been phased out. I had maintained my position as one of the brains of the school but had never left any doubt that boxing came first in my immediate ambitions. I was certain this would count against me. In my final interview with Singe ’n Burn he had noted that my boxing appeared to come first, ahead of my competence as a musician and as a promising young scholar. ‘Your boxing? Is this an obsession with you, Peekay? Where do you propose to take your skill? I must say it seems an unlikely future pastime for a gentleman, even though Lord Byron was said to have been a talented boxer.’ When I replied that I intended to be the welterweight champion of the world his eyebrows had shot up and he had looked at me over his steel rimmed spectacles. ‘Hmm,’ was all he said by way of reply.
Hymie was also among the fifteen candidates to be interviewed by the head. While he was regarded as a powerful intellect Hymie was generally thought to be too brash, and was therefore regarded by most of the schoolboy punters as being a long shot. When I queried him on his interview with Singe ’n Burn, he seemed reluctant to talk about it and so I didn’t question him any further.
Sinjun’s People were traditionally selected in order of merit, and this provided Hymie with a business opportunity that was to be one of our greatest successes. Apart from doing some of the legwork and sharing in the considerable profit, I played no part in its formation. We called it ‘Levy’s Remarkable Multiple of One Hundred’. As a punter you could bet two ways, by paying a shilling you could nominate any three successful candidates from the list of fifteen finalists, regardless of order. The winners, for there were certain to be more than one, to share a pot of thirty pounds. Or if you took two bets or more you qualified to enter Levy’s Remarkable Multiple of One Hundred which carried a prize of one hundred pounds and required only two successes, the names of the boys in first and second place on the Sinjun’s People list.
It was clever stuff, every boy believed he knew at least three certainties and so had an excellent chance to share in the thirty-pound pot. Most punters couldn’t resist doubling their bets for a crack at the big money, one hundred pounds if there was only one winner and a guaranteed twenty quid if there were more. Many of the kids, in particular day boys, put ten shillings and a pound on in an effort to get as many combinations right as possible. Even in this haven for little rich boys, a hundred quid represented a fortune. There wasn’t a kid in the school who didn’t have at least two bets going.
We set up office in the main school bogs for an hour before school and at lunch break every day for a week before the final selection of Sinjun’s People. The queue outside the toilet stretched well into the playground and anyone observing the toilets must have wondered whether an outbreak of the runs had struck the school.
Hymie took the money while I acted as pencil man, the guy who wrote down the bets. Tension was high on the last day before the following morning assembly when Sinjun’s People were announced. The excitement had helped a little to quell my fears for us both. Hymie, by his own admission, considered himself a doubtful candidate. ‘Shit, Peekay, it’s obvious, I’m too much of a gunslinger and not enough of a poet to please Singe ’n Burn.’ Privately I agreed, his wheeler-dealer reputation and my boxing preference counted heavily against us. In Hymie’s case the betting showed this; not once did his name appear in the one/two combination whereas mine did so frequently.
We’d taken bets totalling a staggering one hundred and ninety pounds, win or lose we’d made a neat profit of sixty quid. We’d worked out the odds on someone taking out Levy’s Remarkable Multiple of One Hundred and they were small but certainly not impossible, whereas we knew we’d have several winners in the thirty-pound pot. A perfect scam and good business to boot. A guaranteed profit, a number of satisfied winners and the chance to make a huge profit in the event of Levy’s Remarkable Multiple of One Hundred not having to pay out. You had to hand it to Hymie, it was copybook stuff.
I could hear my heart beating furiously as I stood next to Hymie in headmaster’s assembly the following morning. The hymn chosen before morning prayer was, ‘O God our Help in Ages Past’, a favourite, although today it seemed to go on for about twenty minutes. The prayer which followed was a long-winded affair about humility in honour and fortitude in times of disappointment. It had obviously been carefully chosen by Singe ’n Burn for the occasion. Then followed a host of trivial school housekeeping notes, including an admonition to stay away from the swimming pool which was being emptied for repainting over the Easter break, and an aside about more boys signing up for their beginner’s life saving certificate.
At last Singe ’n Burn cleared his throat for the major business of the day. Standing on the platform in a black gown with purple lining, he had removed his mortarboard so that the light caught his snowy white hair. At a time when short back and sides was the national norm his hair fell almost to his shoulders and a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles sat on the end of his long, impressive nose. St John Burnham MA (Oxon) was the most headmasterly looking headmaster I have ever seen, better even than anything out of a Billy Bunter comic.
The entire school was deadly quiet, apart from the fifteen candidates, there wasn’t a boy present who didn’t have money resting on the outcome of the next few minutes. Singe ’n Burn cleared his throat and began.
‘Each year the school council allows me a very special personal indulgence. I am allowed to choose from the third form those half dozen boys who will become Sinjun’s People.’ He paused to look up into the stained glass windows at the rear of the hall, as though asking for divine guidance. ‘Now, you will all know that I do not take this task lightly. It is, after all, as much a sadness as it is a celebration, for while six are to be chosen, nine who have made it to the finals will be asked to step aside. It is these nine good men and true who make my task an almost impossible one. After all, who is to say I’m right? I feel sure someone else, choosing in my place, might select six boys equally equipped and talented, though different to those I have chosen. All the candidates this year were exceptional young men, all deserve to be included, but alas, there are only six places. My congratulations to you all and a word of solace for those of you who do not become Sinjun’s People.’ He paused and directed our attention to the nineteen twenty-nine scroll of honour painted in gold leaf on a panel in the centre lefthand side of the hall. ‘The name at the very top of that nineteen twenty-nine scroll of honour belongs to the present South African High Commissioner to London, a brilliant diplomat and scholar and the youngest man ever to hold this position. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if some day he becomes our prime minister.’ He paused again to gain maximum effect for the words to follow. ‘This brilliant boy was not elected in his day to be among Sinjun’s People.’ His eyes seemed to travel across each row as he looked down at us over the tops of his spectacles. ‘I had intended to read Rudyard Kipling’s great poem “If” to you at this juncture but was reminded that it is part of your English curriculum this term and therefore well known to you all. I shall spare you a repeat performance. Let me conclude by saying, in my experience the glittering prizes in life come more to those who persevere despite setback and disappointment than they do to the exceptionally gifted who, with the confidence of the talents bestowed upon them, often pursue the tasks leading to success with less determination.’ He paused and from inside his gown he produced a sheet of paper.
‘The following boys from the third form have been chosen to be Sinjun’s People for the remainder of their tenure at the Prince of Wales School. My congratulations to you all.’ He glanced down at the piece of paper he was holding and commenced to read: ‘Levy H. S., Lyell H. R., Quigley B. J., Minnaar J. R.…’ I had punched Hymie in the ribs when his name came up, but now I could feel my face burning and a huge lump grew in my throat. I was sure I would suffocate… ‘Eliastam P. J.,’ the head paused to clear his throat and then looked up over the assembled boys. Time hung like cobwebs in the air and the paper he’d been holding seemed etched like a white tombstone floating in space.
‘And Peekay,’ he said finally.
I felt weak in the legs and it took all my strength of will not to start crying on the spot. I had made it. I was the sixth part of Sinjun’s People.
Atherton, Cunning-Spider, Pissy Johnson, Hymie and I celebrated by feasting on Perk’s pies, cream buns and Pepsi-Cola all that afternoon before Atherton, Cunning-Spider and Pissy Johnson had to leave for the four o’clock roll call. Sinjun’s People were not required to attend roll call and as they left playfully cursing us, we looked suitably upset though secretly we felt enormously privileged.
Nine punters had won on the first bet sharing the thirty-pound pot between them. There were no winners on the second bet. Hymie himself had been the wild card, and while some of the punters might have selected him for inclusion in their first bet, none had thought to place him first or second in Levy’s Remarkable Multiple of One Hundred. The fact that my name had appeared most often in either the first or second slot meant that most of the bets were not even close. We had cleared one hundred and sixty pounds on the deal.
After the others had left for roll call I turned to Hymie. ‘Okay, smartarse, how did you do it?’ I said, delicately licking the excess cream squirting from the side of my last cream bun.
‘How did I do what?’ Hymie said dreamily, upending a Pepsi into his mouth in an attempt to hide his grin.
