Donald and the School Shorts

 “What is it dear…? You look worried… Is it Donald again?”

Joan looked at her mother-in-law Mabel and nodded.

“What’s he been up to?” Mabel asked.

“I don’t know what to think… You know how secretive Donald can be… I thought I might have been mistaken at first… but… well, I thought he’d have grown out of it by now...”

“Why don’t we sit down and you can tell me all about it, Joan? Come on, we’ll have a nice cup of tea and I’m sure we’ll be able to sort things out together,” Mabel said.

As well as being Joan’s mother-in-law, Mabel was also her closest friend. Joan’s mother Laura had, until her untimely passing, been a dear friend of Mabel. Their children, Donald and Joan, had known each other since they were little. Donald was a few years younger than Joan.

“I really don’t know what I’d do without you, Mabel,” Joan said as she started to explain what had happened, “You see, sometimes I find that Donald can be very difficult to understand. It’s usually nothing serious… petty things mostly… behaving like a silly boy. You know what he can be like... but occasionally I just don’t know what to make of him…” Joan paused.

“Best out with it and tell me what happened,” Mabel said. 

“A couple of days ago I was in town,” Joan said as she started to explain what happened, “Donald was doing some shopping for me... and getting a couple of things for you, as I remember, Mabel. I hadn’t intended to go into town myself, but I did go to the shops a bit later because I’d forgotten to put something on Donald’s list,” Joan paused, took a sip of tea and steeled herself to tell Mabel what happened next, “I was just passing Dunne’s, the boyswear shop… you know it,” There was another short pause during which Mabel nodded and signalled Joan to carry on. “Well, I happened to look in their window when I saw Donald in the shop. It quite took me by surprise…”

“I should think it did, Joan… What was he doing in Dunne’s of all places, I wonder?” Mabel asked, clearly puzzled by her daughter-in-law’s revelation.

“Looking at school uniforms… that’s what he was doing!” Joan answered firmly, “Donald was looking at school uniforms... boys’ school uniforms.”

“Boys’ uniforms…” Mabel repeated, “What on earth…?”

“Yes… I could see quite clearly through the shop window,” Joan added, “The assistant was holding up a pair of boy’s short school trousers and Donald was… examining them.”

“Examining them? I wonder what he was doing that for?” Mabel asked, not for one moment expecting an explanation.

“I’ve no idea… but I do know that I’ve been far too lax with Donald and it’s high time I did something about it…”

“I couldn’t agree more Joan and I mean no criticism, because I often found when Donald reached that difficult age he needed a firm hand… you probably remember what he was like, Joan, all full of himself just because he’d reached the grand old age of thirteen… a teenager who thought he was the bee’s knees!” Mabel paused for a moment as she reflected on the trouble Donald had caused her during his teenage years; of the sacrifices she’d made to keep her son from straying off the straight and narrow. She sighed, “Maybe we’ve both been too lenient with him lately, Joan… Perhaps we should ask Father Benedict to have a word with him. He’s known Donald for a very long time, indeed I should think he knows him as well as anyone,” Mabel continued, “I’d speak to Father myself if you thought it would do any good…”

“Would you?” Joan interrupted, “Would you really, Mabel? I’m sure Father Benedict would listen to you if it was explained to him how concerned we are for Donald… I’d hate to think where this… this behaviour of Donald’s might lead.”

Donald had been waiting for an opportunity to visit Dunne’s for a long time. He had often looked through the window of the boys’ outfitters and gazed at the displays. Quite often in the weeks leading up to a new term, mannequins dressed in local prep school uniforms would appear in the shop window. At least two of the mannequins would be dressed to display the short trousers that were available. On one unforgettable occasion Donald saw a mannequin wearing school trousers that were so short the accompanying blazer had been pinned up on one side so that the little trousers could be seen. A note attached to the model explained that these particular short trousers were also available with a one half inch inside leg length and a fully elasticated waist. Donald had almost fainted at the thought of being made to wear short trousers of such brevity. ‘Half an inch!’ he said to himself under his breath as his fingers instinctively felt for the back of his legs. Donald knew from experience that short trousers had a habit of riding up. A leg length of only half an inch would undoubtedly mean the exposure of the unfortunate boy’s lower bottom cheeks.

There could be no other explanation for Donald’s interest in short trousers other than his singular upbringing. By the time his classmates at school had long since permanently graduated into long trousers, Donald could still be seen attending school in short trousers of the briefest, most thigh-baring cut. His mother, Mabel, had kept Donald in short trousers throughout his third year at school and it wasn’t until his fifth year, when Donald was almost sixteen, that he was at last measured for a pair of long trousers. The long trousers were to be a present for Donald’s sixteenth birthday, but did not mean Donald could wave goodbye to short trousers forever… far from it.

The annual school photographs bore witness to the changing of boys’ school uniforms in Donald’s class as each year more long trousers were seen to be worn. By the Third Form only Donald was left in short trousers, a fact that nobody could miss as the school photographer had placed bare-legged Donald in the middle of the front row.

Right up into the Sixth Form Donald was not allowed to wear long trousers every day. That was for mum to decide. Donald remembered vividly how every school morning through the rest of his fifth year and all of his sixth year, mum would enter his bedroom and throw open the curtains.

“What a lovely sunny day it is, Donald,” she would say, “I think we’ll have you in short trousers for school today… It’s about time you got some healthy fresh air on those pale legs of yours, isn’t it Donald?” Although Donald’s ‘pale legs’ were due more to the weather, which had been consistently wet every day for the previous fortnight, than the wearing of long trousers, besides which mum had sent him off to school in short trousers for many of those wet days anyway.

Donald, who was in the habit of praying each night before he fell asleep to be allowed to wear his long trousers to school the next day, knew it would be foolhardy to be in anything but complete agreement and even enthusiastic about wearing his short trousers.

Simply saying, “Yes, mummy,” wouldn’t be sufficient. That would almost certainly elicit mum’s response along the lines of:

“You don’t sound very keen to wear your short trousers to school today, Donald,” mum might say and, for good measure, add sternly, “I hope you’re not going to be difficult, because if you are…”

These words would be warning enough and Donald would be forced to plead that he did want to wear short trousers to school, even though he was by then in the Fifth Form. Donald only needed to remember previous occasions when he had not been sufficiently enthusiastic in his response to mummy’s announcement. On one such occasion Donald found himself sent to school in an old pair of his short trousers every day for two weeks in the depths of a very cold winter when, in spite of the bright sunshine, it had been bitterly cold outside. This kept him on his toes, as it was designed to, because Donald knew he would have to be on his very best behaviour if he was to avoid an extension to his short trouser penance and be allowed to wear his longs to school once more after the two weeks were up

On those special days throughout his mid to late teenage years when Donald was allowed to wear longs to school, it was always straight back into short trousers when he arrived home. Weekends and school holidays would find Donald wearing the shortest of short trousers, since these were always shorts bought when he was younger, but with ‘plenty of wear still left in them,’ as Mabel would say. Donald was just as likely to be wearing hand-me-downs, given to his mother by those who knew how she liked her son to be dressed.

As he grew up the disparity between Donald’s life and that of his contemporaries became more and more apparent. There was, for instance, the day he wanted to go to a football match with a group of boys from school. As it happened the game was an important one and as such was being televised. The only problem for Donald was that kick-off was 7 o'clock in the evening on a Wednesday during a school term. Donald was desperate to join his pals at the match; to show them that he too, was old enough to be allowed out to watch the important match. Donald was seventeen at the time, but it didn’t matter how much he begged, mum was adamant that Donald would not be allowed the unheard of dispensation of joining his school chums for the evening match. However, mum was not bereft of all feeling and despite not understanding why football was so important to teenage boys, she offered Donald a compromise.

It was part of Donald’s weekday, term-time routine, now he was seventeen, to be put into his pyjamas at the latest by seven-thirty and to be safely tucked up into bed by eight-thirty. As the match was clearly going to end much later than Donald’s regular pyjama-time, mum told Donald that if he promised not to make a fuss and was put into pyjamas in good time before kick-off and that he also promised to run upstairs to bed as soon as the final whistle went, then he would be allowed to watch the match on television. Donald also had to agree to be put to bed the following weekend at 'school bedtimes' to make up for his mid-week bed-time extension (Donald’s weekend bedtimes at age seventeen were 9 o’clock).

Practically all Donald’s friends were actually at the football ground, while he was stuck at home watching the match after having been given his midweek bath by mum and dressed in fresh pyjamas. Whilst Donald was furious at being kept at home like a little boy, he was also grateful to be allowed at least to watch the game on television so as to be able to discuss the match with his school chums the following day.

This was simply one example of how Donald was kept on a tight rein by his mother. Another example might be her control of what she deemed suitable nightwear. Donald had no choice in the matter and would stand at mummy’s side as she peered into the drawer that contained his pyjamas. She alone would choose what he was to wear and Donald knew better than to complain if mummy selected one of the more juvenile pyjama-sets. Of course you would not be alone in thinking whether it mattered what Donald wore at bedtime, but that would be to overlook the fact that Donald was always put into his pyjamas in plenty of time before bed. This meant that when he came downstairs it was not uncommon to find some of mummy’s friends visiting. At other times relations might drop by. It didn’t matter who it was, Donald was expected to be helpful and polite… even when he was being teased by younger, fully dressed, cousins. By the time he was in his late teens Donald found being teased by cousins of twelve and thirteen, intolerable and almost unbearable, particularly when being told at eight-thirty, “School tomorrow, Donald… upstairs to bed with you… you can have ten minutes reading-time, then I’ll be up to turn off the light…” These words said in front of cousins who would probably still be up for another couple of hours at least. No wonder they sniggered as Donald left the room in his ‘racing-car’ pyjamas with the top button of his pyjama-jacket properly fastened as mummy insisted it always was.

One of mummy’s oldest and dearest friends, Laura, had a daughter, Joan, who was a few years older than Donald. Joan had witnessed and grown used to Donald’s bedtime routines. She knew that he was kept on a tight rein by his mother, but didn’t think of it as in anyway special treatment, since Donald was only a boy when all was said and done... and boys were supposed to be treated differently. Indeed it is to be doubted the phrase ‘kept on a tight rein’ would have ever occurred to Joan. She believed the way she saw Donald being brought up by his mother was perfectly normal and undoubtedly the only way boys should be brought up.

Joan was, like Donald, an only child. She had never had much time for boys. Educated at a convent school she had been told all a girl needed to know about boys and the trouble they caused the unwary girl. But boys had never held much interest for Joan, nor, for that matter, had boys much interest in her, for Joan was what is sometimes called a plain girl. Not that she was particularly unattractive, more that she was plain in her demeanour, a stickler for routine and with little time for frivolities.

These were qualities sure to impress Mabel Moore and indeed Donald’s mother would regularly state her approval of her friend’s daughter. Never to Joan directly of course, that might give the girl ideas, however unlikely that might have seemed. But by and by the two mothers came to realise they were thinking the same thoughts. A girl like Joan and a boy like Donald would each need their mother’s help to find suitable partners. Why, it seemed to Mabel and Laura, they already had the perfect match on each other’s doorstep.

So it came about that their mothers thought it only natural, when the time was deemed suitable, to encourage the two children to ‘step out’ together.

Of the time and place of which I write it was considered proper that a girl should seek a husband in order to set up and run a home for his benefit. Joan, to be fair, had little interest in either a husband or, perish the thought, running a household for his pleasure. Laura could see that under other circumstances this might have been a problem, even an embarrassment and so she confided her concerns to her dear friend Mabel.

As has already been made clear, Mabel was extremely protective of her son, Donald, treating him as a child even though he was fast approaching the age of his majority… twenty-one in those far off days. Donald was only ever permitted very tightly controlled social interactions which were centred around Church functions where a close eye could be kept on him. As for the opposite sex, mummy only ever allowed Donald to meet carefully vetted girls and this was mainly because Mabel knew that some people might start to talk if her son remained unmarried and it was not intended for him to enter the priesthood.

But Donald was a shy boy, nervous in company generally and even more when girls were concerned. He became clumsy and tongue-tied and it seemed to Mabel that she would never find a suitable girl willing to accompany Donald to a dance or other social event.

Donald’s lack of experience and lack of understanding of girls was hardly his own fault entirely. Like lots of boys who attend single-sex schools, he simply had no opportunity to interact with girls as he grew up. To Donald and many other boys, girls were a different species entirely; they simply didn’t know what made them tick.

Donald was kept constantly busy. Mabel believed the saying ‘the devil makes work for idle hands’ and never allowed Donald a moment’s peace. Three mornings a week he would have to be up to serve at early morning mass before school. If any of her neighbours needed helping with odd jobs around the house or with a spot of gardening, Donald would be sure to find himself ‘volunteered’ for the task. Most bedtimes he would collapse exhausted into bed knowing that he had to be up bright and early the following morning in time for morning mass.

This routine achieved precisely what it was intended to achieve. Donald never had time to get up to mischief, or into any sort of trouble.

Father Benedict  sat back in his study chair and clasped his nicotine-stained fingers together over his midriff having stubbed out a ‘Sweet Afton’, his twenty-sixth cigarette that day: “And what can I do for you, Mrs Moore?” he rasped.

“It’s about Donald, Father…”

“Ah, yes… a fine boy, Mrs Moore, a fine boy,”

“I like to think that I’ve brought my son up as best as any woman can, but Donald’s nearer thirty than thirteen… and married now as you know…”

“You’ve every reason to be proud of him, Mrs Moore… but now you’ve come to see me about him… as his mother, I mean… it’s not a marital problem that you’re concerned about, I hope…”

“No, no… not at all, Father. Joan and Donald are very happily married… Joan and I get along famously, the more so since the passing of Laura…”

“... may she rest in peace…”

“Thank you, Father,” then, for once in her life Donald’s mother found herself at a loss on what to say next. While she gathered her thoughts Father Benedict  took the opportunity to light another cigarette. Mrs Moore decided to come straight to the point:

“You see Father, Joan came to see me in a bit of a state the other day. She’d seen Donald in town and caught him looking at school uniforms in Dunne’s… boy’s school uniforms…”

“Now why would he be doing that?” Father Benedict  speculated, “Was it perhaps an errand for a neighbour?”

Mrs Moore was quite firm: “I don’t think so Father… My sister’s two younger boys are still at school, but they wouldn’t be needing short trousers… they’ve been wearing longs since they started secondary school…”

“I’m afraid I’m not quite with you, Mrs Moore… what have short trousers got to do with it?”

“Donald was inspecting a pair of boy’s school trousers… short school trousers, Father.”

It was Father Benedict ’s turn to be at a loss as to what to say. For the life of him he could see no inherent wrong in one of his flock wishing to examine a pair of boy’s school trousers, long or short, but it was clearly upsetting the man’s wife and his mother. Father Benedict  tried to think of something helpful to say.

“Mrs Moore… I wonder if Donald’s just feeling a little… well, you know how some men have little hobbies that many of us would think they would have grown out of as they got older… tinkering with with model railways, stamp collecting and that sort of thing, escapism I suppose… I’m afraid it’s something that many women find difficult to understand…” Father Benedict  paused and smiled, “Let’s face it, a lot of men never seem to want to grow up, but where’s the harm in that? I’ve no doubt Donald’s actions were perfectly innocent, but it might be wise to keep a closer eye on him for a while. Try to find him things to keep him occupied…”

Mrs Moore might have replied that Donald was already kept fully occupied as it was, but she was nonetheless comforted to know that Father Benedict  didn’t think there was anything seriously wrong with Donald.

“... perhaps try to find a way for Donald to get it out of his system,” Father Benedict  concluded as he held the door of his study open for Mrs Moore.

“I’ll certainly bear that in mind, Father,” Mrs Moore said as she inwardly resolved to do just that.