Like any social order, it seemed to all but revolutionary spirits to be at one with the fabric of reality. They were entitled to take shortcuts across the grass and shout at anyone lower down the scale who dared to do the same. At the apex of the hierarchy were the prefects. They also had a weekly allowance of a four-pound block of Cheddar cheese to be divided among a dozen boys, and several loaves, a toaster, and instant coffee, so they could entertain themselves between meals.
The sixth form could wear sports jackets and overcoats of their own choice, though nothing colorful was tolerated. To start, there was the dormitory shared by thirty boys. Lights-out time advanced by fifteen minutes each year. The fifth exchanged their gray shirts for drip-dry white, which they scrubbed in the showers and draped on plastic hangers. The fourth-years had their own common room. Third formers were allowed long trousers and a tie with diagonal, rather than horizontal, stripes. The youngest, the first- and second-years, were the paupers and had nothing at all. Why bestow new-fashioned favors on the youngest when they themselves had tolerated privations to earn the perks of greater maturity? It was a long, hard course. It made the older boys conservative guardians of the existing order, jealous of the rights they had earned with such patience. Berners, like most schools, was held together by a hierarchy of privileges, infinitesimally graded and slowly bestowed over the years.