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Chapter Two
Was It A Dream?
T 171 webring
Link Below
"Pink Rose" by
Chris
Lockwood ex T171 OU student
while Flangie or Mummy would sprinkle talc over me. An
old man that I did not know, would stand in the doorway looking at me,
over their shoulder.
Years later, I asked Mummy who the old man was, but she said that there
was no old man except for Granddad. I knew it wasn’t Granddad.
I was visiting my Grandma, one day
and I came across some old Photos,
one was of a very old man, it caught my eye.
“Who is this Grandma?” I asked and I showed her the picture.
“That is your Great Grand Father. He died before the war
when he was 90
years old.” Grandma replied, looking at the photo.
“Grandma, I used to see that old man in Jackson
Street. He was there quite
often.” Grandma shook her head and reminded me that I
had been very
young and was probably mixed up. I didn’t argue with
her but I have
always had a very good memory for faces and there was
no other old man
with whom, to be confused.
A strange thing that happened, while I am on the subject
of strange events,
was an outing. I remember it quite vividly, it was such
a contrast to the rest
of memories. None of the grownups in my life, can remember
this event
and my Mother is convinced that I dreamt it and she may
be right because I
cannot fit into the time scale of my other memories.
However, it seems to be far too vivid, to have been a
dream. It took place, in
what looked like some kind of harbour. There were docks
and big, four
masted sailing ships, as well as little rowing boats
tied up to a big jetty.
There were a lot of people and everyone was dressed in
period costume,
what I now know to have been mid nineteenth century.
The ladies all wore huge crinoline dresses and were waving
with their lace
handkerchiefs at one of the ships, just pulling alongside
or away (I could not
tell which). men were also dressed correctly for the
early Victorian times,
with top hats and knee britches. The ladies with me,
were my Mother and
Grandmother but they didn’t look like my Mother and Grandmother.
They both had a tiny parasols all edged in lace and were
waving to a huge
sailing boat with three or four masts, which was either
arriving or leaving I don’t
know which. I was also dressed in period clothes and
an old-fashioned
bonnet tied under my chin, with an enormous pink bow.
For years, I assumed this to have been the memory of some
pageant or
something that might have happened on one of our holidays.
The whole of
our family went to Butlins when I was very small. I had
wondered, if it had
been a fancy dress party except for one thing, I remember
my hair being in
long plaits, they hung down under my bonnet but I never
had long hair or
a bonnet.
My Grandma was there too but she didn’t look like
herself either. She was
taller slimmer and dressed from head to foot in black
velvet, satin trimmed
with a black satin bonnet and a parasol to match. I was
not even sure, how
I knew, she was my Grandmother, I just did.
My Father, I remember was on the boat. My Mother was dressed
in dark
red velvet, with a matching bonnet and satin trimmings.
She waved and
told me to wave to my Father. She was pointing to a man
dressed like a
captain with gold braid on his hat and cuffs.
I waved obediently but I couldn’t see my Father among
all the other men
on the boat. They were all dressed in some sort of uniform.
I have no idea
where my brother could have been, or Granddad there was
no sign of either
of them.
As I have said, no-one else in my family could ever shed
any light on this
strange memory and it remained a mystery. They were definitely
my Mother and Grandmother but looked different to the ones I knew and loved.
Was it just a holiday camp pageant that only I can remember-? I am certain
that neither of these events were dreams, and you will have to make up
your own mind.
Still on the subject of strange events but this one, was
eventually, explained.
It was the time the grownups were cleaning out the cellar
of the old empty
shop next door to ours; to expand the ironmongery shop.
Johnny was at
nursery so I was trailing round after Mummy, trying to
‘help’. She was
sweeping the thick dust with a broom.
I watched in mounting horror, as Mummy splashed water
on the floor and
began to sweep up the dust. Suddenly hundreds of brown
worms appeared
to ooze out of the cracks in the old stone floor. Wriggling
frantically, trying
to escape the brush. Mum was trying, just as frantically
to sweep them into
the dustpan before they could wriggle away. The more
she killed, the more
appeared.
I was very scared and began to cry at the sight of so
much death and
destruction. I even had nightmares about these horrible
worms. A couple of
years later, when I had learnt to talk well enough, I
asked Mum.
“What were the horrible worms in the cellar in Jackson
Street?” She
couldn’t remember them and swore, that I must have dreamt
or imagined
them. In my entire life, I have never suffered from hallucinations
(although
the thing about hallucinations is they do seem real or
so I’m told) but I was
very sure I had not imagined them.
As Mum could not remember them, I did my best to forget
them too.
However, twenty years later, while sweeping out another
dirty old cellar. I
was using water to keep down the dust and suddenly I
realised what the
worms had been. They were simply the effect of the water
on the dust and
as I swept it away, I chuckled to myself.
In those days, Dad was ploughing every penny into getting
the business up
and running again, after years of war. The old Singer
Standard was all they
could afford so it was used for work, outings to Blackpool
and everything
else. There was no MOT testing or concerns for pollution
so if would move,
it would be driven.
It was absolutely, terrifying to be put on the back seat
and ordered not to
move because the floor of the car was so rusty and full
of holes, we would
have fallen through. We could actually, see the road
rushing along
underneath us, as Dad was driving us about.
It was worth the terror to visit Grandma and Pop in Blackpool.
We loved
Grandma and Pop and Blackpool. They never told us off
about anything.
Grandma would buy us sweets and little toys that she
would hide away in
a special drawer, for whenever we came to see them.
Grandma always saw the funny side and was always up for
anything if it
was fun, having more time to play with us than our harassed
parents did. I
was always a chatterbox but Grandma would listen to my
childish prattle
and patiently answered my endless silly questions. They
enjoyed playing
with us (or they were very good at pretending) and we
loved to play with
them.
My favourite game was ‘hairdressers’. Grandma and Pop
would both sit
still for hours, while I played hairdresser. I would
comb and brush their hair
into strange and exotic styles. Making good use of Grandma’s
lifetime
collection of beauty aids and make-up which filled a
huge chest in her
bedroom.
Grandma, who read several womens’ magazines, must have
sent off for
every free makeup offer to feed my obsession. She wore
none herself, except
for the obligatory tiny ‘dab of lipstick’, which all
ladies wore and would not
step outside the front door without.
I plaited Pop’s hair for him and he even let me put bows
in it, which was
one of my favourite games. When I was older, we used
to play games like
draughts, cribbage or card games for hours. When it was
time to go home I
used to go and hide. I hoped that the rest of the family
might become fed up
waiting for me and go home without me.
I would hide in the little places that only children know,
listening to my
poor parents calling my name. It was not that I didn’t
want to be with my
family, I don’t think it even occurred to me that if
they had gone, I would
have been separated from them. I only thought of how
lovely it would be,
to be by the seaside for a whole week.
I could stay with Grandma and Pop until the family came
back the next
weekend but it never worked. They always waited till
they found me,
much to my disappointment. When the illuminations were
turned on
Blackpool became a magical fairyland.
I loved to see all the streets lit up, showing scenes
of nursery rhymes and
fairy stories. The lights flashing on and off gave the
impression that the
figures moved far more, than the repeating up and down
of an arm or leg.
At last, the great day dawned, when I was old enough to
go to nursery with
Johnny. I was so excited, I was to be allowed to enter
the sanctum
sanatorium and at long, last find out what Johnny did
in this mysterious,
place called nursery school. Mummy got me dressed and
off we went but
when we got to the gate, I found out that Johnny was
not going in with me,
instead he was going to somewhere called ‘Proper school’.
I was not the least bit happy, about this development
but what could a
three year old do? When I muttered that it was not fair.
Mummy said.
“Whoever promised you that life was going to be fair?”
Which was Mum’s
stock answer when either of us complained that anything
was ‘not fair’. It
was impossible to answer that, so we didn't try.
I did love nursery though, except nap time, I always hated
nap time. It was
the last thing I wanted to do in the middle of the day.
I suppose, it was the
only way the teachers could get time to have their lunch,
in peace but the
other activities more than made up for the indignity
of nap time.
I was not keen on bedtime either to tell the truth, sleep
to my mind, was a
complete waste of good playing time. Like little slices
of death, in between
the business of enjoying life. Of course this did not
mean that I leapt out of
bed in the mornings eager to greet the new day. Oh dear
me no! In the
morning, my very favourite place to be was bed and lying
in it was my
favourite pastime.
On the walk to nursery, I remember seeing strange sights.
There was still
much evidence of the war such as the terraced streets,
which the Luftwaffe
had redesigned with impromptu corners. They were usually,
cut back to the
adjoining wall for the sake of safety and neatness. Visibly
exposed were the
intact antique fireplaces, still set in the chimney stacks.
Four floors up hung a toilet complete with seat, cistern
and chain, which
was so securely anchored to the party wall that it was
impossible to remove
it. It had to stay there, till finally the street was
demolished in the 1960’s,
when the council decided to clear the old sprawling,
Victorian streets of
slums, in favour of new modern, high rise slums.
When I was older I used to think a photo of it, would
have made a brilliant
advert for the toilet and fireplace fitting side of my
Dad’s business. I vividly
remember the advertising hoardings we passed on our way;
these have a
different effect on young minds, with no clue to their
real purpose.
I remember one, for jelly I think, where the boy,
was sucking in his cheeks
and pursing his lips into an oooh! He was terrifying
and as I tried to scurry
past, his huge, greedy eyes would follow my every step.
Not long after I started nursery, my Mum became ill and
had to be rushed
to hospital in an ambulance. I think it must have been
between my third
Christmas and my third birthday. We children had no inkling
that our
Mummy was ill, until she appeared in her dressing gown
on the landing
and kissed us goodbye.
“Be good children for Daddy and Aunty Peggy. I have to
go to hospital
because I’m not well. I want you to remember all you
can, about everything
you do so when you come to visit me, in the hospital
you can tell me
everything that has happened. Will you do that for me,
promise.” Mum
said, with a strange pleading look in her eyes that I
had never seen before.
I was too young then to understand my Mother’s request
but as it was her
last words for a long time, I took the promise very seriously.
I also went over
and over, the things I could remember from before Mum
went into hospital,
which was really what she wanted us to remember.
The hospital doctors had no idea what was wrong with Mum
at first. Our
general practitioner had been telling her for months,
that she was just
overtired from running a home and looking after two toddlers.
“Doctor I feel ill, I’m exhausted, even in the morning
but at night I can’t
sleep. I keep having dreadful headaches too. I have never
had headaches
before and there are sharp stabbing pains, all down my
left side. I know
there is something seriously wrong with me.” Mum said
to him.
“Mrs Kirkpatrick, you really must pull yourself together.
Lots of women
run a home and look after much, bigger families than
yours, without going
to pieces and imagining they are ill all the time. I
do not understand you
young women, these days. Your mothers had far more children
and coped
splendidly.” Doctor Grimes replied. Then my Mother asked
him why she
was waking up with ‘pins and needles’, sensations in
her limbs and pains in
her head and joints.
“But why do my hands suddenly go numb and I keep dropping
things;
surely that’s nothing to do with being overtired doctor?”
“Stress can cause all sorts of symptoms. The important
thing is not to give
in to them. If you keep yourself busy you won’t have
time to think about
all these aches and pains.” He answered, making no attempt
to hide his
impatience with this ex-career girl, who had made her
bed and now, didn’t
seem to want to lie in it.
A few days later, Mum woke in the night and could not
stand up. Her left
leg was completely numb and collapsed under her weight,
thinking it was
just cramp she rubbed it and was surprised to find her
left arm was numb
too and she could hardly move it. When she was no better
after a while,
Dad phoned for the doctor.
I went to stay at Aunt Peggy’s house, with her parents.
They lived in a flat
downstairs and Aunty Peggy’s flat was upstairs. I missed
my Mummy
badly, as any toddler would. I saw Daddy quite often
because Aunty Peggy
worked for Daddy and would sometimes take me to work
with her but I
never saw Johnny. I thought it was because he was at
school.
I had assumed, he was still living at Jackson Street,
with Daddy, but years
later I found out that Daddy and Johnny had gone to stay
with Grandma
and Pop. I didn’t mind this, too much because I was happy
enough at
Aunty Peggy’s, except for missing my Mummy, Daddy and
John. I often
fretted over my Mum. I don’t know how long she was in
the hospital but I
think, it must have been at least, nine months.
At first, we were not allowed to visit Mum because no
children were
allowed to visit. We were finally allowed to see her,
when she was moved to
a convalescent hospital. I took a bunch of snowdrops,
for her and I could
hardly contain my excitement.
We walked, with me running along, dragging Aunty Peggy
by the hand, to
get there quicker, through miles of corridors. We finally
joined a queue of
other people waiting to go into the ward. I wondered
why all these other
people, were waiting to see my Mummy. A bell was rung
by a stern looking
nurse, wearing a starched white hat and apron with little
National Health
type glasses. She rustled about officiously.
“Only two to each bed please.” Daddy and Johnny went in
first, then,
Aunty Peggy and I went in after they came out. The ward
seemed huge to
me as I looked down the long rows of white beds, my eyes
hunting all over
for my Mummy.
Then I saw her, my little heart bursting with joy but
I expected her to be up
and dressed. I was surprised to see all these ladies
in their nightdresses, lying
in bed in the middle of the afternoon.
Then Aunty Peggy began waving; I pulled my hand free and
ran to my
Mummy. Mum was lying on a bed propped up by a metal rest
and a big
pile of pillows. I could not understand why she did not
get out of bed and
come to greet me, with a proper cuddle. I ran to her
bedside and hugged her
for all I was worth.
I noticed that she could not seem to cuddle me back but
I was just so happy
to see her. I was a bit disappointed, when I asked her,
if I could sit on her
knee and she showed me a frame, which had to stay over
her legs. I asked if
she would get out of bed to play with me. I was worried
by Mum’s reply.
“I’m sorry darling I can’t get out of bed. The doctor
says I have to stay in
bed and the nurses will be cross with me, if I don’t
do as I’m told.” It
sounded to me as if these nurses were being mean to my
poor Mummy and
were bullying her.
How could they be cruel to my poor Mummy, especially when
she was ill?
The truth though, was that Mum was unable to get out
of bed because she
was completely, paralysed. She had only just, regained
the ability to speak
and then only out of one side of her mouth. Even her
face had been so
paralysed, they even had to close her eyes at night.
The illness was called, polyneuritis and is normally,
very rare, reached near
epidemic proportions just after the war. It is caused,
by slow lead poisoning
and was contracted possibly as a result of working in
munitions factories,
which Mum did for a while, before her job in the NAAFI.
We children, were not told how ill our Mum was until
years later. We did
not know how hard she had fought to recover the use of
her brain and her
limbs or that she was still very weak for quite a while
after she came home.
We thought all Mums had a full time home help, if we
thought about it at
all.
The months passed and my rare visits to the hospital were
marked by the
different flowers I took each time. After the snowdrops,
I took daffodils and
then tulips, anemones followed by sweet peas, then roses
and the last were
Michaelmas daisies. Finally, she well enough to come
home.
One day, out of the blue, Daddy came with Johnny to take
us to see a new
home he was going to buy and he wanted to see if we liked
it. We more
than liked it we loved it. It was beautiful. Johnny and
I had a bedroom
each, although my room was very small with only room
for a small bed
and a tiny wardrobe. I loved it and best of all we were
going to be together
again.
Behind the new house, was a sports ground where the locals
residents
played cricket in the summer and football or rugby in
the winter. There was
a cricket pavilion and a clubhouse with a bar open at
night times and room
for small parties. Every Bonfire night a Bonfire would
be put outside the
playing area and everyone would bring fireworks to let
off.
This wonderful place was an absolute paradise to two city
kids, who could
now be allowed ‘out to play’ at last. The quiet cul-de-sac
had no traffic
except for the two or three cars, belonging to our neighbours
and us. Just
five minutes walk away; we could see fields of corn ripening
in the sun and
a field where archers practised. There were woods and
streams, to play in
and lots of places to explore.
Abbey Road was a newly, built road so all the houses had
young families
living in them. Which gave us lots of other children
to play with but at first,
I was just so glad to have my Mummy back, I would not
leave her side.
All the time I was away from my family, I had one true
friend and that
was my old Teddy. I had confided in him and regarded
him almost as a real
person. When, just after moving in, I asked Mummy
“Where is my Teddy bear?” She said she did not know and
to ask my
Daddy when he got home from work as it was he who had
packed my stuff
and brought it from Aunty Peggy’s home. I asked my Father
that night.
Daddy where is Teddy? I haven’t seen him since I left
Aunty Peggy’s.”
“Marjorie, I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news about Teddy.
When I packed
your things to bring them here, I put Teddy in a separate
bag so he would
not get lost, among all the other stuff.
"When I got here, I searched everywhere but the
bag and Teddy were
nowhere to be found. I’m sorry, little one. I went back
to Peggy’s to look for
him but he wasn’t there either. Now don’t cry or Mummy
will think you
are not pleased to have her home."
"Anyway you are a big girl now, and you have all of us,
back together
instead of Teddy.” He wiped away my tears and I promised
to be brave for
Mummy’s sake. I put on a brave face but deep down I was
really upset. I
was never given another Teddy, maybe they thought I wouldn’t
get any
wear out of it.
What had actually happened to Teddy, I found out years
later, was that
Johnny, larking about I suppose, had pulled his head
off, while Daddy was
busy packing all my other stuff. Dad put it in a bag
so I wouldn’t see it’s
poor decapitated little corpse, until he had chance to
sew it’s head back on
but somehow, the bag had got lost or maybe, thrown away
by mistake.
Daddy eventually owned up years later.
A short while after this I began to have nightmares. In
my dream I would
see Johnny running towards me and as he ran, his head,
would begin to
flop from side to side, getting floppier and floppier.
Just as he reached me,
his head would fall off and sawdust would spill from
his neck. This dream
terrified me and I had it often. I told Daddy about my
dream one morning,
after the first or second time I had it.
“Daddy, I dweamed a bad dweam. It fwikened me. Johnny
was wunning
an wunning an his head fell off on the floor, an all
Johnnies stuffin fell out.”
“Oh dear! That wasn’t a very nice thing to dream about,
you poor little
thing.” I didn’t tell Mummy about it, I didn’t want to
upset her. When I
learned the truth though, about Teddy, years later, it
made me wonder if
children could be telepathic, when they are very young.
At least until they
learn to talk.
Until Johnny came in from school, I would be very lonely
for someone to
play with, Mummy did her best bless her, but children
need other children.
One day when I was kicking about in the front garden,
I was pleased when
a pretty lady stopped to talk to me. I was sucking my
thumb, which I
always did, if I had nothing better to do.
“Hello, little girl, does that taste nice?” She asked.
I replied
“Why don’t you suck it and see?” I offered it to her
to suck.
“I’ve got a little girl about your age, would you like
to come and play with
her after lunch. Her older brother is at school and she
is lonely for someone
to play with?” ‘Would I?’ You bet I would. I thought,
so I nodded.
“Well let’s go and ask your Mummy then?” That was how
I came to be
friends with Elizabeth Field and her older brother Paul
and through them,
we met all the other children in the road.
Elizabeth and I were soon the best of friends, we were
both the same age
and she had a brother who at seven, was just the right
age to be friends
with Johnny, who was nearly six. We were both mad about
dollies and took
our dollies Moira and Susie, everywhere with us.
Honestly though you never saw such naughty dollies. We
would wash their
clothes and hang them on the tiny clothesline to dry.
While their clothes
were wet, we would bath our naughty dollies in a washing
up bowl.
Complaining, to each other about the amount of work involved
in
childrearing, we would gently scold our Dollies for getting
so dirty and
making their poor mothers so much, extra work.
Nobody ever saw two more conscientious mothers,
than Elizabeth and me.
If we were not bathing them, we would be feeding or changing
them, or
putting them to bed. We were nothing short of rushed
of our little feet,
what with clearing up after them and cooking their little
paper meals. We
cut the pictures from magazine recipe pages and put them
on little pink
plastic plates, from my dolls tea set.
It was certainly hard work being a Mummy. Children had
a lot of freedom
in those days with fewer cars to worry about. We were
still taught not to
speak to strangers and warned, about taking sweeties,
from strange men. Of
course, we never asked ‘why not?’
We just enjoyed our Freedom as a birthright. It never
occurred to us that
this freedom would soon be a thing of the past, like
policemen on bicycles,
coal fires, or milkmen with horses and so many other
things, which we took
for granted. One morning my brother woke me up.
“Come on, sleepy head, it’s your birthday. You are four
years old today.”
Johnny didn’t call me Gaga anymore, not since we came
to the new house.
Paul, who was leader of our gang and ruled us with all
the authority of a
seven year old surrounded, by six and unders, had given
me a new
nickname, ‘Titch’.
Elizabeth, was always called Elli but never Lizzy or Betty.
If anyone called
her Betty, her deep blue eyes would narrow and send a
chill through the air.
“My Name IS ELIZABETH. Not Betty, my Mummy said I mustn’t
let
people call me Betty.” She would hiss. My nickname was
Titch because I
was the youngest and after careful measuring, was also
the smallest. Our
gang of Paul, Johnny, Kenny Hanks, Elizabeth and me.
At the weekends and school holidays, we were inseparable
and went
everywhere together, having even more freedom as a group.
Saturday
morning pictures, was one thing we loved most. Paul and
Elli’s older sister
would take us, on the bus if it was raining, and pick
us up afterwards. In
summer, we would walk to the little local cinema.
We would wait in the queue until it was time to go in,
then in we would
run to try to get five seats, together, near the front.
It was pandemonium,
until the lights dimmed and then a hush would fall over
the house as the
curtains opened and the screen lit up.
The First thing was always the adverts, terrible home
made looking ones for
local shops and restaurants, the boys would all start
to boo cheer, whistle or
catcall. They would make corny jokes and laugh like mad,
at each other’s
wittiness. Elizabeth and I would listen to the boys,
maintaining, what we
hoped was a ladylike expression of disdain at the boys
being boys.
Rolling our eyes heavenwards, as we would mutter to each
other,
“Boys, don’t they show us up?” If they really were funny
(sometimes they
were.) we would try not to laugh or giggle because it
only made them
worse.
After the adverts, the lights would go on again and we
would queue up for
a choc-ice, which if we were not very careful, would
drip on our ‘good
clothes’ and get us in trouble with Mum later. Then,
to frantic cheers and
foot stamping, the lights would dim again for the main
programme.
This was the part I dreaded. I could feel my little palms
growing sweaty as
the screen lit up. Gripping the arms of my seat in mounting
terror as the
huge lion appeared on the screen. Looking straight at
me, it let out a mighty
roar and licked its lips as it showed those huge fangs.
Now, I was old enough to know it was not a real lion.
In spite of its size and
ferocity, it could not really jump out of the screen
and come and eat me. My
reaction to the sight of it was more primitive than a
three year old could
understand or control.
I never did dive under my seat, even though I was tempted.
I was more
worried by the ridicule of the other children, who would
only laugh and tell
me not to be such a baby. I would try to close my eyes,
as I had seen
Elizabeth do, but not seeing it, while knowing it was
there, only made it
worse.
When the lion had gone, I could settle down to enjoy the
rest of the
program. The fear of the lion never stopped me enjoying
myself at all.
Jungle Girl was my favourite. It was good to see something
where the girl
was the heroine, instead of it always being men who were
brave. I loved to
watch the men getting them selves trapped and having
to wait for Jungle
Girl to come and rescue them, for a change.
Then there was the weekly serial, about three sailors
looking for a music
box, in a jungle for some unknown reason, which was O.K.
The best serial
was a Super hero story, with a villainess who was called
Spider-Woman.
She lived in a giant web, it was black with sparkly bits
and all the men
were terrified of her evil magic powers. After Jungle
Girl and
Spider-woman, womens’ liberation was inevitable.
After Saturday lunch, Elizabeth and I would abandon our
dollies in favour
of going out playing with the boys, who we missed while
they were at
school all week. Of course, this meant accepting our
very lowly status of
being both the youngest [which we might, outgrow, in
time.] and being
‘only girls’ [with which, of course, we were stuck]
We accepted this, simply as being the way life was
and always would be, as
an unalterable fact. The boys in return, tolerated us
because as their little
sisters, they had to look after us. That was another
fact of life.
Of course, Paul was the eldest and the leader there was
no discussion about
that but I always had the feeling that even if he had
been the youngest, he
would still have been the leader. It seemed to be Paul’s
natural place.
Johnny was next in command, followed by Kenny, then us
two girls.
Paul was very good-looking with honey blond hair and blue
eyes. Elizabeth
was beautiful too, her hair was much fairer than Paul’s
it had natural gold
and platinum streaks and her eyes were the colour of
bluebells. I was too
young to be envious or even aware of her beauty and as
she was my best
friend, I was just proud of having such a pretty friend.
Television was just in its infancy in those days, I remember
Daddy trying to
explain it to me when he told me we were getting one.
I was only two and
could not understand it at all. When it arrived, I was
even more bewildered,
I honestly thought that the little people were inside
the set and were
running about in there.
Changing scenery, eating, sleeping and living their lives
all in the great big
box. It combined a radio too and the sound came from
louvered vents down
the sides; the set was about three foot square but the
screen, in the middle,
was only six inches wide. There was a huge magnifier,
that could be hung
in front to make it appear bigger but it was still very
small.
We children were hypnotised, oblivious to our parent’s
warnings that it
might damage our eyes if we sat too close. We would crowd
round and we
couldn’t get enough of it, even though there were hardly
any programs.
There was only B.B.C 1 and that didn’t start till about
three o’clock with,
“Watch With Mother”, but later on at about four o’clock
was “Children’s
Hour”.
It was miraculous to our young eyes, to watch dolls walking
and talking in
“Andy Pandy” and “Muffin the Mule.” My favourites were
the “Flower Pot
Men,” “Rag Tag and Bobtail” and “Noddy and Big ears.”
We all loved the
cowboy programs like Roy Rogers and his beautiful palomino,
Trigger. I
liked Roy’s girlfriend Dale.
She was always being kidnapped by bandits or Indians or
her horse would
go lame and she would get lost or trapped down an old
mineshaft. Roy
would have to go and rescue her from a ‘fate worse than
death’. Johnny and
the other boys, preferred Hoppalong Cassidy or “The Lone
Ranger.” They
thought Roy Rogers was soppy for liking a girl and would
pull faces when
Dale and Roy kissed or cuddled at the end.
“She’s a nuisance always getting herself lost and stuck
places. I mean she
has the whole prairie, to wander about in and has to
pick the one spot,
where there’s an abandoned mineshaft.” Johnny said, one
afternoon after
childrens’ hour.
“It wasn’t her fault; the baddies set a trap to catch
her. I think she was ever
so brave.” I answered defending my favourite character.
“But she does it every week and poor ole Roy has to drop
everything and go
rushin’ off to rescue her. I’m surprised he gets any
cowboying done at all,
always having to run off and spend days searching for
some silly woman.”
Paul chipped in.
“It’s not as if she stays found when he finds her, within
a week she’ll need
rescuin again. It doesn’t seem worth boverin to me.”
Kenny said.
“I don’t see why he needs Dale when he’s got Trigger.”
Kenny added, not
wanting to be left out of the discussion.
“Well, I’m glad you’re not my bruver, Kenny. You’d come
and find me if I
got lost, wouldn’t you Paul?” Said Elli, as she gave
him the benefit of her
most appealing look.
“Cause I would, Elli.” Said Paul, adding -
“As long as I could find someone to mind the cows.”
“Would you come and find me, Johnny? If I was lost.” I
asked and tried to
look as appealing as Elli.
“What! After going to all the trouble of losing you? Not
likely.” John said
with a grin.
There was also the first science fiction. I can’t remember
its name but it was
set on a planet called Hessicos and it was brilliant.
In the early evening, they
showed soap operas like The Groves or The Appleyards
and Dixon of Dock
Green. It all was very corny by modern standards but
at least there were
absolutely, no repeats.
When we were all out playing together these programs,
were the
inspiration, for our games. Paul would always, take the
starring role and
make up the plots. He directed most of the action too
but we were all free to
make suggestions and ‘ad lib’ at will, if we thought
of anything better as we
went along.
Needless to say, if you were shot at close range,
then you were dead and
had to lie down. You could take as long as you wanted
to actually, die and
you could be wounded once or twice, before death became
inevitable. I
always preferred being an Indian to being a cowboy. I
liked the feathers and
running around making whooping noises.
One day, when there were some bigger boys on the sports
ground, playing
near to where we had put up a little tent. One of the
bigger boys was
talking to Paul and Johnny, daring them to take a puff
of his cigarette. We
girls were horrified and threatened to tell our Mums
but we were told, that
‘telling our Mums’ was, definitely not an option.
“AHHH! Look they’re smoking, those big boys are smoking
ciggawettes.
Don’t you dare smoke that Paul and Johnny; it will make
you very ill. You
could even die.” Elizabeth shouted. The big boys laughed
and cruelly
mimicked our high pitched panicking cries.
I knew that would clinch it. “Why did boys have to be
so predictable? The
least hint of ridicule and they would even risk death
(or at least stunted
growth and being turned yellow, Elli always did tend
to exaggerate).
“Johnny Kirkpatwick! If you smoke that cigawette, I will
go home and tell
Mummy right away, you watch and see if I don’t!” I stamped
my foot as
hard as I could and turned towards home and Mum.
“Tell tale tit your tongue will split and all the little
dickybirds will have a
little bit.” Shouted all the boys.
“You can’t tell Titch, that’s not on and you know it.
None of us would
EVER speak to you EVER again. You’d have nobody to play
with for the
rest of your life. In any case it’s not going to kill
us is it. Look at Lenny (the
big boy with the cigarette) he’s not dead, is he and
he isn’t yellow either is
he?” Paul coaxed and I had to admit that Lenny looked
hale enough, on the
outside anyway.
“I admit he isn’t dead but I don’t know that he isn’t
yellow; I can only see
his hands and face and his hands are turning yellow.
Look at his fingers.
Alright, we won’t tell, but don’t come running to me
if you never grow any
more and have to stay little boys, for the rest of your
life.” I said, annoyed at
being made to back down.
“And don’t bother askin me to reach up and get stuff for
you, when I’m big
and you’re still little, cause we’ll just say, ‘Remember
when we told you not
to smoke’, won’t we Marjie?” Elli said.
We had no choice but to watch, as our brothers proved
to the bigger boys,
that they were not cowards and could be just as daft
as anyone. Elizabeth
and I stomped off in disgust with the boys but we both,
agreed not to tell. It
would have been unforgivable and in any case too late,
to do any good now.
At teatime, Johnny could not eat any tea, complaining
that he felt sick and
had a tummy ache. When he turned green and actually was
sick, Mum,
who had been a nurse before the war, got so worried about
him she called
the doctor. While we were waiting I tried to get chance
to talk to my brother
on his own. While Mum was cleaning up the mess, I nipped
in his room.
“Johnny, please tell Mummy what you did; you know that’s
why you feel
sick, don’t you?” I told him. I was afraid he could become
even more ill.
“No! It would get Paul and Kenny in much trouble, please.
They would
never be my friends again or yours so don’t even think
about telling Mum.
OK.” He whispered and gave me a stern look.
The last thing I wanted was make my brother and all my
friends hate me,
so reluctantly, I agreed. I was very worried about my
brother and the others
but mostly about Johnny. What if he died, or one of the
others, I thought to
myself. My only hope was the doctor, surely he would
be able to tell what
was wrong with my brother and make him better.
Eventually the doctor arrived, apologising for taking
so long to come.
“I’ve just come from another house in the road, another
little boy is ill.”
Said the doctor. I wondered if the other little boy who
was ill could be
Kenny or Paul.
“Here he is doctor. Johnny the doctor is here to see you,
he will make you all
better, just tell him what hurts you.” Said Mum and the
door was closed, I
couldn’t hear anymore until they came out a few minutes
later. Mum
looked very worried and so did the doctor. I followed
them downstairs
desperately trying to hear what they saying.
“Yes I’m quite sure it is appendicitis. I’ll call the
ambulance straight away.”
The doctor was saying, to Mum.
“Will he have to have an operation, doctor?” Mum asked.
“I’m afraid his appendix will have to come out. It’s very
strange though, the
little boy across the road, Kenny Hanks has appendicitis
too. Do they play
together?” The doctor said.
“Yes they do, I suppose they’ll be company for each other.”
Mum said.
“Thank you very much doctor, for coming so quickly. Would
you like a cup
of tea, while we wait for the ambulance?” She asked
“No, thank you Mrs Kirkpatrick. I have another urgent
call to make, it
seems there is a little boy three doors along who has
been taken ill as well.
Where is the phone?” While the doctor phoned for the
ambulance, I asked
Mummy what appendicitis was and what did the doctor mean
about taking
Johnny’s appendix out.
Mum explained that John would have to go to hospital in
an ambulance
where he would be put to sleep and then the doctor would
take his appendix
out.
“Where would they take his appendix out to?” I asked,
not understanding at
all.
“No not, ‘take it out’ like that, Love I meant they would
take it out of his
body.” Mum said, trying to leave out the gory details.
This really alarmed
me.
‘But won’t he need it again?” Surely if it was in his
body, it must be needed
for something. Mum said he wouldn’t need it again and
would not even
miss it. I was not at all convinced. Then I had another
thought, a worse
thought.
“How will the Dr. get it out of Johnny’s body? Will they
put their hand
down his throat?” Mum laughed at this idea and gently
explained how
Johnny’s tummy would have to be cut open and then be
stitched closed
again. I had heard enough! In fact, I had heard too much.
“Mummy! I don’t think Johnny has got appendicitis.” I
said.
“Oh really. What is your diagnosis then, Dr. Kirkpatrick?”
Mum said, only
half paying attention.
“He’s been smoking.” With that I burst into tears, my
life was over, Johnny
would never speak to me again, nor would Paul or Elizabeth,
or Kenny and
worst of all, even Mummy and Daddy were cross with me,
‘for not saying
anything sooner’.
“Why didn’t you say something before I called the doctor,
or at least before
the ambulance was called. Oh no! I’d better ring the
doctor at Paul’s house.
I might just catch him.” Mum grabbed the phone. The ambulance
was
cancelled and Kenny got to keep his appendix too.
The parents decided that the boys had probably, been punished
enough,
and had learned their lessons. They were, hardly even
told off. John never
ever smoked again.
I was branded a traitor, it was ages before Johnny forgave
me, even though
Paul understood, and Elizabeth was secretly grateful
to me. She said she
was just about to speak, when my Mum phoned; she knew
one of us had to
speak up. I think however that John would have preferred
to lose his
appendix, than lose face with the other boys. I don’t
think he ever really
forgave me.
One of the strongest differences between boys and girls
is that, they have
very different priorities. No amount of debate would
ever settle the
argument of which choice I should or could, have made,
that would not
have been a betrayal of trust. I spent a lot of time
wondering, what else I
could have done?
In 1952, King George V1th died and we had a new Queen
Elizabeth the
second. but most of this passed over our heads except
for the coronation. It
was to be shown, live on the television and as we were
one of the few
homes that had a T.V., everyone came to watch in our
tiny living room.
Elizabeth and I watched as our beautiful young Queen was
crowned, It was
all in black and white on T.V. but we saw it again and
again at the pictures,
in full colour, where the dresses and jewellery could
be seen then in their
full splendour. We were mesmerized by it all and it was
the inspiration for
many dressing up games of lets pretend.
With old velvet curtains for royal robes and borrowed
jewels, from Mums
dressing table drawer, we would take turns to be Queen.
Of course, the boys
would not join in with these games, nobody was getting
killed or even shot.
They would take the Mickey and poke fun at our attempts
at regal
splendour so we kept these games, for when the boys were
not around to
spoil them by teasing us. Had we been real queens they
would have been
executed for high treason, for daring to offend our royal
personages.
As we weren’t real queens, the worst they could expect
was a telling off, for
upsetting their little sisters. Not even a night in the
dungeons, not much of a
punishment for making a queen cry.
Our first Christmas in the new house was magical. On Christmas
eve it
began to snow. When we awoke on Christmas morning, we
looked out of
the window to find that the whole world had turned white,
over night. On
our bed room windows were beautiful patterns etched by
the frost. It was
the most wonderful thing I had ever seen.
Among our presents were two little dolls, boy and girl
twins, the girl wore a
little blue dress and the boy wore a matching romper
suit.
“That’s not fair! I only got one present from Aunty Marjorie
and she has
given you two.” John said, peevishly. I should have asked
him - ‘who told
you life would, be fair?’ – Because he was really ‘only
trying it on’, as they
say now a days, but I didn’t.
“You can be their Daddy and I’ll be their Mummy. That’s
fair.” I said. He
did not agree and insisted that the boy doll, should
be his and the girl doll,
mine. If I’d had any sense, I would have seen the possibilities
this situation,
could have presented at a later date. I said that he
could be the twins Daddy
and I would be their Mummy, that would be fair, wouldn’t
it?
“No he’s a boy doll so he should be mine.” It was twenty
years before
Action Man and no one we knew, had ever heard of a boy
having a doll.
Aunty Marjorie trained as a fashion designer, although
she only designed as
a hobby since the war, when the bottom dropped out of
the fashion market.
She made all her own clothes and she had made the dolls
clothes herself, so
they were very special and I was the envy of all my friends.
“Please let me have the boy doll?” Johnny asked and as
it was Christmas, I
agreed. I suspected the novelty would soon wear off,
once he realised what a
huge responsibility, being a single parent was. Wait
until he found out how
much washing and ironing, they made and what hard work
it was cooking
and shopping for them.
“But don’t tell the other kids that I’ve got a doll because
they will say its
sissy for a boy to have a doll. You know what I mean,
don’t you Titch?” He
insisted.
“All right! I promise, I won’t tell anyone.” I said and
added.
“You can have the boy doll in your room and I’ll keep
the girl doll in my
room but don’t blame me if they get upset and start crying.”
“Rompers won’t cry. He’s a boy, boys don’t cry and if
your doll cries, all
your other dolls will keep her from getting too lonely.”
He replied.
He called his doll Rompers because it was wearing rompers.
I called mine
Rosebud because Rosebud was written on her back. Actually
Rosebud’ was
written on Rompers back too, they were Rosebud dolls
and with their
clothes off they were identical. Anatomical correctness
had not been thought
of.
We also got a cowboy outfit, for Johnny and a cowgirl
outfit, for me. They
were exactly the same except mine had a skirt instead
of chaps. The real
leather gun-belts, decorated with studs and tooling were
fitted with two
silver, Colt six-shooters.
The barrels really turned and they were exactly like the
real thing but of
course, they fired caps, not bullets. There were also,
a pair each, of real
American Jeans with the, (banned since 1968), Stars and
Stripes on the back
pocket. I think they were among the first batch to arrive
in Britain.
It was the first pair on denim jeans we had ever seen,
except on cowboy
films. We could not wait to put them on and go running
about shouting
‘BANG! BANG! Your dead’, but first we had to get
ready for church. We
were all done up in our very best clothes but we were
dying to get home,
have dinner [not pork ‘n beans, turkey].
Then at last, at long last, we would be allowed to mosey
upstairs to get
changed into the ‘rootin’est tootin’est pair go'ldern’est,
pair of sheriffs ever to
roam the prairie’. We soon rounded up a couple of real
bad hombres, called
Paul and Kenny. Outlaws, if weren’t mistook and they
dun gonnun
captured little Miss Elli, from the Bar Stool ranch.
We soon rescued Miss Elli and lassoed the bandits. Reckon
there’ll be a
lynchin’ come sundown, we left ‘em cooling their spurs
in the ‘pokey.’ Then
it was time to mosey back to the ranch, to say ‘Howdy
folks’ to Grandma
and Pop. They always came for Christmas Day.
We washed, changed and went down for tea, turkey cold
roast ham and
every kind of chutney and pickle you could think of,
cake and mince pies.
Instead of water or tea to drink, we were allowed orange
or lemonade and
even one of those tiny bottles of still orange or pineapple
juice, as it was
Christmas.
All of a sudden I burst into tears it all, just overwhelmed
me. Mummy put
her arms round me and asked what was wrong.
“Marjie! Whatever is the matter? Why are crying? “
“Christmas is nearly over!” I sobbed, of course the fact
that I had been
running around since about 6 o’clock that morning, had
nothing to do with
it. Or the prolonged effort ‘to be on my best behaviour’.
In front of all the
relations who were there for the festivities.
The fact was, I was overtired but I absolutely hated it,
whenever Mummy
said, ‘she’s overtired. Of course she was right, it had
all been too much for a
little four year old and bed was the inevitable next
step. I hated going to bed,
especially when there was still so much going on downstairs.
I really could not bear Christmas to be all over so soon,
IT WASN’T FAIR,
was it?
“Its O.K. you know Titch, after all we still have the
presents and there will
be another Christmas next year, won’t there?” Said my
brother, who was
sometimes quite wise for a little boy. He still had his
birthday to look
foreword to on February 5th. My birthday was September
the 29th. I had 10
months to wait so he did not totally, share my desolation
but he did
understand.
On Boxing day, the snow was even deeper and so all us
kids wanted to
build snowmen and have snowball fights. Daddy and Uncle
Tommy, who
was Mums younger brother and our favourite uncle, was
staying with us
for Christmas, with his wife Aunty Dorothy] spent the
morning organizing
equipment. They built a sledge out of wood and found
some rope with
which, to pull it.
After lunch, we all walked to the nearby fields that had
a good slope. As it
was the best place around, all the other children in
the area were there too.
Some had sledges and one or two even had skis but the
kids having the
most fun, were sliding down the slopes on tin trays that
went like the wind.
It was brilliant fun and while we waiting for our turns
on the trays,
someone started a snowball war. When we got home we were
soaking wet
but we hadn’t even noticed. Mum insisted we got into
a hot bath straight
away so we didn’t get Pneumonia, whatever that was! Even
though we said
we were as warm as toast.
It didn’t seem right to have a bath, when it wasn’t even
bedtime but we
didn’t want to get Dad and Uncle Tommy, into any more
trouble so we
didn’t argue with Mum.
Uncle Tommy lived in New Newcastle-upon-Tyne, which was
two
hundred miles away so we only saw them a couple of times
a year. He was
great fun to be with, the definitive favourite uncle,
we could never see too
much of him.
Aunty Marjorie was my favourite aunt; she was an artist
and taught me a
lot about drawing and painting, one of my favourite pastimes.
Most of all
she taught me to use my eyes and really look at things
close up and to notice
things. To look, from different angles, how shapes appear
to change. She
taught me about light and shadows that always fall away
from the light.
I will always be grateful to her for the time and trouble
she took with me,
although I did not always appreciate her help at the
time or realise the value
of it. I DO NOW.
Another aunty we had was Aunty Nellie. She was really
my Mother’s Aunt
but was only ten years older than Mum. She always told
us stories about
Mum and her brothers and sisters when they were little.
Her parents died
when she was fourteen and she had to go and live with
her older sister,
Ellen, who was my maternal Grandmother.
Nellie had a twin sister, Nora, who was our other favourite
aunty but as
Nora lived in Newcastle with her husband Uncle Jack,
we only ever saw her
for a few days at Christmas. Aunty Nellie had moved to
the Isle of Man,
long before the war and at the age of 50 had surprised
everyone by
marrying a local man, Bill Crellin.
She had been a ‘spinster’ until then, with no interest
but her knitting,
which Mum said she did in her sleep, as well as all her
waking hours. I
would watch in fascination, as the garments grew from
her needles. She
never used patterns and worked from her own designs.
She managed the
Scotch Wool Shop, in Douglas on the Isle of Man.
Nellie had access to all the latest yarns at a staff discount;
she took private
orders for garments and did quite well. She always inspired
Mum to have a
go, and although Mum would start well, once Aunty returned
to the Island,
Mums interest would wane. We had a cupboard full of wool
and Mums
abandoned projects, which Nellie would help her to finish
when she came
back.
When I got older and learned to knit, I would unravel
these and start
projects of my own, when Nellie came to stay. After Nellie’s
departure,
these too would end up in, ‘the awaiting completion’
cupboard. Of course,
some things were finished, especially those on big needles,
[they knit up
much quicker]. Either the neck was too tight to get my
head through the
hole, or the sleeves were too short or I would have grown
out of it before it
was finished.
Sometimes we would go to the Isle of Man and stay with
Aunty Nellie, the
first time we went I was about three. I was so excited
the night before, that
it took me ages to go to sleep. When I awoke it was a
lovely sunny day. I
didn’t wait for Mummy to come and get me dressed, all
my clothes were
laid out night before, to save time in the morning.
I pulled off my nightdress and put on my knickers and
vest. I had a bit of
trouble with my socks because I was not sure if I had
them on the right feet
and changed them round several times, to make sure. Then
I put on my
dress, which was new so I was not sure which way round
it went but it
seemed all right with the buttons at the front.
They were easier for me to do up that way round but I
had an awful
amount of trouble doing the buttons up, I could not understand
why.
Finally, I put on my shoes, luckily they had buckles,
instead of laces so no
problem there, I thought. Then I put on my little sun
hat and tiptoed into
Mum and Dads room to wake them up.
As I pushed open the door I imagined how pleased Mummy
would be to see
me all ready to go with my coat over one arm and my bucket
a spade in the
other hand. ‘What a clever little girl’, I imagined Mummy
and Daddy,
would say, when they saw me standing there, all dressed.
I peeped into the room, it was empty and the bed was all
made. ‘They must
be downstairs making breakfast’, I thought and went downstairs
to find
them. They were not in the kitchen making breakfast but
in the living
room watching television. But there was no television
in the morning.
“Marjorie what on earth are you doing up at this time
of night and what
are you wearing? Oh! It’s your sun frock, where is your
nightdress?” My
parents looked at me in astonishment, and then they burst
out laughing. I
was puzzled. Why are they laughing? I wondered.
“I’m weady to go to see Aunty Nellie, I’m all dwessed.”
I said and then I
said it again, but I got no sense out of my parents who
by this time were
practically on the floor, falling about and giggling.
Mummy finally
managed to nudge Daddy and stop him laughing at me as
she explained.
“It was very clever of you to dress yourself Love but
it’s only nine-o-clock, in
the evening. Daddy and I haven’t even been to bed yet.
Come on, I’ll help
you get undressed and back to bed.”
What she didn’t tell me till years later, was that my
dress was inside out
and back to front and my shoes were on the wrong feet,
even my little sun
hat was inside out. No wonder I’d had so much trouble
doing up the
buttons.
The morning came at last, as it always will. Daddy drove
us all to Liverpool
where we boarded a big boat. Johnny and I had never been
on a boat before
and we were seasick all the way there. We soon forgot
the horror of the
journey, once we landed and the holiday began.
We went straight onto the beach with our swimming costumes.
My cossie’
was bright yellow satin shirred with elastic, so I had
‘plenty of room to
grow’. I must have look like a big satin chick. Mummy
took us for a little
paddle. She was unable to swim and afraid of the sea
but wanted us to be
good, confident swimmers so gritted her teeth to hide
her fear.
We made sandcastles, while Daddy went buy us all an ice
cream and I had
my first lesson on the laws of physics, as my ice cream
fell off the cone and
plopped on the sand. I can still remember the feeling,
of sorrow and dismay
at the sight of it lying in the sand melting. I burst
into tears, of course, my
Daddy queued up again and bought me another ice cream.
Then I had my First lesson in economics as I thought to
my self, ‘I could
have had two ice-creams by now, if only I had not dropped
one of them.’
Carefully, I licked my second cornet, as I watched the
first one melt into the
sand.
The day wore on and my parents began to stop worrying
and became more
relaxed. They even let us wander a bit further away from
where we were
encamped on the sand. I wandered too far and found myself
unable to see
my Family. I looked up the beach and down the beach but
they were
nowhere to be seen.
I began to panic and then to cry. My little legs began
to tire from the effort
of walking in the deep sand. I looked at the sea, then
at the sea of faces but
nowhere could I spot a familiar face. I will never forget
the feelings of utter
desolation as I journeyed up and down the crowded stretch
of sand, which
began to feel like the Sahara, as I became more tired.
I began to succumb to a feeling of despair that I would
never see my Family
again. I was getting more and more certain that they
must have left the
beach without me. Then a lady noticed my tears and asked
me why I was
crying. I told her I was lost and she asked me where
I was staying.
“Wiv my Mummy and Daddy at my Aunty Nellie’s house.” I
sobbed, in
gasps.
“Do you know the address?” She asked, I didn’t, nor the
phone number. I
began to cry again.
“What about her surname? Do you know that? We might find
her in the
phone book.”
Of course, I was not sure what Auntie’s surname was and
it probably
would not have helped, as Crellin is a very common name
on the Isle of
Man. I thought I was all but lost forever, when I had
a moment of clarity
and an idea.
“My Aunty Nellie works at the Scotch Wool Shop, she’s
the manageress
there.” I said to the lady.
“I know where that is, I'll take you there, they’ll know
what to do to find
your Aunty.” She said and took me to the Scotch Wool
Shop. One of the
assistants took me back to the beach, where I was reunited
with my
distraught parents. They were exactly, where I had left
them but because I
was so small, I just had not been able to see them.
After that, we were both, taught to recite the address
of anywhere that we
stayed. Mum kitted each of us with a whistle, which we
were to blow
loudly if we got lost again. Mum also had one to blow,
if she was worried
about us and wanted us to come back to where she was
sitting.
Near to where we lived, was a railway with an embankment
and a little
bridge. Near the bridge were small arches that were stuffed
with rubble but
we children believed the stories, put around by older
kids. We would stand
looking over the fence and discuss which of the many
rumours we’d heard,
could be the truth?
“I think it’s a dead body.,” said Paul. Who liked to frighten
us little ones.
“Yeah! A gangster who got shot and his mates hid him in
there so the police
wouldn’t find him and put them in prison for murdering
him.” Said
Johnny, he usually agreed with Paul.
“I don’t think it’s a body at all I think it’s treasure,
left by pirates.” I said. I
always liked pirates, ever since Mum read Peter Pan.
I had a secret
admiration for Captain Hook, I liked the fact that he
took Peter seriously, I’d
never met an adult that took children seriously.
“What would pirates be doing this far from the seaside?”
replied Paul. to
my suggestion. I just liked the idea of pirates hiding
treasure there and fact
that we were thirty miles from the nearest seashore did
not change my
mind about the possibility, maybe they had lived near
here after, they
stopped pirating, I suggested.
“Well I think it’s probably just rubbish, left by whoever
built the bridge.”
Was the unimaginative suggestion From Kenny. Paul laughed.
“Yes Kenny that’s very likely! Or is that just what the
gangsters want you
to think. Trust you to fall for it Kenny.” Johnny laughed
too. He always
agreed with Paul, we all did as Paul was right once or
twice and was the
oldest by a year or two, it was usually the safest bet
that of all of us he
would have the best chance of being right. Of course,
there was still a
chance he was wrong.
“I still think it was treasure left by pirates, or maybe
robbers.” I insisted.
“Don’t be silly Titch, there haven’t been pirates for
hundreds of years.” Paul
said.
“How do you know Paul, there might still, be pirates around.”
I said.
“Or there may have been, when the bridge was built, or
robbers anyway.” I
added.
“They wouldn’t leave treasure there for anybody to find.
Would they?”
“Yeah they would bury it somewhere out of sight. They
wouldn’t just leave
it lying there, where somebody could just trip over it
would they,” Johnny
said.
I had to admit it was a stupid place to put anything valuable,
so that left us,
with the dead body. As nobody was ever brave enough to
go and look and
find out for sure, a dead body was the final decision.
With that sorted out,
the boys chased us back to the den shouting ‘We’re dead
bodies and we’re
coming to get you oooohh aaarrrr’
