Some things stay with you for a long time and have the capacity to make you blush years later.
Many years ago when I was at school my favourite subject was English and I always got on well with the teacher, Mr. Wilson. I was usually near the top of the class, he helped me with lots of advice and I considered him almost a friend.
One day for dessert at school, we were all given a piece of fruit and I got a really juicy pear which was difficult to eat as it was so soft and squishy. Eating or, rather, mauling and sucking it in the playground, one of my friends said to me “I bet you can’t hit Willo with your pear.” Looking up I could see Mr. Wilson, but only just as he was so far away, a mere speck in the distance. Reasoning that I had no chance of hitting him at this range I realised that I could gain some playground kudos by at least trying, whilst safe in the knowledge that my relationship with Mr. Wilson would be undamaged. So I accepted the challenge, weighed the pear in my hand as one would with any missile, judged the wind speed, gauged the distance, allowed for drift and let fly.
This being the mid-1970’s, the fashion was for long hair and Mr. Wilson had a veritable mane; long, unkempt and straggly. He was also sporting a similarly scruffy beard and could have probably have passed as a member of Wishbone Ash or Thunderclap Newman. He was chatting to a group of pupils at the far end of the schoolyard, maybe even telling jokes, blissfully unaware that that there was something in the air. My projectile turned over and over in the atmosphere, ejecting little bits of pear flesh and juice and the odd pip as it hurtled towards its unsuspecting target. My friends and I watched as it began its descent and I was a little bit concerned as, from my angle, it looked like it might not be too far off target. In fact, it looked fairly damned close, but that was, no doubt, just an optical illusion.
The actual strike produced a wet splat that I didn’t, in reality hear, although the sound haunted me for a while somehow and there was some collateral damage involving the splashing of several boys nearest the point of impact, which was the side of Willo’s head. The reaction was a bit like that of a flock of pigeons to a loud bang, boys disappearing in all directions as if it had been a grenade and not just a bit of fruit that had landed among them.
Honour among schoolboys being akin to that among thieves, Mr. Wilson was soon surrounded by pupils yelling “Sir! Sir! It was Buffalo Bill, sir! He threw it sir!” My erstwhile educationary chum marched towards me looking quite unhappy, pear-juice dripping lazily from his hair and I had time to note that there were pips in his beard and the collar of his purple, penny-round shirt was a bit damp. “Did you throw that pear, Buffalo?” he asked. He looked so hurt, so wounded, so shocked and I realised that I had let him down badly; I had abused his confidence in me. All that was left to me was to be graceful and honest and throw myself on his mercy. “No, sir” I said, “Dunno who it was, sir.” I could see that he had hoped that it hadn’t been me and I had visions of getting away with it, simply because he trusted me, but I had forgotten about the viciousness of my fellow 14-year-olds who shortly managed to convince him that I was, in fact the perpetrator.
The look on Mr. Wilson’s face was far, far worse than the 500 lines he gave me as punishment and even today, 30 years later, it still plays on my mind.
If by chance you’re reading this, sir and recognise the details, please believe that I’m sorry for hitting you with the pear.
And while we’re at it, I’m sorry that you were forever after known as Fruit-Face.
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Written by Witzl (1585 comments posted) 13th December 2006 |
This is another classic.
The teachers of this world deserve better than they get from us -- especially the good ones who really try to make a difference. That said, there is nothing like the satisfying splat a really rotten piece of fruit makes when it hits someone. Fortunately, I am a lousy shot, or no doubt I'd have been tempted myself.
That last sentence is wonderful. Something tells me that Mr Wilson ws a good sport about it, though. |
Written by JourneyAtNight (314 comments posted) 13th December 2006 |
Oh dear, poor Fruit-Face, hehe! Well I'm sure he didn't take it to heart!
I remember my friend ay school throwing sweets, and aiming for the deputy heads baldy patch. The deputy head was a woman, so you can imagine how hurt she would have been!
I enjoyed this.
Best wishes,
E  |
Written by Clifftown (619 comments posted) 14th December 2006 |
It was the ending that made this piece, I thought. But I wouldn't feel too bad - there are worse nicknames than 'Fruit Face'!
You tell a great tale... |
Written by Phil (6635 comments posted) 14th December 2006 |
Really enjoyed this BB. Well told tale. Even though we know the pear is going to hit Wilson, you build the tension really well.
Last line excellent.
Teacher myself. I'm sure he didn't bear a grudge. I was on the yard last week and a pigeon dropped one on my head - now that's grudge-worthy - but I don't think I can get away with a shot gun at school.
All the best, Phil. |
Written by BuffaloBill (25 comments posted) 19th December 2006 |
| Actually, Willo did bear a grudge and he and I were never close again. It didn't bother me at the time (what 14-year-old cares for the feelings of others?) but later on made me feel really bad. |
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