John Paul Dochety and the Mucky Mag. Omnibus Edition

What happens if you don't want to listen to three separate episodes? Worry not dear listeners. Here it is, all three episodes combined into one listen. At forty-seven minutes long, it's ideal for a long gym session or a car trip. Download from your favourite podcast software like Itunes or Spotify or directly from my Buzzsprout website. https://tellingtales.buzzsprout.com. Jeff 

Transcript

Paul Docherty and the Mucky Mag

Part One

“John Paul, get your skinny arse down here now.” Sheelagh Docherty shouted up the narrow staircase. “I have told you two times there won't be a third.”

John Paul knew exactly what that would mean, his Mother would be upstairs with the wooden spoon beating the crap out of him until he got out of bed. He quickly picked up his clothes from the floor, dressed, and went downstairs.

“I’m out of milk, your Pa will want some for his tea when he gets in from the night shift. He’ll be tired and in a bad mood and none of us want that. Do we?” She gave John Paul one of her terrifying stares.

No Ma.” John Paul replied.

“Now go and don’t dawdle!” She swept her flat hand out towards his head and he quickly ducked as he slipped out the door.

He hated getting the milk. It was seven in the morning and the normally crowded terraced streets of Newcastle were just starting to come to life. In the distance, he could hear the familiar rattle of the milk cart as it did its daily round. He was a few streets away from his own house. “Always keep the park between yourself and the milk” his eldest brother Shaun had told him. “This is the catholic area, go on the other side of the park and it’s protestant milk you're nicking.”

John Paul glanced about him and made sure no one could see him and in the time it took to say “two sugars please” he scooped up a bottle of milk from a doorstep and pushed it inside his coat. 

His family life was a chaotic one, he and his five brothers, his Mother and Father and his Grandfather shared a three-bedroom terrace house in the west end of the city. Mrs Docherty came from a hard-working family and tried her best to keep the house tidy and her unruly brood in line. She provided them with good basic foods, she kept their clothes as clean as she could but it was an uphill task and she rarely made it even halfway up. Her husband Michael with his shock of red hair and his quick wit was the love of her life. He never complained, he worked hard in the chemical factory and always handed his pay packet over on a Friday night unopened.

John Paul’s family roots were in Ireland and his great, great grandfather had brought the family to Newcastle when the potato famine gripped the country. Despite the fact his father had never set foot in Ireland he considered himself as Irish as Guinness. The backdoor swung open and Michael Docherty pushed his way through the detritus that littered the backyard and opened the kitchen door.

“Sheelagh pet, I don’t know how you manage to look so gorgeous at seven o'clock in the morning. I’m in bed after breakfast, would you like to join me for an hour or so?”

“Away with you Michael Docherty.” As she tried to suppress a smile. ” Stop your messing, I have six breakfasts to make and you go and get those idol sons of yours out of bed and ready for school. ” 

The big bedroom at the front of the house was more like an army barracks with two rows of bunk beds and a small cot on which John Paul slept. It was far too small for him but there was no way his older brothers were going to give up their beds for him.

Michael banged his fist on the bedroom door and shouted. “Up now, ya lazy buggers. If you're not down in five minutes I’ll send you Ma up with the spoon.” He had no desire to go in the room. The smell of teenage boys and sweaty socks was worse than the acrid smell of the chemicals cooking in the factory where he worked. 

The terraced streets were built in 1890 then they were for the middle class but now the area had become a ghetto of low-paid labourers and the unemployed. A rundown park sulked at the end of the terrace. John Paul liked the park. It was overgrown, and most of the play equipment was broken but at night it belonged to him and his pals. The park keeper and police would constantly try to move them on but it was like keeping ants out of a sugar factory.  

John Paul had kissed Mary McIntyre there and even felt her breasts through her school cardigan. He got a slap across the face for that and she never spoke to him again. He didn’t care, by the time he had finished telling the story to his friends you would have thought the two of them were naked in the park shelter but that’s teenage boys for you. He decided to take the shortcut through the park. The morning air was sharp but the April sunshine had lit up the path through the hedge. That’s where he saw the magazine.  John Paul was a natural scavenger. His father never threw anything away and if someone had dumped something in the back lane he was the first to drag it into the backyard. As a consequence, the back of the house was overgrown with abandoned washing machines, broken bicycles and bald car tyres. If John Paul brought some discarded piece of metal or a cracked flower pot to his Dad. He always got “Ah, that’s grand lad, thanks.” praise from his father was as rare as a sunny day in Newcastle. 

“You never know when something will come in handy” was the family motto. In reality, none of the junk piled up in the yard ever came in handy but his father would never part with any of it, much to his wife’s annoyance. So, John Paul had learnt from an early age to keep his eyes peeled for treasure in the back lanes and anything dumped in the park. 

He couldn’t believe his luck when he examined the magazine; it was an almost mint copy of Penthouse. The girlie magazine had only recently come out and the paper boys from Parker’s Newsagents talked of nothing else. “Tits and everything” they eagerly told anyone who would listen. He quickly stuffed it inside his coat next to the milk bottle. 

Back at the house he passed the milk bottle to his Mother. “Did you have to milk the cow to get this? You’ve been twenty minutes. Ya Da’s not a happy man” before John Paul could dodge out of the way she landed a sharp slap across the back of his head. “Get that tea to your Da, he’s out in the yard in the outside netty.” John Paul made his way gingerly through the debris of the small yard and knocked on the door of the outside toilet. “What de ya want? I’m in here.” he dad said

“Dad, I have your tea.” The door slowly creaked open. His father was astride the toilet, a cigarette in his mouth and a copy of the Racing Post in his lap. “About bloody time. Me throat is as rough as the bottom me workboots.” As John  Paul stood there gazing at his father with his trousers around his ankles and his cap pushed back on his head his Father swallowed a large slurp of tea then spat it out all over John Paul’s trousers. “Jesus, no bloody sugar. Are you trying to poison me? Take it back and put two sugar in it and tell ya Ma I want a bacon sandwich from me breakfast,” 

John Paul scurried back to the kitchen and as he came through the back door the magazine dropped out of his coat and onto the floor. As he went to pick it up he spilled some tea on it. “Nooo.” he screamed. His mother spun around. She looked at the floor and then looked back at John Paul. “Where did you find that filth?” she said. Before John Paul could say anything his Mother had grabbed the precious copy of Penthouse and dumped it into the kitchen bin. “Me Da, wants a cup of tea with two sugars and a bacon sandwich Ma” His Mother stared at him with such intensity he felt as if she was burying into his head. “Get cleaned up and get off to school, I’ll talk to you tonight.” He hated it when that happened all day long he would wonder if she told his Dad and what she would do next. “It’s the spoon for sure,” he thought.

His walk home from school that afternoon was slower than normal. He had no desire to see his Mother or Father and no appetite for the beating that would follow. He crept into the house and as he started going upstairs his Mother came out of the kitchen. “John Paul, I need you to go to the Coop and get some plain flour, just tuppence worth.” She thrust two penny coins into his hand. “I’m making a cake for your Grandad, I forgot it’s his birthday tomorrow. Now go.”

John Paul ducked expecting the usual slap across the head but his Mother spun around and disappeared back into the kitchen. He returned from the coop shop ten minutes later and went into the kitchen. 

“Here, Ma.” he said, handing over the flour. “Anything else?”

“Yes, take the kitchen bin out and empty it into the big bin, then put that into the back lane. The bin lorry will be along first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, Ma.”

As John Paul emptied the kitchen bin the precious magazine spilled out. After a quick glance back towards the house to check his mother wasn’t watching he scooped up the Penthouse and pushed it inside his school blazer. 

There was  a small broken fridge in the backyard that had been rescued by his Dad from the back lane before the scrap man could get it. John Paul opened the fridge door, shoved the magazine inside and returned to the kitchen. For a moment he felt lightheaded, he had rescued the magazine and despite its ordeal in the kitchen bin it seemed to be in reasonable condition and it looked like his mother had forgotten about it as well. 

“I’m going to get changed and then go and play football in the park. Is that OK Ma?” 

“Sit down John Paul.” his mother said. His heart sank.

“Yes Ma.” he pulled out the chair by the kitchen table and sat down.

“John Paul, don’t think I have forgotten about the magazine. Where did you get it?”

“In a hedge in the Park.” His voice was almost a whisper.

“You’re thirteen now and you’re probably going to become a randy old man like your father.” John Paul noticed an odd smile on his Mother’s face when she said that. “I can’t stop the things you young boys think about but never bring that sort of filth into my house again. Understand?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Get changed and be back before six for your tea.”

“Yes, Ma.”

John Paul rushed upstairs and quickly changed out of his school uniform. A small germ of an idea had begun to grow in his brain. He knew it would make him a hero amongst his friends but more importantly, it would also make him a bit of money. John Paul may not have been the sharpest knife in the kitchen drawer but he had a lot of street savvy and he knew a money spinner when he saw one. He just needed to work on the details. He picked up his football and headed back towards the kitchen. 

Opening the back door, he shouted. “Bye Ma”. 

Down the hall towards the front door, he heard his Mother’s voice. He quickly took a pair of scissors from the drawer of the kitchen table and darted out into the yard, opening the rusty fridge door he grabbed the Penthouse Magazine and shoved it up his football Jersey, he opened the yard door and ran down the back lane towards the park. 

Part Two.

The park shelter was a concrete horror, there was nowhere to sit, the roof leaked and a bitterly cold wind swept through the park on its way from the Russian Steppes to freeze the fingers off the shipyard workers on the River Tyne. 

John Paul shouted to his two friends.

“Shifty, Robbo, come over here and see what I‘ve found.” John Paul had known Shifty and Robbo since the first year at Sacred Heart Primary united them in their hatred of Nuns and maths. They were the mortal enemies of the Park Keeper and a pain in the backsides of their Mothers.

The three pals sat down on the rubbish-strewn floor of the shelter. John Paul pushed his shirt up and pulled out the magazine. 

“Look, have you ever seen anything like this in your life? They each gasped as every page was turned, they pointed but mostly they just gorped at the pictures of the naked young woman. 

Shifty took his one good eye off the page and turned to John Paul and said “I’ll buy it off you. How much?”

It was not always possible to know where Shifty was looking after he lost one eye in a bike accident three years ago as his glass eye had the habit of not moving when the other one was looking elsewhere. 

Robbo quickly followed up with a “No me, I’ll buy it.” Robbo was the adopted son of Mr and Mrs Robinson. Mr Robinson was the church organist at St Roberts and Mrs Robinson was Chairwoman of the Catholic Womans Guild. 

They were unctuously pious people who would like to remind everyone that their son was adopted. Usually followed by a “He came from a bad home.” Much to Robbo’s embarrassment. 

“Nobodies buying it, at least not yet.” John Paul took out the scissors and started to cut out one of the pictures.

“He held it up and said. “One picture, one penny. Here’s how it’s gonna work and it's how we are going to make a fortune.”

“We cut up the magazine, we take the pictures to school and we sell them. I give you ten pictures, you pay me eight pence and when you sell ten for a penny each you make two pence.”

“Five pennies for Ten” Shifty said

“Seven” John Paul held out his hand.

“Six,” said Robbo. The other two looked at him “Shut up Robbo or you’ll not get any.” John Paul snapped back. Robbo was going to say something but decided to keep quiet instead. 

It took them nearly an hour of argument to cut up the magazine. As there were often pictures on both sides of the page, it was a tough call to know which would be the best choice. In the end they had nearly a hundred pictures to sell.

“Here’s the plan. I take them into school and hide them somewhere and you get ten pictures each. When you sell your ten you come and see me and give me the seven pence and I’ll give you another ten. We’ll have to be careful, if the teachers or the Prefects find out we’ll be in big trouble. Just tell whoever you sell to if they get caught, say they found them, if anyone grasses us up then they dont get anymore. Understand?

“Yes, John Paul.” Shifty and Robbo said in unison.

The next day John Paul was up ready for school early. “Morning John Paul” his Mother said as he appeared in the kitchen. She looked up at the kitchen clock and said “What’s up?” She knew her sons well enough to know if John Paul was up early then John Paul was up to something. Usually, it meant he was up to no good. 

“I’ve made porridge for your breakfast. Sit down” Sheelagh Docherty stared at her son and could see in an instant that whatever it was it fell into the “no good” category. 

“Sport is it? Today?”

John Paul looked at his shoes. “No Ma” he said in a barely audible voice.

His Mother lunged forward and grabbed his ear and pulled him up out of his seat.

“Ma, you're hurting me.” he gasped out.

“What are you up to, ya little bastard. Tell me now!” she pulled even harder on his ear.

“Nowt, let go Ma”

“I know you John Paul, you are up to one of your old tricks. Tell me now because if you don’t and I find out later and you can be sure I will find out” She gave him another one of her stares. John Paul felt his face flush.

“Nowt Ma, I swear.”

His mother relaxed her grip and he dropped back on to his chair. “Eat your porridge and get off to school and John Paul” He looked up at his Mother. 

“Yes Ma”

“I’m watching you.” She reached over to the kitchen sink and pulled out a wooden spoon from the washing up bowl and waved it in front of him. “We are watching you.”

John Paul couldn’t finish his porridge quick enough. His stomach was in knots, his legs shook and his face was so hot it felt like his hair was on fire. 

He jumped up from the table, grabbed his school haversack and its precious cargo and without looking back he headed for the kitchen door and out into the back lane.

Shifty and Robbo were already waiting for him at the end of the lane. “OK, lads everything sweet.”

“Did your Ma say anything?” Shifty asked

“Na, she didn’t suspect a thing.” 

The other two smiled a not very convincing smile.

“My Ma asked me what I was up to and why I was ready for school before she had called me at least three times.” Robbo said as he looked around the empty street to make sure his Ma wasn’t watching from behind a lamppost.

“Look Robbo,” John Paul said as he grabbed the lapels of Robbo’s jacket.”Say a word to anyone and I’ll have your guts for garters.” John Paul had no idea what garters were or how you made them out of people's guts but that’s what his Dad always said to him and his brothers when he thought they were up to no good. So, he knew it was some sort of terrible threat.

St Cuthbert’s Grammar School was at the end of a long drive. On one side was an old Victorian manor house that was home to the Priests who staffed most of the school and next to it were the two long corridors of classrooms that made up the main school. At the far end was the hall that overlooked the school playing field and the school yard that had been the scene of John Paul’s day of shame.

Ever since a first year boy had up ended him as he tried to get his dinner money he had experienced problems with his protection racket. Groups of first year boys now gathered in packs for self protection and if John Paul attempted to approach anyone the others quickly gathered and told him to get lost. The local youth club karate class had never been as busy. That’s why his new venture was so important not only would it make him some money but might go some way to restoring his battered reputation.

The three bandidos went into the cloakroom and John Paul handed over the first batch of pictures to his two compatriots. “Stick with the older boys but don’t let the Prefects see you. Cash upfront only. No credit. Understand?

Yes, John Paul” Shifty and Robbo said in unison. They hurried out into the schoolyard and within minutes returned. “Selling like hot cakes, one lad took five,”Shifty said. 

“Are you not coming out into the yard?” Robbo asked.

“I’m guarding the pictures, now piss off the two of you.” John Paul smiled to himself. 

“ They take all the risk, I get all the reward.” he said to no-one.

 As the school bell rang to herald the start of morning prayers John Paul pocket rattled with coins and his havestack was empty of  pictures. 

“OK, you two we meet up in the park tonight and then we discuss our next step. OK?” With that the three purveyors of pornography made their way into the main hall to say a prayer to thank God and the Baby Jesus for a very profitable morning's work.

The news of the pictures had spread quickly and all during dinner time Shifty and Robbo were besieged by eager pubescent teenagers begging for pictures themselves. Those lucky enough to have bought them in the morning were now selling them on for a much higher price and by the time they went home some of the more provocative and revealing images were selling for a shilling. 

“We need more magazines and we need them fast.” John Paul told his two partners in the filthy pictures business, as they sat on the park shelter floor.

 “Let’s put all the money we made and buy more mags,” John Paul put out his hand as Shifty and Robbo handed over their hard earned cash.

“We made a total of eight shillings and a Penthouse costs five. So we can get one more for that.” said Shifty 

“Great idea Shifty” said John Paul. “Exactly what I was thinking”

“The newsagents won’t sell Penthouse to kids and even if they did the Ma’s would know about it before we left the shop.” Robbo added

John Paul and Shifty looked at each other. The smiles on their faces and the thoughts of easy cash disappeared into a mist of problems and disappointment. 

The three of them sat staring at the broken swings and the burnt out slide until John Paul suddenly jumped up.

“I’ve got it.” His crestfallen face now sported a wide grin. 

“We could steal them.” Robbo said

“That’s a stupid idea.” John Paul sped back. We’d get caught.”

 “Na, we won’t. The shops are always packed on a Saturday, kids buying sweets, Dad’s getting the Football Pink and Granda’s after the Racing Post.” Robbo continued.

“If we create a distraction of some sort. We could get away with it.” Shifty said

“I have an idea. John Paul. “Let’s just nick them, me and Shifty will start a fight between us and as Mr Parker tries to stop us Robbo grabs a couple of mags.”

Shifty and Robbo looked at each other. That’s what we said.” said Robbo

“Ya, well you have given me the bare bones of an idea and I made a plan so that’s down to me.” Shifty and Robbo both shrugged.

“This Saturday then? “ said John Paul

“This Saturday then.” Said Shifty and Robbo.

John Paul could hardly sleep that night. He now would have at least one, hopefully two, brand new Penthouse Magazines unblemished from kitchen waste and his Father’s sugarless tea to sell plus that would be another eight maybe sixteen shillings. “No”, he suddenly thought. “I’ll double the price to 2p. That would be one pound and twelve shillings.” They would be rich. They could go to the pictures and get ice cream or maybe even visit the new bowling alley. He could ask Mary McIntyre to go to the Italian ice cream parlour or maybe take her to the pictures and in the dark maybe just maybe steal a kiss and another furtive investigation of her school cardigan. Life was suddenly all possibilities. 

Part Three John Paul Docherty

Parker’s Newsagents stood on the cusp of the posh streets of Newcastle with its tree lined avenues and comfortable semi detached post war houses and the never ending terraces of back to back workers houses and flats that stretched in endless rows down towards the giant brewery of Scottish and Newcastle Breweries. 

On that spring morning Michael Parker took a deep lung full of air that was filled with the aroma of fermenting hops and the heady smell of Newcastle Brown Ale brewing and smiled. “A new day, a Saturday, the busiest day of the week. I love a Saturday” He thought to himself 

It was six thirty on a Saturday morning and outside his little shop his faithful three paperboys were already waiting.

“Morning Lads.” His thick black hair was pushed back in a big swirl, held in place by copious quantities of hair lacquer and was so stiff you could scrape your hand if you touched it. Not that Mike “Elvis” Parker would let anyone other than his wife Heather touch his hair, ever. By day he might have been Mike Parker the owner of Parker’s Newsagents but by night he was Fenham Elvis. As well known in the Working Mens Clubs of Newcastle as the man he had spent nearly ten years of his life impersonating on stage. 

“Morning Mr Parker.” the boys replied. At the same time a van pulled up and disgorged the string wrapped bundles of newspaper onto the pavement outside the shop.

“Great timing Bobby.” Mr Parker shouted to the delivery driver. “OK, lads” he turned to the trio who were trying to ignore the bundles. “You know what to do. Let’s get a shift on. These Papers wont deliver themselves. “

So it starts every day but today was special. That night he had his first appearance at the Newcastle Labour Club. On a Saturday night there would be three hundred men and women packed into the upstairs concert hall. None of them were there not to see him. He would be the warm up man before the bingo. That night the headline was the legendary comedian Bobby Thompson. For Fenham Elvis, this was his chance to shine. 

As the paperboys sorted the morning rounds, he entertained them all with Viva Las Vegas and Wooden Heart, the two new numbers he was adding to the show that night. 

The regulars to the shops were often entertained by Mike’s singing and although it annoyed some, for others it was the highlight of their days. 

Before long, the newspapers were sorted and the lads loaded up their bikes and cycled off into a grey misty Newcastle morning. Then came the factory workers off for the Saturday morning half shift, Nurses and Doctors from the nearby hospital weary from a gruelling nightshift, all eager to buy their morning cigarettes and sugary sweets. Mike knew the routine of his shop and he counted off each landmark, knowing it brought him closer to his performance at the Labour Club.

Nine o’clock brought the Grandads with their football pools tickets to hand in and the Ma’s with the little children who were eager to spend their Saturday morning pocket money on licorice sticks, black bullets and sherbet dabs. A small queue was building up when three thirteen year old boys entered the shop. The first one picked up a copy of the Saturday Journal from the newspaper stand and joined the queue, the other two started looking through the comics on the back shelf of the shop. Mr Parker’s seasoned eye had spotted them all. He knew Mrs Robinson's son, the adopted one, but didn’t recognise the other two. He made a mental note to watch them carefully.

Suddenly there was a shout and someone in the queue cried out.”Me Eye, I lost me eye.” Shifty had slipped his glass eye out of its socket and rolled it along the floor. He grabbed the woman in front of him and screamed “Me eye, where’s me eye” The woman looked in horror at Shifty's face, his good eye staring at her and the empty black hole on the other side of his face seemed to draw her in.

Panic began to engulf the queue. Children looked at the teenage cyclops and clutched their Mothers, even the Grandad who had seen far worse in the Great War felt a little uncomfortable. 

Shifty kept repeating “Me eye , I’ve lost me eye.”

Mr Parker was always calm in a crisis, years of standing on stage in Working Mens Clubs had removed the last vestige of fear from him but even he was beginning to get worried. He shouted through to the back parlour. “Heather, can you come through,  please.”

Lifting up the counter hatch he went out front and approached the boy. 

One of the Ma’s pointed to the Newspaper stand and said. “It’s there.” She pointed as if she had seen a mouse or a huge spider. “There.”  She started at the eye and the eye stared back at her. 

Mr Parker bent over and quickly retrieved the offending glass eye. He put his arm around Shifty and said “Don’t worry son everything is OK. Come with me.” 

The two of them passed through the counter. “Heather pet, take this young man through to the back and help him sort out his eye.” he passed her the eye, he added. “Probably could do with a rinse under the tap.”

“He addressed the anxious queue “Crisis averted everyone. Now Mrs Murphy, what can I do for you today.” and with that everything returned to normal. In all the chaos no one had noticed two thirteen-year-old boys slipping out of the shop. 

Moments later Shifty appeared from the side door of the shop, his face restored to its normal spotty and runny-nosed glory clutching a bag of jelly babies. “Want one” he said, offering up to Robbo and John Paul. “Mrs Parker give me them for nowt.”

Later the three amigos sat down again in the shelter at Nuns Moor Park.

“OK, has everyone got their scissors?” Shifty and Robbo both raised their scissors up.

“Yes, Boss.” they both replied.

“Magazines at the ready?”

Robbo lifted his jumper and waved the copy of Penthouse and John Pull did the same.  

“Ok guys, lets get cutting.”

There were few arguments this time. As they had two magazines it was an easy decision  which picture to choose as they could now have both. Soon, the two Penthouse magazines were demolished and John Paul started to put them into his haversack.

“What if your Ma finds them, John Paul?”

“Good point shifty. Let’s divide them up” 

The arguments began again. 

“I want that.”

“You’ve got all the coloured pictures”

“I wanted that one.”

Until John Paul shouted. “Stop” he glared at the other two. “This is business, we are going to make money from this. At least 2 pence for every photo. Let’s make this a competition. After school on Monday we add up what we each have and see who has the most money? Don’t worry about who has what, think of the ice cream, the bowling alley. I know what I’m thinking of.”

“Yes,” Shifty said with a broad grin on his face. “Mary McIntyre’s school cardigan.

John Paul slapped Shifty on the back. “Too right mate, too right.”

Monday morning came as Monday morning always does and in the back lane of John Paul’s house the three budding business tycoons greeted each other.

“Everyone got their photos?” John Paula asked.

“Present and Correct” said Shifty as he stood to attention and saluted his leader.

“Present and correct.” said Robbo

“Great.” John Paul added. The Ma’s didn’t suspect a thing. Let’s get to it.

This would be the first and only time they would go to school on a Monday morning with a spring in their step and joy in their hearts.

In the cloakroom they hung up their haversacks and covered them with their coats. Shifty and Robbo took a handful of photos and went out into the school yard. Within minutes a small crowd had gathered around and before they went into morning prayers all two hundred photos had been sold.

In year six Religious Instruction class there was much giggling and furtive passing of pictures between the boys as Father Rafferty wrote up on the board a selection of the beatitudes he intended to lecture the boys about that morning.

Father Rafferty could sense the excitement in the room and he knew it had nothing to do with the beatitudes.

As he put the final touch to “Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

for they will be satisfied.” He quickly turned around and saw Neil Doran furtively put something inside his desk. 

“Who can tell me what this means?” He pointed with a ruler to the board.

No one replied. 

“Well” he continued as he moved slowly through the row of desks and as he passed Neil Doran’s desk. He slapped his rules down hard across the desktop. “Mr Doran, stand up and tell the class what that means?” again he pointed to the board. 

Neil Doran stood up, his hands firmly anchored to the desk lid.

“Father, if you are thirsty or hungry Jesus will give you food and that.”

“No boy, it does not mean that. And hands by your side and stand up straight. There is no slouching in my class. There is none of this in my class, Boy.”

Neil pulled his shoulders back and his arms were stifly by his side. “Slouching Father.”

In a flash Father Rafferty had whipped open the desk lid and there he saw it in all its technicolour glory was a bare chested young woman wearing only a bikini bottom and appeared to be about to throw a beach ball. 

“Holy Mary Mother of God.” said Father Rafferty as he snapped the picture up. “Where did you get this?” He quickly realised he was spending too much time looking at the picture and all the other boys in the class were staring at him.

“I found it, Father.” Neil Doran stuttered. His mouth was dry and his stomach was doing somersaults.

“You are coming with me” Father Cassidy’s office now. “You boy, " he pointed at Henrick Wisnesky. “Go to the Prefect's common room and ask for one of them to come here.”

He went up to the blackboard and wrote on it. “Blessed are the clean in heart,

for they will see God.”

“Everyone of you get your exercise books out and write this one hundred times and think about what it means while you do it.If I hear from the Prefect that there was any trouble then, it’s detention for everyone. Understand” 

“Yes Father.” They all said in unison and with that Father Rafferty grabbed Neil’s arm and frog marched him out of the classroom and up to the headmasters office.

As they arrived at the staircase leading to Father Cassiy’s office he could already see a small group of some of the other teachers accompanying a gaggle of young boys.

“Have you got one as well?”said Father Boyle as he showed him an equally revealing picture of a naked female model enjoying a poolside shower. 

“It looks very much like the young lady who is playing with a beach ball in my photograph.” Father Rafferty added.

Father Boyle looked quizzically at Father Rafferty.  “I mean, this boy’s photograph.” Father Rafferty stuttered. Neil Doran had never seen a priest blush before.

Soon, Priests and lay teachers were huddled around Father Cassidy's desk and were showing him the pictures.

“Father Rafferty. Make a note of each of these boys and their form masters names and when you have done that get back to their classes. “I’ll speak to the head boy and get the Prefects to do a full search of the classrooms and the cloakrooms. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. There will be a full assembly after the morning break. Please let all the other classes know.”

After they had all left, Father Cassidy looked over the photographs and shook his head. “Filth” he thought. “Sinful filth.”

There had been this sort of thing in the past. The occasional Prefect caught with dirty magazines. They had been confiscated and the Prefect disciplined, Indeed he had saved all of the evidence in a drawer in his filing cabinet. He even checked them every now and again to see if they were as sinful as he remembered them but this was on a different level. If this was what had been recovered then there must be more all around the school. 

During the morning break it was all everyone was talking about. Rumour took over and fear stalked the corridors but no one was more afraid than John Paul, Shifty and Robbo.

“What will we do?” said Robbo

“We are done for” said Shifty

“It’s the spoon for sure for me.” but John Paul was also an optimist or indeed deluded depending on your point of view.”No one will say anything, our haversacks are empty, our desks clean. We just need to keep quiet and it’ll all blow over.”

Suddenly the break bell rang and teachers, priests and prefects began heading the boys into the main hall. By now most of the pictures had been discarded during the break, flushed down the toilet or hidden around the sports fields. In a few cases some had even eaten the evidence. 

The hall was now full and Father Cassidy entered the stage from the side door. Everyone stood up. The smell of terrified boys pervaded the room and despite the cold everyone was sweating even those who had even seen any of the pictures were afraid. Justice in St Cuthberts was arbitrary and indiscriminate. Anyone could be dragged into the headmasters office and beaten regardless of innocence or guilt. 

“Sit down Boys. I have something very serious to talk to you about today. It has been brought to my attention that someone has been distributing photographs. Not just photographs but filthy, dirty sinful photographs. Photographs of young women with, em no em, clothes on. The boy or boys responsible need to own up or if you know who it was, then you need to speak up. I will not allow this in my school” Father Cassidy’s face was bright red, he scanned the hall and every child there it appeared that he was looking deep into their minds and could read their thoughts. Father Cassidy’s thoughts however were based on the images he had seen and no matter how hard he tried he could not get them out of his mind. In fact, the more he mentioned them the stronger the images became. 

As he continued his speech became more confusing, he was now stuttering and despite his inner rage the words would not come out with the fury he wanted. The pupils of St Cuthberts had never seen this version of Father Cassidy before. They looked at each other then back at the figure in black robes that stood behind the lecturn. 

“Breast boys, Breasts Boys on full display.” He suddenly added. He then started to shuffle the notes he had made as he tried to get the images in the photographs out of his mind.

The fear the boys had been feeling before was turning into bemusement and then amusement. Suddenly a disembodied voice somewhere in the hall said mimicking Father Cassidy Irish accent shouted “Breasts Boys” 

Laughter suddenly filled the room. 

“Stop this at once. Quiet” Father Cassidy screamed. He pointed to a boy in the front row “Prefects remove that boy.” two prefects grabbed hold of the young man and began to frog march him out but as they got to the end of the row someone stuck a leg out and one of the prefects stumbled.“ The crowd cheered.

Quiet” Father Cassidy shouted. 

“Boobies,” another disembodied voice cried out. More laughter erupted. 

“Shut up, now.” Father Cassidy was losing the room and he didn’t know how to stop it.

“Big Boobies.” Someone else said

“Quiet, why is it that everytime I open my mouth some fool speaks.” There was a moment of complete silence followed by a huge roar of laughter.

Father Rafferty could no longer stand it. He marshelled the teachers and the prefects .” Get these boys back to their classrooms now.” He rushed over to the stage and ushered Father Cassidy out of the side door and into the small anteroom that was usually reserved for visiting speakers. 

Father Cassidy sat down and looked up at his deputy head. “What happened out there? ”

“Let’s drop this,” Father Rafferty said. “It'll blow over in a few days. The ones we caught will get detention and if it happens again we’ll come down hard on them. In the meantime I think maybe a retreat somewhere that’s nice and quiet may help.”

“Yes”, Father Cassidy said “Nice and quiet”

That evening in the park, the three friends met up once more. 

“Mission accomplished.” John Paul announced to his two comrades but instead of joy all they felt was relief.  

“Do you think we got away with it?” Shifty asked as he turned around to check that no one else was around.

“Yes, easy peasy.” John Paul said in an entirely unconvincing voice.ii

“Let’s give up the mucky mag business.” said Robbo “I don’t know if I could take another day like today.”

“Listen you a lot. We got away with it. The Ma’s don’t know and we have a pocket full of cash. Don’t flash it about, let’s wait a week or two before we go to the bowling alley or the pictures once everything has calmed down.

Outside the Priests' house at St Cuthbert's, Father Rafferty waved goodbye as Father Cassidy was driven away to the Pluscarden Abbey where the Benedictine Monks would help him recover his fractured confidence.

Father Rafferty the acting Head looked over at the School Hall in the distance. “John Paul Docherty” he thought “I know it’s you behind all of this. How, I haven’t worked out yet but I know and I’ll be watching.”

“