Lorcan Calder makes his mark

Lorcan was soon well established in Skelthorpe. He was highly regarded by most who knew him, not least in the Skelthorpe library and of course at his new school, Manor Park Grammar. In both places he shone and took care most of the time to be on good terms with as many people as possible and not to appear arrogant, or to piss them off. He was brighter than most and despite his efforts to the contrary, everyone knew it sooner or later.

With a tact that initially surprised himself, Lorcan took to quietly helping anyone with their school work who wanted it. It was only in PE and in the Eastamptonshire School Athletics competitions that he was deliberately competitive.

“I am no different to anyone else when it comes to PE and sports, so I’m not,” he would disarmingly assert.  Besides, he fancied a lot of the males at his school and knew how to be discrete about it.  One of the girls at Manor Park was more than a cover for him and had taken to referring to his “bedroom blue eyes.” It became a  sobriquet that caught on and emboldened Harry Smith to kiss Lorcan and to suggest they might meet in Boulay Woods the following evening after tea,- which they did.

Much as Lorcan enjoyed the always secret attention of his peers, it was for just a look from the beautiful and unobtainable Gregor Simpson, that he pined. Three years Lorcan’s senior, the prefect wore his authority with a charm and dignity which mesmerised enough to give him a fan base of girls who would often huddle together to discuss Gregor’s attributes.  Male admirers  in 1960s provincial England did so in furtive twos and threes, if they did so together at all. Joe Andrews and Brian Cooke came out to each other only because the tallish Irishman with those bedroom blue eyes and curly black hair appealed to them both and each noticed the other’s long and wistful glances in Lorcan’s direction.

There were few people to whom Lorcan took an instant dislike. But one such was Mr. Hardy. Mr. Hardy was no less emphatic; or so it seemed to Lorcan.

“You can be too clever Calder,” had been Mr. Hardy’s barbed response, when in the  UK General election of 1964, Lorcan had stood in Manor Park Grammar School’s mock version, as an Independent Unionist and came third with a very creditable 222 votes; this in a place that had barely heard of Northern Ireland and was still years away from seeing it daily in their newspapers and on their television screens.

But it taught Lorcan Calder that he had skills of political persuasion.

Fast forward 4 months to February 1965 and with additionally 6 good A Levels to his name, Lorcan was limbering up to sit the Cambridge University Entrance Examination.- A precocity of which Mr. Hardy particularly disapproved.

“It cannot be good for a bright and sensitive boy to be taking such a vital examination years ahead his contemporaries,” had been Sam Hardy’s cogent objections, as made to the headmaster. That Lorcan was taking the examination simply for the academic challenge it presented to him, only added to Mr. Hardy’s sense that it was wrong for one so young to be permitted to do so.

By now, on his 15th birthday, Lorcan had had a number of boyfriends, none very serious, but he was glad to reflect that he remained on good terms with  them even when their fling, or whatever it was, was over. A sudden spurt in growth and running in the Eastamptonshire Schools Athletics Competition  as a total contrast to his voracious appetite for reading almost anything, had he guessed correctly, added to his popularity in some quarters. However, it was for Gregor Simpson that his heart most decidedly fluttered. It was this state of mild agitation that drew Lorcan in Gregor’s wake, to a lunchtime meeting. So as not to make his interest in Gregor too obvious Lorcan was enjoying making himself the wider centre attention.

“As Hail Fellow Well Met as ever I see Calder,” announced Mr. Sexton as he swept by and on into the classroom.

“A saucer of milk for his reverence,” called Jim Rhodes, in a stage whisper of support that all were intended to hear and which Lorcan appreciated. Whether or not the usually affable teacher heard this, he gave no sign.

“Don’t know what’s up with Mr. S,” said Gregor, turning to the cluster of younger school students behind him.

For a moment, Lorcan was transfixed. He did not usually get the hots for redheads. But Gregor was the exception and been from the moment Lorcan first admired him from afar, almost two years ago now.  The tall and handsome Gregor Simpson was smiling at him through captivating green eyes. This was only the fourth time since Lorcan joined the school  that Gregor had spoken to him. Lorcan knew this to be so because he had recorded the first three in his dairy and would not fail to commit this happy occasion to private posterity.

‘Catch yer self on mon,’ Lorcan said to himself.

“I think I caused Mr. Sexton a wee bit of grief last week,” he added aloud.

The green eyes sparkled, “Yes..hmm.. I heard something on the grapevine.”

Quite oblivious of those who only  minutes ago were hanging on his every word, Lorcan now made sure that he was sitting next to the 18 year old.

“Happy birthday, by the way,”

Had he not been already sat down, Lorcan would surely have fallen down at the utter delight and shock: Gregor Simpson knew his birthday!

“I’m 15,” he replied, hoping that his grave tone invested his years with maturity and desirability.

Mr. Sexton appeared to be in a flap of some kind and in private conclave with the deputy head and Mrs Keith.

“Do you think your Prime Minster will call a General Election Lorcan?”

For the second time in as many minutes the beautiful Gregor took the younger boy at his side by surprise. This time Lorcan did not miss a beat, even though inside he was in a  state of delighted turmoil. ‘your Prime Minister.’ Not ‘the,’ or indeed ‘our’ Prime Minister, but ‘your Prime Minister.’ This could only  refer to Terence O’Neill. From that moment on, Gregor had placed himself on the highest pinnacle of esteem Lorcan could possibly imagine.

His reply was considered and serious: “Yes, I think so,” he began, the hum of conversation around them ignored and whatever drama going on between the teachers, of no consequence. “My view is that O’Neill will want to consolidate his position this October before a UK General Election-and a Labour win with an increased majority next year.”

Easily warming to his theme, Lorcan would willing have said more but at last the  meeting got underway. It took 20 minutes of an all too familiar monotone to convey  the necessary details, until at last the conclusion was in sight.

“……The school holiday to Triesenbourg, short notice as it is I’m afraid, will be this May. So anyone wishing to be one of the 25 pupils  to go will have to collect a parental consent form and return it signed, together with the £5 deposit, by Monday next.”

“One last point, said the Deputy Head, his voice forestalling insipient signs of hurried departure. “The holiday will supervised by four members of the teaching staff with Mr. Hardy taking the lead.”

Groans and ironic cheers greeted this particular intelligence, to be replaced a moment later by genuine whoops and whistles of delight with the announcement that Alison Forbes and Gregor Simpson, as respectively head girl and head boy, would be, “performing their prefectorial responsibilities throughout the school trip.”

“The Deputy Head would make The Second Coming sound as interesting a railway time table,” observed Jim Rhodes, as everyone dispersed to whatever delights the first period of afternoon classes held for them.

“I’m glad you are going, Gregor,” Lorcan managed to whisper before allowing himself to be drawn into the group heading for Eng. Lit. and Mr. Sexton.

To Be Continued.