POSH BOYS 2


HOW JOHN FOTHRINGTON THOMAS JUNIOR GETS TO HEAR ABOUT CAMERON AND THE TOWN GIRL AND THAT ALL IS NOT WELL AT GREYTOWERS

The rumour running around the whole school now descended upon the delicate ears of John Fothrington Thomas. They were indeed delicate ears and these were far from delicate rumours.
In truth the scandal concerning the highly esteemed David Cameron, DC to all the chaps in the upper sixth, Head Boy, senior prefect in Blue House, Captain of the first eleven and Rebecca the landlords daughter from the New Inn had been a whispered secret for some time, but its descent upon the innocent ears of John Fothringtom Thomas Junior of the lower fifth was a cause for him of deep consternation, for if true  it suggested that the most esteemed boy in the school, the wondrous batsman who scored sixes with an elegant ease, was, of all things, could it be possibly true, a cad? Surely this could not be true; again if true it would mean he had been walking out with a girl and a town girl at that!
Fothrington Thomas’s thoughts were not bright, nor were they breezy as he caught sight of Pickles, the Fat Owl of the remove, who slowly hove into view.
“I say Pickles,” Fothrington called out and the Fat Owl ambled toward him in his customary lethargic manner.
“What is it Fothrington?” The Owl enquired curtly, slowly removing the wrapping from a chocolate bar that he had taken out of his pocket.
“That, JajajaJaping Ass Cash told me the most awful rot about Ddddavid,” he stammered, “some rot about…………..”
“Oh I know all about that,” said the owl cutting in, between mouthfuls of chocolate, “old Murdoch’s an old friend of the Cameron family, so what it he outfitted the Blue Eleven, David assured me himself that he did it for the good of Greytowers and anyhow he kitted out the Red Eleven a few years ago.”
Fothrington’s mind whirled like a spinning top set loose upon the hallowed floors of Greytowers Hall, unpleasant thoughts spun out, then quickly congealed like treacle.
Fothrington hesitated momentarily,” yes of course Pickles,” he shielded his eyes against the glare of the morning sun, though his brow had darkened as if in shade. He saw Jeremy Hunt editor of the school magazine descending upon them both, looking for all the world like someone facing a thorough thrashing from the headmaster.
“What are you chaps talking about.”
”Fothrington here was telling me about some wretched rumour that’s been going around,” the Owl responded.
Hunt turned scarlet and turned furiously fixing his gaze on the hapless Fothrington of the fifth. “Listen you little tyke if I catch you going around spreading filthy rot about me or David you’ll face a sound thrashing and no mistake.”
“But Hunt honestly,” he protested, “I wouuuuldn’t ddddreeaam of ddddoing such a thing!”
Hunt looked temporarily appeased but Fothrington could see the fear in his eyes.
“Well you just make sure you don’t otherwise you’ll face more than a bbbbbeastly debagging,” he mocked.
As the two sixth formers walked away John Fothrington Thomas Junior of the lower fifth was plunged into thought and his thoughts were far from gay and happy ones. He had a reputation for being naïve, but he was not stupid and he knew that things were definitely amiss; indeed it was apparent that all was not well in the hallowed halls of Greytowers.  

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