Celebrations

When I was a child I read stories about boarding schools. Some of these stories were uplifting Enid Blyton style stories of fun adventures and ginger beer; others featured harrowing tales of hazing and school bullies. When my father told me that I would be sent away to boarding school I was numb.

I wasn’t surprised, it’s a cliche but after my father remarried after the death of my mother I knew it was a matter of time before I was removed from the scene. I shared very little in common with my father, and my new stepmother (although by all accounts a lovely woman) didn’t have the means to handle an angry, destructive child.

So I was sent away to boarding school. I had no say about which school I was sent to but I strongly suspect that I was banished to the facility furthest away from my home and what remained of my family. I won’t bother you with the details of my departure and the cold nature of my goodbyes. 

I arrived at what was set to be my new home on a bright sunny day, I remember distinctly that the weather seemed to be defying my mood. The world had become a terrible, awful no good place it felt like another slap in the face when the weather didn’t align itself with my desires. You must forgive me, I was only a child.

It took some time for me to make friends. Eventually, I had my school chums in the form of Amelia Spirran and Sasha Waters. They were very kind, steadfast and affectionate companions who I am sure I never deserved. I suspect that if I had made different choices than perhaps we would still be friends today. 

The trouble began and ended when I discovered that you could escape the school via an unused servants entrance in the back of the library. The school used to be a manor house before the war, the war took every family member who could claim ownership and it was bounced around between owners before it became a school. What was now the laundry room was now the library.

Everything was moved around, it was all jumbled up now. 

It was a dark night when we snuck away, we’d heard that there was a party at the community hall in the town. We figured that we could make it down on our bikes, have a bit of fun, get back before dawn. No-one ever needs to know. 

Sasha was always the brave one, she was always so sure that everything would be okay as long as we’re brave and steadfast in our loyalty everything will be okay. 

‘You know we’re not the only ones going to this dance’, Amelia panted trying to keep up. 

She had the shortest legs of anyone I’ve ever known. The teachers always said that she’d have her growth spurt and she’d shoot up like a tree. I never saw it, so I can’t attest to the truth of that statement. I can tell you that she never complained about not being able to keep up, she always just plugged away as hard as she could. 

Sasha and I didn’t answer. It was common knowledge, that was why we were going to this dance after all. Sasha was excited about the idea of seeing boys, I was excited to snatch some food that wasn’t cooked in batches three years before I was born. 

The path we walked was dark, covered in weeds, overturned rocks and random garbage. It hadn’t been maintained in years, decades even. Most people travelled to the town by car on the main roads. We were relying on the light of the moon, we couldn’t risk any kind of lanterns. 

I remember I nearly ran my bike into a tree and ruined the whole trip, I was saved at the last second by Sasha grabbing my hand and pulling me back on course. 

‘Do you think that David will be at the dance?’ Sasha asked.

Did I think that David would be at the dance? The more important question was do I care if David will be at the dance. By all accounts, and I know its poor form to speak ill of the dead, David was a small-minded, selfish bastard of a boy and didn’t deserve anyone as lovely as my dear friend Sasha. 

What I said was this, ‘I don’t know. Do you want David at the dance? Maybe you want him to dance with you?’

Sasha giggled as if I had said something terribly funny. It’s all in the tone I suppose.

The rest of the trip was spent in the kind of banal conversation which children always engage in. How awful and unfair the teachers were, how the other students were in turn too clever and too stupid, and how we couldn’t wait for the next lot of holidays. Christmas always felt like it was just around the corner, and yet the furthest thing away.

When we came upon the town it was all lit up. There are few things which excite a small town more than an excuse for a dance. We hid our bikes behind the hall and snuck in through one of the side entrances. It looked like everyone in the town was in attendance, we had to be careful that none of the school staff saw us or we’d be in big trouble. 

I made my way around the outskirts of the hall, I saw that there was an enormous table full of food. There was roasted vegetables, freshly baked bread, cold and hot cut meats, fruits, huge pots of soup. I must confess that after I grabbed everything that I could find on one of the available plates I snuck outside to eat in peace. 

My friends could entertain themselves, and I had a rule about buffets. Grab a sample of everything that looks good, then go back for seconds. That way you don’t fill your belly with garbage food, however, this process required peace and tranquillity and although I loved them dearly they would expect conversation. 

I suppose me being outside, eating in the cold and the snow, was the only thing which kept me safe from the fire which broke out. The authorities never figured out exactly what caused it, faulty wiring from the Christmas lights, an errant candle or cigar. What I do know is that if we hadn’t gone to that dance, then my friends would still be alive and I would still celebrate Christmas.