Two lads, William and Andrew are playing truant from school.
They spent the morning lurking around the railway sidings until a workman told them to clear off.
They loitered around the town centre, avoiding policemen and panda cars.
They pooled what little money they had and shared a bacon bap from one of those cheap cafés that caters mostly for taxi drivers, claiming they had a dental appointment when quizzed about not being in school.
Later in the morning, they loiter at a bus stop and wonder what to do for the rest of the day.
A lady who lives nearby notices them from an upstairs window.
Twenty minutes later they’re still there and after half an hour, she’s deduced that they’re not waiting for a bus since three have gone past now. Knowing that they probably should be somewhere else, she dons her overcoat, exits her home and approaches them.
She loiters as if waiting for a bus for a few moments before breaking the ice.
“No school today boys?”
“Er… it’s lunchtime.” William claims.
“It’s barely eleven a.m.” she retorts.
“Er… the boiler broke, we all got sent home.” Andrew lies.
“I see… so why aren’t you both at home?” she asked.
Between them, the two boys delivered a string of excuses, each contradicting the last.
They knew that she knew that they were playing truant from school and eventually, admitted it, claiming the school’s boring and they’d rather knock about doing nothing instead.
“Well that doesn’t sound like much fun,” she says.
“S’all right.” Andrew shrugged. “Schools not much fun either,” he added.
“Aren’t you worried that a truant officer or policeman might see you?” she asked.
“You are both in school uniform after all.”
“Err…”
“How’s about using your time more wisely?” she says.
“I’ve got a couple of jobs that need doing in my garden and if you two did them for me, you’d be off the streets and out of trouble for the rest of the day.”
“How much are you gonna pay us, missus?”
“Well… if you do a good job, a pound each,” she said. Their eyes lit up.
“And I’ll make you some sandwiches for lunch.”
“What kind of jobs?” William cautiously asked.
“There’s an old gazebo that needs breaking up and burning,” she tells them.
“…and the autumn leaves need raking from the lawn and burning too, and my garden pond needs clearing,” she added.
The boys agree.
They get to smash up a gazebo, light a fire and get paid for it.
“This way,” she says.
“Aren’t you waiting for a bus?” they asked.
“No… I live just over here,” she said, heading towards a detached Victorian house.
“Why were you waiting at the bus stop then?”
“I noticed you loitering, knew you were skipping school and decided to offer you something better to do with your spare time,” she replied, opening the gate and leading them around the side of her house.
The wonky old gazebo stood precariously by a small muddy pond.
An area beyond it has been used for fires in the past, and the boys waste no time kicking the flimsy structure to pieces.
The lady fetches them a can of pop each and asks how they’re getting on.
They’re clearly enjoying themselves.
She lights a small fire and begins piling the former gazebo on it.
She advises the boys to feed the fire gradually, and that all the fallen leaves from the lawn need piling on, but not so many to smother the fire.
She gives them rakes and tells them that the pond needs clearing too, which is littered with rotten twigs, mulch and half-dead weeds.
So far as garden ponds go, it’s not a very good one.
It’s little more than a big muddy puddle, but if you look closely enough, there is a small brick wall surrounding it.
With a belly full of fizzy pop, an exciting fire to tend, a lawn to rake and a pond to dredge, the boys approached their tasks with giddy enthusiasm.
They didn’t care if their school uniforms took on the scent of the wood smoke or got spattered with mud or slime as they pulled the broken bits of branches from its shallow stagnant murk.
In fact, they deliberately splashed one another and as only boys do, they turned a simple task into a silly competitive and overtly boisterous display.
Unbeknown to them, the lady watched from the window.
It was only a matter of time before one of them slipped or tripped.
“Having fun boys?” she asked when she fetched them a second can of pop each, along with a tray of sandwiches and some crisps.
“Yeah!” they replied in unison.
“Ah-ah!” she said as they reached to grab a sandwich.
“Go and wash your hands first… the kitchen’s just there,” she added, pointing out the open back door to her home.
She set the tray down on a cast iron garden table and followed them inside.
For one, she wanted to make sure they used soap rather than just rinsing their muddy hands with tap water.
Aside from that, she wanted to make sure they ventured no further inside her home than the kitchen.
She feels no sense of threat from these two truants but that’s not the same as trusting them.
With their hands washed, she sends them back outside before sighing at the muddy footprints on the lino.
“I should have known,” she grumbles, blaming herself more than anyone else.
The boys tuck into the sandwiches and slurp their pop. “She’s Ok that woman.”
“Yeah…. she better pay us though.”
“She will.”
“My mum’s gonna go bonkers when she sees the state of my uniform.”
“Mine too,” Andrew said.
“I stink of wood smoke too,” he added, sniffing his collar.
After gobbling their sandwiches, munching their crisps and draining the cans of every last drop of sweet fizzy pop, the boys continued feeding the fire with leaves, bits of the old gazebo and stinky sodden bits of wood and gunk from the pond.
The smoke was thick and steamy.
The fire reduced to a smoulder and when the lady came to collect their empty tray and cans, they suggested pouring some petrol or paraffin on the fire to get it going again.
“Oh my word no… that’s far too dangerous,” she says, before complimenting their hard work so far.
Since the fire’s all but done for, she suggests they clear the rest of the debris from the pond, dump it by the fire-pit where it’ll eventually dry out, then after getting cleaned up, it would be more or less ‘hometime’ and therefore a good time to go.
“You’re still gonna pay us aren’t you missus?” Wayne asked.
“Of course… you’ve done well… keep up the good work, and try not to get too muddy,” she said, looking them up and down.
Their shoes are covered in the stuff. Spatters and splats pepper their trousers.
There’s pond gunk on their sleeves and even in their hair.
“Bit too late for that.” Andrew retorts.
“My mum’s gonna go bananas.”
“Well I’ll try to get you both cleaned up as best I can,” she replied.
An hour or so passed.
The boys had cleared the remaining debris from the pond, the gazebo was all but burnt and the lawn is clear of leaves.
Having finished their task, the boys approached the house and knocked on the back door.
“Have you finished boys?” the lady said.
“Yes.” they replied in unison. After checking, she pushed two fifty pence pieces into their hands.
“Now put that in your pockets and we’ll get you cleaned up,” she said.
“Shoes off before you come inside!” she insisted
. “I’m not going to make that mistake again.”
“Yeah… sorry ’bout that,” William said as he untied his laces.
He knew full well that he’d muddied her floor when he washed his hands but wasn’t really bothered enough to do anything to prevent it.
“What’s your name missus?” Andrew asked as he kicked off his shoes.
“It’s Mrs Vaughn,” she replied.
“Don’t you ‘ave a first name?” Andrew retorted.
Just like Wayne, every word that Andrew uttered lacked any hint of respect or politeness.
A series of stubborn statements was all they were capable of.
“Not as far as you are concerned young man.” the lady smiled.
She let them into the kitchen where she took their jackets from them.
“Oh boys.” she gasped. “You’ve got it on your shirts and jumpers too!”
“Well, it won’t exactly a clean job,” Andrew replied, almost as if in protest.
“Well, I’ll run you both a bath… come on… upstairs!”
“I only need to wash my hands and face,” William stated.
“And what about your clothes?” Mrs Vaughn asked.
“You did say your mother wouldn’t be happy,” she told the boys that whilst they’re in the bath, she’ll quickly clean the mud and gunk from their trousers, jumpers and blazers.
“They’ll take an hour to dry, and you can tell your mothers that you were at an after school club if you’re late home,” she suggested.
Wearing only their underpants and vests, the two boys went up to her bathroom where a tub full of warm water, topped with foamy white bubbles waited for them.
Mrs Vaughn followed. “Me first!” Andrew blurted as he bounded into the bathroom, pushing the door shut behind him.
“Oi!” he yelled as the door opened whilst he was stepping out of his underpants.
“You’ve got nothing we haven’t seen before.” Mrs Vaughn replied as she marched Wayne into the bathroom.
“In you get.” she said. Andrew quickly sunk himself under the bubbles.
“You too Wayne.”
“I’m not getting in with him!” William retorted.
“There’s plenty of room for two… now come on… it’ll be a lot easier for me to clean you up if you’re both in the bath.” she said.
Everyone’s got a teacher or an aunt, a family friend or neighbour may be who has a strong presence about her.
The sort you know not to cross.
The sort who commands respect simply by the way she stands; proud and confident, and the way they speak with authority and determination.
Mrs Vaughn is just this sort of woman.
Much against his better judgement, William removes his underwear and sheepishly steps into the bath alongside his friend for fear of experiencing her wrath.
Both boys are embarrassed beyond belief when the forthright woman begins to scrub and sponge their hands, arms, shoulders and faces.
Both protest that they can wash themselves but she wants it done properly… reminding them that they stink of both wood smoke and pond gunk.
“That smells like perfume!” William whined as she upended a bottle of something into the bath before proceeding to rinse and wash their hair.
“Oh stop whining boy… it is perfume.
You can’t go home stinking of wood smoke can you?” Mrs Vaughn retorted.
“Your mothers would know you’d skipped school.”
The boys figure that she has a point and after being scrubbed and rinsed, she gives them a hand towel each with which to dry themselves.
She scoops up their underwear before leaving them.
“I’ll be in the bedroom opposite… come in when you’ve dried yourselves off.”
The boys dry their body’s and hair.
Alan sniffs his forearm and inhales the sweet fragrance.
“I think I preferred smelling of wood smoke.” he moaned. William, having just dried his hair, puts his face into the towel and also grumbles at the scent he detects.
“Surely she didn’t have to pour the whole bottle in.” Andrew frowned as he wrapped the small hand towel around his waist.
“You done?” he asked Wayne.
“Yeah.” Wayne nodded. “These towels could be a bit bigger.” he said, holding it around his waist before they headed to the bedroom opposite.
“All dry boys?” she asked as they entered.
They nodded in unison.
“I’ve found you both something to wear whilst your clothes are being washed.” she says, gesturing toward the bed.
“They’re girls clothes.” Andrew gulped.
“Well… I’m afraid I’m a bit short of boys clothes.” she replied.
“I have a niece about your age who visits occasionally… so you’ll have to make do with hers.”
“I’m not wearing a dress!” Wayne stated. He’s clearly exasperated that she even suggested such as thing.
Andrew was in much the same frame of mind.
“It’s only for an hour.” she told them.
“No one will see you and no one need know… and I can’t have you waiting in the nude whilst I deal with your muddy clothes can I?”
With great reluctance, the boys dress in the clothes she’d chosen for them.
“You better not say anything to anyone about this!” Andrew threatened as he stepped into a pair of very frilly knickers.
“I won’t!” William stated, as if that should have been obvious.
“As if I would!?” he added after pulling on a lace trimmed vest and looking down at himself.
“I think the buttons go up the back.” Andrew advised as William sheepishly stepped into his dress.
“How are you supposed to fasten them if they go at the back?” William quizzed.
Alan’s dress is of a similar style. “We’ll have to do each others.” he mournfully suggested.
Wayne hung his head in shame as he experienced the humiliation of being buttoned into a dress, by none other than his best friend.
Once done, Alan turned so William could fasten the buttons on his dress.