The Class War - Part 1
This story is a work of fiction, all characters and plot lines are fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
The Class War remains the property of the author. The story or characters may not be reproduced or republished elsewhere without the expressed written consent of the author.
The year is 1904. The place, The Melrose estate set deep rural Worcestershire. King Edward VII has been on the throne for three years and Boer war finished just two years ago, but none of this concerns the two lads strolling along a wooded path on the estate.
Let me introduce them to you. On the left we have the honourable Algernon Philip Cuthbertson, eldest son and heir to the distinguished peer Lord Melrose, Viscount of Penzance. Algernon is 13 years old, and is known to his friends as Algy (his really intimate friends call him Roddy for reasons we won’t go into here). His companion today is William Albert Strachan, age 12. He is also heir to a peerage, but since his father is a mere baronet we won’t embarrass him by delving further into his genealogy. They are currently down from Harrow School for the summer hols.
Were you to meet the boys you could not fail to recognize them for the young gentlemen that they are. Dressed in tweed knickerbockers and matching hacking jacket with long grey woollen socks with brown brogue shoes. They are carrying butterfly nets and specimen collecting satchels, but this is a mere ruse to escape the supervision of their personal tutor. They had something in mind which was much more exciting than molesting the local Lepidoptera. Tucked inside the specimen cases are several lengths of rope liberated from the stables with the connivance of George the stable lad. They are intending to indulge in some role play which involves being tied inescapably to a tree whilst enduring unendurable tortures. Had they realized that this is, in fact, quite a popular practice among the English aristocracy they might have been a little less nervous. They had been introduced to this odd pursuit by the senior prefect that they were required to fag for at Harrow (American readers should, at this point, research common practices at English Public Schools – the results might surprise you). Rather than thrash his fags for minor infringements of discipline this individual has acquired a taste for keeping them tightly bound for some length of time. Algy and Will had acquiesced in this because it was infinitely preferable to the alternative of a beating, and besides, they found that they rather enjoyed it.
Nearby, and moving rather more stealthily, is another lad just 11 years of age. Ned Miller is a thin wiry lad, currently dressed in calf length serge trousers cinched about with a leather belt. Above the waist he wears a coarse cotton shirt and waistcoat. He is wearing lace up boots without socks. His lineage is less distinguished than the other boys, being the sixth son in a family of eleven of which only four survive. His father is a drunken farm labourer and his mother is exhausted. Ned infrequently attends the local Board school, where disenchanted Masters try to beat the rudiments of reading, arithmetic and bible knowledge into him. Ned is currently stuffing his second rabbit of the day into a sack prior to resetting the snare.
A slight rustle from the bushes caused Algy to grip Will’s arm.
“Sshhh,” he whispered, “there’s something in there!” Together the two boys crept silently through the undergrowth, straining to see the source of the noise. Intent on setting his snare, Ned did not hear the approach of the two older boys.
“Crumbs, Will, It’s a damn poacher after pater’s rabbits!” whispered Algy urgently. Ned immediately was alerted and took to his heels. Having seen that their quarry was smaller and younger than themselves, Algy and Will were much emboldened at set off in hot pursuit. Being fitter and more nimble Ned would have escaped easily were it not for the concealed tree root which sent him tumbling headlong into the ground. Algy and Will quickly pounced on him. The conversation which ensued was a bit too earthy to record in full exactitude but went something like this:
“Pigging well get off me, you stuck up nob!”
“It’s one of those filthy oiks from the village – see what’s in the sack, Will.”
“If you don’t pigging well get off me I will pigging well kick you in the pigging nuts so pigging hard that they’ll pigging come down your pigging nose!”
“You dirty, thieving little urchin! How dare you speak to me like that. Do you not know who I am?”
“I don’t pigging care if you’re the pigging queen of pigging Sheba. You’re a la-de-da pigging pansy toff and I’m going to put my boot up your pigging la-de-da nob’s jacksy!”
“Right, Will, we’re going to have to teach this foul-mouthed little brat a lesson in manners. He’ll have to learn the proper way to address his betters. Get the rope out of the satchel, we’ll tie him up and see how brave he is then!”
Will obliged, and with much struggling and further invective they succeeded in getting some coils of rope secured around Ned’s wrists. The offending lower-class person was dragged to his feet and was soon strung up by his wrists from a handy tree branch. The colourful and inventive flow of bad language was quickly stifled by the expedient of stuffing a kerchief in the urchin’s mouth and binding it in place with a length of cord.
“What this impudent scoundrel needs is a damn sound thrashing, and that’s what we’ll give him!” said Algy. Those of you of a tender disposition should realise that this did not make Algy a bad person, since every adult authority figure he had met since the age of five had said exactly the same thing about him – and most had acted on it.
Will unbuckled the belt from around Ned’s waist, whereupon his trousers, deprived of their means of support, responded to the tug of gravity and descended gracefully to their owner’s ankles revealing a pair of skinny legs surmounted by a pair of very dirty frayed cotton draws.
Algy wound the leather belt around his fist and prepared to strike.
“I would be most obliged if you refrained from doing that m’Lord,” said a deep voice from just behind them.
In the next part : Who is Ned’s saviour ? Will the cream of English society be humbled? How will they all get tied up before the end of the story?
© Copyright Cinched 2009
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