“SIR, WE ARE BEING FOLLOWED.”
EPISODE 1,469: NIGHTMARE ON A SCHOOL TRIP
Note; MOST school trips are smooth and trouble free. This trip was not.
Sure enough, a carload of boys were hot on our tail. Not a good omen we had several teachers and one trustee of the Toronto Board of Education. March break, a week when we planned a school trip in this case a trip to Montreal.
That was nearly 50 years ago and I forget the reason for the trip and most of the kids. Teenagers travelling under the thumbs of their teachers were unlikely to get into trouble. Right?
That blue car had no thumb. So we began with a bad omen. I was a bit nervous. Our hotel was OK. at least it seemed that way until several odd reports happened.
“Sir, there are ‘safes’ under the pillows.” Yikes! Not under my pillow. I checked. Just under certain pillows it seems. Could be one safe under one lonely pillow all the same we had to be careful.
Boys on 4th floor…Girls on the sixth floor…teachers on the seventh floor. Separation. All chance of sexual actvity ruled out.
I had a pile of papers to mark. Occasionally I glanced out the window. Montreal was calm.
Then it happened. One hand appeared on our balcony. Then second hand…head…leg and foot…. A boy was climbing from the fourth to the sixth floor. He looked at me and said, “It’s OK, I know how to climb.” I froze. Said nothing. Did nothing to have the boy loosen his grip. His intentions were Platonic I hoped and wondered if the balconies all had climbers.
Meanwhile, teachers were spending the night in front of the elevators. “Not a bit of trouble!” Little did they know about the climber. Imagine if he fell. I could not speak or move. Then he was gone. There were two to four girls in the room above ours…too many for a sexual encounter l reasoned. Best to keep my mouth shut.
Were climbers hanging like live strings of spaghetti elsewhere? I never knew. A far worse event happened.
“Sir, come quickly, a boy has overdosed…he’s unconscious.”
“who is it?” “New student.” “What drug?””No idea, sir.” The room was full of students surrounding a kid. New kid for second semester. Flat out ; BEING drunk was bad enough…drugs were far more dangerous. “Call 911…we need an ambulance…now!”
I rode with the boy…he did not move as the medic probed and took blood pressure. “I will call ahead … get a doctor right away.”
“Are you the teacher?”’ “one of them.”. “We will have to pump his stomach…need permission…”
I remember that terrible night. I sat alone all night at the end of a long corridor. At the other end doctors and nurses worked over the boy. Seemed to be four of them … seemed urgent. Hours. All night.
“He should be OK now.” The boy was alive and well…he said nothing…no thanks to the people who may have saved his life. We took a taxi back to the hotel. “Has anybody phoned Mrs, Hambleton? “Yes, she says to send the boy back toToronto if he is able.” “He is able…out of danger. How did he get drugs?”
That happened long ago. What I remember clearly is the contents of his suitcase. Everything was so neatly packed. Extra clothes…shirt that loooked brand-new…socks bundled. I guessed his mother loved him despite his stupidity. “Sending you home”.
That was the last I saw of the boy. I don’t think he returned to school. A few months later he was arrested for gang rape I was told.
“Remember his neatly packed suitcase?”
“I remember it well and think of his poor mother trying to get her son lifted…loving her son despite his behaviour . Crying.
alan skeoch Dec. 8, 2025
p.s. I cannot remember why we took those kids to Montreal. It certainly was not an exercise in climbing or to find treasures under pillows or to get a stomach pumped…or to test a mother’s love for an errant son.
This is not a happy story. Sorry . The next story is a happy one. I just had to get this story out of my memory…failed to do so.
EPISODE 1,469: NIGHTMARE ON A SCHOOL TRIP
Note; MOST school trips are smooth and trouble free. This trip was not.
Sure enough, a carload of boys were hot on our tail. Not a good omen we had several teachers and one trustee of the Toronto Board of Education. March break, a week when we planned a school trip in this case a trip to Montreal.
That was nearly 50 years ago and I forget the reason for the trip and most of the kids. Teenagers travelling under the thumbs of their teachers were unlikely to get into trouble. Right?
That blue car had no thumb. So we began with a bad omen. I was a bit nervous. Our hotel was OK. at least it seemed that way until several odd reports happened.
“Sir, there are ‘safes’ under the pillows.” Yikes! Not under my pillow. I checked. Just under certain pillows it seems. Could be one safe under one lonely pillow all the same we had to be careful.
Boys on 4th floor…Girls on the sixth floor…teachers on the seventh floor. Separation. All chance of sexual actvity ruled out.
I had a pile of papers to mark. Occasionally I glanced out the window. Montreal was calm.
Then it happened. One hand appeared on our balcony. Then second hand…head…leg and foot…. A boy was climbing from the fourth to the sixth floor. He looked at me and said, “It’s OK, I know how to climb.” I froze. Said nothing. Did nothing to have the boy loosen his grip. His intentions were Platonic I hoped and wondered if the balconies all had climbers.
Meanwhile, teachers were spending the night in front of the elevators. “Not a bit of trouble!” Little did they know about the climber. Imagine if he fell. I could not speak or move. Then he was gone. There were two to four girls in the room above ours…too many for a sexual encounter l reasoned. Best to keep my mouth shut.
Were climbers hanging like live strings of spaghetti elsewhere? I never knew. A far worse event happened.
“Sir, come quickly, a boy has overdosed…he’s unconscious.”
“who is it?” “New student.” “What drug?””No idea, sir.” The room was full of students surrounding a kid. New kid for second semester. Flat out ; BEING drunk was bad enough…drugs were far more dangerous. “Call 911…we need an ambulance…now!”
I rode with the boy…he did not move as the medic probed and took blood pressure. “I will call ahead … get a doctor right away.”
“Are you the teacher?”’ “one of them.”. “We will have to pump his stomach…need permission…”
I remember that terrible night. I sat alone all night at the end of a long corridor. At the other end doctors and nurses worked over the boy. Seemed to be four of them … seemed urgent. Hours. All night.
“He should be OK now.” The boy was alive and well…he said nothing…no thanks to the people who may have saved his life. We took a taxi back to the hotel. “Has anybody phoned Mrs, Hambleton? “Yes, she says to send the boy back toToronto if he is able.” “He is able…out of danger. How did he get drugs?”
That happened long ago. What I remember clearly is the contents of his suitcase. Everything was so neatly packed. Extra clothes…shirt that loooked brand-new…socks bundled. I guessed his mother loved him despite his stupidity. “Sending you home”.
That was the last I saw of the boy. I don’t think he returned to school. A few months later he was arrested for gang rape I was told.
“Remember his neatly packed suitcase?”
“I remember it well and think of his poor mother trying to get her son lifted…loving her son despite his behaviour . Crying.
alan skeoch Dec. 8, 2025
p.s. I cannot remember why we took those kids to Montreal. It certainly was not an exercise in climbing or to find treasures under pillows or to get a stomach pumped…or to test a mother’s love for an errant son.
This is not a happy story. Sorry . The next story is a happy one. I just had to get this story out of my memory…failed to do so.
















a
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an skeoch










