[Milliways]: Fountains

[smallgayjew]

The van ride up is marked by the exuberance of eight boys who have been living under constant pressure for weeks on end. It's an excuse to let go because they cannot possibly be revising at this time, cannot possibly be writing or reading or memorizing.

(This makes them suspect it was Hector's idea. To spare them their sanity.)

(But the parallel to Irwin's remark about the other candidates having been to Rome or Florence makes them wonder if he's not behind it.)

(The only one free from suspicion is Totty. There are no facts to be garnered, and by now they know their facts backwards, forwards, sideways, widdershins, and any other way they possibly could, so Mrs. Lintott must be satisfied with them.)

(None of them, not Hector, not Dakin, not even Fiona, from whom Dakin will have the news later, knows or suspects that as they pile into their vans to escape Sheffield for the afternoon, the lollipop lady is in Felix's office delivering the fateful accusation.

Turning points. Events on which wars, movements, the life of one single human being hinge. The tiniest details matter, but no one can ever see what they might be as they happen. And no one can ever see what might have been had they not happened.

Subjunctive history.

Dunkirk.

Alamein.

Lollipop ladies.)


Irwin starts right in, of course, almost as soon as they're out of the van, some of them still pulling on their jackets.

“They took the lead off the roofs,” he says as they walk past the ruined monastery. “They used the timbers to melt it down, and time did the rest. And all thanks to Henry VIII. You want to learn about Stalin, study Henry VIII. If you want to learn about Mrs. Thatcher, study Henry VIII.”

“While you and Dorothy are taking them through the history,” Hector says, carrying the hamper over to a bench, “I'll pitch camp here. Though, Irwin, I am constantly available for the provision of useful quotations...sorry, gobbets, on request.”

Posner can't help smirking, though he does wonder who told.

“'Bare, ruin'd choirs where late the sweet birds sang.' Remember, boys, festoon your answers with gobbets, and you won't go very far wrong!”

“Actually,” Irwin says, looking more triumphant than sheepish as he leads them further on, “singing was the least of it. The monks were farmers, clothiers...”

They wander further in, Hector and even Mrs. Lintott growing faint behind them.

Irwin's world.

***

“So what was this, then?” Dakin asks as they step into an arched hallway. “A chapel?”

“No, a storeroom,” Irwin answers. “A barn. All the produce would come in here.”

Posner, following behind with Scripps, wonders if Irwin is even teaching anymore or if he and Dakin are simply on an outing together, making small talk.

“You know it all, don't you,” Dakin says in a tone that Posner has never heard directed at him. Pleased, pleasing, hopeful.

“It interests me,” Irwin says, almost apologetically.

“No, that's good,” Dakin says, and for a moment he puts his arm around Irwin's shoulder. “That's good.”

He pulls away, and Irwin trails after him.

Posner and Scripps exchange a mildly disbelieving glance.

***

“All male community, was it, sir?” Timms asks once they're all together again.

“Of course. They were monks.” There's none of the patience he uses in answering Dakin's questions. None of the fondness either.

“Bit of that, do you think?” Timms continues, making a gesture that is apparently meant to indicate something sexual, though Posner can't figure it out.

“What?” Irwin asks.

“Same-sex stuff.”

Irwin doesn't answer right away, and before he can, Akthar says, “You blushed, sir.”

“Have a fuck, blushed,” Irwin says, a bit too annoyed to be convincing.

“Sir, this is consecrated ground,” Crowther mocks.

“Not to me, sir,” Akthar offers. “To me, it's a pagan temple. “Only, you did blush a bit, sir.”

“So is that why Henry VIII put the boot in, then, sir?” Lockwood asks. “Because of them...bunking up?”

“That's what he said,” Irwin confirms.

“Well, there's not much else for them to do, though, was there?” Lockwood muses. “I mean, in the time of.”

“Pray?” Posner suggests.

“Hey, Posner'd make a good monk,” Lockwood goes on, and Posner's almost sorry he spoke up. “Except he's Jewish.”

After a short pause, Crowther asks, “Do Jews have monks?”

“Yes,” Posner says, exasperated. “I'm one now.”

***

Every field trip must end with a group photo, so they gather on a set of steps, half-covered with grass, and Akthar sets up his camera on a tripod as Hector comes to join them.

“In your own time, sir,” Timms says, a more affectionate teasing than Irwin gets from them even still.

Hector smiles as he approaches. “Pass the parcel,” he says, a finger in the air to make his point. “That's, sometimes, all you can do. Take it, feel it, and pass it on. Not for me. Not for you. But...for someone, somewhere, one day,” he says as he takes his place between Mrs. Lintott and Irwin. “Pass it on, boys. That's the game I want you to learn. Pass it on.”

Smiles and a click.

Another moment in history.




[ooc: All dialogue is from the Fox Searchlights film The History Boys or the Alan Bennett play of the same name.]