A Cockney's Journey by Eddie Allen

you?” he smirked. “Well, we will see about that, laddie.”
    He lifted his arm to its highest point. I closed my eyes as the cane came thundering down at great speed and smashed across the fingertips on my left hand. He hit me with such force that the back of my hand collided with my knee; a sharp, searing pain, followed by aching numbness shooting up to my elbow and into my shoulder. My fingertips were throbbing and stinging; the pain was immense. As I raised my arms up ready for the next blow, my eyes were streaming with tears that ran down my cheeks. I still never made any sound; his face was distorted and red with rage. He let fly with the second attack. The bastard! Went for the same hand again. In his eagerness to get some sort of reaction from me, he missed my fingertips. There was a loud crack as his power struck and broke my thumb. I screamed so loud the whole school must have heard me. I fell to my knees with my thumb all bent and bleeding.
    “You bloody idiot. You moved. I told you not to move!” he screamed in a panic. He rushed me to the first aid room. “Where is she?” he stormed.
    “She’ll be back in minute,” said the cleaner.
    “Sit there, boy, and wait for her,” he said quietly.
    “Are you all right, son? Your hand looks a mess. What happened?” the cleaner asked. I was just about to tell her when the first aid lady appeared.
    “What have we here, then?” I held my hand up.
    “Oh my! That’s nasty, boy. Come on; let’s have a look at it. How did this happen?” she asked, as she was cleaning the cut with antiseptic.
    “Mr. Wilson caned me.”
    “Been a naughty boy, have we?” she said sarcastically.
    “Yeah, I suppose so.” I couldn’t be bothered to plead my innocence. No one would listen anyway. Funny thing, accusations; all my life I’ve been accused and blamed for stuff I never did. She put splints and a bandage on my thumb. My bum was stinging as I sat there.
    “Is it broken?” I asked.
    “No, just dislocated, you’ll be fine in a few days.”
     Thank God for that. I’ve got work on Saturday.
    “Right, go up and see Mr. Wilson. I’ve finished with you now.”
    I trudged along the corridor to his study, holding my hand up and feeling sorry for myself. I knocked on his door.
    “Sit and wait a minute,” he shouted.
    I sat down waiting, my bum still sore from his assault. I started to get emotional and tears slowly trickled down my face. What had I done to deserve this horrible existence? Everybody is against me. Why? What have I done? If Nan was right, where was my guardian angel when I needed help? Why did my angel let me get punished for something I never did?
    Mr. Harris opened the study door. “Ah Eddie, you OK, son?” he said, with what appeared to be genuine concern. “Come in, Mr. Wilson wishes to speak to you.”
    Mr. Harris sat on a chair next to Wilson’s desk twiddling his fingers; their attitude had completely changed.
    “Eddie, it takes a big man to admit he’s made a mistake. I am truly sorry for the punishment I dealt you. I was completely wrong in my accusations against you. The real culprit was caught fifteen minutes ago by a senior prefect in the toilets. He had a pocket full of bangers and was attempting to light one when apprehended,” he revealed. He handed me back my lighter and fags. “Don’t bring these into school again, OK?” I shook my head in agreement. “How’s your hand, son?”
    “Very sore, sir,” I sighed.
    “Shall we forget about the whole incident today?”
    “Yeah, I suppose so,” I said, thinking I’d like to throttle the wanker.
    “Good! You can have the rest of the week off to recuperate, then!”
    “What shall I tell my parents?”
    “That you had a fall in the gym during P.E. I will confirm that fact if she calls the school. Is