A Night Out in Lima

by Vincent Guy

“Dad, you’ve had a lot of adventures in your life. Now you’re getting on a bit, could you write some down so I can read about them after you’ve gone?“

Thus my daughter a couple of weeks ago. Not sure how adventurous my life has been. I know plenty of people who have gone further in all directions and a major sign of my getting on is that I no longer have a yen for going off to faraway places (full of tourists) or taking risks on the mountains or on the road. But her comment did make me seek out the journal I wrote during my year in Peru as a teenager. I’d managed to get my university place sooner than expected so I had what is now known as a gap year. I wrote round to every organisation I could think of, from the United Nations downward, saying that I had a year to spare: could I be of service? The one that clinched was the British Council who had their ‘School Leavers Scheme’, sending youngsters out as assistant teachers in far-flung establishments on the British public-school model. And that’s how I landed up on the staff of Markham College, Lima, Peru.

Lurking in a drawer I found a couple of dog-eared exercise books. The opening pages were taken up with my very first journal writings when I’d just arrived at Cheltenham Grammar School. There’s a striking contrast in style and content with what I wrote a mere 5 years later.

First then, two entries written at age 12:

1956, Sunday, Jan 1^st,  

Went to Crusaders [Bible Class] in my long trousers and asked Peter Beard if he could come to tea on Thursday and he said something about the dentist on Friday. I had a stain in my trousers (oil from my bike) and Daddy got it off with “Dab – It – Off”. Afterwards I felt tired but we went to St Andrews Presbyterian Church because Mummy said there was a German choir there. It turned out the choir had been there in the afternoon. Mr Gowdie who’d been there and now again at church said it had been very good. There was only about 30 there but the sermon was fairly good. The service is simpler than Church of England; I quite like it. The vicar was smiling at us and shook hands with us thinking we were new members of the church (perhaps we will be). M says it is like a Lutheran Church.

Mon Jan 2nd

 Went to Waite at 10:45 with M. He looked at me and said that I should come again in a month’s time when the gum has healed from the tooth which was knocked out at rugger, also the tooth which has not got enough room will grow a bit more. Afterwards, I went to Smith’s and then Bank’s [bookshops] while M and D went shopping. Then we met again, looked around a bit more and I bought ‘Man against Nature’ with Auntie Con‘s book token and some other money. Then M and I went to Mason‘s to get some crackers for Thursday and some Puffed Wheat. Then we went to Mansell‘s where D met us again and I bought “Dam Busters March” with Mrs Snow‘s record voucher. In town we saw Michael Musson and girlfriend, Liza Bronowski and sisters, Eric, David and Mrs Lindsay. After dinner I had a short rest then played with Barbara and co next door. After Lynn, Ann and Anthony had gone in, B and I jumped over her wall and ran across the road. I think I will probably have stiff legs tomorrow. I came in before tea after a walk with my sister.

From my Lima Journal, 1961

A Night Out

The gringo animal dancing. It moves, sometimes energetically, and now and then some of them scream. This is the staff party. An annual ego invitation of bad food with exchange of lifeless conversation, followed by communal jerkings of the body. It is dead. We move onto a nightclub and drink a lot. I hold my drink well. Someone’s fiancée takes a fancy to me because her man is ignoring her. She has soft breasts to dance with and calls me her pet. We are left with a couple of girls who want to be taken home. It’s late but we want to stay. One of them takes me to dance and starts working me over so that I’ll take her home. We do and say goodnight.

Tony [an older teacher who’d become my close friend and guide to the ways of the world] says “Let’s go to the whorehouses “. His piece is a bouncing chilena with sharp arse and cheek bones. She explains how to take her dress off and bangs her hips against his crotch when she dances. Mine is a little vice victim of no more than 19 years who tells me all about politics. She’s rather shy, but eventually allows me some cheaply excited kisses in exchange for a drink and cigarettes. Sitting at the bar holding her waist between my thighs, I’m surprised how at ease I feel in this milieu.

[Tony happily went into one of the backrooms to enjoy his girl to the full. I was too scared, not of the sex but of the prospect of my wallet being stolen. Given the following events, it was not an unreasonable concern.]

The bill is crooked and we haven’t enough cash to pay it anyway. As the first of morning appears under the door, we have a long wrangle with the waiter and the dueña and some policemen who turn up. The dueño, fat and easy-going, says “I’m sorry” in English when we’re hauled off to the police station.

We’re in prison, virtually a mud yard with a couple of open bog-houses and the calaboose. One of the prisoners sitting at the bench with us has been here two days without anything happening. Every so often Tony goes into the office to complain. Some of the men think it’s a big joke, but the sergeant bawls him out and swears he’ll keep us here till midday if he feels like it. When I stand up and walk around the yard, somebody tells me to sit down again. I don’t like that. While Tony has to stay behind, I am now permitted to venture out for some money. I go to his place and get 500 Soles. When I get back, one of the men counts out the change in his wallet and then refuses with a big grin. They keep us there a long time after that.

It’s a very poor market district and I get to know it rather well. I call at 23 bodegas for change and some of the shopkeepers have never heard of 500 Soles, it seems. Chinese they are mostly. Now and then I walk round with one of the coppers; he’s friendly but doesn’t help. Here is a big shop and they’ll change my note if I buy something. I get some cigarettes and an ice cream. It’s welcome because there’s no ice cream in the lock-up. 8:30 am.

As we walk out everything looks fresh, people walking to work, the light-coloured walls, the early sun hot on our shoulders. Of a sudden we’re out of the barrio and walking through San Isidro, the smart suburb of Lima. We wake up in our usual pub after a bad dream.

Now I’m on the mat in front of the headmaster who is very displeased. Leaning back in his chair as he talks, he reveals a white hairy navel. He adopts his frank tone of conversation and we discuss everything man-to-man. I can never be frank with the boss; he couldn’t understand what I’ve seen. He’s going to send me home to UK if I don’t improve but, to help me, he sets up Colin [the teacher in whose house I was living] as an example of a splendid fellow. He’s very convincing and I’m very tired so I promise to be a splendid fellow too.

Reading this out brought back details I’d long forgotten, making me feel my time in Peru had been more adventurous than I realised. I was glad those exercise books, even unopened, had come with me over the years. Many more stories lie within them.