Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles, #1)(10)
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Harry, before making his way through the front door and into a large, highly polished wood-panelled hall. He put his case down and stared up at a painting of an old man with grey hair and bushy white sideburns, dressed in a long black gown with a red hood draped around his shoulders.
‘What’s your name?’ barked a voice from behind him.
‘Clifton, sir,’ said Harry, turning to see a tall boy wearing long trousers.
‘You don’t call me sir, Clifton. You call me Fisher. I’m a prefect, not a master.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ said Harry.
‘Leave your case over there and follow me.’
Harry placed his second-hand, battered suitcase next to a row of leather trunks. His was the only one that didn’t have a set of initials stamped on it. He followed the prefect down a long corridor that was lined with photographs of old school teams and display cabinets filled with silver cups, to remind the next generation of past glories. When they reached the refectory, Fisher said, ‘You can sit anywhere you like, Clifton. Just be sure to stop talking the moment Mr Frobisher enters the refectory.’
Harry hesitated for some time before deciding which of the four long tables he would sit at. A number of boys were already milling around in clusters, talking quietly. Harry walked slowly to the far corner of the room and took a place at the end of the table. He looked up to see several boys pouring into the hall, looking just as perplexed as he felt. One of them came and sat next to Harry, while another sat opposite him. They continued chatting to each other as if he wasn’t there.
Without warning, a bell rang and everyone stopped talking as Mr Frobisher entered the refectory. He took his place behind a lectern Harry hadn’t noticed and tugged at the lapels of his gown.
‘Welcome,’ he began, doffing his mortarboard to the assembled gathering, ‘on this, the first day of your first term at St Bede’s. In a few moments’ time you will experience your first school meal, and I can promise you that it doesn’t get any better.’ One or two of the boys laughed nervously. ‘Once you have finished supper, you will be taken up to your dormitories, where you will unpack. At eight o’clock, you will hear another bell. Actually it’s the same bell, just being rung at a different time.’ Harry smiled, although most of the boys hadn’t caught Mr Frobisher’s little joke.
‘Thirty minutes later, the same bell will ring again, and you will then go to bed, but not before you’ve washed and brushed your teeth. You will then have thirty minutes to read before lights out, after which you will go to sleep. Any child caught talking after lights out will be punished by the duty prefect. You will not hear another bell,’ continued Mr Frobisher, ‘until six thirty tomorrow morning, when you will rise, wash and dress in time to report back to the refectory before seven. Any child who is late will forgo his breakfast.
‘Morning assembly will be held at eight o’clock in the great hall, where the headmaster will address us. This will be followed by your first lesson at eight thirty. There will be three sixty-minute lessons during the morning, with ten-minute breaks between them, giving you time to change classrooms. This will be followed by lunch at twelve.
‘In the afternoon there will only be two more lessons before games, when you will play football.’ Harry smiled for a second time. ‘This is compulsory for everyone who is not a member of the choir.’ Harry frowned. No one had told him that choristers didn’t get to play football. ‘After games or choir practice, you will return to Frobisher House for supper, which will be followed by an hour of prep before you retire to bed, when once again you can read until lights out – but only if the book has been approved by Matron,’ added Mr Frobisher. ‘This must all sound very bemusing to you’ – Harry made a mental note to look up the word in the dictionary Mr Holcombe had presented him with. Mr Frobisher once again tugged at the lapels of his gown before continuing. ‘But don’t worry, you’ll soon get used to our traditions at St Bede’s. That’s all I’m going to say for the moment. I’ll now leave you to enjoy your supper. Goodnight, boys.’
‘Goodnight, sir,’ some boys had the courage to reply as Mr Frobisher left the room.
Harry didn’t move a muscle as several women in pinafores marched up and down the tables placing bowls of soup in front of each boy. He watched attentively as the boy opposite him picked up a strangely shaped spoon, dipped it into his soup and pushed it away from him before putting it to his mouth. Harry attempted to imitate the motion, but only ended up spilling several drops of soup on the table, and when he did manage to transfer what was left into his mouth, most of it dribbled down his chin. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. This didn’t attract much attention, but when he slurped loudly with each mouthful, several of the boys stopped eating and stared at him. Embarrassed, Harry placed the spoon back on the table and left his soup to go cold.
The second course was a fishcake, and Harry didn’t move until he’d seen which fork the boy opposite him picked up. He was surprised to notice that the boy placed his knife and fork on the plate between each mouthful, while Harry clung on to his as firmly as if they were pitchforks.
A conversation struck up between the boy opposite him and the boy next to him, on the subject of riding to hounds. Harry didn’t join in, partly because the nearest he’d been to sitting on a horse was a halfpenny ride on a donkey one afternoon on an outing to Weston-super-Mare.