Educating Edward: The Story of a Boy in Trouble and the Man Who Saved Him

By Robert Whyte

Ten year old Edward lives with a group of boys in welfare housing that is badly supervised. He is attacked, abused and is only saved from a certain life of crime by a teacher who adopts him and takes him under his wing.

But the community doesnt accept a man adopting a boy and they are both hounded until they make a run for freedom. An adventure story that explores the relationship between males and the fight for the right to a normal life by a little boy and his grown up mentor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jun 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483658773

Robert Whyte

Robert Whyte is an honorary researcher in arachnology at the Queensland Museum, having developed an interest in spiders with the encouragement of arachnologist Robert Raven. He has participated in five Bush Blitz biodiscovery expeditions in remote parts of Western Australia, the Northern Territory and Queensland. He is an accomplished editor, author and journalist, with skills in photography and publication design.

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Copyright © 2013 by Robert Whyte.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 06/24/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Book Two

Chapter One

1970

Edward was small for his age. Although he was just past ten years old, most people thought he was about six. Most people thought he was pretty rough too. At least the mothers of the few boys who’d invited him home after school thought so.

I don’t want you playing with that boy, Thomas, one of them said. Where does he come from?

From school Mum. I told you. He’s my friend.

She knelt to face the boy, her darling Thomas of the pure blue eyes and the lovely smile that won all hearts. All hearts.

Well I think you should choose your friends more carefully. He doesn’t look normal, that boy…

Normal? You mean dumb? He looks dumb?

No. Oh well yes. He does look sort of stupid. But more than that, he looks wild. I don’t like the way he looks at me with those black eyes. Are his parents foreigners?

Most of the parents of our school are foreigners, Mum. You know that. What’s wrong with foreigners?

She stood up. She’d gone too far. Thomas had that defiant look on his face again. Time to backpedal.

Of course Thomas, Darling. And there’s nothing wrong with being foreign. Some of my best friends come from, well, foreign places…

Oh Mum. Your friends are all British. That’s not foreign. Foreign is say, Spanish or Arabic, or Asian…

As you say, dear. You would know, being the one at school and doing so well, I hear. Topping your class, Sally tells me.

Your friend Sally is a snob, Mum.

Don’t you dare, you young rascal…

But Dad says so…

And if Dad says so it must be? Is that it?

It was Thomas’s turn to back pedal. He knew the signs. Anyway he needed a favour from his mum this day.

No of course not Mum. Dad makes some pretty good mistakes, I reckon. He looked at her with his wise eyes.

That always got her. She melted at the sign of wisdom in those eyes. And so young. She patted his head.

Enough of this talk. Now that your, er, friend, Edward has finally gone home to whatever terrible place he comes from…

Mum!

Yes of course, the poor child. Now, how about a bit of homework. You have to be top, remember. I won’t have any second places from my boy. My Darling Boy…

The next day, at school, Thomas proudly displayed the new phone his parents had given him. At least his father had given him after he’d been badgered by his mother, who’d responded to Thomas’s tale of being the only one in the class without the latest toy, a pretend phone. Made of tin it looked just like a real one.

It’s the latest colour, Thomas assured his friend. And look, you can talk into it. What do you reckon, Edward?

I reckon you’re a lucky bugger, is what I reckon.

Edward tried not to sound jealous. He had no mum to spoil him with a new toy. Or even a dad.

Hey, Wood Head, called a boy, a big boy from the other year six class. Edward turned to see a large boy in running shoes and long pants, a shirt and jumper too big even for him. Year six were allowed to wear long pants. But this boy had an aura about him. He swaggered, his shoulders forward, his large hands hanging there in a threatening pose. People got out of his way.

Simon was the school bully. Overweight and very strong. He called all Edwards Wood Head.

What ya got there, kid? he said to Thomas.

Simon had a rolling kind of walk. He also held his arms out as if ready to grab you or punch you, part of his whole demeanor of aggression. He came over to stand staring at Thomas and Edward. But Edward wasn’t as bluffed as Thomas.

Who are you calling Wood head, FATSO?

What? You worm. You want to be deaded? Simon giggled at his own joke. You want to be a dead head? A dead wood head? Get it?

You and who’s army? It was the standard reply from one bully to another. But Edward was not part of the regular bully group. He was new, he was small. He didn’t belong and Simon’s duty was simply to show him where he belonged in the scheme of things. He snatched the phone from Thomas’s hands.

Hey. that’s mine, called Thomas, grappling for the thing. But Simon was too strong. He laughed his mean laugh at Thomas and danced away with the phone.

Edward was quick. He got a foot in between Simon’s legs and tripped him. The next thing Simon was on his face on the ground and the phone was being pried form his grasp.

Don’t call me Wood Head, Slob. Or I’ll kill you.

Simon rolled over onto his back and stared up at this creature. God, what was in those eyes? They shone like some evil thing from the comics strips. Devil’s eyes.

Simon struggled to his feet to face this little runt.

You and who’s… He was about to say army but something stuck in his throat. It was the look on that face. The little runt was glaring hate at him. And there was more than hate there. There was serious threat.

Yeah, well, I was only joking… Simon, an intelligent boy despite his often thoughtless treatment of his school mates, appealed to Thomas. Can’t yous characters take a joke?

Thomas couldn’t believe his ears. This was not the Simon he knew. The real Simon would have struck out with his massive arms and flattened anybody near him. He would have cursed and threatened and called for his mates who would have run over and assisted in beating up whoever had attacked him. Thomas knew Simon. He’d been at the same school for a few years now and he’d seen Simon grow huge and powerful.

I can take a joke if Edward’s here with me. Otherwise, you big fat tub… Thomas, suddenly aware of what he’d just said to the school bully prepared for the strike back.

But this time Simon didn’t strike out. Anyone calling him names was normally risking immediate punishment. This time Simon was watching Edward. And Edward was just standing there, his solid little frame squat against the background of schoolyard and garden, his limbs small in comparison to Simon’s but muscular and strong looking, his whole body-language a warning, his black eyes glowing with something unknown, unthinkable. Evil, perhaps. And something about his stance told Simon that all was not good. After nearly six years of ruling this place with his size and his aggression, Simon’s very existence at this school was suddenly threatened.

This was one mean cookie. This little runt with the wild black hair and eyes, with the aggressive stance, needed treating carefully. New to the school, god knows where he came from but it was probably some reform school or something. Simon gathered all his inner strength, stood up, deciding to face him.

Whadaya reckon Ed, old mate? Can’t Thomas take a joke?

Don’t call me mate. I’m not your mate. I think you’re a coward. And a bully. Edward said. Why don’t you just piss off… His eyes still cold and deadly.

Simon looked from one to the other then shrugged, handed the phone back to Thomas and ran off. But he knew he would never again attack Thomas or Edward.

I wonder if he’ll call anybody else Wood Head? Thomas said, as they sat on the bench and studied his new toy.

Probably. But not where we can hear him, I bet, Edward replied. Thomas looked across at his new little mate. Could anyone be so confident? Where did this little boy really come from?

Edward was part of a small group of boys who’d suddenly appeared mid-year. The rumour was that they’d come from some other country but their speech was certainly pure Aussie. It was a month now since they’d suddenly appeared and Thomas had found himself seated next to this kid in class. They chatted at recess and gradually got to know each other, although Thomas had never really investigated where Edward came from.

And Edward was right about the bully Simon. Simon had indeed learned a lesson on that day. At lunch he sat on his own, shooed off his mates who were always there to help him control the yard, and sat eating his peanut butter sandwich, as usual throwing the piece of fruit in the bin.

It was as if this little runt had sent some message into his brain to change him. How had this happened? Was the brat some sort of devil? Or an angel maybe. Yeah, that’s what he is, a bloody angel. Sent down here to tell Simon what to do, what to become. And yeah, Simon had to admit he’d felt bad about his bullying for some time now. He’d built up a reputation for being hard and thoughtless, for getting his own way, for making boys cower. And something inside him had been eating at him, like a little voice saying… this is wrong. You can’t do this.

But it was so easy when you had done it for years. The boys just expected him to do it. And his mates, street-tough boys who valued Simon’s size and power, quickly electing him as their leader, would never have it that there was anything wrong with using your strength to control others. That’s what life is about… that’s the way we are… there’s those in charge and those who aren’t… the strong and the weak.

Now Simon’s very lifestyle was threatened. How could he go on when he felt so bad? The little rat had ruined a beautiful life. He should destroy the rat. End him like the animal he is. But… he sat brooding a while longer.

Simon’s pack of bullies had been developing for a few years now. From about year four to the present year six, he’d gathered around him this group of like minded boys who strutted around the school yards, their body language telling all that they were untouchable, unbeatable. So, yes, he’d had a good reign as the leader. Yet today… what had happened? Some strange thing had changed in his mind, prompted by the look in Edward’s eyes. Hell, here was a boy, a new boy who might, for god sake, beat him. This little runt with the devil’s eyes was so scary that Simon knew he could never challenge him again. Never. And the brat might form his own group. And then what? God, it was all too much.

Simon moved restlessly to sit alone on another bench under a large gum tree. There were lots of trees in this yard, planted by a group of enthusiastic parents who wanted their kids to have the best of Australian life. Gum trees was IT. To adults who’d spent their early lives in dark places with cold and rain and snow, war and starvation, what they needed now was gum trees and sun and beaches and lots of fresh air. And for the first time, this Aussie boy in a school of migrants, mostly Europeans and Asians, gave some serious thought to what he was doing.

It was bullying wasn’t it. Yeah, the counselor had said so, the headmaster had said so. Everybody talked about the need to stop bullying. And here he was, the best of them all. But now, for some strange reason he asked himself, was it worth it? Was being the toughest boy in the school something to be proud of? Now that someone else might take the crown, (shit, this little rat had knocked him down,) was it really something to protect? Should he flatten the bastard and go on with the lifestyle he’d perfected? Or should he change and become the person he knew he should be?

Serious doubts for a bully.

He’d had no doubts about his future in this school. He would always be IT, always the top banana. But now? Well, for a start, he would maybe stay away from this Edward. Maybe even be kind to him.

Later, having tried to be this new person, this powerful but kind leader who hurt nobody, this Mister Perfect, having lasted all day in this new state, shunning his bully mates, sitting on his own, he went home, hardly spoke to his Mum and went to bed early to have dreams about the brat, about a monster with magic powers that looked just like Edward Wilson, waking up screaming, calling for his mother.

Simon’s mother spoke to the school counselor a few days later.

I think something should be done about that boy, Miss. Eskins. There’s something evil about him. My poor Simon has been waking screaming every night since that boy attacked him…

Mrs. Harrison. You know we’ve spoken before about your boy attacking others. Are you saying now that someone can beat him?

It was said with kindness, for Eleanor Eskins was well aware of the temper of this woman, indeed the whole family of overweight, intellectually challenged people. Inside she felt it was about time young Simon met his match. But she couldn’t say that.

Mrs. Harrison managed a smile.

"Yes, I do understand the position my poor dear boy has put you in, Miss. Eskins. All those times you’ve mediated and prevented poor Simon being taken to court. But you see, this boy, this dreadful bully…’

Now, now, Eleanor laughed. No names, remember.

Of course, of course. Let me rephrase that. This poor homeless child, this strange creature with the look of, well, let me put it bluntly, Miss. Eskins…

Certainly. Go ahead.

The devil. He has the look of the devil.

A ten year old child? Surely not, Mrs. Harrison. He has dark eyes and many of what we may call English stock, fear dark eyes. But I can assure you there is no devil in that boy.

You know him then? He’s been here with you often?

"No. Once, I believe. And that was from a complaint of another, shall we say, bully. After all, the year is well under way. The boys have sorted out to their groups. They know who they are, who their friends are.’

Yes, but this group of boys that just arrived halfway through the year, where did they come from?

Well, from another school, obviously.

But which school? Do we know… ?

No, I’m afraid I don’t have that information. But you see, Mrs. Harrison, we all have our personalities and we all pay the price for whatever that personality is. And your son has been a bully for a few years now, hasn’t he.

Well. Oh I suppose so. But we try, we really try to stop him. It’s just his size… everyone picks on him. And as for his weight… he can’t help it if he takes after his father, the poor dear.

I know. And believe me, I sympathize with you on that. Most overweight children are picked on. It’s as if we need to be perfect to be accepted. And it was natural that Simon would join the group of bullies that roam the world. Maybe get his own back, eh?

Mrs. Harrison admitted a small smile.

Eleanor went on. But this boy, Edward Wilson, he’s had a terrible life. I can’t, I mean I won’t give you any details. But I can assure you that he needs our sympathy too. And I think I can see that you will be big enough to offer him that. Am I right?

Oh, you. You do have a way with words, Miss Eskins. But very well then. I’ll try to be nice to him. But in the meantime, what do I do about poor Simon’s nightmares?

Well. Rather than giving you some sort of sleeping pills, I have an idea that your boy might need a friend. What do you say?

A friend? He has lots of friends… Eleanor stared at her for a moment, a quizzical look on her face. Finally Mrs. Harrison grinned. Well, maybe you’re right. He certainly never brings any boys home.

Exactly. Now what I suggest is that we get those two together, your boy and the Wilson boy…

Oh no. That would never work. Never…

Later that day, Simon and Edward were brought together by very devious means. First of all the headmaster went to the room for the year six boys and picked up Edward.

Edward, he said, Can I speak to you for a moment?

The boy went pale. What had he done now? Tears were hovering. The headmaster was trouble.

What did I do he said, his ten year old voice almost failing him.

Nothing yet, boy. But I’d like you to help me with a problem. Will you do that, for me?

Edward stared. Help him, for gawd sake. No body had ever asked for help. Certainly not a headmaster. Yeah. I reckon.

The headmaster led the boy down the corridor, ignoring the stares from the passing students. In his office he sat Edward down on the seat in front of his desk, went round to his own chair, put his elbows on the desk top and looked into the young face.

Can I trust you with a secret?

What? Me? Sure you can, Mister Castoni. What do I have to do?

"Well. I have a boy here who needs help. He has no friends and I thought, since you’re new and you’re also very bright, I thought you might be able