Holy Joe’s Downfall
The school chaplain was an inoffensive, gentle, well-meaning and unworldly fellow whose name no one knew but whose nickname, universally used even to his face, was Holy Joe. He conducted prayers in the morning assembly and officiated at important events such as Founder’s Day and Prizegiving. His everyday duties were to offer comfort, solace and advice to the boys when needed. No one had ever heard of him doing anything really useful or offering any practical advice. He was regarded as a nice enough but ineffectual symbol of goodness – a pious buffoon.
He must have been around 50 but to look at he could have been any age between 30 and 70 as there were no chronological hints about him. His head was entirely bald and oval. His face was shiny and unlined. It was covered in the sort of soft oiled skin of a baby’s bottom. He had the appearance and demeanour of someone who had never been outside the school, or even outside the chaplaincy; never been exposed to sun or rain, never exerted himself, never laughed or cried or shown any emotion. It was as if he had lived his entire life inside a jar, placidly viewing the world through its transparent walls.
He habitually wore a gown, with his hands tucked into its side vents. He would wrap it round his body and unwrap it in theatrical style. Referring to ‘all mankind’ he would raise his arms horizontally outwards with the gown hanging beneath them like a bat’s wings. ‘The wrath of God’ would see him cowering fearfully while gazing upwards with the gown tightly pulled round his shoulders. He would emphasise ‘look to the future’ by walking briskly forward arms outstretched with the gown flying out behind him.
He had an extremely irritating habit of appearing to take serious things seriously, pondering them carefully then of responding with utter banality. If a boy was very worried about his forthcoming exams, for instance, and if he had no-one else to turn to, he might go to Holy Joe. He would be invited to pour out his troubles and would be listened to with much ‘umm’-ing and ‘I see’-ing as Joe paced about the room, his hands cupping his face and his fingers stroking his chin, his mouth puckering and blowing, his gown trailing out behind him. When the boy had finished, Joe would sit down beside him, take his hands in his own and remain silent, apparently deep in thought. The boy would become increasingly embarrassed about the hand-holding until he had forgotten all about his exam worries and would become desperate to get out of the chaplaincy. Finally, Joe would break hands and stand up. He would raise himself up to full height, twist his cloak tightly about his body, turn his face to the boy and, in tones of great profundity, pronounce – “You know young man, there’s only one thing for it. You must try to work a little harder.” Then he would disappear into his side room leaving the boy feeling not only disappointed but also far more worried than he had been before.
Part of Joe’s system for imparting moral guidance to the boys was to organize ‘special sessions’ at which he would give a talk on some matter of topical interest. A particular class would be invited into the chaplaincy. They would listen to Joe giving his views on the topic of the day. The talk would take the form of a church sermon but would carefully avoid any hint of denominational bias. At the close of the talk he would invite questions and would try to encourage a debate. Usually he was unsuccessful in getting the boys to contribute and he took this reluctance as proof of the inherent shyness and diffidence of youth. The truth, which never seemed to dawn on him, was that the boys knew that any time spent debating was time not available for football, smoking roll-ups or racing Dinky sports-cars. And though there were always one or two serious types in any class who might be prepared to get a debate going, they were inhibited by threats of extreme violence by the class heavies.
One day, in late summer just before the end of the school year, Holy Joe decided to have a special session for Class 4 on ‘Temptation’. This would not, in itself, have been a very attractive topic, but a buzz soon got up that it was really going to be about Sex! Most of the boys knew little about sex, relying on anecdote and the odd ‘dirty book’. They were, however, vastly interested in learning more. The chaplaincy had never been so crowded or so noisy. An air of excitement and anticipation filled the sanctum.
Right on time, Joe appeared from stage left, not only gowned, but wearing a mortarboard. The excitement increased - the mortarboard was usually a signal that Joe was being particularly formal and that he therefore considered this meeting to be of more than usual importance. He raised his arms for quiet and started his talk.
“Boys. One common theme amongst all of the great religions of the world is the necessity to fight temptation. All agree that it is only by facing up to temptation and defeating it that man can achieve true freedom. Temptation must be defeated, otherwise man will be enslaved…”
On and on he droned in this theme, till the audience became convinced that whoever had started the sex rumour had been badly and sadly mistaken. There was a slight re-kindling of interest as Joe brought up the ten commandments and appeared to dwell a little longer on coveting thy neighbour’s wife than on bearing false witness or any of the other sins, but this did not last. Soon most of the audience had dropped into the state of semi-somnolence in which they spent most of their school hours.
Then it happened. “So, boys, you see that we are all confronted, every day of our lives, with the need to fight temptation, no matter what shape it assumes.” He paused, his face flushed. He maintained silence till all eyes were on him. Then he announced in a higher voice than usual, “Hands up….” He choked, coughed and recovered. “Hands up all boys who masturbate.’
There was instant and complete silence. Every boy was wide awake, struck absolutely still and charged to a thousand volts. Then slowly eyes began to swivel in heads that were stuck pointing at the floor, each boy trying, without drawing attention to himself, to see if anyone would admit to this enormity. Wild horses could not have made them raise their own hands.
Except, that is, for Archie Petch. Mesmerised by Joe’s address, Archie had been driven to admit the inadmissible. His hand went up; he looked around; panicked when he saw his was the only one, and quickly retracted it. But not quickly enough! If he had fashioned the message ‘ARCHIE PETCH IS A DIRTY PERVERT’ out of multicoloured neon tubes and hung them round the school clock he would not have drawn more attention to himself.
Holy Joe took all this in. Quickly he announced “Ok, boys. Thank you. That will be all. This session is concluded. Please leave quietly.” And he swept out to his side room. There was an upsurge in noise as the boys made for the chaplaincy door, pushing and shoving to get out so that they could torment the hapless Archie. Then, unexpectedly, Joe’s face reappeared at the side door. “I would like Archibald Petch to stay behind.”
Half an hour later, Archie emerged from the chaplaincy. There was still a large and noisy crowd waiting for him. He was pushed and hustled. He was verbally abused. He had to walk a gauntlet of bealing – the painful practice of grabbing a boy’s privates and squeezing as hard as possible. “What did he say? What did he say? Tell us. What did he say?” Archie, in tears of pain and humiliation, blurted out “He told me it was bad for my nerves and I should try to cut it down.” And he pushed his way out of the crowd and ran off. “I’ll get the rotten bamstick. I’ll get him.” he shouted backwards as he fled.
Holy Joe left the school suddenly a few weeks later. There were none of the usual parting ceremonies, no eulogy at assembly, no speeches of gratitude, no invitations to ‘keep in touch’. Holy Joe simply vanished completely as if he had never existed. And his disappearance would have remained a mystery had not Archie been heard confiding to a friend, “I said I’d get him. So I told my dad what had happened and how he’d kept me behind after the meeting. And I told him the last thing Holy Joe said to me was, if I needed help to resist temptation again I should go to him and he’d be happy to give me a hand!”
The school chaplain was an inoffensive, gentle, well-meaning and unworldly fellow whose name no one knew but whose nickname, universally used even to his face, was Holy Joe. He conducted prayers in the morning assembly and officiated at important events such as Founder’s Day and Prizegiving. His everyday duties were to offer comfort, solace and advice to the boys when needed. No one had ever heard of him doing anything really useful or offering any practical advice. He was regarded as a nice enough but ineffectual symbol of goodness – a pious buffoon.
He must have been around 50 but to look at he could have been any age between 30 and 70 as there were no chronological hints about him. His head was entirely bald and oval. His face was shiny and unlined. It was covered in the sort of soft oiled skin of a baby’s bottom. He had the appearance and demeanour of someone who had never been outside the school, or even outside the chaplaincy; never been exposed to sun or rain, never exerted himself, never laughed or cried or shown any emotion. It was as if he had lived his entire life inside a jar, placidly viewing the world through its transparent walls.
He habitually wore a gown, with his hands tucked into its side vents. He would wrap it round his body and unwrap it in theatrical style. Referring to ‘all mankind’ he would raise his arms horizontally outwards with the gown hanging beneath them like a bat’s wings. ‘The wrath of God’ would see him cowering fearfully while gazing upwards with the gown tightly pulled round his shoulders. He would emphasise ‘look to the future’ by walking briskly forward arms outstretched with the gown flying out behind him.
He had an extremely irritating habit of appearing to take serious things seriously, pondering them carefully then of responding with utter banality. If a boy was very worried about his forthcoming exams, for instance, and if he had no-one else to turn to, he might go to Holy Joe. He would be invited to pour out his troubles and would be listened to with much ‘umm’-ing and ‘I see’-ing as Joe paced about the room, his hands cupping his face and his fingers stroking his chin, his mouth puckering and blowing, his gown trailing out behind him. When the boy had finished, Joe would sit down beside him, take his hands in his own and remain silent, apparently deep in thought. The boy would become increasingly embarrassed about the hand-holding until he had forgotten all about his exam worries and would become desperate to get out of the chaplaincy. Finally, Joe would break hands and stand up. He would raise himself up to full height, twist his cloak tightly about his body, turn his face to the boy and, in tones of great profundity, pronounce – “You know young man, there’s only one thing for it. You must try to work a little harder.” Then he would disappear into his side room leaving the boy feeling not only disappointed but also far more worried than he had been before.
Part of Joe’s system for imparting moral guidance to the boys was to organize ‘special sessions’ at which he would give a talk on some matter of topical interest. A particular class would be invited into the chaplaincy. They would listen to Joe giving his views on the topic of the day. The talk would take the form of a church sermon but would carefully avoid any hint of denominational bias. At the close of the talk he would invite questions and would try to encourage a debate. Usually he was unsuccessful in getting the boys to contribute and he took this reluctance as proof of the inherent shyness and diffidence of youth. The truth, which never seemed to dawn on him, was that the boys knew that any time spent debating was time not available for football, smoking roll-ups or racing Dinky sports-cars. And though there were always one or two serious types in any class who might be prepared to get a debate going, they were inhibited by threats of extreme violence by the class heavies.
One day, in late summer just before the end of the school year, Holy Joe decided to have a special session for Class 4 on ‘Temptation’. This would not, in itself, have been a very attractive topic, but a buzz soon got up that it was really going to be about Sex! Most of the boys knew little about sex, relying on anecdote and the odd ‘dirty book’. They were, however, vastly interested in learning more. The chaplaincy had never been so crowded or so noisy. An air of excitement and anticipation filled the sanctum.
Right on time, Joe appeared from stage left, not only gowned, but wearing a mortarboard. The excitement increased - the mortarboard was usually a signal that Joe was being particularly formal and that he therefore considered this meeting to be of more than usual importance. He raised his arms for quiet and started his talk.
“Boys. One common theme amongst all of the great religions of the world is the necessity to fight temptation. All agree that it is only by facing up to temptation and defeating it that man can achieve true freedom. Temptation must be defeated, otherwise man will be enslaved…”
On and on he droned in this theme, till the audience became convinced that whoever had started the sex rumour had been badly and sadly mistaken. There was a slight re-kindling of interest as Joe brought up the ten commandments and appeared to dwell a little longer on coveting thy neighbour’s wife than on bearing false witness or any of the other sins, but this did not last. Soon most of the audience had dropped into the state of semi-somnolence in which they spent most of their school hours.
Then it happened. “So, boys, you see that we are all confronted, every day of our lives, with the need to fight temptation, no matter what shape it assumes.” He paused, his face flushed. He maintained silence till all eyes were on him. Then he announced in a higher voice than usual, “Hands up….” He choked, coughed and recovered. “Hands up all boys who masturbate.’
There was instant and complete silence. Every boy was wide awake, struck absolutely still and charged to a thousand volts. Then slowly eyes began to swivel in heads that were stuck pointing at the floor, each boy trying, without drawing attention to himself, to see if anyone would admit to this enormity. Wild horses could not have made them raise their own hands.
Except, that is, for Archie Petch. Mesmerised by Joe’s address, Archie had been driven to admit the inadmissible. His hand went up; he looked around; panicked when he saw his was the only one, and quickly retracted it. But not quickly enough! If he had fashioned the message ‘ARCHIE PETCH IS A DIRTY PERVERT’ out of multicoloured neon tubes and hung them round the school clock he would not have drawn more attention to himself.
Holy Joe took all this in. Quickly he announced “Ok, boys. Thank you. That will be all. This session is concluded. Please leave quietly.” And he swept out to his side room. There was an upsurge in noise as the boys made for the chaplaincy door, pushing and shoving to get out so that they could torment the hapless Archie. Then, unexpectedly, Joe’s face reappeared at the side door. “I would like Archibald Petch to stay behind.”
Half an hour later, Archie emerged from the chaplaincy. There was still a large and noisy crowd waiting for him. He was pushed and hustled. He was verbally abused. He had to walk a gauntlet of bealing – the painful practice of grabbing a boy’s privates and squeezing as hard as possible. “What did he say? What did he say? Tell us. What did he say?” Archie, in tears of pain and humiliation, blurted out “He told me it was bad for my nerves and I should try to cut it down.” And he pushed his way out of the crowd and ran off. “I’ll get the rotten bamstick. I’ll get him.” he shouted backwards as he fled.
Holy Joe left the school suddenly a few weeks later. There were none of the usual parting ceremonies, no eulogy at assembly, no speeches of gratitude, no invitations to ‘keep in touch’. Holy Joe simply vanished completely as if he had never existed. And his disappearance would have remained a mystery had not Archie been heard confiding to a friend, “I said I’d get him. So I told my dad what had happened and how he’d kept me behind after the meeting. And I told him the last thing Holy Joe said to me was, if I needed help to resist temptation again I should go to him and he’d be happy to give me a hand!”
