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can hit me you can get a bit of your own back.’ But even the biggest boys, who were sixteen, couldn’t get near him and they’d get in the ring with him and he’d really do some damage, black eyes and bloody noses and everything. Except for Fonnie du Preez who was fifteen, nearly sixteen, and schools’ lightweight champion as far as Louis Trichardt, Duiwelskrans, Tzaneen, Lydenburg and Pilgrims Rest. He was the one kid who could have easily landed a good few telling punches on anyone he liked including Meneer Botha. But it never happened, because Fonnie du Preez was Meneer Botha’s favourite. He’d taught him to box and the two of them were thick as thieves. People said they were like father and son. Meneer Botha said Fonnie was a natural who moved like lightning and had a knockout punch in both hands and would go far, maybe even to the schools’ boxing championships in Pretoria.
    The funny thing was that Pissy Vermaak was protected by Fonnie du Preez. They were said to be related, they were second cousins or something like that. Although how this was possible was hard to see, they were a complete mismatch; one big and dark and built like a blue gum tree trunk and the other a real weed. They’d often be seen together, Pissy doing things for Fonnie like he was his servant.
    Going into the ring with Meneer Botha was supposed to make a man out of you. But if there was a choice of the boxing ring or the sjambok you took the sjambok every time. This was because Meneer Botha was only allowed to give you six of the best and, while nobody said how hard he could hit you, it was still better than his invitation to meet him in the boxing ring. It wasn’t just about being knocked all over the place, it was that everyone was made to watch you being humiliated. Boere are a proud people and can’t stand to be humiliated. It’s not in their blood. With cuts from the cane you could always cover your arse with your trousers. An hour later everyone would forget about your beating, but with a hiding in the ring you’d walk around for days with a black eye, split lip and puffed-up and torn ears, maybe that’s what people thought kids like us who belonged to the Government ought to look like.
    While I’m on the subject of punishment, Meneer Prinsloo, the superintendent, would also do punishment, but only if it was a really big crime called masturbation or for stealing or taking God’s name in vain. The other staff could pinch you, give you a clout on the back of the head, kick your arse or whack you over the knuckles with a steeledged ruler, but they weren’t allowed to give you formal punishment where you had to remove your trousers and bend over and get six of the best.
    So I waited for Mevrou to call my name. It wasn’t the sjambok I was afraid of. We all got beaten so often that you sort of got used to it and it wasn’t too bad. A sore bum is a sore bum and everyone in the showers had the welts of the cuts from the sjambok crisscrossing their bums like Chinese writing. It was Mevrou discovering about Tinker that worried me sick. She’d tell Meneer Botha who was in charge of things outside the hostel and that would be the end of my little dog. Like Mattress said, he’d call her a kaffir dog and wring her neck.
    To my surprise my name wasn’t called out and nor was Pissy’s. This was strange because you always went for medicine after supper and Pissy would always have to go to get his cough mixture. But there you go, miracles will never cease, maybe he hadn’t said anything. Which was a big surprise because he could have blabbed easily enough because he had nothing to fear. There was no touching Pissy for fear of Fonnie du Preez. What’s more, Mevrou never gave him the sjambok because he was ‘too delicate of health’ and it was suggested that physical violence might bring on one of his out-of-the-blue fits. His coughing condition was bad