TALES o't'OTHERWITH BOY.

PART TWO.

Oct 03, 2023

“I believe in everything until it’s disproved, so I believe in fairies, myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s only in your mind. What’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now.” John Lennon.

67BBBC. More on the MYSTERY OF SIMPSONS WATER TOWER.

The t’Otherwith Boy was in a hurry to meet with the Sergeant, for the next episode of the story. Turning in at the lighthouse gate, he found the cheery policeman drinking tea with the keeper. “I’m here Mr Grantham !” “Ay, ah kin see that, gimme a minute and we’ll be off !” “Goodoh !!”

“Nowthen, it were like this, sithee…. a couple more visits to Herman the German, ‘e told me ‘e were sure as owt that it were definitely a real dragon’s tail sticking up outer Rise Island Hill. Well; Y’see; a few days before I’d eard a couple of soldiers shouting an’ argyering about that, in the street !! …. ‘ad to ell ‘em not to be so noisy ! Now I knew for sure that it couldn’t ‘av been the tail of ‘is hairyplane either ‘cos that were in bits down at the bottom of the Hill… “ “W0W !!” “Anyroad, they soon moved ‘im outer the ‘Ospital, up ter Simpson’s farm. Still mind, I kept in touch with ‘im out of curiosity. ‘Im and Nurse Sally Booth ‘ad a son before the War ended. Then, afterwards, they got wed to make it all Orlright for the Gossipers….” “Oh I know him ! He’s called Jerry the Gerry, he’s one year up on me” “Are you pals then ?” “ Not really, why ?” “Aaaah shame, ‘cos, well, … look if you were, you might even get to talk to ‘is Dad about the Dragon…. ‘an let me know !!”

The appeal of becoming a secret agent lit up our t’Otherwith Boy’s bespectacled eyes, and not long after he wangled the first of a few Sunday visits to the farm. Simpson had kept the ex pilot on, and his son Tony was a pal of Jerry, as well as a classmate of our young spy. One time he questioned Sally who was quite short with him “Don’t you get me started on all that dafthead stuff !!” But he quietly persevered, gaining the old man’s trust, eventually getting him to open up. Yesyes, jawohl. A dragon for sure, but he had never wanted to visit the crash site, and warned his young confidant to stay away too. A few days later Jerry was missing from school and Tony said the family had gone to live in Germany. Sgt Grantham was disappointed, and he too soon disappeared, gone they said, into retirement in the town that bore his name. So that was that…. Or so it seemed.

66BBBC. The BEJWELLED CAT.

The Memorial Pleasure Gardens lay sunken below the level of the bordering promenade and side streets, and along the opposite side stood the amusement arcades. Here the local kids hung out around the tennis courts or on the “Muggin’s” slot machines. The t’Otherwith Boy was adept at playing the skill only games against the summer visitors, always winning a penny or two. These coins he invested in the cranes prize grabs, where plastic cigarette holders with filters were the great temptation. These items were also for sale in the sweet shops for three pence each, but he had figured out how, on the penny grab, to catch three at a time. To be sold on for tuppence each, so making a healthy profit every time, at the back doors of the towns two cinemas. The bins were full of half smoked cigarettes back then, it not yet being illegal to puff away whilst cheering Superman or John Wayne. The kids were savvy about germs from the original smokers lips but not about the poisons in the bukshee tobacco. Sometimes the cleaners would chase them away, but heck ten Woodbines only cost eight pence. Which could be clubbed together….

Busses from the city ran past the Kinos to terminate round the corner at the Muggins’. One day, sitting on the upper deck, our boy stared across at the arcades upstairs windows, above the flashing lights, and realized that the upper floors appeared abandoned, sparking his curiosity. Behind these buildings lay a wide alleyway, sealed off by a high, rather decrepit wooden fence. Aha ! this was worthy of a closer inspection.

One quiet morning poking at the fence he discovered a broad plank that was a little loose. A bit of gentle coaxing and the lower end swung to one side, revealing a cat’s face peering out at freedom. Around it’s neck, a stout band of leather, reinforced with a padlock and metal cups, all studded with glittering gems. Such an exquisite wonder he had never seen. The fabulous creature purred it’s thanks around his ankles and was gone. Startled and anxious of recriminations from the cats owners the boy took off too. That night as Purdie put him abed our boy mentioned not his escapade but just the collar “Ha !” scoffed his Mum “Not possible ! Too expensive for folk around here. By the way, we are moving house again next week., so you will be a lot closer to school. Now go to sleep.”

The new house at the Lassels, was just round the corner from the Lighthouse. Maybe Mr Grantham would come to visit the Lighthouse Keeper again one day, Maybe he would get another story. The Lighthouse Keeper said he didn’t think so.

65BBBC.

The house at the Chestnuts was not to be sold as the Air Base at Patterdorp was offering good and reliable money to rent nice houses for their officers families. The young wife of one got a trainee teaching job at the school, and told our boy’s class how delighted she was to be living in the same town where had dad had fought in the War. Another time she mentioned her Dad had asked her if Sergeant Grantham was still there, did anybody know him ? The t’Otherwith boy raised his hand “Yes Miss he told me about a plane crash and a Dragon !” Miss quickly quelled the laughter “What a coincidence, my Dad tells the same story !! He was actually at the crash !!” Thus emboldened our boy asked her if she had ever seen a cat with a diamond collar. This time the laughter took a little longer to settle.

Undeterred our boy continued to search for the cat, and one day discovered that a second plank had loosened. He was able to step within. The alleyway was littered with ancient debris, a rusty rickety fire escape leading to a long beckoning balcony above, hinting of new mysteries for another day. Weeks passed before the lure outgrew his apprehension to pull him up the stairs. Still no cat. The first floor rear windows were far too grimy for him to see beyond the crumbling black Victorian net curtains. He tried the doors, and surprise surprise one opened, stiffly yet without a noise. He could make out a kitchen strewn with post and pans, but was the floor safe ? He would need a good torch, but that meant more money than he could earn from ciggy filters.

Soap Box carts were the new craze. He pestered his Mum for one using the logic that he felt would convince her. “I could carry suitcases in it from the railway station to the caravans. They pay two shillings a load Mum !!” Considering that was more than two months pocket money for just an hours hauling, she succumbed and asked the neighbour, Mr Grumps to build one. Torch with spare batteries acquired up the staircase he went. Floor deemed safe through into the living room he ventured, the beam pointing low. A scattering of dice and cards over a low rotting table, a pair of chaise longues, matching even to the nodding burst out springs, bottles and glasses sideways on the floor, a chandelier askew, a smashed bureau, and a tallboy set of drawers that at first refused to open.

On his third visit one empty drawer slid agreeably out and the whole tallboy slanted and creaked towards him, revealing another doorway behind, leading to a larger room, dominated by a large gaming table. A faint light struggled to pierce the windows at the front. He doused his torched and stood, whilst his eyes adjusted. The strange poses of the opulently ragged dressed skeletons, a dozen or more, uninterested in his arrival, proffered no menace. They were only dead people, just like those in his comic books. Rather, it was the sound of slow heavy footsteps descending from the floor above, the fear of discovery, that prompted his swift and silent exit out into the sunlight, never to return, never to speak of his experience. In fact he hardly spoke at all for a year, he just read and drew everything in his comic books. Then, emerging from the chrysalis at the age of nine he started to write, to perform and began a lifelong journey as an entrepreneur.

It was sixty nine years later that he finally wrote of that surreal day, that still fresh story, which you have just read.

There is more yet to unfold, be patient, you, Dear Reader……

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