Oh Brother!

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Chapter 2

Of course, the day eventually came when Neil had to go to school. The age difference meant that I was quite a few classes ahead of him. In fact, at primary school, I was in 'Top Class', while Neil was still in 'Reception Class'. You can imagine the problems that caused. It's bad enough if you associate with someone a class or two below you at school, but a sophisticated Senior being followed around the school playground every lunchtime by a Reception midget! The disgrace was almost too much to bear. Luckily, people make allowances for brothers, and after the first few months, Neil settled in with his own circle of friends. Of course, that did not stop him being a major irritant from time to time. Like for example, the time that I slipped walking out of a classroom on the way to lunch. I skidded across the floor and ended up head-butting the end of the coat racks. This was in the 'good old days' before everything in schools was rounded corners and child proof. Our coat racks were made of Cast Iron, and the end was shaped like a castle turret. Being slightly less hard headed in those days, it was my head that gave way, and I left a trail of blood all the way to the M.I. room.

As I said, this was in the 'good old days', so instead of being rushed to hospital with flashing blue lights and sympathetic young nurses, I was given and Elastoplast and made to lie down in order to try to staunch the flow. Luckily, by about 3 o'clock, the flow of blood had abated, so when the time came to go home, I was able to wait for our coach with the other children. Neil spotted the Elastoplast immediately. "What's this?" he asked, giving it a poke. The blood started flowing all over again, and the coach had to wait for about 10 minutes while they replaced the elastoplast yet again. Needless to say, Neil was not particularly popular with either myself or the teachers for a few days after that!

Of course, we were not at school all the time, and Neil could still cause as much trouble as ever while he was at home. Like the time he took up Judo. The thing about Judo is that it is 'defensive', so if someone attacks you, you can theoretically reduce him to a shattered husk. This, as you can imagine, is a worrying scenario for an older brother, especially when your parents want a 'demonstration'. So, Neil, about 7 years old and built like a streak of bacon, dressed in what looked like a pair of pyjamas, braced himself. I, around 12, well into puberty and towering over this presumptuous dwarf, moved tentatively into position. I moved, Neil closed in for the throw. I braced myself. He lowered his head. I reached over his back, grabbed his ankles and lifted him, keeping my arms straight, so that he dangled about a foot above the floor, facing away from me, and perfectly harmless. Maybe this Judo wasn't going to be so bad after all!

But intelligence runs in our family, and while Neil couldn't best me physically, nature had given him other weapons! At this time we both shared the same bedroom, so there would be times when I would be sitting on my bed, quietly reading, when from Neil's side of the room came a plaintive wail "Dad, he's hitting me!". As you can imagine, this was news to me. There was Neil, red in the face, tears streaming down his cheeks, crying out in pain while I sat there, open mouthed, with my book in my hand. Moments later the door was flung open. "What are you doing to your brother?", My protestations were in vain, the smacking hand descended. "He wouldn't cry for nothing!". I was going to grow to hate those words over the months to come. Neil sat there, his cheeks stained with tears and his big blue eyes full of water. But he knew he'd won. For once he'd found a weapon I couldn't beat just because I was older. But he wasn't the only one with brains in the family, my time would come. So I bided my time, and waited for an opening.

It did not take Neil long to discover that I did not have to be near him to launch one of these 'phantom' attacks. After all, if the attack was genuine, the approach of an adult would be bound to separate us in a vain attempt on my part to establish an alibi (as if I would!). So Neil grew more confident in his plotting. On some occasions, when a parent was in the near vicinity, Neil would grab my arm, pin it around his throat, and issue strangled cries for help while I tried to free myself. On some occasions I was sorely tempted to use this as an opportunity to throttle the little monster, but he never did it unless a parent was within 'rescue range'. But I'm a patient man (as anyone who knows me will tell you) so I waited. Neil's confidence grew until I didn't even have to be in the same room as him while I was attacking!

Then one glorious day I wasn't in the room when I 'attacked'. In fact I was standing just outside it, at the top of the stairs, talking to my father. Now maybe Dad didn't believe Neil would cry for nothing, but it was stretching his credulity a bit far to suppose that I could be in two places at once. So the smacking hand descended again, but this time I was not the target!


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