Oh Henry!

Chapter Five. Girls

Chapter Five 

Girls

Nineteen forty-eight was an Olympic year, a special Olympic year because the games were being held in London. Consequently, we spent a great deal of time in school studying the history of the games, and especially the previous triumphs of Harold Abrahams and Eric Liddell. These were heroes to be emulated, and I truly believed that, like them, one day I would also win gold. Then came the shock of primary school try-outs. 

Miss Unsworth, randomly split up my class into four groups of six and explained that we were going to race across the school quadrangle. The first two to touch the opposing wall in each heat proceeded to the final eight. These eight  then raced again to select the four athletes who would represent the school in the sprints and sprint relays at the annual Inter School Sports. 

As luck would have it, I ended up in a group with five girls; there were only eight boys in my class. This did not augur well. I was a stubby little boy, much shorter by far than any of my long-legged female competitors, and I knew from games of chase that they were fast, very fast. 

The six of us lined up, back feet braced against the wall, bodies arched over  bent front legs, waiting for the starting whistle. It blew just as I was repositioning my feet. I reacted to the best of my ability, springing off the wall, staying low in the crouch for the first ten yards, gradually rising to a vertical position and then with arms pumping, sprinted to the opposite wall. My poor start cost me dearly. After twenty yards, I was trailing every girl and the gap between the flying pigtails and me never closed. I was soundly beaten, like every other boy in the class with the exception of P.C.

"Never mind Henry. In another four or five years, they won't be able to see you for dust." 

I knew Miss Knowles, the head teacher was attempting to console me, but that was impossible. Now I had to suffer the indignity of a "fun" event.  

Twenty of us remained to compete in the egg and spoon race. Again, there were four heats, with the first two in each heat going on to represent the school. What a disaster! I just couldn't keep the pot egg in the spoon, no matter how hard I tried. My weak wrists could not keep the spoon in the essential horizontal position, even at walking pace. In contrast, the winners, again all girls, ran as if the eggs were glued to their spoons.  

Six girls and six boys remained for the sack race. This was the boy's event. Most girls just don't like the feel of potato dust encrusted jute against their skin, but, as in this case, there are always competitive exceptions. I drew a monstrous sack. I found it impossible to place my feet in the recommended corners; they were too far apart. The sack was so big that I could pull the top of it over my head whilst standing. As I moved, the flapping folds of coarse cloth entangled my legs and brought me crashing to the ground. Three times I fell, before I mastered the intricacies. It was too late to catch the leaders and I was relegated to ninth place and the three-legged nightmare. Only three girls and me remained.  

I didn't like girls and tried to avoid them as much as possible. Now, because of my lack of athleticism and coordination, I was to be physically tied to one at the ankle, and expected to hold her around the waist as we raced down the track. This was too much. 

The girls huddled, whispering and giggling behind cupped hands as they debated my fate. Occasionally they would pause, cast furtive glances in my direction, and then return to their discussion. I felt like a bull in the ring at the cattle market but unlike the bull, I knew my fate, a fate so unbearable that no matter what the outcome I decided to be conveniently sick on race day. 

I boycotted the event, leaving Heather Bell, the girl who had chosen to run with me, waiting at the starting line. She never forgot. Ten years later she savoured sweet revenge.