BIG CITY BOY.

'NOTHER t'OTHERWITH TALE

Looking back at what I have written about a confusing childhood, I see there are many missing bits….. Perhaps for the book…. if ever…. Maurice…

“Every path to a new understanding begins in confusion.” Mason Cooley.

During those last two years in t’Otherwith, Our Boy was asked by teachers to befriend Anthony Elf, who was thin enough, but too tall to be an elf, nor did he have a pointy hat. Coming to us from a special school, he didn’t really fit in, eyes and mind ever awandering. The school field was vast, tall trees at the back. The two boys would drift over there away from the taunts, picking up torn branches to hurl far “Wheeeee Spaceships !”. Our boy noticed some of the other kids were treating him more gently, a kind of patronizing kindness. Just as they treated Anthony. Our Boy was puzzled.

Summer Holidays, and it was off with David Grantham along the cliffs to Sandal Mere. “Is it because they all wear sandals” “It’s French for sand le mer, cos the cliffs are so low the high tides wash sand into the pond in the caravan field” Not there were any caravans at that end, plenty up the slope to the ice cream shop. Every one a self build need paint again. Wartime bunkers had slipped quietly off the dissolving cliffs to sink into the sand. “Might be full of Dead Germans !?” “Nah, they’re English Bunkers”. We still had to watch out for the Luftwaffe Bomber Seagulls.

Autumn slipped just as quietly into the rains. Our Boy without David had walked the three miles on his own, when the skysluices vomited their hail. Eventually the caravan owner became aware of the chattering teeth under his floor boards, and drove Our Boy back to fretting Purdie. Speaking with respect, he suggested that a lad with that sort of mind should not be allowed free rein, Missus. He was overheard. WOW, he’d always known he was different, but did people view him as an Anthony ? Food for thought, needs an experiment.

Alan and Margaret arrived for a Spring Holiday and Our Boy travelled the top busdeck home with them. Rain flooded fields, presenting an opportunity to play daft, see what happen. “Water” he slow droned, pointing at every puddle. The cousins laughed. The passengers joined in. Encouraged Our Boy played with tone and volume. The cousins became embarrassed in the company of this village idiot… “Shurrup willyer !? The passengers became embarrassed for the young care givers. The cousins took him downstairs. Soon be in town, No more puddle views possible, silent assessment. The Aunties talked about it for weeks.

School would break up soon. New house in Kingstown Upper Number bought, need to sell the one in With, so for the last week of term Our Boy would be at his new school, to acclimatize. He protested the New school was Older, didn’t like it, no beach. He settled for his first bike, a heavy Raleigh Blue Streak, so to visit David. As the school uniform policy was a Wilberforce cap and tie, Purdie shuddering, gave in for a Teddy Boy white jacket and blue suede crepe soles. The Aunties duly complied and shuddered with her… Monday, Rock and Roll Newbie pulled an eager crowd; Tuesday they drifted back to desks; Wednesday the class bully, Fatty Longbottom, recovering stolen thunder, taunted all day; Thursday, elbow, finger and ruler jabs; Friday - blows and ridicule. Saturday, School’s out for Summer !

The new house was a Big surprise - Pete, Ethel, Margaret & Alan moved in, everybody had their own room, ‘cept Pete and Eth still had to share. Just across the road was his beloved cemetery coney hill, memories of Dad and picnics. But the house was weird. kitchen at mealtimes filled with so many flies, y’ just had to wave a breadknife in the air. Kill two at a time - every time… huh !? not allowed, butbut… Pete figured they were crawling out of the bay window’s rotting roof. Prying it open, blowtorch ready, literally thousands poured forth. Three evening treatments later there were none left. The next month the washhouse floor disappeared under inches of ants…”Pe-ete !!” One night Our Boy was found unconscious on the Kitchen floor, all he remembered was seeing a girl who wasn’t there. Neighbors told the tale of a young lass from the end house who long ago came to play. She had died in strange circumstances, between the wars. The Aunties were strangely silent.

Our Boy had amassed quite a stock of stamp packets, which he now advertised in kids comics. The hobby of Kings and the King of Hobbies. He did surprisingly well, more fodder for the chats of Aunties. Pete quipped “Y’can take the boy out of t’Otherwith, but y’ can’t take his t’Otherwithness out of the boy”…. Whatever that meant. A lot of that summer was spent either cycling to David’s or exploring the maze of backstreets and alleyways near Wilberforce. Holes in fences to discover. Escape routes to map. That Summer Old Tom Purdue passed away. The Aunties felt we boys should not attend the funeral. Death was not fitting for our tender years. They sent us to the Cinema instead… Bridge on the River Kwai, Japanese Brutality. Baffling. Granma Sara Anne was evicted. Purdie bought her a little Ashburn cottage nearby.

September. Back to Wilberforce High, A new Pal, Nick Carr was always good for a laugh, or dodging Killer Kennedy’s slipper wielding science lessons together… Otherwise, bullies endured until four pm, but he could always slip away undetected, as they blocked the gate and scoured the schoolyards. The standards, the expectations lower, the lessons just repeats of his previous year in With. So instead of exams resulting in 33rd out of 36, he shot up to 18th of 38 by Easter, when half of the kids left. Confidence boosted, the June Finals placed him top of the class. At that point he finally accepted Alan’s advice, and took on every school bully. Same result each time, a single punch, left them crying on the ground, their mates running for cover. His fears never returned. “Bronco” Lane, the sports teacher witnessed most of these victories. On the Last day he shook Our Boy’s hand, saying “A boy gotta do what a man gotta do, good luck out there” The gate was not blocked, and this Manboy walked out grinning. William Wilberforce had emancipated another soul. Just like Davy Crockett, “Itching for fighting and righting what’sa wrong….. But first - Big City Boy Needs to get a job !

Canal boats, in the blood, an adventure, but Purdie said no future. Lorry driver’s mate then ! Another veto. “Learn a Trade, job for life” Sagacity of Uncles, Our Boy’s turn to veto. Margaret suggested that as he liked selling stuff, maybe retail was an option. Brilliant ! Fred Scott Ironmongers offered high pay for a strong smart lad. Bingo ! everybody happy. Nuts, bolts, washers and screws; Aga cookers, lawn mowers, hand tools and spare keys; Chicken feeders, pig tongs and wrought iron gates; Pots and pans, door knobs and letter boxes, brooms without witches, galvanized dustbins and coalscuttles, fire grates, fire bricks, pots of paint, brushes galore, Wostenholme pocket knives, paraffin heaters and 5 gallons cans. Fill ‘em up lad, don’t forget to turn the tap off this time !!

Our Boy carried their purchases to the carpark, tips nearly doubled his already high wage. Sundays with an icecream fridge on a bike, belling and yelling earned another stash of cash. The bike was a pig even on the smallest hills, oof, oof ! Worse than the Blue Streak which he traded for a lighter, faster Carlton Sprinter, Giro d’Italia, 80 miles pedaling all Saturday night to Whitby. Bunch of us beach bedded until lunch, home by midnite Suns - even when it was snowing. But then girls became more interesting. ‘Nuff said.

Nick Carr, true to his name, stole yet another E-Type Jag, and perished in the chase. Same day Uncle Tom died, Pudie kissed her brother’s corpse, and all the adults got pissed. Too much, too much; Our boy ran away to a Brummagin carwash, then joined the army - lying about his age. Took the machine a month to send him home to a desperate Purdie. Short months later he was back in Uniform, Men of Action, Killings a Trade, t’Otherwith Dumbass Soldier….. armed with nowt but a cowboy hat and David Grantham’s old guitar to fight the next war….. Jolly good ! Tally ho !! Bullshit !!!

MADNESS TO BE EXPLAINED IN FURTHER DETAIL, SOON.

NeXt CLIMATE ARTICLE, Sun 11 Feb. RECONSIDERING THE THRUST.

NeXt SAMUEL SAVOURIE, Weds 14th Feb. PHILLIPE’s JOURNAL.

NeXt ANCIENT LEGEND, Weds 21st Feb. THE TWINS REMEMBER.

FURTHER CLIMATE ARTICLE, Sun 25th Feb, T.B.A.

My thanks good people for being here, your presence is greatly appreciated. May we create a better world, in Peace, Maurice.