Butterworth's Brigade

‘Butterworth’s Brigade’

by

William Forde

Published by William Forde

Cover Illustration by Robert Nixon

Smashwords Edition

Published by William Forde at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 William Forde

Revised November 2016

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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‘Butterworth’s Brigade’

by

William Forde

Author’s Foreword

During 1993/1994 there appeared to be a deliberate educational policy in our English primary schools to keep all reference of the World Wars that Great Britain had fought, from the minds of school children, lest it appeared that war in itself was being ‘glorified.’

As a budding author who specialised in writing about ‘causes’ wherever possible, I came to the attention of an ex-Headmaster of a Leeds-based Primary School who was in his retirement years. This man (who expressed a wish to remain anonymous), had served as a young soldier in the ‘Second World War’ and had entered the teaching profession in later years, where he eventually progressed to the position of Headmaster.

When, during the 1990’s, he discovered that his former teaching staff were being discouraged from passing on any details about the First and Second World Wars as part of their curriculum, he was filled with both shame and disgust. So he used a substantial part of his retirement monies to fund a 500 limited-edition publication of a book that would tell school children about many of the brave exploits of the Second World War from the British point of view, and he invited me to be the person who wrote it.

He essentially felt, that if men and women were prepared to fight and die for their country so that their children and grandchildren could continue to live in freedom, the very least they could expect from future generations in that country, was that their story continued to be told, along with the values and way of life they held so precious.

I also strongly believed that if a man or woman was prepared to give up their life to secure a better future for the next generation, the very least their children and grandchildren could do was to know their name and never forget their deeds.

The book that I wrote and which told these war facts to modern-day school children was, ‘Butterworth’s Brigade’. First published with the Headmaster’s money in 1994, the book was sold exclusively within Yorkshire Schools and all profits from its sale were given to charity.

In the year of 2014, which marked the centenary of ‘The First World War,’ it pleased me to reproduce ‘Butterworth’s Brigade’ as an e-book publication.

William Forde: June 2014

Synopsis

The worlds of 12-year-old Axel Tyler and 73-year-old Brigadier Butterworth couldn’t possibly be farther apart. While one is content to live life to the full in the fast track of 1990’s Britain, the other yearns for the day when the country regains its senses and returns to those pre-war values that made Britain ‘Great’.

When events conspire to bring the 12-year-old rebel and the madcap Brigadier face-to-face, conflict becomes inevitable as the irreconcilable values and beliefs of two widely different worlds collide.

The war between the two combatants is fought within a privatised, concentration camp, which is situated deep in the heart of Arundel Forest. Who will win the hearts and minds of the 59 teenage-rebel prisoners who have all been expelled from their schools and imprisoned in Arundel Forest: Axel or the Brigadier? At stake is nothing less than the future of Great Britain and the values of its young.

‘Butterworth’s Brigade’ was described at the time of its initial publication as being a book of the 90s that will be remembered in years to come for the issues it raises and the questions it posed. The issues in respect of Britain’s membership of the ‘Common Market’ and the ‘European Union’ remain as poignant and as relevant today as they were when I first wrote about them twenty years ago. Indeed, ‘Butterworth’s Brigade’ ends with the Brigadier warning of the dangers yet to be dealt with over the unresolved European issue.

Since then, on September 1st, 2016, England voted strongly to leave the European Union; a term which became known as Brexit (meaning Britain out), by 53.4% to 46.6%; illustrating just how relevant and prophetic a book for its time that ‘Butterworth’s Brigade’ was.

‘Butterworth’s Brigade’ is a thought-provoking story that was written primarily in commemoration of ‘D-Day’ and all those Second World War soldiers who died on the beaches of Normandy. It pleases me immensely to republish this story in E-book format during the one hundred years’ anniversary of the ‘First World War.’ The book, is also now available in paper/hard copy from www.lulu.com or www.amazon.com as well as other established book sellers.

William Forde November 2016.

Contents

Chapter One – ‘Rude Awakenings’

Chapter Two – ‘The Trouble-shooter Comes to Town’

Chapter Three - ‘Boadicea Honey’

Chapter Four - ‘Prasutagus 59’

Chapter Five - ‘Butterworth’s Boarding School’

Chapter Six - ‘The Annex’

Chapter Seven - ‘The Induction’

Chapter Eight - ‘Break Point’

Chapter Nine - ‘Montgomery’s Mile’

Chapter Ten - ‘The Alliance’

Chapter Eleven - ‘The Seed of Rebellion’

Chapter Twelve - ‘Gold, Juno and Sword’

Chapter Thirteen - ‘D-Day, June 6th’

Chapter Fourteen - ‘Factory Fodder’

Chapter Fifteen - ‘The Boston Tea Party’

Chapter Sixteen - ‘The Con-Artist’

Chapter Seventeen - ‘Axel Tyler – Special Agent’

Chapter Eighteen - ‘The Education Block’

Chapter Nineteen - ‘Operation Pegasus’

Chapter Twenty - ‘Home from the War’

Author's Background

Other Books by this Author

For the general audience

Romantic Drama Strictly for Adults

Connect with William Forde

‘Butterworth’s Brigade’

Chapter One - ‘Rude Awakenings’

Axel, his mother screamed in a breath of final exasperation, Come here this minute you bone-head

Having seen his mother’s scowling face peering through the kitchen window, Axel momentarily considered making a run for it before deciding to return inside to face the music.

Entering the kitchen area, his tired and mud-stained body bore true testimony to his morning’s activities. Each fragment of caked mud on his shirt represented the slipping and sliding around his garden as he feigned forward passes and dribbled with consummate ease past ten Liverpool players, before raising the ball into the air with his left foot and driving it into the corner of the football net for his eleventh successive goal of the match!

What does she want now? Axel thought angrily. He was eager to return to complete his single-handed victory over the greatest Liverpool soccer squad that had ever lived.

His mother held up a linen bed sheet for her son’s inspection as she sternly rebuked him, How......how many times must I tell you not to play football in the garden when the washing’s hung out to dry? Mrs Tyler screamed. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you........

But...Mum, Axel interrupted in protest as he stared towards the bed sheet, which now bore the imprint of his muddy football at its centre.

Now look here, Axel, his dad piped up, don’t interrupt your mother before she’s finished giving you a piece of her mind. I’m about fed up with....

But... Dad, Axel exclaimed.

Don’t you dare ‘But Dad’ me, my boy! his father replied angrily.

But...Dad, I only wanted to....

That’s it! Just one more uninvited word out of you, young man and........... and I’ll throttle you. Now, go to your room and stay there until I tell you otherwise. Go!

But, Dad........I only wanted............

Go to your room now! Go! was the final command from his father’s mouth.

Axel stamped his way up to his bedroom in angry protest and slammed his bedroom door in a final act of defiance. He was fuming! He felt like screaming some insanity at the top of his voice to the two parental tyrants below whose sole purpose in life appeared to be that of acting out the role of ‘supreme spoilers’ of his pleasure.

He turned on his computer, pretending that his street-fighting character on the screen was giving his mother and father a good thrashing! Then he turned up his CD loudly to conceal detection of his mild verbal mutterings.

Take that plonker, and that! exclaimed Axel with some satisfaction as his computer character karate-kicked his dad in the body six times; flattening him and crunching his bones into crumbling submission before moving on to his next opponent.

Next, Axel’s computer character hoisted his mother above his Headmaster, before electing the option of dumping her in a pit of poisonous snakes.

Frantically thumbing the controls, Axel continued to vent his hostile feelings onto the flashing screen as he muttered in disgust, What’s all the fuss about anyway to make them act like a pair of plonkers? To hear them go on, you’d think I’d burnt the house down! What’s the big deal anyway? When all’s said and done, it’s was only an old, cotton sheet! It was her fault for hanging out washing when I’m in the middle of an important football game. Grown-ups make me sick! They’re all the same - a bunch of crinkly old spoilers and plonkers!

Just wait! Just wait! Just you wait ‘til I’m old enough, Axel continue to mutter angrily as his computer character threatened to decapitate his father with a wielded broad sword. Take that plonker; gotcha!

I’ll show you! Just you wait and see if I don’t! When I’m old enough, I’ll be out of here quicker than a rabbit down a hole. Just you wait and see if I don’t. Then you’ll be sorry! Axel silently threatened.

Axel continue to flash the action that brutalised his parents across his computer screen while part of his mind was trying to think of ways of getting his own back for having been grounded by them. Although his anger had started to subside, he still felt annoyed at having had his glorious victory over the great Liverpool side called off, mid-game, especially before he could have scored one more goal to round up his tally to an even dozen.

Axel quietly made his way towards the bathroom and after reassuring himself that both parents were still downstairs, he locked the bathroom door behind him and began to look around as he contemplated a suitable act of revenge!

I’ll teach ‘em to mess with the ‘Avenging Axel!’ he muttered as his eyes mischievously scanned the contents of his surroundings.

Having carefully selected his objects of revenge, he quickly returned to his bedroom to secure his weaponry of destruction; a piece of hardback-card, a soft-headed pencil and a piece of well-chewed gum.

Returning to the bathroom, Axel experienced a buzz of excitement accompanied by a unique sensation of power that adults take for granted and law-abiding children rarely experience.

First, he unrolled about two metres of toilet roll from the holder and carefully backed it with the card to prevent it folding and tearing. Then, he spent the next ten minutes faintly writing the word, ‘plonker’ in the middle of two dozen or more sheets of toilet tissue. After he’d done this, he carefully re-rolled the sheets of toilet tissue, leaving it positioned back at the start of the roll and ready to use. As Axel engaged in this act of sheer devilment, he chuckled to himself in amusement.

Next, Axel uncapped his parents’ tubes of toothpaste and clogged the dispensing hole with a small piece of chewing gum, before wiping the end of the tube clean with a damp cloth and recapping it.

Mum’s can of body deodorant spray was next in line for his personal attention. Seeing that it had hardly been used, and knowing that she frequently chided his dad for using hers whenever he ran out of his own deodorant, made this act of revenge all the sweeter for Axel; giving it a double sting in its tail!

Standing on the windowsill near the end of the bath, Axel took his mother’s can of deodorant and sprayed it through the window casement into the outside air; pressing until it was completely empty! He then replaced her deodorant can back on the cabinet shelf in its original position.

That will teach ‘em to mess with me! Axel cackled to himself in the simulated voice of an avenging angel; wholly content in the belief that he’d pulled off the perfect crime of the century by exacting his revenge in a manner that no one was ever likely to suspect. What was more, even if they did suspect Axel to have been the culprit, they’d never be able to prove it! Axel then returned to his bedroom with a look of triumphant smugness across his beaming face.

He felt elated at the deviousness of his revenge as he thought, They can jolly well consider themselves lucky that they’re my parents. Had they been anyone else’s parents, I’d have given them the full works!

It wasn’t that Axel was any nastier than the next child in the roll call of revenge; nor was he particularly spiteful and vindictive. He was just an everyday, regular 12-year-old who couldn’t understand the actions of grown-ups and who hated anyone getting one up on him or putting him down.

To Axel, he lived in a world populated by adult plonkers and pleasure spoilers. He considered his own behaviour to be perfectly normal and well within the bounds of personal acceptance; especially if it went undetected, which it often did.

Axel realised that we all lived in the 1990s now, not the Stone Age. To him and all his contemporaries, the rules of life pertaining to the welfare of children were perfectly simple! What’s more, they were so essential towards the advancement of civilisation, that they were enshrined in adult laws, which had been legislated by Parliament.

Corporal punishment in both home and school was illegal! Physical contact of any kind was impermissible between adult and child of different families. Even verbal threats were out and could result in a teacher getting the sack or a parent being fined.

If it was necessary for grown-ups to be here at all, Axel knew why they were meant to be present. All the rules in his little red book defined their adult roles and permissible actions.

Axel believed that grown-ups were here to protect, clothe, feed, nurture and educate children. Grown-ups were here to look after children! All the roles which the state had designated for adults in their dealings with children was as clear as crystal to Axel.

Axel deeply believed that grown-ups had been placed here to please and satisfy children, to understand their ways, to recognise their needs, to know what is wanted by them without it necessarily being requested by them; to be able to anticipate the child’s unexpressed desire and read their unvoiced thoughts!

Axel believed that as adults, it was their duty to understand and serve children; not the other way around! It was their duty to appreciate that every child over the age of five needs their own computer, television, compact disc and ghetto blaster and mobile phone, along with air-conditioned trainers, personalised tracksuit, trendy sweatshirt, stylistic sunshades and personal stereo. Axel judged any adult who didn’t know their duties in their interaction with children to be one of life’s prime plonkers!

With regard to keeping adults on the correct track, Axel believed that it was crucially important and politically correct for adults to know ‘what was in’ and ‘what was out.’

Things that were ‘in’ included Macdonald’s hamburgers, French fries, hot dogs heaped with greasy onions and half a bottle of red sauce, red-hot curry, treacle-covered chapattis, ice cream, crisps and coke! ‘Out’ were green vegetables, knife and fork meals and all posh nosh! Any adult who didn’t know this child code was a plonker of the highest culinary order!

Like all his peers, Axel had become as learned and streetwise as any rebellious child needed to be wherever matters of child welfare were concerned, and like many a 12-year-old, he wasn’t afraid to demonstrate this knowledge in situations from which he might profit.

Consequently, parents, teachers and police officers became powerless to act, lest the blighter was tempted to invoke the assistance of the other two adult sections of authority under the guise of ‘child protection!’

If ever Axel and his friends wanted their parents to be dealt with, Axel and his friends would simply invoke the involvement of the police and their teachers under the umbrella of ‘child protection,’ in which it was alleged by the child that their rights were being trampled on by a third party. Whenever a teacher needed sorting out, Axel and other children would get their parents to do it or perhaps even make a false allegation to the police that they were obliged to investigate. Axel and the other children of his age soon realised that wherever conflicting accounts existed between child and adult of what had actually happened, it was the child who was always believed.

With paternalistic naivety, the adult plonkers of society had voluntarily tied their own and each other’s hands behind their backs in their search for an ideal form of ‘child protection,’ and in doing so, they had effectively strangled themselves with the umbilical cords of their ungrateful offspring!

To Axel’s parents and teachers, he was a proverbial pain in the butt. All it required to send any adult around the bend was a mere five minutes in his presence. Such a small amount of time was enough to make them tear their hair out in sheer exasperation!

It wasn’t the over-loud volume of Axel’s ghetto blaster, the overwhelming smell of salt and vinegar crisps which wafted from his mouth with every breath he exhaled, the early morning looks of dumb vacancy he gave his teacher in the classroom or his propensity to stuff a full plate of food into his mouth and swallow it in two seconds flat, which drove adults into a state of utter distraction. No! It wasn’t any of these things. Nor was it the obnoxious habit he had of picking his nose, scrutinising its snotty contents and flicking the bogies all around him that drove adults wild. It wasn’t any of those things, which drove his parents and teachers mad. All boys and girls do these things!

Axel’s problem was that he believed he had the power to anticipate adult questions and supply suitable answers, even before the questions were asked!

Consequently, anyone talking to Axel, making requests of him, providing information to him, giving instructions, making suggestions or verbally reprimanding him, was never allowed to complete the nature of their communication without interruption; without Axel butting in!

His ‘But, Ms,’ and ‘But, Sir,’ sent his teachers into a state of agitated frenzy, to the extent that they all took turns in taking sickness absence. In fact, three changed schools and two teachers took early retirement!

Eventually, faced with a regular depletion of staff during most weeks of the term, the Headmaster felt obliged to contemplate radical action. He seemed prepared to consider anything which prevented Axel making every teacher’s day a living nightmare!

A special staff meeting was convened to discuss the problem which Axel posed. Having been called with the specific purpose of resolving their problem, all teachers were invited by the Headmaster to advance and propose possible solutions at this important school gathering.

I don’t have the power to expel him on the grounds of mere rudeness, remarked the Headmaster Mr West, before blowing his nose mightily into a crumpled handkerchief. Having been plagued with hay fever for most of his life, Mr West never left home without two handkerchiefs; one in his pocket and the other always in his hand.

Indeed, the Headmaster was never seen about the school without a handkerchief to either hand or nose. His sneezes were so explosive, that they provided staff and pupils with advanced warning of his imminent presence.

Although puny in size and ashen in complexion, his big, red nose and hankie at-the-ready, mirrored his condition plainly for the world to see. The pupils nicknamed him ‘Hooter’, while his colleagues referred to him as ‘Rudolph’ behind his back.

‘Hooter’ had been a teacher for almost forty years and Headmaster of the school for the past twelve. He was due to retire in two years’ time and it couldn’t come around quick enough for him!

Having entered the profession during the early 1950s, Hooter had sadly witnessed the changing tide from the 70s onwards. Nothing he’d seen would ever convince him that he had been observing progress in the making.

There was simply no comparison to the days of his early teaching years. He had started his teaching career during a time when silence, order, discipline, respect and teachers were highly valued. This had been a golden age in which the prime function of all good teachers was to produce ladies and gentlemen from their cradle of respectability and even if necessary from the spawn of brats. This had been a time when teachers held their Headmasters high with pride and walked with a step of recognised authority, and children fearfully followed in their shadows.

Hooter dreamt of such times past, when the order of the day was bottoms on seats, hands on Headmasters, noses to the grind stone and ears and eyes on teacher. This had been a time of still learning and quiet reflection, nurtured within a ‘table d’hôte’ culture, not a make-do menu of ‘a la carte.’ Unlike today, children at school weren’t asked, What would you like?, but were instead told, This is what you’ll get!

During Hooter’s earlier years, the word ‘but’ was never heard from the mouth of a child and the thought of hearing a ‘no’ expressed was simply unthinkable. Any child daring to answer back would have been unable to physically sit down for the rest of the school term. Rebellion would be stamped out at the moment of its birth and any child complaining to a parent about having received the cane at school, would get another six of the best when they got home!

That however, was in the 1950s and Hooter knew only too well that we now lived in different times with different standards to uphold which were cemented in ‘do-gooders’ law!

I just don’t know what to do with him, repeated Hooter. I don’t have the power to expel him, as his overall behaviour isn’t deemed bad enough to warrant it. Whichever way I turn, my hands appear to be tied!

What about a month’s suspension? suggested Axel’s music teacher, Ms Wigglesworth. That will provide us all with a break from his eternal presence and it’ll take us up to the summer holidays!

Can’t do it! replied Hooter as he blew his nose again. I’ve already explored that option with the Education Authority and they say, ‘butting’ isn’t grounds for suspension, unless it is perpetrated by the Headmaster instead of the mouth. I’m afraid that they draw a clear distinction between physical and verbal assault if it’s directed by a pupil towards a teacher, but not the other way around, it seems!

If it was left to me, remarked Jolly Parks (so named, because his face bore a permanent look of regret), if it was left to me, I’d quarantine the little toe-rag upside down in a tub of lard. That would soon teach him to keep his big mouth shut when his betters are addressing him!

Well it’s a jolly good job that it’s not left to the likes of you then, Mr Parks, exclaimed Ms. Helena Perks, the newest recruit to the school. Helena had been earmarked as a potential ‘high flier’, and hadn’t been long out of teacher training college and was still in her probationary year.

Jolly Parks felt distinctly uncomfortable in the presence of Helena Perks and despite having been in the profession for over twenty years, he felt deeply threatened by her academic credentials and the progressive teaching methods she espoused with absolute conviction. She was undoubtedly a woman who was expected to go far!

Armed with a double honours degree and a radical bible of political correctness, Ms. Perks pressed on in her assessment of the situation. Her words were filled with too much certainty and conviction for Jolly Parks to stomach. To him, Ms. Perks spoke in a manner, which suggested that while at Teacher Training College she’d managed to miraculously discover short-term educational solutions to lifelong teaching problems, which had stumped her more experienced colleagues for the whole of their professional careers.

What’s the boy’s parents like? she asked Hooter. I usually find that as imitators of behaviour, it is only natural for boys and girls to copy that which they see at home!

Go on, blame the parents! Jolly Parks interjected indignantly. It’s the same old story from the new girl on the block. What’s the point of acquiring two degrees if it only leaves you with half the sense you were born with? I’ve never heard such a load of old cobblers in all my years as a teacher!

It’s a well-known fact that you can only reap what you sow, replied Ms. Perks, and despite your ill-informed, prejudicial views so rudely expressed, I’d be more inclined to see the root of the problem as resting with the parents than with the boy himself.

Oh! I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, interjected Hooter in as tactful an approach as he could command. While there is no doubt some merit in all that’s been said by Ms. Perks, I’ve met Axel’s parents on many occasions and they’ve always struck me as being pretty sensible folk and most cooperative. Why, his dad, Mr Tyler is even a Mason!

I’ll second that! commented Ms Summers.