s a pleasure meeting us and announces that “Gownboys is the oldest house on campus, going back to 1614 as the original house of scholars. It’s the most centrally located of all the houses and," dropping her chin and her voice, "has all the best views!” 

My room is on the second floor. My roommate is a bloke called Elgin, from Queensgate, London. Breakfast is every day at 7:30. There will be an orientation tomorrow morning at 9:30 in Founder’s Chapel. 

Looking right at me she asks, “What will you study?”

“Oh, uh. Well. I’d like to focus on government and politics, and also study some in religion and ethics. I want to work for Her Majesty at MI6 or MI5.

Ruby, I'm hoping..." I stop, lean in slightly, and suddenly begin speaking in a faux library tone, "I really wanna be a spy.” She half-smiles and I immediately wonder if she thinks I’m a total wanker. 

I wish I could take it back. How many times has Ruby rolled her eyes at some wanna be ninth year slipping in here fresh from their mum and dad's house and pretend they're the next 007?

Another family trundles in behind us. They drop their luggage in a thunder onto the old stone floor. They're speaking Swiss-German in a volume they'd employ if they were at opposite ends of Wembly Stadium.

Ruby becomes a model of efficiency. "Right!" she says, stowing a piece of hair behind one ear. And then, here’s a campus map. Here’s the key. And that’s that. 

We fetch my bags and slog them two flights upstairs with a landing in between, and then we open room 202 at the far end of the hall. The window is propped open and a gusty breeze greets us. 

The flat amounts to a square room with bunk beds against the wall on the left. There are two desks with green bankers' lamps on them. The navy coloured walls look decently clean and unchipped and the floors are old-world wood. Our room needs stuff in it--even a mum's touch. 

My face was blank while dad wondered, “what do you think, son?” 

“She seems really great!” 

“Not the girl. What do you think about the room, silly!” 

“Oh. Yeah. I suppose it'll be fine.” 

Then dad does one of those moves that plays much better with toddlers, placing a flat palm on the top of my head and tossing my hair around like Caesar's salad. I love my father, but that move is way past its expiration. 

We throw my stuff on the bottom bunk and then turn and head down to the car to say goodbye. Ruby's in full flow. She's holding court with three families who are all captivated by her beyond-her-years poise. I keep walking and check my shoes for no reason whatsoever. 

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You’re not a baby. Don’t cry. 

The moment my chukka boot lands on the parking lot, the floodgate opens. It’s mostly silent at first, as I’m trying to force a modicum of maturity and composure. As much as I may have thought I’d blurt out something about not wanting to be here, that’s not even my first thought. 

I’m thinking about missing my whole family. Since I’m the oldest, I'm trying to sound a bit grown up. My shoulders start to riot and quake and I ask them to “take care of J and C for me, will ya?” It's beyond pathetic.

They grin. We all hug in a little circle for what seemed like twenty minutes. I cry like I just fell out of my crib. I wonder--though I couldn't care less about the answer--where in the world all this water comes from; my eyes and my shirtsleeves are soaked. 

They drive off in a blur of tears and taillights. When will I see them? When will I see Charlie and Janey, much less Tyler and Edgar and Shawn?

I'm exhausted from it all. Scary as it is--if only for a time--it's just me and the Gownboys. Room 202. Down the hall. It's the last door on the left.