He hadn’t wanted to go to boarding school, not even one as exclusive as the Oxford College of Chivalry and Courtliness. But his mum and dad had persisted.
“It’ll be good for you,” said his mum.
“Very, very good for you,” said his dad.
“It’ll teach you values,” said his mum.
“It’ll be the making of you,” said his dad.
And so at the age of thirteen, at the beginning of the new academic year, George put aside his childhood, packed his trunk, and said goodbye to his parents before boarding the school coach.
“Goodbye, sweetheart. I’ll miss you,” said his mum. “Write often and be good.”
“Be very, very good,” said his dad gruffly, wiping back a tear.
The next few years went by in a flash. And was George good, I hear you ask. Of course he was. He excelled at everything he put his mind or hand to. Top of the class in chivalry and courtliness, captain of the wrestling team, outstanding horseman, county champion in jousting, and winner of the silver lance. And he was good. Very, very good.
“He’s a bloody saint,” said his form teacher, “A bloody saint.”
And, dear reader, so he was.
This 200 word story was prompted by the picture found at Sunday Photo Fiction. The story should stand without the image; if you think it doesn’t, please let me know when you comment.