Chapter One
SNOGGO looked at himself in the mirror and thought how handsome he was. Yet no more than a mere youth of eighteen summers, he knew that he was incredibly good-looking. In fact he was fabulous. That was the best word, fabulous. He glanced down at the college servant who was giving him a very inexpert blowjob and cuffed him round the ear.
“If you can’t do any better than that, Mr Duvall,” he observed, “I shall have to arrange for a good thrashing for you this Saturday.” Poor Mr Duvall paused in his task to apologise and explained it was difficult because he had a bit of toothache so SNOGGO magnanimously forgave him and told him to do his best, but be quick about it.
After the session was over and the elderly stoker had promised to do better next time, SNOGGO dismissed him with an affectionate kick in the arse and, having adjusted his dress, looked out of the window over Main Quad at Swinesmore, the harshest and most feared public school in Dorset. SNOGGO went to enter details of the encounter with old Mr Duvall into his diary and generously accorded it 5/10. He noted with some pride that he had been blown by no less than 15 members of staff so far that term (and there were still four weeks to go before School broke up! “It’s good being Head Boy,” thought SNOGGO with satisfaction, recalling the horrors he had had to endure in order to reach his exalted station. He heard a knock on his door and turned around to see who would dare to disturb him in his studies.
“Enter!” commanded the valiant and very handsome SNOGGO.
“Excuse me, SNOGGO, but the Head Man want to see you,” mumbled a boy whom SNOGGO had not hitherto seen.
“The Head Man? To whom are you referring. boy?” snarled SNOGGO.
“The High Master, of course!”
“What! How dare you refer to Dr Squelch in such disrespectful terms! Take 500 lines, you ugly little pipsqueak.”
“Sorry, SNOGGO, I meant, thank you SNOGGO,” the little chap spluttered in terror, knowing that he had escaped lightly.
“What is your name, you nasty little worm?”
“I’m Bloggs of IVb, SNOGGO.”
“Which house are you in, Bloggs?”
“I’m in Prendergast’s, SNOGGO.”
“I might have guessed. I shall expect your lines by eight o’clock. If you are just one second late, expect a good flogging, you scumbag.”
“Thank you, SNOGGO.”
And SNOGGO straightened his tie, checked there were no stains on his waistcoat and strode out down Big Passage to see what Dr Squelch wanted. A call to see the Head Man was most unusual, and SNOGGO was slightly apprehensive in case the good Doctor had found out about his liaisons with the school staff.
Chapter Two
Dr Squelch rose from his desk as SNOGGO entered the High Master’s Chambers on the fourth floor of Old Sloth Tower on Christ’s Quad.
“Ah, SNOGGO! Thank you for coming so quickly. I realise you must be very busy. How are your studies? Not interfering with the cricket too much, I hope? We need to put in a good deal of practice if we are to beat those bastards at Cripplethorpe’s this year!”
“I’m fine thank you sir! The 1st XI is coming along spiffingly, sir, Watkins-Smythe major is proving a great bat this term and that big blackie, Lutherson, is a terrific bowler! I think we’ll give be able to show Cripplethorpers what’s what!”
“Ah yes, Lutherson the coon; it’s a pity he’s as black as the ace of spades but, since he’s the best under 18 cricketer in the West Indies, I felt Swinesmore could be a bit liberal in its admissions policy this year.” Dr Squelch paused a moment and frowned. He indicated the mighty oak cocktail cabinet and offered SNOGGO a snifter.
“Do you have an Amontillado on offer sir? I’m very partial to a big one.”
“Jolly good choice, SNOGGO,” observed Dr Squelch, “I think I’ll join you.” And so saying, the good Doctor poured out two large wine glasses of Don Miguel de Sanchez Gran Reserva 1944.
“Sit.” And SNOGGO sat. “Cheers!”
“Down the hatch, sir,” responded SNOGGO, taking a gulp of the precious liquid. “Mmmmmm, exquisite, sir. A marvellous vintage! Pater always loved the ’44!”
“Ah yes, how is the Pater, SNOGGO?”
“Not too good, thank you, sir. His stump is quite painful these days.”
“Stump? His stump?” And then suddenly Dr Squelch recalled that SNOGGO’s father had lost a leg at Dunkirk. Or somewhere valiant. “Please give him my best wishes when you next speak to him, SNOGGO.”
“Thank you sir, he will be honoured to know you remember him!”
“Now listen, SNOGGO,” Dr Squelch began conspiratorially, “What I have to tell you is strictly confidential and it is vitally important. The whole future of Swinesmore depends on this!” And the High Master picked up a sheet of notepaper from his desk before continuing, “Before I show you this, you must swear to me that you will not breathe a word of what you will learn today!”
So SNOGGO fell to his knees and took the Great Oath of Swinesmore; he swore on the honour of Swinesmore School and of the entire SNOGGO family that he would rather have his liver ripped out from his living flesh and eaten before his dying eyes by a load of heathens than ever reveal what the High Master was going to tell him. “God bless you, SNOGGO”, declared Dr Squelch, with tears in his eyes, “You are a true Son of the School!” SNOGGO took his chair again and waited for the good Doctor to explain.
“I received this vile letter today, SNOGGO. If it is true, then the reputation of the school is in danger. If it is true, we must take drastic action and, as Head Boy, you are the only person I can turn to. If it be false, then my whole faith in human kind must disappear down the toilet. ” He thrust the letter into SNOGGO’s hands, saying, “Read this, SNOGGO, and tremble!”
SNOGGO looked at the letter and this is what he read: “Dear Dr Squelch, You should know that two of your masters are filthy monsters and degenerates. They have corrupted college servants and even the pupils in their care, but even worse than that, they are a couple of disgusting transvestites to boot! Their names are Prendergast and McPorridge. Unless you sack these filthy swine, I shall reveal all and you will be ruined. Also I require £5,000 to keep quiet about the matter. To show your agreement you must include the phrase “and so say all of us” in next Sunday’s sermon in Chapel. Signed, a Wellwisher.”
SNOGGO gasped and finished off his Don Miguel de Sanchez Gran Reserva 1944 with a practised slurp. “May I have another one of those, please sir?” murmured he. “I’m stunned sir, simply stunned. What sort of Swinesmorian could ever do such a thing? But wait, it need not be a Swinesmorian, it could be a member of staff! My God, but that’s even worse!”
“You are right SNOGGO, as perspicacious as usual. The blackmailer must be someone who would normally attend Sunday Eucharist and who would also know I am preaching next Sunday! So the only options are a master or a pupil! The servants can be excluded on two grounds: firstly they are not permitted into Chapel, and secondly they are a load of illiterates, and the letter is the work of an educated person! But, by Christ, it chills my blood to know Swinesmore could shelter such a brute! But who? There are over 600 boys here and over 30 masters!”
“And Matron, sir. And Miss Pillock, the pottery mistress!” observed SNOGGO.
“May God preserve us, dear SNOGGO, surely you don’t think a woman would stoop this low?” He wiped away a nascent tear. “You couldn’t be serious?”
“We can’t exclude anyone, sir,” replied SNOGGO calmly, sipping at his replenished glass reflectively. “Women can be bitches at times, sir; they’re not all virgins and saints! However, we must be logical about this, sir. First, may I ask why you have turned to me for help. After all, although Head Boy and very mature for my years, I am only a pupil. Why did you not consult the housemasters?”
“SNOGGO, you are the only person whose integrity I can completely trust. I know that only you, and you alone, would never betray me; you are the Head Boy, you are the incorruptible SNOGGO, son of the war hero, the fearsome Major SNOGGO! And after all, two senior masters have been named and, as you have observed so wisely, the blackmailer could possibly be a member of staff! You are the only person I know who is above all suspicion! You are a paragon of virtue!”
“Thank you sir. I swear on all that is holy that I shan’t let the side down!” And SNOGGO lurched to his feet, raised his glass and cried out, “For the honour of Swinesmore! Swinesmoria ad infinitum!” And Dr Squelch rose to his feet as well in order to join SNOGGO in the toast, openly weeping, his arm on SNOGGO’s broad, manly, teenage shoulders.
Chapter Three
SNOGGO and the High Master sat and stared at the obscene letter. Finally Dr Squelch raised a vital point.
“SNOGGO”, he said, “Tell me, this allegation about Mr Prendergast and Mr McPorridge. Surely, there can be no truth in it?”
“May I speak openly sir?” ventured SNOGGO. And when the good Doctor nodded his assent, SNOGGO explained, “Well, sir, everyone knows about Mr Prendergast. Surely you know his nickname among the lads?” When Dr Squelch shook his head, SNOGGO explained, “We all call him Pervy Percy Prendergast the Predatory Poovy Poker.”
“Not to his face, surely,” gasped Dr Squelch in horror.
“Oh, no sir, that would be totally out of order.”
“Thank God for that! I abhor bad manners!”
“Do you mean to say, sir,” continued SNOGGO, “That you didn’t know about Mr Prendergast’s goings on? He’s been doing it to anyone he get get his hands on for thirty years or more! Everyone knows! Even Pater warned me about him before I came up!”
“Your Pater knew about Prendergast?” shrieked the High Master, his eyes wide in utter terror.
“Prendergast poked my Pater twenty-eight years ago, sir, when he was in the Upper Sixth! How else could Pater have become captain of the 1st XV? He hardly knew one end of a rugby ball from the other! He was as dim as a 15 watt lightbulb and only managed to get his O levels when he was 22!”
Dr Squelch sat in silence, pondering on how he could not have noticed the tell-tale signs about Prendergast: his mascara should surely have been a clue and that telephoto lens trained on the outside toilet area – Prendergast had said he was interested in photographing the foxes attracted by the odours. God in Heaven, Dr Squelch thought, what an innocent fool he had been to have seen nothing untoward!
“But Mr Prendergast is Head of House! He is one of my Deputy High Masters! O, how have I been betrayed!” wailed the shocked Doctor. “I know a bit of harmless homosexuality goes on in schools like this! It can’t be helped! It’s a fine old English tradition! The lads get pashed on some of the new boys, and naturally the juniors hero-worship the prefects! Why I expect you’ve been down the back of the bike sheds yourself, SNOGGO! It’s just a phase, the chaps all grow out of it! It’s part of growing up! But this, this is different: this is a master abusing his position of trust! And with college servants, which is a betrayal of our social principles! It's a violation of the great traditions of Swinesmore!”
“Do you want to hear about Mr McPorridge, sir?”
“No, It will break my poor old heart! Norman McPorridge is a good man, a kind man….” The good old Doctor paused in mid-sentence, “Isn’t he?” he added hopefully.
“The boys call him Norma.”
Dr Squelch sobbed with righteous nausea as SNOGGO explained about Norma.
Chapter Four
SNOGGO left the High Master’s study. He had promised to report back to the Doctor later that evening. SNOGGO had told him that a few hours’ thought were important before he could advise on the best course of action. SNOGGO’s valiant heart was beating nineteen (or even twenty) to the dozen. He was so honoured, so exhilarated that Dr Squelch had done him the great honour of confiding in him. To think that he, SNOGGO, was held in such high regard by the master whom he held in such high esteem in return!
SNOGGO returned to his study and listened to Beethoven’s Sixth as he pondered his plan of action. But, there was so little to think about really, the answers were so obvious, there was so little choice.
At seven o’clock, there was a knock on the door. “Enter!” yelled SNOGGO hungrily. It was Snoddington minor, SNOGGO’s fag with his supper. As Snoddington laid out the table, SNOGGO cracked open a bottle of Burgundy and sat down to eat. “Be back to clear up at 7.30, Snoddy,” he ordered, adding, “sharpish, or expect a thrashing!”
Bloggs of IVb was five minutes late with his lines. SNOGGO was displeased. He counted the lines carefully and was enraged. Little Bloggs had tried to cheat him by only doing 490! Dismissing the lad’s pleas and SNOGGO gave him six of the best on the bare arse and told him he was lucky to get off so easily.
SNOGGO was now ready to go to see Dr Squelch with his recommendations and it was with a determined smile on his face that he headed for the luxurious study of the High Master of Swinesmore.
Chapter Five
“It’s the only way sir,” SNOGGO ended his summary of what must be done. “It’s the only hope for the honour of the school.”
“But the risk to you is enormous, SNOGGO. I know now that Prendergast is a vicious pervert and an animal; a brute who has abused generations of the Swinesmore community, but it’s still murder!”
“But sir, there will be no clues. You know I, the great young SNOGGO, am too clever to leave any clues. And even if the slightest suspicion fell on me, you will be able to give me an alibi for the time of his killing! Who would dare question the word of the High Master of Swinesmore?”
“But are you certain you can implicate McPorridge? That is also key, SNOGGO! I know you are near to being a genius, but we are playing a very serious game here, it’s not like 1st XI hockey, although that is, I accept, a very fucking dangerous game too!”
“Leave it in my hands, sir. We have four days before Sunday and your sermon. Just think carefully about how to add `And so say all of us’ into a sermon about the childhood of Christ, sir.” SNOGGO smiled and added, “And then the blackmailer will no doubt contact you to say where to leave the money. I know it goes against the grain to give in to blackmail, but it’s the only way to save the good name of the School, the School you have given forty years of your life to, the School which I am more proud than I can say has made me Head Boy!” SNOGGO felt a tear pricking his eye as he glanced over the old High Master's shoulder and caught sight of his own handsome reflection in the mirror.
And so, less than 48 hours later, Mr Prendergast was found poisoned in his study. Mr McPorridge’s fingerprints were on the brandy balloon next to his bedside table. The police never found Prendy's extensive diaries and collection of daring action-packed photographs as SNOGGO had wisely removed these from their hiding place. Poor Mr McPorridge was found to have committed suicide the next day and obligingly left a farewell note which explained that he had been violently jealous of Prendergast’s popularity with the boys and had been depressed about his own lack of progress up the promotion ladder and also the fact that he had a wart on his dong the size of a sixpenny piece. SNOGGO’s masterful forging of McPorridge’s handwriting had taken him all night.
The police accepted the suggestion that McPorridge, in a fit of suppressed homosexual jealousy, had murdered Prendergast and then taken his own worthless life. The Inspector in charge of the case (R.Sole of the Yard, who else?) generously agreed to treat the matter with maximum discretion, especially since his own son would be receiving a special Founder’s scholarship to study at Swinesmore for five years, followed by a guaranteed place at St Mongrel’s College, Oxford.
And the High Master managed to find a rather intellectual way of incorporating the required phrase into his sermon and (just as SNOGGO had predicted) he received instructions soon afterwards on just where to leave the five grand in used tenners. Thus, the mighty teenage SNOGGO was able to pay off all his gambling debts and have enough left over to buy his beloved Mater and his one-legged Pater some jolly fine Christmas presents.
Vivat Swinesmore et vivat SNOGGO!
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
