Robert hart

The Flying Bench Press – Excerpt from Rebecca’s Secrets

Tommy faces his greatest fear in the school gym.

The one lesson I feared at school was gymnastics. We had two sports teachers, Mr. Trevelyan Thomas, a tall, handsome, athletic Welshman who played rugby for the Wasps, who took us for athletics and football. I was OK at running but useless at football, but he forgave me that.

Mr. Clark was an ex-army PT instructor, a squat man with a square solid body and a square solid head. Mr. Clark took us for gymnastics. I was useless at gymnastics.

Mr. Clark had a simple educational philosophy which was to find out what you couldn’t do and force you to do it again and again until you could. He thought it was character building.

What I couldn’t do was a flying bench press vault. You had to run at full speed towards the side of the full-height vaulting horse. You jumped on the wooden springboard and aimed to dive head-first over the vault, but as you flew you had to grip the far side of the leather top with both hands and arms bent at 90 degrees. Your head and chest overhung the far side of the box as your legs wheeled over your head until they also overhung at about 20 degrees and then you had to do an upside down push-up and straighten both arms so that the top half of your body followed your feet and legs in a graceful curve and you landed upright on the mat.

My first time, I’d worked it all out in my head and I was sure I could get it right.

I failed. I became disoriented when upside down and had no idea where my legs were and I pushed too soon. I slid head first down the far side of the box, scraping my hands and face down the rough wooden slope until I landed on my head and crumpled into an embarrassed heap on the mat.

“Again, Angel” Mr. Clark said and he called all the other kids in to make a circle round the vault so they could learn how not to do it.

Some of the other kids enjoyed the spectacle and cheered as I repeated the vault and slid face first down the wooden slope. Others felt sorry for me and on my third attempt, they tried to help by shouting, “Push!” at the moment when I should straighten my arms. Some, who didn’t feel at all sorry for me shouted, “Push” a bit too soon or a bit too late to make sure I failed. I made eight failed attempts before being saved by the bell.

This torture happened for three weeks running. Each time Mr. Clark would end the session with, “All right, Angel, We’ll try again next lesson.”

As soon as the gymnastics lesson was over I would start worrying about the next one. It was never far from my mind. In double-maths, I would daydream about getting the vault spectacularly right in front of all the other kids. Just before sleep I would visualize the movement in slow motion and I’d push at exactly the right moment and sail effortlessly into the air with the grace of a bird and land perfectly, throwing my arms high in triumph and smiling at the appreciative crowd.

But the night before the gym lesson I could not sleep. Nor could I concentrate on the morning’s Geography or History because I was frantically plotting ways of avoiding PE.

I did have one bright idea inspired by The Great Escape. I engaged Larry and Harvey to help. At the start of the lesson, while Mr. Clark droned through the register, Larry and Harvey lifted the top of the vault and I hid inside it. When Mr. Clark called my name, Larry answered for me. I stayed in the vault throughout the lesson, terrified when Mr. Clark seemed to look directly at me, but while I could see him close and clear, through the gaps in the wooden slats, he could not see me in the dark insides of the vault. At the end of the lesson, Mr. Clark barked “Clear Away, Boys” and the class threw themselves into a well-rehearsed routine, locking the wall bars back, swinging the ropes away, gathering the mats and medicine balls and stowing them into the store cupboard. Larry and Harvey lifted the lid of the vaulting horse. I jumped out and Larry and I ran and stashed the top of the vault in the store while Harvey recruited Benson to help him with the base.

Mr. Clark clicked his stopwatch and shouted “Three fifty four. Below three fifty next time or extra pushups!” As we all ran out he called “Angel, didn’t notice you today.” I turned and beamed at him “Yes. Sir”.

The next week, after another sleepless night and agonizing morning, I left the PE changing rooms in my nearly-white shorts and tea shirt, with deep feelings of terror and anticipated shame. I did the usual circuit of wall bars, medicine balls and ropes until it was my turn for the vault.

The other kids had followed my progress and they all froze in the midst of their various exercises to watch. Mr. Clark stood at the end of the vault, with an expectant sneer on his face. I smiled lightly and took my run. I dived head first on to the vault. My hands landed in the right position. My arms were bent at 90% exactly. My legs wheeled above me and when they reached exactly 20% I pushed.

It felt just perfect.

I slid face first down the far side of the box.

Some laughed, some cheered, some sucked their breath.

Before my head hit the mat, my hands made contact and I did an involuntary head over heels, and finding my feet on the mat, I leaped into a standing position threw my hands in the air and I turned and smiled around the room. It was not a smile of triumph, but one of relief. I’d discovered how to break my fall with a head-over-heels and so I wouldn’t have to fear the flying bench press quite so much in future.

Although my spectacular somersault was accidental, everyone seemed to think it was deliberate. The kids all clapped and cheered and Mr. Clark smiled, nodded slowly and did a mock slow handclap.

“Character!” He shouted, so all the boys could hear, “Now that’s character!”

As we were leaving, he asked me if I’d like to take part in the end of term gymnastics competition as Captain of Gassiot House. Gassiot house was named after Peter Gassiot a famous scientist of whom nobody had ever heard. House members like me wore the house colour, a yellow stripe, on our blazer pockets.

I suspected this was another cynical act of cruelty to humiliate me in front of the whole school, the teachers, the governors, the parents and the specially invited Founder, all of whom would be witness to my falling flying bench press. Although suspicious of his motives, I was also amazingly flattered that he would ask me, the worst vaulter in the class, to lead the team, so I said, “Yes, Sir, I’d love to be House Gymnastics Captain.”

“Good,” he said, “’Cos they’re all yellow in Gassiot and you’ll blend in nicely.”

I didn’t like being called a coward, but I knew he was right – when it came to gym. I left that lesson in a turmoil of emotions: pride at being made Captain, shame at being the butt of his humour and fear of the impending pain and humiliation.

That night I told my Gran I was to lead the house gymnastics team.

“What’s that,” she asked, “somersaults?”

“Sort of.” I said.

“Head over heels, cartwheels, that sort of thing?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so.”

“You won’t believe it, Tommy, but I was good at that stuff at school. We made a little circus and did acrobats in the street.”

“Yes, Gran.”

That night as I lay in bed, I imagined Gran doing cartwheels in the street, locked in her creaking stays and showing off her bloomers. I remembered seeing the acrobats in Bertram Mills Circus at Earls Court last Christmas.

“We can do that!”

I scrambled out of bed and found a pencil and a Basildon Bond writing pad and scribbled down a few ideas. The next day, I gathered a few of the Gassiot gym team together and told them the plan. We met at lunchtime in the gym and tried a few moves. Over the next few weeks we worked on our routine, and we made a pact to keep it secret from the others.

On the evening of the big house event, we had to perform in the main hall on the stage where the teachers usually sat. Mr. Grant introduced each house team, who had five minutes to show off their routines. Red, Green and Blue all went before us and showed off well-executed vaults, handstands and a variety of slick mat work – all extremely professional and highly skilled and all earning proud smiles from Mr. Grant and a spatter of polite applause at the end.

When it was our turn and Mr. Grant announced with a sneer, “Yellow team Gas – siot House.” With emphasis on the yellow and the gas.

We started with formation cartwheels – four boys wheeled in from the corners of the stage towards the centre and narrowly missed each other as they crossed over and ended up back at the corners in star jumps and smiles. The audience clapped.

Then three more boys ran to the centre. Larry bent down and cupped his hands, Harvey and Benson stood behind him, with their arms in the air, doing slow claps. I ran from the edge of the stage, placed my right foot in Larrys hands and my hands on his shoulder. Larry lifted me high in the air and I flew arms wide towards Harvey and Benson. They caught me round the waist and held me aloft for a few seconds before guiding me gently to the ground. All four of us leapt up with star jumps and smiles. The audience clapped.

We ran off and four boys ran to the centre, turned their backs and linked arms in pairs. Then one would bend forward, while the other flipped over his back to land on his feet, jump up with a star jumps and a smile. The audience clapped and some cheered.

Our finale was the flying forward roll. All the boys ran to make a line, stage left. Larry ran forward and crouched at the edge of the mats. Harvey ran towards him, dived head over heels, stood up, star jump, smile, applause and then he crouched next to Larry. Benson then dived over both of them – star jump, smile, louder applause. So it continued until there were seven boys lined up on the mat. Larry then lay on his back, pushing his hips high with his elbows on the floor and opening his legs wide above him. I stood like a circus acrobat.

Arms high, chin up, with a serious look on my face. I ran towards the boys as the crowd sucked in a breath. As I got to Larry he closed his legs. The crowd shouted “Ohhh!” and some laughed. I teetered on the edge of falling onto him, regained my balance and ran back to my start position ready for a second run. Larry slowly opened and closed his legs.

I ran again towards Larry, dived between his open legs, flew over all the boys and landed in a forward roll. I leapt up as all the boys did the same. Star jump, smile – huge applause.

Mr. Clark was livid. His eyes burst from his bright red face, his mouth working around silent protests.

The Head Teacher, Mr. Cowan came on to the stage and thanked all the boys in every house for taking part in what he said was, “by far the best gymnastics competition the school had ever seen!”

He invited the two Founders, who had been acting as judges, to give their verdict.

“In fourth position, Red House” said Founder One – applause.

“In third position, Blue House” said Founder Two ­­– applause.

“It was a very close thing.’ said Founder One, ‘Green House, showed remarkable skill and discipline, with excellent vaults and floor work.”

Larry put a consolatory hand on my shoulder. “Never mind, Tommy, we tried.”

“But in first position by a clear margin, showing great courage and flair it’s Gassiot House, the yellow team!”

The audience cheered and some even whistled (a behaviour frowned upon by Mr. Cowan and Mr. Spenser).

Founder One beckoned us across, and feigning shy reluctance we shuffled towards him, across the stage, looking at the floorboards. He placed the house gymnastics shield in my hands. “Do you have anything to say, Boy?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir’ I said, ‘We’d all like to thank Mr. Clarke for teaching us everything we know.’”

Founder One waved a hand at Mr. Clarke, who tried his best to smile.