It's double points if you go on the floor

Schools love to show off their achievements. They love to wax lyrical about the time the school came third in the National Schools Choir contest and that summer many moons ago when the first XI Cricket team went a whole season unbeaten. They'll even point you to a headline about it from the local newspaper stuck above the head master's office. History, teachers will tell you, is what schools are built on. Each pupil passing through the front gate, each academic or sporting success is only adding to the history of the school. But this is only the history that is documented. A lot of a school's history goes un-recorded and the only proof is in the memories and testimonies of those who were there when it happened. Every school has a sub culture, an underworld where achievement is measured not in how many people pass their Wood Work GCSE (or Wood and it's Environment AppreciationStudies GCSE as it is probably called these days) but in how many 1st years Biffo Wilkins kicked the shit out of in one day or how many up skirt shot of Frau Renard one was able to get during german conversation. These are the achievements that galvanise the pupils.
At our school it was the infamous Dump League of 1992 that did it.The Dump League wasn't a conscious teacher/pupil initiative to eradicate the litter problem around school or take a keener interest in the welfare of the planet. No, the Dump League involved a pupil taking a shit and getting it marked. The concept was simple. The participant excused them selves from their lesson, completed the deed in as long a time possible without arousing suspicion and then returned to the class only for the appointed "Judge" (i.e any pupil willing to stick their head down a toilet) to then excuse themselves to do some marking. The results were then passed onto the official recorder and then presented in the form of league table, kept at all times in the safe keeping of Martin Dirkin. Dirks, as he was known, was too street smart to be accosted by bullies so there was no danger of the results being leaked.
The league started in February 1992. It was made up of 8 competitors; of which some volunteered freely but others had to be persuaded. They approached me because as they put it I was a " fat bastard and my shits are bound to be massive". I was reluctant at first but after some verbal harassment and a threat of a dead leg I agreed. The rules were set out on day one. The "attempt" would be judged on size, smell, texture and how many flushes it took to wash away. Any "attempt", big or small that disappears up the U Bend is exempt from full marking. Should any section still be visible after it has disappeared up the U Bend then that section alone will be marked. You could go as often and little as you liked and there was no law against what you ate or drank before hand. Like a chef in a Michelin star restaurant it didn't matter what ingredients you used so long as you produced the goods. Oh and if you dropped the kids off on the toilet floor you got double points.
Despite the interest shown towards me taking part I wasn't one of the pre-race favourites. Simon Barker was head and shoulders above the rest. His pedigree was well known way before the tournament; which was surprising as he seemed to exist solely on a diet of Super Crunchies and chewing gum.
After week one I was in 4th place, respectable I thought. By week 2, I was in 7th. And by week 3, I was last. Dirks' sole words of consolation were always ; "remember it's double points if you go on the floor. " Taking a dump whilst semi - bunking off lessons and getting some one to mark it had a sense of danger to it but taking a blatant crap on the floor was just wrong. I mentioned this to him and all he would say was " Well you won't get into Europe with that attitude" . After 4 weeks the competition was going global, well Europe anyway. It wasn't just Europe that was taking notice. Girls who have never even paid us time of day in the past would stop us on the way to the geography block. " Is it true you're in some sort of turd league?" To which you'd nonchalantly agree before preparing yourself for the inevitable snog. But of course it never happened, but at least people were talking. Unfortunately it wasn't just the pupils who were talking. I had a habit of being quite regular. Which was quite handy when you're participating in a Dump League but it always meant that my toilet trips coincided with double Maths, more precisely around 11.45 on a Monday morning . As per normal I put my hand up to be excused and normally the teacher Mr Johnson would say " be quick" but for some reason on this occasion he put his foot down. " No! You know it's come to my attention that you and Parsons ( John Parsons, committee member and lying in 3rd place) always seem to go to the loo on the same day. I don't know what's going on, I'm not entirely sure I want to but I'm keeping my eye on you." Someone at the back of the class shouted "nonce" but I didn't laugh. All I could think was that we'd been rumbled. That lunch time we organised a meeting. I was adamant we should stop so were 2 others but all the rest were eager to carry on. The eager beavers it should be noted weren't exactly propping the league up. They had good reason for carrying on. And so in the light of the majority decision, even though they wouldn't agree with us if we had the majority, we continued onwards. Shortly after this decision I became aware that there always seemed to be school maintenance men in the vacinity of the toilet every time we went. It wasn't unusual to see them around school it just seemed a bit of conincidence that they should be there every time I went for a bowel movement. But there was no knock at the door, we were not frog marched there and then to the headmasters office to spill the beans so I put it all down to my paranoia. And then everything went quiet until one lunch beak everyone was milling around the yard when Simon Barker emerged from the lavatory, arms aloft, nodding his head shouting "Double Points". The unthinkable had been done. A parka clad first year lept out in front of Barker nearly retching. Within minutes word had got round and pupils flocked to see this 7th wonder of the world. As the dust settled and the lunch bell rang, I saw 2 workman in deep conversation with the deputy head. This time I was sure it wasn't paranoia. That afternoon in French I expressed my feelings to Dirks and all he could say like a true humanitarian, was: " You're talking out of your arse, if you shat out of it once in a while you wouldn't be bottom of the league."
I felt vindicated when they came for us the next day. Parsons and I were dragged out of Maths and interviewed separately. I was first in. But no one had de-briefed me on what to say. There was no point in lying, especially when you've been under surveillance by maintenance men ( one of which was ex-Army) . Should I name names or just take the rap myself? I had visions of me sitting there stoney faced, muttering "no comment " whilst the charge sheet was read out. The minute I got back into class Parsons or maybe even Dirks would put their arm around me and say; "You learnt a valuable lesson today, you never rat on your friends". As it was I owned up to my side of it, didn't mention any other names and signed the confession in the presence of the deputy head and left. I returned to Maths and nothing more was said. When Parsons came in, he sat at the back: " Did you say anything?"he said. " No " I answered with a certain amount of gangster pride. " I did " he replied " I ain't getting kicked out of school for those numpties" So much for loyalty. Until then I hadn't even thought about the punishment. I was so relieved to get my story straight and not drop anyone in too much shit that I hadn't dwelt on the repercussions. Had they all fingered me after all?
I spent an uneasy night contemplating my fate. To get kicked out of school for fighting or cheating was one thing. At least you could argue that it was a moment of weakness or in the case of fighting that you were defending someone's honour. But to be involved in an operation whereby you examine each others poo and then grade it in terms of smell, colour and whether or not it disappears up the U bend. I'd never be able to hold my head up high again.
The next day we were marched into the Head Master''s office like squaddies facing a court martial. The Head gave a speech on being young and the exuberance of youth. I felt at one stage that he was about to allow us into some secret that he had from his school days. Had he himself partaken in some such activity? As it was he said no further action would be taken and more importantly our parents would not be informed. Probably more out of wishing to spare the school secretary's blushes than our own.
For the next couple of weeks random pupils would come up to us to call us twats or make them laugh by regaling some of the stories. I later found out that I was only one who hadn't named names during the interrogation process. I may have finished rock bottom with possible relegation to the second division if Dirks' plan for resurrection came off ( his proposal was that we do it in our own time and in public loos) but I learnt that in the face of overwhelming pressure I didn't buckle and more importantly I didn't rat on my mates. Something that in the 17 years since I have taken absolutely no comfort from what so ever.