Chapter 2. Walkouts and waterboards

"I need to use the damned shower, I'll be late"
"Can't help that, I'm not going on a punishment run." said James, luxuriating with shower gel in the stream of water that came from their solitary sprinkler.
"Do a strip wash, instead" suggested Albert.
"Brother Dominic said we have to have a shower" said Adam.
"Brother Dominic, brother Dominic, you're afraid of brother Dominic, aren't you" taunted James.
"Give me that bloody shower", Adam was suddenly transported with rage, and grabbed at the naked boy in the shower.
James responded with a punch, which caught Adam in the face. "You want to start a fight. I can beat you Adam." he threatened, squaring up for another punch.
Adam shrank back.
"Wars between brothers are the most vicious of wars" interjected Sebastian.
"Where did you hear that?" asked Ibrahim.
"I just made it up" said Sebastian. "Come on James, Adam's going to be late for his punishment run. You'd want a bit more consideration if it was yours".
"You have it then, the water's gone cold anyway."
So it proved, but at least Adam had a shower. He changed quickly into white gym shorts and top, and ran to Father Abbot's office, just in time.

"First years get fifteen minutes to complete the circuit of the island." explained Father Abbot. "You'll have to run hard to make the time, but pace yourself. Don't run too fast at the start and have no energy for the steep bits later on. If you don't make the time you do two more circuits." he patted him on the back, and Adam was off.
The circuit was a path that led all the way round the edge of the island. It was fairly narrow, steep in places. The view was spectacular, with rolling breakers crashing onto a largely rocky shoreline, with one or two sandy beaches. Seabirds soared above, calling to each other and engaging in petty, seabirdy disputes. About halfway Adam developed a stitch. He longed to stop, but daredn't, and kept his legs pumping. It was deeply cold, and his breath began to hurt. He could see condensation each time he exhaled, trailing away from him like smoke from an old-fashioned steam train. At last the main monastery building came back to view. There was a group of about ten sixth-formers, checking their watches and looking disappointed.
"Twelve" said Father Abbot, "that's surprisingly good."

Adam was alone in the dorm as he went back to change into normal uniform. He noticed a dampness about Ibrahim's bed, and wondered if the boy had inserted his wet body under the bedclothes after returning from the sea. Then he smelt a faint unpleasant smell and realised he hadn't. Ibrahim had wet the bed, and Sebastian had wet his also. Adam wondered if he should scrub James' toothbrush in the mess, then decided against it. He changed quickly, and just made the chapel in time for morning Mass.
Breakfast immediately followed Mass, and was cold and lumpy porridge.
"I like sugar on it" complained Adam, "where is the sugar"
"This is Scotland" said Sebastian, "no true Scotsman has sugar on his porridge. Only salt"
"My father is Scottish" piped up Albert, "and he likes sugar on his porridge"
"Then he's not a true Scotsman" said Sebastian.
"How do you know he's not a true Scotsman?" asked Albert.
"Because he likes sugar on his porridge"

Adam reluctantly smeared a layer of salt on the cold, congealed porridge. At home he used to have cream and treacle, or even honey, on the rare occasions when they had porridge. He was getting used to the idea that at St Tom's you ate food you didn't like. Or went hungry. That was about the choice of it.
"I've checked the menu for tomorrow" said Sebastian, "gentlemen, it's snail porridge".
"Snail porridge?" said James, "that's disgusting."
"On the contrary" said Sebastian, "we will have a gourmet delight. I've had it, at the Fat Duck."
"The Fat Duck?"
"It's the best restaurant in England".

The girls, meanwhile, had fallen to the inevitable, "what does your father do?". It emerged that blonde Mary's parents were both people in the film industry, a famous actor and a famous actress, although Abagail had never heard of them. They were separated and both living with other film industry types, and they spent a lot of their time working in the United States. Her mother and father each had a home in England, another in California, and her father owned a villa in the Canaries. Her mother had been brought up in a council house in Liverpool, however, and made it to the top through beauty and talent.
"That's where she gets her looks" thought Abagail.
Short Mary's father was a doctor. Also divorced, her mother didn't work and seemed to live entirely on alimony payments. She spent fifty percent of her time with her mother and fifty percent with her father. The agreement had started to cause difficulties with schooling when her parents moved apart, and so they agreed to send her to St Tom's.
Then it was Abagail's turn. "My father's a computer programmer" she explained.
"A computer programmer?" asked short Mary, "that's not professional."
"What's professional?" asked Abagail.
"It's when you're a member of a professional body, which is in control of its own standards. Doctors, lawyers and accountants are professionals. That's why they earn so much."
"So much?" said blonde Mary, "I suppose it depends what your standards are."
"He's Microsoft Certified Professional" explained Abagail.
"That doesn't count. What does your mother do?"
"She's head of human resources for a management consulting office. Her boyfriend is a consultant".
"That explains it. So your mother earns more than your father?"
"I really wouldn't know."
"My parents certainly aren't professionals," said blonde Mary, "and they don't have salaries."

Cecilia's were the only two who were together. Her father was a partner in a firm of chartered accountants. Unlike the computer programming, that seemed to be acceptable. Her father was a very devout Catholic, and had insisted that she go to St Tom's.

Mandy kept very quiet. "Go on, Mandy" said Abagail, "what does your father do?"
"I don't have a father" said Mandy.
"Then what does your mother do?" asked Abagail.
"Oh, she doesn't work."
"Investments" said short Mary.
"No, it's not that, we're not rich."
"Are you on a scholarship, Mandy?" asked blonde Mary, "That's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. My father would be proud of me if I was clever enough to win a scholarship."
"Kind of," said Mandy, "it's paid for by the local authority."
"By the local authority?"
"My Mum's in prison and I'm in care." Mandy blurted out, "you might as well know. You'll find out sooner or later. All you rich people. I was no good in the children's home so they sent me here."
"Don't worry Mandy," said Abagail, "I think St Tom's will be a great opportunity for you."
"That's just the patronising thing they always say." shouted Mandy, "Like I've got to be so grateful, because I'm going to a private school at taxpayers' expense. It's cheaper here, do you realise that, than in a residential home? But I am glad I'm here, believe you me. You think cold porridge for breakfast is hard, I've had much worse than cold porridge."
"Oh, like it's easy for us" said Abagail, "you're not the only one who can tell a sob story, you know."
"You're lucky," said Mandy, "you've got your bother. Me, I've got no-one".

Matron and the assistant Matron sighed as they saw the salt stained pajama's in the first year dorms.

"Dunking them in the sea again, I don't know why Father Abbot doesn't do something about it. Like it is obvious who it is, from the wet trousers." said assistant Matron.

"Well these are salt so there's no point drying them." muttered Matron, "and they'll rust out the machine, so we'll have to wash them by hand. And we've got three bed wetters, Sebastian, Ibrahim, and Mandy. I guess that's par for the course".
She brought out rubber sheets and placed them on the appropriate beds, then covered with a thin layer of absorbent material.
"You just see, we'll have a crop of colds."

The two women complained to each other as they tidied away the mess of the adventures of the last night.

The first year settled fairly easily into lessons. These were taught by the brothers; Latin, science, history, maths, English, music, and religious studies. Adam was surprised by Latin rather than modern language, like French, but brother Dominic explained to him, "There's not much point teaching you French because you might end up with business dealings in Spain, or in Germany, or China. Unless we teach you every language you're only marginally better off with just one. But Latin is fundamental to everything we do. It was, and still is, the language of the Church. It opens up to you the world of history, and not just Roman history. All the medieval and dark age material is in Latin too."
As St Tom's was so small and isolated, games were a difficulty. To have had a rugby team with only five or six boys per year would have entailed mixing first years with boys three years older than themselves, which wasn't very practical. However there was a sixth form rugby team. Instead the lower years played squash and five a side football, or five a side netball for the girls. Adam was pretty hopeless at anything involving hand eye coordination and a ball, so he didn't like these games, though he could tolerate them. Abagail also was bored by netball.
With the exception of games, which were held with second and third years, there were only ten in the class, and always the same ten children. So the monks got to know them very quickly. That was what, mostly, their parents were paying for, personal attention for the slow ones, challenging work for the cleverer ones, with the aim of good, solid academic results. The bell didn't ring for lessons, it rang for offices. Immediately upon hearing the bell each child had to drop what he was doing, be it never so intricate a laboratory experiment, and proceed to the chapel. There the office was sung, half the time in Latin, half the time in English. Then the monks rose promptly from prayer, and it was back to the classrooms to pick up the lesson from where it had left off. Adam wondered why they didn't timetable lessons to coincide with office hours, but they didn't. The academic timetable bore no relation to the monastic day.
Within literally two days the children had got into the rhythm of this life, with its constant alternation of prayer and study. After supper there was prep, which was done in a special prep room and patrolled by prefects. A prefect couldn't give out a detention or a punishment run, but he could impose an essay or lines, which they were extremely willing to do, if someone was caught talking even one minute after prep was supposed to begin. The first full day, because they were in detention, the first year boys had to stay back for extra prep. It was writing out a summary of Henry VIII's political policies from a history book. However normally there was some free time, which was interrupted by Compline, the last office of the day. Adam particularly liked Compline, maybe because there was free time before it and free time to look forward to after it.

"Submit motions for Junior Calefactory Meeting". Abagail looked at the blackboard with interest. There was a meeting of the entire lower school - minus the sixth form - every Sunday evening. The calefactory was what any other place would have called the common room, and there were two of them in each house, one for prefects, and one for the lesser beings. However "The Junior Calefactory" in the abstract just meant the lower school. The meeting was in fact held in the boys' calefactory because it was bigger.
There seemed to be no bar to first years submitting motions. Abagail scribbled one on a piece of paper. "This JC considers the use of waterboarding by the American government to constitute torture". Mover, Abagail Newman, seconded, Mary Walker (short Mary). She slipped it into the box, and waited for Sunday.

Cecilia was getting intensely fed up. After two days it was obvious that there was no way of contacting her mother, and she realised that if she did nothing she would soon end up as an ordinary schoolgirl at St Tom's. Her mother had specifically said that if she hated it, she could come back. She had just never imagined that no phone would be available. Cecilia hated the food and she hated the constant chapel. She didn't really hate lessons (she knew she would have to do them, wherever she went), but she didn't exactly like academic work either. She hated sport. She didn't hate the other girls, oddly enough, she felt rather sorry for them, even blonde Mary, whose glamorous and self-assured surface Cecilia could see through. But most of all, Cecilia hated the discipline. Every moment, it seemed, was timetabled or controlled in some manner, from waking to lights out at the end of the day. Even free time, for practical purposes, had to be taken in the calefactory, where thirty girls jostled for one games console, and the television never showed the programmes she wanted to see, but always what was chosen by the older girls.
"I've had enough of this dump" she told Mandy, "I'm going. Back to my pet dog Fidelis and my horse Trumpert, and most of all to my dear mother and a proper bed and some decent food. When I tell her about how we were dunked in the water she'll be shocked, I assure you. I'm sure she'll write to Father Abbot to complain, if not to our Member of Parliament. I don't know what my father was thinking in sending me to such a place."
"You can't just go" protested Mandy. "Do you have permission?"
"I don't need permission. They can't stop me from going. That's imprisonment and a breach of my rights. I'm just going."
Mandy was unimpressed. "Well you'd better ask Father Abbot about that."
"No, next boat in, I'm going"
"And then what?"
"On the train, straight back home."
"Without a ticket?"
"I'll call my parents and they'll pay for my ticket. Then I'm home." Cecilia was firm. "These things aren't as difficult as you imagine, Mandy.
Mandy shook her head and went to join the others playing in the yard.

It was after Vespers, when prep had started, that Cecilia made her move. The motorboat which had ferried them to the island was delivering supplies on the quay. Two monks, brothers Brendan and Peter, were helping to unload the supplies. Cecilia didn't go to the prep room, but concealed herself some way from the jetty. After the last supplies had been unloaded, the brothers shook hands with the boatman, and made their way back to the monastery. Cecilia walked smartly and confidently up to the boat, and sat in the stern end. The boatman didn't even notice her, until he had cast off, and was several hundred yards from the island.
"So what you be doing, young lady?" asked the boatman.
"I'm going home" said Cecilia, firmly.
"Where be your luggage?"
"Oh, I don't need any luggage. I've enough things at home."
"So you've permission from father Abbot to leave the island?"
"No, I don't need permission from anyone." said Cecilia.
"Young lady," said the boatman, "I've got to take you back."

The prefect had naturally enquired why Cecilia's desk was empty. Thinking quickly, Mandy told him that she had a sore throat - I really don't know where she caught it from - and had gone to the sick bay. This was accepted, and Mandy sat agitated all through prep. "She's actually gone" she thought to herself, half envious, but mainly worried. Mandy had seen many more things in her life than Cecilia, and was more worldly wise. "If they don't let her on that train, anything could happen." she though to herself. Cecilia could be stuck, at night, in a remote village, with no friends to call her own, no money, and no means of support. She thought of going to Father Abbot. That would be the responsible thing to do, but it would be sneaking.
The children at last folded up their books for prep.

"Abbey", said Mandy, "cover for me."
"Where are you going?"
"On an adventure." she gave Abagail a kiss, and disappeared into the blackness.

Cecilia was pouring her heart out to the boatman.

"I just hate everything about St Tom's. I want to go back home. Please don't take me back to the island."
"I know you want to leave, but I've got no choice. Can't leave a young girl wandering round Scotland on her own."
He marched her up to Father Abbot's office, then waited outside whilst the crying, but still defiant girl argued it out with the head of St Tom's.

Meanwhile Mandy, seeing the unattended boat moored at the jetty, slipped into it. She arranged some tarpaulins around herself, and made herself very small.
The boatman eventually returned, and cast off. Something didn't seem quite right. He saw a movement in the stern of the vessel that didn't seem to be caused by the wind. After a brief search with a torch, he uncovered Mandy.
"Another young lass! Where do you think you're going, young lady."
"On an adventure. OK, caught. Here's your fee."
Mandy proffered a single coin.
"Oh, I remember you, young lady" said the boatman. "So when are you returning?"
"When can you do? After midnight?"
"After midnight it is, aye, and I drop you off on the other side of the island."

They reached the small village on the other side of the water. Mandy had a frustrating time asking after Cecilia. No one had seen her at all.
"The train only stops for dropping off at this time of night", explained a villager, "pick ups are early in the morning. So your friend couldn't have got the train. If a schoolgirl was wandering round the village, someone would have noticed. So the only options are she went into someone's car pretty sharpish, or she didn't come here."
That wasn't comforting. Eventually Mandy had to admit defeat, and returned to the boatman.

"I have no more money" she said apologetically, "how can I pay you?"
"You'll find a way to pay me" said the boatman, and cast off for the island.

Father Abbot was distinctly unimpressed by Cecilia's walkout.

"You have inconvenienced the boatman, and severely embarrassed the school" he said to Cecilia. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I hate it here and I want to leave." said Cecilia.

"Cecilia", said Father Abbot, "you have only been here two days. That is hardly fair to St Tom's."
"Two days is enough to know I hate everything about it" insisted Cecilia, "I'm so unhappy here, I could cry. Just get me out, get me out before I kill myself. Because that is what I will do, if you imprison me here nay longer."
"Cecilia," said Father Abbot, "where we are makes a difference. But it is who we are that determines how we feel. Maybe St Tom's is not for you. But we can't tell that on the basis of two days' experience. You'll find that if you move to another school, you will have the same problems. Maybe they present in a different form, because we are stricter here than many establishments, but they will still be there. We build this monastic community on three great principles, stability, obedience, and conversion of life. Now you have stability. It may not appear so at present, but of all the girls in your year you are the most stable. The very fact that you are here, complaining face to face to me, tells me that. But you lack obedience. And you have not turned your life from being self-centred to being other centred. That is why you are unhappy here. And you will be unhappy wherever you are, however concealed it may be. I suggest that particularly you are unhappy at home, and want to assert your independence. Now you have the chance to do that."
"So I can't leave."
"I will not allow you to leave St Tom's except at the request of your parents."
"Then let me phone and ask them to bring me back."
"I will not allow you to contact your parents by phone, however you may write them a letter."
"Then the letter goes tomorrow." insisted Celia, "and I'm out of here by Sunday."
"Deliveries to St Tom's are weekly. However you may write a letter. I would consider very carefully what goes into it, Cecilia. You may come to regard leaving very soon as a failure. Now will you apologise for the embarrassment you have caused us?"
"No I won't, you apologise for keeping me prisoner here."
"What does your mother do when you are naughty?"
"Nothing", said Cecilia
Father Abbot leant over her.
"Well your mother isn't here any longer", he whispered.

"Father Abbot, this is extremely urgent", it was brother Dominic.
"Cecilia," said Father Abbot, "dismiss."
"Mandy has gone missing." he explained.
"Really missing?" asked Father Abbot.
"I'm afraid so. Abagail tried to cover for her, but basically she's vanished. She wasn't at Compline, which was no big deal, but then Matron missed her for lights out. Abagail has no clue where she is and I had to terrorise her to get round her stupid schoolgirl loyalty. I could tell something was up because she wasn't concentrating at prep. If only I'd put two and two together."
"OK, full alert.” ordered the abbot, “Check the island, then call the coastguard just in case she's ended up in the sea."
"Mandy", Father Abbot thought to himself, "now was that such a good idea?" She was the very first pupil he had taken from local authority care, and he was very unsure about how it would work out. The nightmare possibility suggested itself that she had committed suicide by throwing herself into the sea. No-one from St Tom's had ever done that, but it was a persistent possibility. He said a quick prayer to himself, then picked up the phone to his friend, the boatman.

A chuckle spread over his fat face. No, for all of her problems, Mandy would definitely work out.

Abagail was woken by Mandy tapping on the window. Gingerly, the girls removed the pane of glass, placing it gently on the soft bed.
"Mandy," said Abagail, "you're back. Matron and Brother Dominic were worried about you."
"I thought I said cover for me?"
"How could I? You weren't there for Compline, or for lights out. I can't work miracles, Mandy" protested Abagail.
"Well I covered for Cecilia"
"And look where that got us. Brother Dominic has been beside himself, with two first years slipping away."
"Abbey, you sneaked."
"Well what could I say. Look, he was kind of panicing."
"Like your brother. I've no time for sneaks. Anyway, get this window back in. I'll catch hell in the morning, thanks to you."

To the relief of Matron and all the monks Mandy was found safe in bed in the morning. She flatly refused to say where she had been. Initially she tried to make out that she had been present all along, and Matron had simply missed her, but it wouldn't wash. She just said, "I got fed up, and sneaked out for a bit."
Mandy and Cecilia were made to do two laps of punishment runs. Mandy had been beaten often and made to sit in uncomfortable positions for hours on end as a child, so she was hardened to this sort of thing. For Cecilia, however, it was a shock. She'd done exercise before in ballet and horse-riding lessons, but being made to run, when your legs were giving out on you, with fear of further laps if you did not complete in the required time, this was new.
"Unlike Mandy", she said, "I didn't sneak off. I stood up for myself, because they have no right to keep me here."
"Oh for goodness sake shut up", said blonde Mary, "you're going home to Mummy. Right, I'll believe it when I see it. What about us, whose Mummies are in the United States? How are we supposed to go home?"
"Cecilia is just a spoilt brat", said Abagial, "all she thinks about is how miserable she is."
"I am not a spoilt brat", said Cecilia, "I stand up for myself."
"Too right. Against Father Abbot." replied Abagail.

Saturday morning was timetabled for lessons, but the afternoons were given over to "activities". Each boy or girl had to do something constructive, but not necessarily academic. There was as wide a range of sports and other hobbies to choose from as such a small school would permit.
Abagail approached the boys with her plan. "I need a waterboard" she explained.
"Waterboard, as in wind surfing?" asked James.
"No, as in torture" Abagail told him.
It was Albert who rooted about on the Internet and finally found instructions. "It's not too difficult to make," he explained, "basically all it is is a stiff board with a block of wood below it to hold it at an incline. Then you need slots for straps or ropes so you can tie your victim in place, head down. You blindfold him, then hold a wet cloth over his face and dribble water on it. Simple, really."
"Can you make one?" asked Abagail, "I need it for Sunday."
"Where'd we get the planks?"
"From the woodwork room, of course" suggested Adam.
"I can hardly tell brother Peter that I'm making a waterboard."
"Then don't tell him," said Adam, "just make it. Say you want to roll things down it."
"Like a pinball machine."
"That's right, kind of like a pinball machine."
Sure enough, right on cue Saturday evening Albert came to the Calefactory with a waterboard in tow. He'd even machined holes for the straps using the woodwork drill. The first years draped it with plastic bin bags, and left it in the Calefactory.

Sunday was a free day. No work was permitted. This was a strict rule, no prep, no impositions, no lessons, no organised games. Nothing that had the taint of schoolwork. Mass was at eleven instead of first thing in the morning, and the offices were longer.
To Adam, suddenly St Tom's was transformed. What had seemed dreary and threatening now seemed to have a golden shadow cast across it. They had the run of the island, and the day stretched endlessly before them. He walked, for pleasure, on the circuit where he had previously ran. Even the food on Sundays was nicer. It was bacon and egg instead of porridge for breakfast, and if the bacon was a bit undercooked he was used to that by now. It was a choice of lemonade or orange juice instead of water for meals. The monks had beer.

Abagail had found out the name of the American girl by now. She was called Amy. Her parents were from New York and owned a hotdog chain. She was in fifth year, very pretty, and a good netball player. She had a bullying streak which Abagail had observed in the Calefactory. For instance if the windows were closed she'd proclaim "it's too stuffy in here" and open them, even if it was freezing outside. If the windows were open she'd say "it's too cold in here" and close them, even on an nice day. Then she'd leave the Calefactory. She only did this when younger girls only were present, needless to say. Like all bullies she didn't pick on her own size.

Like everything on Sunday, attendance at the JC meeting was voluntary. However if you were a boy there was nowhere else as convenient to relax, and if you were a girl the girls' Calefactory was empty. So in practice almost everybody attended. Abagail noted with satisfaction that Amy was there.
A fifth year called Sean was chairman. There was a debate about whether to buy some films, then a rather pointless one about which party the JC would support in the forthcoming general election. Since no-one had a vote, and no-one could canvass anyone except the ten adults on the island, this was a real exercise in futility, as well as being totally unimaginative.
"Now any two members are entitled to put forward a motion, and we are particularly glad to have, very prompt as it may be, a motion from two first years, Abbey Newman and Mary Walker. 'This JC considers the use of waterboarding by the American government to constitute torture'. Abbey, I call on you to propose the motion.
With her nerves forming a tense little knot within her stomach, Abagail rose to her feet. She cut a tiny figure against all the fourth years and fifth years assembled there.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said
"And Mr Chairman" injected Sean.
"Sorry, Ladies and Gentlemen, and Mr Chairman, we have come to talk to you about the use of a technique called 'waterboarding' by the American government. This is a device that creates in the victim the sensation of being immersed in water, and about to drown. Know that the fear of drowning, of being immersed against your will in a body of water, such as the sea"
There was sound of something that was half like booing from the older children.
"To be immersed against your will in water," continued Abagail, "is the worst fear, the most terrible fear, that you can inflict on another human person. Because what is our deepest need? Is it the need for love, is it the need for food, or for water? No, it is the need to breathe."
"Now the Americans I consider to be the vilest people that have ever walked the Earth, because they attack people and countries who are weaker than themselves. Know that the American military currently spend sixty percent of all current arms expenditure. That's right"
"Point of information," said a tall boy, with raised hand, "the American defence budget has since been cut, and now represents less than forty percent"
"I reject points of information based on unverifiable statistics" said Sean, waving him aside.
"Sixty percent", insisted Abagail. "that means that if the Americans were to go to war against the rest of the world, they would win. But they don't. They attack poor and weak countries instead, because they are all fat and too lazy to fight. Except some of the women who primp themselves up with cosmetic surgery. An ugly people, Mr Chairman, and what is more, they don't fight fair. They use torture. Torture on people whose only crime is to be on the other side, as totally prohibited by the Geneva Convention. And why, because they are bullies and they are cowards. All Americans are bullies and cowards, and they eat cheap junk food like hot dogs which is wrecking the environment. Pass this motion, Ladies and Gentlemen, and show those Americans what we think of their waterboarding."
There was the sound of applause. Abagail found herself breathless and shaking as she sank back into the chair.
"Well, a very spirited motion from a first year" said Sean, "shall I declare the motion passed, or does anyone wish to reply?"
Flushed, Amy rose to her feet.
"I am an American" she said, "and this speech was racist. Except racism doesn't apply to us Americans. Nope, I guess not. We are not wrecking the environment with hotdogs, that was totally irrelevant. If you want to get personal, Abbey, lets make this personal. Personally I lost my brother in the war in Afghanistan. He was not a coward."
There was a flutter of applause.
"Never call us Americans cowards. Yes, we have the strongest military in the world. American guts made that military. And we do not attack innocent countries. They attacked us first."
"Order, order, order" called Sean, at the commotion.
"Waterboarding is not torture. It is a technique of intensive interrogation. The victim, the so-called victim, knows that he is not drowning. All that happens is that a wet cloth is put over his face. Call that torture? No. And interrogation is not banned under the Geneva convention."
"OK, let's wrap this up" said Sean, "Mary Walker, now conclude the defence of this motion"

"If interrogation isn't banned under the Geneva convention" said Mary Walker, "then why do they do it off American territory? So that they can't be prosecuted under their own laws, because they know it's illegal."
"Amy, my father is a doctor. He knows that you would not psychologically survive waterboarding. You talk about a wet cloth, and the 'so-called victim', as though it's just a perfect picnic. You dish it out, but you won't take it yourself. That's why I call you a coward. Would you agree to be waterboarded? Or will you agree that it is torture."

"My brother's commanding officer agreed to be waterboarded. Don't say we Americans are cowards."
"Never mind someone else, would you agree to it?"
"I don't see why not, we Americans ..."
"Well Amy, you're in luck," said Abagail, "we have a waterboard".

Dramatically Albert and Alex pulled the plastic wrappers off the waterboard. Albert had even thought to provide a bowl of cold water.

"Oh cool!"
"Nice one, nice one."
Called the elder children from the crowd

Trapped, Amy looked for a way out.

"Procedural motion", someone shouted ,"Amy be waterboarded."
"For" said Sean, and a forest of hands went up. "carried on a show of hands."

Struggling, Amy was tied to the board. It was tilted forwards. "Not so steep" warned James, "you'll knock her out."
The damp cloth was applied to Amy's face, then water dribbled over it. She made choking noises, then a damp patch appeared over her skirt.
"Still support waterboarding, Amy?", asked one of the senior boys. "Albert, do it again."
The meeting broke up in chaos. Eventually someone untied Amy, but she still lay on the floor. Albert spirited the waterboard back to the woodwork room sharpish, and broke it up.
"Now you know what it feels like to almost drown" called Abagail, at the hysterical Amy.

Brother Dominic was housemaster, and had to discuss the situation with Father Abbot. "You've got to take action", brother Dominic insisted, "we've got a child with severe trauma, nearly a psychological breakdown."
"What can I do" said Father Abbot. "punishment runs, or expulsion. There's practically nothing in between. Besides, Sean was chairman of that meeting and the person responsible. Sure I'll punish him, but we don't want to lose Sean. And all the others involved as well. It seems the entire JC ganged up on her."
"It was the first years who made the waterboard" explained brother Dominic.
"First years? Well any fifth year you lets herself be bullied by a bunch of first years does not have my sympathy." said Father Abbot.
"Well, she's in trauma now."
"Kind of poetic. At least our children have established that waterboarding is torture. Put her in the sick bay and see if she recovers. If not she'll have to go back to America." Father Abbot had decided.
The fifth years and fourth years got an entire week of class detentions for that incident, and Father Abbot gravely addressed the school on the problems of bullying. "I don't want to see it" he explained, "and nor should you permit it. Such is contrary to the Christian virtue of charity. But most importantly, bullies are cowards. If you attack someone who is weaker than yourself, then you diminish yourself, become less of a person. It's always found that the second rank people, the not so popular, the not so academically or sportingly successful, are the ones who are bullies. Let's make St Tom's into a community where bullying is not part of our way of life."

The first years got off scot free. Albert explained that they had built a waterboard to demonstrate to the JC the cruelties of the procedure, but had never in their wildest imaginings supposed it would be used. But Amy had been so insistent that it was not torture, that the mob had been uncontrollable.
Abagail and short Mary slapped hands. "But at the end of the day, Abbey", said short Mary, "what have we achieved? We've got back at one of them, but we need revenge on all of the fifth years, and all of the sixth form."
"Well the fifth years got their week of detentions" said Abagail.
"I suppose so," said short Mary.
"I know what you mean” said Abagail, “but you can't have everything perfect. She half-drowned us, so we've half-drowned her. Her fifth year buddies are in detention. And all because of us. I think we can count that a success. We'll get more revenge on the fifth years later. St Tom's is just going to have to accept, we first formers have arrived.”

It was time for lights out, and for the first time at St Tom's Abagail went to bed with a deep feeling of happiness.