high school


In games, we played Murderball, a prehistoric form of rugby with very few rules. There were two blue crash mats, two teams facing off against each other and a large brown peeling medicine ball. The aim was to move the weighted sphere to the opposite end and it didn’t matter how this was done. No laws of engagement existed, until one day, we weren’t allowed to play at all. A fellow pupil broke his collarbone, having been flipped mid-tackle.

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Skiffle Sister

Ruby had a plan. She had waited an’ waited for news of the school concert, but the exams had jist feenished an’ the posters were up at last. The Music Club aye closed the first hauf, so they didnae have tae audition an’ get a riddy – but anither obstacle stood in Ruby’s wey: Peter Paterson (‘the Perfect Prefect’).  

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