The Ashton Rd. Gang.

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Simon, head down over his handlebars, pedalling for all he was worth, had no chance to stop. Least ways not until the front wheel of his bike hit the wall. Then the bike stopped. Simon did not. He flew over the wall.
On the other side, the owners of the cottage had a structure of canes and nets, presumably for runner beans. Simon hit it like a human cannonball. The nets were not designed to catch flying human beings. They stopped him from going forwards, but in doing so, wrapped Simon up until he was tied up like a Christmas parcel.
The commotion brought the lady of the house out of her kitchen. It would have been difficult to explain it all to anyone, but this lady was Polish and did not speak very much English. I do not know what she thought, but she began screaming at Simon in a strange mixture of Polish and English. Afterwards Simon said that the only understandable words sounded like sugar (and that was every other word as well).
In the meantime, Grubby had rescued himself and his bike from the pond and sloshed across. He was covered in pond weed and green slime. We abandoned our bikes and ran to the wall. Fits was still a bit dazed and stood by the wall shaking his head to clear it.
We peeped over the wall. The sight of our flushed filthy faces was too much for the old lady. She reached into a bin by her back door and pulled out a handful of rotten potatoes, which she began hurling at us. She was quite a good shot too. One of them hit Grubby and burst, completing his vegetable overcoat. He sat down with a bump. Fits took one look at him, felt the wind of another potato as it whistled past his ear, and fled. Bob and Noddy went after him.
I was just wondering how to rescue Simon when the man of the house came out. He had obviously been in bed. He was wearing only a pair of long-johns, the kind with flaps back and front. More importantly, he was carrying a shot gun that he waved about in a decidedly threatening manner.
The gang’s motto may well have been ‘One for all and all for one’ in most situations, but in this one it was definitely ’All for one and everyone for himself’. I fled. Everyone else fled, leaving Simon to explain it all. I did take his bike. We did not stop running until we reached the Cemetery path.
"What do we do now?" puffed Stew.
"Go home and get help." said Peter equally breathless.
"We’ll have to fix the bikes first," I pointed out.
Bob had a fairly reasonable tool kit in his saddle bag. It did not take many minutes to fix the bikes. Simon’s racer, however, was beyond our skills, the front wheel was buckled.
Noddy kept a look out towards the cottages. "I can’t see anything happening," he said.
"There’s been no sound of gunshots, so perhaps Simon’s still alive," said Stew.
"Let’s go home," pleaded Bob.
"We go back for Simon," I said
"We can’t leave him," said Fits. We had explained what he had done to him. He was very sorry and quite a bit worried about what his mother would say. We promised not to tell her.
"He’d leave us!" said Bob.
"True, but it doesn’t matter. You can do as you please, but I’m going back to help Simon." I said. This was neither bravery nor good comradeship on my part, rather it was the thought of having to explain to Simon’s parents we had gone and left him that made me feel that I had to help.

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In the end they agreed with me. This time there was to be no mad dash across the field. Grubby refused to crawl across the furrows as he was still soaking wet. We left him with the bikes. Stew peeped over the wall.
"Well?" whispered Fits.
"He’s not there," whispered Stew as he ducked down. "The garden’s empty."
"Is there any blood?" asked a ghoulish Noddy.
"I couldn’t see any, but it was only a quick look," said Stew.
We all peeped over. "The man’s not there," whispered Peter.
"No!" said a voice from behind us. "He’s here."
We whirled around in horror and fright. Stood behind us, now fully clothed, but still with the gun was the man. "You better go in through gate," he ordered.
"Don’t shoot, mister" pleaded Noddy. "We can explain."
"You will!" said the man grimly. "You explain, then perhaps I shoot." He looked at us. "Where is other?" he asked fiercely.
"By the hedge with the bikes." squeaked Fits.
"I get him in minute" said the man. "You go in house."
We walked slowly though the gate, up the path and into the back kitchen. There was no sign of Simon or the old lady. "Now!" said the old man, "You tell why frighten Mrs. Keouski!"
"Er!" said Fits. "It was my fault." Bob began to cry. I was pretty close to tears myself. Noddy’s head was jerking so much I thought that it would jerk right off.
In the end we managed to tell him the story of Simon’s abrupt arrival in their garden. To our relief Mr. Keouski put the gun down on the kitchen table and began to laugh. He laughed so much that he choked. The door opened and in came Simon with a bandaged head grinning from ear to ear. Mrs. Keouski bustled in behind him and began to slap Mr. Keouski on the back. All the while she scuttered at him in Polish.
Mr. Keouski stopped choking. "His boy hokay?" he asked pointing at Fits. Fits nodded. "Good," smiled Mr. Keouski. "Now I tink someting nice to drink for these lads. Is good you look after friends, no?" Mrs. Keouski smiled and patted Fits on the cheek, Peter was still looking at the gun with a worried expression. Mr. Keouski looked at him and then at the weapon. "No worry." He laughed again, "Gun like old Joe." He tapped himself on chest. "Old and broken," He picked up the gun and showed us that it had no trigger and anyway could not be opened to put cartridges in.
"Phew!" I heaved a sigh of relief and began to laugh. Soon we were all laughing. Simon laughed the loudest. Peter looked at him. "You knew, didn’t you?"
Mr. Keouski answered, "Good joke, hey?"
"Very" said Peter, then to Simon, "You are going to laugh even louder when you see your front wheel."
Simon stopped laughing and looked worried. "Is it bad?"
"Bad enough." I told him, then with sudden remembrance, "Grubby! He’s still there. He'll be out of his mind."
"You go and get friend and machines," ordered Mr. Keouski "I get drink."
Noddy and I went for Grubby and the bikes, Then we all sat down to a piece of cake and a glass of pop. Mrs. Keouski insisted that Grubby took of his wet clothes so that she could wash and dry them. Mr. Keouski looked at the wheel. "I fix," he said. "No trouble." He did too, as good as new. As we left saying "Thank you," Mrs. Keouski said, "Next time you come through gate, hokay?"
We all nodded and waved goodbye. From then on the Keouski’s were a regular call and she always said the same thing as we left.
"You come through gate"
My Dad said that the Keouski’s had lost four sons in the war. Old Joe was always telling the story of how ‘his boys', as he called us, first came to visit.
Fits was never allowed to go on an expedition again. We kept our promise and did not say a word to anyone about his attack, but his mother seemed to know. She did not blame us for it, but from then on he was only allowed to join the gang to play on Andy’s bank.

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Chapter 7

School Sports

At the beginning of July the Headmaster of my Junior School stood on the stage. Mr. Plunkett took Assembly every morning and always had something to say. We rarely listened. This Friday morning he announced, "As you know the time for the School Sports is upon us once again."
He frowned the groans to silence.
"This year, we have decided to make them different." He paused for effect. Everybody was listening now. "Up to now each colour, Red, Yellow, Green and Blue, has chosen its best competitors to represent it in the sports."
In the middle of the hall, I was thinking that the only good thing about the School Sports was that it meant that the long holiday was not far away. Mr. Plunkett was still speaking. "This year, however, we have decided that every boy in the school will take part." He looked round the hall. To my jaundiced eye, he appeared to be looking straight at me. "Everybody and I mean EVERYBODY, will be found an event to take part in!"
While that sank in, he beamed round the hall at the suddenly stricken faces. "I thought that would please you. But, there is more yet. The Sports day will be held on the Queen Elizabeth Recreation ground. We will be sending a letter to all of your parents, inviting them to attend to see you take part."
Why did I get the impression that he was speaking only to me? "So make sure that you all have your sports kit on Monday, for practice. I’m sure that Mr. Peach will find a way of dealing with those who forget their kit."
Mr. Peach, who stood next to the head on the stage, smiled grimly and nodded his head.
"Good! Now we will sing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’."
I would not have given the letter to my parents, but Mary brought one home as well. It said that to celebrate the opening of the new sports field, the boy’s school had invited the Girl’s school to attend the Sports day.
"Where’s your letter about the Sports?" asked Mum.
"It’s in my coat pocket." I said. "I forgot about it."
"Well fetch it!"
Reluctantly I did as I was told. Mum read the letter and passed it over to Dad.
"That’s nice!" she said. "Billy’s going to be in a race this year."
"Not if I can help it," I thought.
Mary giggled, "That’ll be funny. He’s so stupid, they’ll have to put sign posts down the track so he doesn’t get lost."
"Hush!" said Mum. Mary did not head the warning. I stuck my tongue out at her.
"The only race he’ll win is the ugliest face race!" I would like to have thumped her, but she was too handy with her fists to risk it.
"That’s enough!" warned Dad. "You’ll cut yourself on that sharp tongue, one of these days my girl."
That shut her up.
"I think we’ll go" went on Dad. "If I can get the afternoon off work."
I scowled.
"I’m sure Granny Acock and my mother would like to go anyway," said Mum.
I groaned.

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On Monday afternoon, all the members of the yellow team, including me, were stood around Mr. Peach. He was trying to decide who was to be in which event. There was a great deal of arguing. "That’s enough!" he ordered. "Everyone will try everything. Then I will decide who does what!"
We lined up for the 100 yards sprint. I came last. Even Gordon Pugh with his withered leg beat me by yards. Then we ran the hurdles. I knocked every single one down. In the long distance I collapsed with a stitch after fifty yards. I was last in the throwing the ball, the high jump, the potato race and nearly broke my partner's ankle in the three-legged race. There was no sack into which I could fit for the sack race and in the long jump I did not even reach the sand. I got tangled up in the net in the obstacle race so badly it took three teachers to get me loose. Eventually all the Yellow team had been placed in an event except Lewis Ramsbottom and me.
Lewis was the exact opposite of me. He was undersized, blind as a bat and stammered. He had been known to misspell his own name and did not even know how many fingers he had. It only needed someone to tell him that the headmaster wanted to see him for Lewis to cry and wet his trousers. He was scruffy, dirty, smelly and had nits. He was not at all popular. Most of his playtimes he spent hiding in a corner away from the rest of the school.
The last event was the egg and spoon race. Mr. Peach did not give us any choice or even a chance to practice. He wrote our names down. Lewis sidled over to me when Mr. Peach had gone.
"W...w...w...w...we’re in the s..s..s..same r..r..race."
"So?" I was not pleased.
"W...w...w...we’ll have to be f...f..f.. friends."
"Get lost you scruffy beggar," I told him and walked away in disgust.
Now apart from his appearance and lack of cleanliness and brains, Lewis also had two other problems. He tended to get strange ideas about people. It only needed a kind word from someone and he used to follow them around like a puppy. I, for one did not want a smelly animal following me around.
His other shortcoming was that, if he understood them, he took orders literally. He did exactly as he was told. The habit had caused problems before on at least two occasions. Someone had told him to go and stick his head down the toilet. Lewis did. It was only by luck that a teacher found him half drowned.
During a science lesson, a teacher had told us to, "Hold your breath, we’ll see who can last the longest." Then he had been called out of the room. Naturally, we all breathed and started talking. Not Lewis, he held his breath until he went blue. The teacher came back in time to tell him to breathe again, otherwise Lewis might have suffocated.
We had been warned to be very careful of what we told Lewis to do. Since everybody felt sorry for him, nobody took advantage of this peculiarity.

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I though no more about him as I walked back to the changing rooms, grumbling to myself. I had been trying to make it impossible for Mr. Peach to find an event to put me in. There had to be some way of getting out of the egg and spoon race, but none sprung immediately to mind. When I was changed I lined up with the rest of my class to wait for the bus to take us back to school. Miss Trumpeter came dashing up. I heard her say to Mr. Peach, "Lewis is not here."
"What?"
"His clothes are still in the changing rooms." She sounded a bit worried.
"Oh!" Mr. Peach turned to us. "Anyone seen Lewis?" We had all seen him, but not since the end of the lessons and certainly not in the changing rooms.
"Who saw him last?" It turned out that the last time anybody could remember seeing Lewis was when he was talking to me. "Come her, Billy!" said Mr. Peach. "What did you say to him?"
"I dunno sir! I can’t remember."
Mr. Peach sucked his moustache, a sure sign that he was not happy. "Come on lad, Think it may be important."
I thought. I remembered. I groaned. "Well?" said Miss Trumpeter.
"I didn’t mean it! I forgot about Lewis. It was an accident, honest!" In my panic I did something that I never did, in public anyway, I cried. "Don’t be so stupid." Mr. Peach was never very sympathetic. "What did you say to Lewis?"
Miss Trumpeter took over. "Come on Billy. Blow your nose. Tell us what you said to Lewis." She was trying to be gentle. It is difficult for a seventeen stone, six foot tall, moustached female with a voice like a fog horn to be gentle.
I sniffed, wiped my nose on my sleeve, which made her shake her head, and confessed, "I told him to go and get lost."
"Typical!" snorted Mr. Peach. "Get back in your line. I’ll deal with you later."
I crept back into my line. Miss Trumpeter went to tell the bus drivers we would be a little late in leaving. Mr. Peach organised the boys into groups of three to search the playing fields.
"Come back if you find Lewis or if you hear the whistle!" he ordered.
The field was big and very bare. The only possible hiding places were in the bushes that grew on the banks of the stream that ran across the middle. The fence round the boundary was too high for anyone to climb. The only exit was where the buses were parked. The drivers would have noticed Lewis leaving that way.
Soon the whole field was covered in groups of shouting schoolboys. The stream and bushes were very closely scrutinised by the teachers. There was no sign of Lewis.
The whistle went and everybody made their way back to the changing rooms The teachers were looking very anxious. I suppose they would have been in trouble if they had to go back to school and report that they had lost a child. The drivers were looking at their watches and muttering about having other jobs to go to. The boys were getting fed up. They wanted to back to school so that they could go home.
I was getting concerned myself. No matter what happened I was in serious trouble. In desperation I began to look for a place to hide for myself. There was only the changing rooms. There was nowhere else to hide inside, just four rooms with benches and lines of hooks. I looked up at the roof. Nobody had searched there.
Without stopping to think, I left my place in the line and began to walk around the building looking for a way to climb on to the roof. At the back was a drainpipe. It could be climbed. Mr. Peach caught up with me. "Where do you think you are going? One missing person is enough."
I explained. "Hmmm you think he might be up there?" said Mr. Peach. I shrugged my shoulders. Mr. Peach did not tell me off of that as he normally would. "I suppose he could be," he went on thoughtfully. "We’ve looked everywhere else." He looked at the drainpipe. "Somebody will have to go up and look."
"I can’t climb up there!" I protested, thinking he meant me.
"Having seen your lack of athletic ability I was not thinking of asking you." he said. "Mr. Chambers is the lightest of the teachers. He should be able to get up there."
Mr. Chambers was sent for. None of the teachers were exactly well liked but he was positively hated. Mr. Chambers or Jerry, as he was known, was different. He did not use the cane. He used something far worse. He used a slipper. Those of us who were caned regularly had developed a hardened hand, so that being caned was not that painful. Jerry made people bend over. No-one had yet discovered a method of hardening their backsides.
Mr. Chambers climbed the drainpipe as easily as climbing stairs. We could hear him walking about the roof. Mr. Peach shouted up "Any sign of him?"
"No................aghhhhhhhhhhhh!" The long drawn out cry came because Mr. Chambers had found out the hard way that the roof was not strong enough to take even his weight. The next thing we heard was a crash from inside the building. Mr. Peach ran inside. I stood by the door, not daring to follow. I was in trouble good and proper now.
Two minutes later Mr. Peach came out and ran across to Miss Trumpeter. I followed at a safe distance "Will you ring for an ambulance please?" he said to her very quietly. Miss Trumpeter gave a gasp, "Lewis, he’s not...?"
"No!" said Mr. Peach. "It’s not that dratted Lewis. It’s Mr Chambers, He’s broken his leg."
Miss Trumpeter was confused. "But... How... Where?"
"Never mind." said Mr. Peach. "I’ll explain later. Just go to the phone box and call an ambulance please."
He turned around and saw me. "You’ll be glad to know that Lewis wasn’t on the roof." he said. "I'm sorry about Mr. Chambers," I replied in a small voice.
"You might well be. Look, just leave the worrying about Lewis to us. Go back to your line and wait.

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I crept off and hid myself among my class mates. When the boys were told by Mr. McDonald about Mr. Chambers accident there was a general feeling that the day was not as bad as it might have been. The remaining teachers marched us onto the buses to go back to school. Something about the changing rooms was nagging at the back of my brain. The drainpipe, that was it. I knew of one place that I would stake my life that no-one had searched.
No teacher was going to listen to me now. The only thing to do was to go look myself. I realised that finding Lewis was the only way I was going to reduce the trouble was in. Mind you if I was wrong then I was going to be in it up to my ears. Without waiting to ask permission I ran back along the bus and jumped off. Mr. Peach was in the changing rooms with Mr. Chambers. Miss Trumpeter saw me dashing off across the field and set up a yell, For once in my life I ignored the orders that she was screeching.
On the far side of the field, very well hidden, the stream went underneath the main road via a drainpipe. During one of our expeditions the Ashton Road gang had followed the stream from where it entered the river. We were trying to find its source. We had reached this drainpipe and been unable to get any further, nor could we find where the stream left the pipe. The pipe itself was too small for any of us to crawl through and none of us were brave or daft enough to try. Lewis was daft enough and probably small enough to fit.
Miss Trumpeter was in hot pursuit. Fortunately, she was not a fast mover. I reached the drainpipe a hundred yards in front of her. I stooped down and looked in. It was too dark to see very far, but I was almost certain that I had seen something moving. "Lewis!" I whispered. "It’s me Billy. Are you in there?" There was no answer, but something definitely moved. "Lewis, it’s me. I didn’t mean it. You can get unlost now."
Miss Trumpeter arrived. She grabbed me by the collar and hauled me to my feet. She opened her mouth to shout. It was perhaps a good thing that she was out of breath, it gave me time to turn around and put my fingers to my lips and whisper
"Ssh!"
She looked amazed and angry. Her eyebrows almost disappeared into her hair at my cheek. I wriggled out of her grip and pointed to the drainpipe. She was ready to shout again. The situation called for desperate measures. I put my finger on my lips again and said "Shh!" I grabbed her hand and pulled her away.
To my relief and amazement she closed her mouth and came with me.
"Well?" she said in a quiet voice when we were twenty yards clear. "What do you think you are doing?"
"It’s Lewis, Miss. Please! He’s in that pipe."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yes! I heard him moving about, but he won’t come out if he hears you. He’s frightened of you." I said.
"Will he come out for you?" she wanted to know. She seemed to believe me.
"I don’t know, but it was me that told him to get lost and he might get unlost for me," I said.
"There’s no such word as unlost," she replied absently. "All right. You try, but if he’s not out in five minutes I’ll go and get Mr. McDonald."
She nodded towards the pipe and walked off towards the group of teachers who were coming across the field to see why she had suddenly taken up cross-country running.
I went back to the pipe. "Lewis!" I called. "It’s OK there’ only me out here. You can come out now."
"Can’t!" came the reply.
He was there, my heart lightened. "Aw, come on, it’s safe. Everyone’s gone."
"Can’t!" repeated Lewis.
My heart went heavy again. Lewis was going to be awkward.
"Why not? Look it’s safe. I.. I’ll be your friend!"
I was feeling pretty desperate to offer that.
"Can’t!" replied Lewis.
"Oh for heavens sake! Come on be a pal, come out. If you don’t Miss Trumpeter will come in and get you" The threat and the promise of friendship made no difference.
"Can’t!" said Lewis. This time there was tears in his voice.
"Blast you, you dozy little creep, why not?" Worry was making me angry.
"I’m stuck!" came the very sad voiced reply.
I groaned, "That's all I need!"
Miss Trumpeter was stood watching a few paces away. "The idiot’s stuck!" I answered to her unspoken question.
She shook her head in resignation. "I’ll stay here, you go get Mr. Peach." she said.
I turned back to the drainpipe. "Don’t go away Lewis, we’ll get you out."
"I won’t." said Lewis.
Miss Trumpeter gave a gasp and sat down on the grass and started to laugh. I stared at her. If she was having hysterics I was supposed to slap her face. Least ways that is what my Dad did to Aunty Lil when she had hysterics. Somehow I did not fancy slapping Miss Trumpeter across the face. She would murder me.
"Do you know what you just said?" she giggled. I started to back away. "Oh never mind!" she gasped "Just fetch Mr. Peach."
I fled.
All the buses had gone, as had the ambulance. Mr. Peach was bent over a car talking to someone inside. As I ran up, the door opened and Mr Plunkett got out.
"Well?" snapped Mr. Peach at me.
"Lewis is stuck in a drainpipe. And Miss Trumpeter she’s.............!" I did not know how to tell them.
Mr. Peach gave a groan and started running across the field to her. Mr. Plunkett stayed, he looked down at me. "What about Miss Trumpeter?" he asked.
"She’s.... she’s laughing, Sir." I said.
"That!" said Mr Plunkett "That is something I must see. You get in the car and do not move or touch anything."
Five minutes later Mr. Plunkett returned. "Mr. Peach and Miss Trumpeter will stay here until the rescue services arrive. I think we’d better get you home before I have two sets of parents knocking on my door."
That suited me fine. He dropped me off at the bottom of Ashton Road. Despite all the events of the afternoon I was going to arrive home at the same time as usual. I said "Thank-you!" to Mr. Plunkett. "Perhaps," he replied. "I’ll see you in the morning in my office. We will discuss your little escapade further then"
I was expecting that "Yes sir, Goodnight sir."
Next morning Mr. Plunkett told the whole school how Lewis had been rescued. Council workmen had to uncover the drain, then the fire brigade had to cut Lewis free. The head lectured us at length once again about telling Lewis to do things.
Later that morning I was sent for, The interview was short and painful. Not that I cared much for that though. Nothing that Mr. Plunkett could do as punishment could outweigh the honour which Mr. Chambers class had given me. They had carried me, shoulder high, round the playground cheering all the way. Mr Chambers would not be back in school until after the summer holidays.
The school sports? I did not have to take part in them, after all. I broke two fingers on my spoon carrying hand the day before. I got them trapped in my bicycle chain trying to fix my bike. Instead of suffering the indignity of coming last in the race, I could sit on the grass with all my family and watch all the other idiots making themselves hot, while I relaxed.

[Palustris]

Chapter 8

Mice

At the bottom of our backyard was a brick air raid shelter. It was now used as a coal shed. We were not supposed to play in there, but on the roof was a different matter. It was easy to get up. A quick climb up the back gate, walk along the wall and there you were. I had rescued some timber from one of the Bonfires and built a hut on the shelter roof. This the gang used as a gang hut occasionally. We did not use it often because Peter’s mother allowed us to use her washhouse. We did not use that very often either. We preferred not to be too close to adults. They had this bad habit of finding work for us to do.
Simon, as you may have gathered, had everything. One of the things which he had was a case in which resided a white mouse. Of course everyone in the gang wanted a white mouse. Everybody else’s mother said, "No!" My mother went as far as to say, "If any white mouse enters this house then I leave." I thought, at the time that we would have more fun with a white mouse, but for some unknown reason Dad agreed with Mum.
My problem was that I had already acquired a pair of white mice, before I asked. A lad from the Council houses near the park had given them to me. He also gave me a metal case and a large supply of food for them.
"You’ll have to take them back," said Peter.
"I can’t!" I told him. "They’re emigrating to Canada. Tomorrow."
"Great!" said Stew. "What’re you going to do with them?"
"I don’t know…… yet!" I walked up and down Peter’s washhouse, deep in thought. "Got it!" I exclaimed. "The hut. You know, on the coal shed. Its windproof and waterproof. And my mother never ever goes up there. For one thing she couldn’t climb the back gate."
We all giggled at the thought of my mother climbing up our gate.
"Hang on." Said Noddy. "Won’t she think it funny if you keep going up there?" "No, not really." I said. "I often go there to escape from our Mary."
When Mum went out shopping the cage was placed in the driest, warmest part of the hut. The mice seemed happy. They were very tame and would happily climb over my hands and arms. I spent many hours up there with them.

[Palustris]

Just after they moved into their new home, the female mouse presented me with five little, pink, naked, blind babies. As they grew into perfect pink-eyed replicas of their parents the food began to run low. At the bottom of Ashton Road was a pet shop. It sold mice, rabbits, guinea pigs and even parrots. It also sold pet food. Useful if you had money. I had none. All of my small amount of pocket money was going to pay for the window which I had broken when I threw a cushion at Mary during one of our fights. It looked very much as if I was going to have to confess to my parents about the mice.
Peter saved the day. He came rushing into our yard. "There’s a notice in Black’s Pet shop window!" he shouted.
"Sh!" I said. Mum was in the coal shed.
"Sorry!" said Peter.
Mum carried a shovelful of coal into the house.
"Idiot!" I called Peter. "What notice, anyway?"
"It says ‘White mice wanted’. Perhaps you could sell yours?" he was very excited.
We took the little ones down the road, Mr Black was very pleased with them. No money changed hands, we agreed on a swap, babies for foodstuff. So began a rewarding partnership. I bred the mice, the pet shop sold them. The food problem was solved. My proudest moment came when Mr. Black told me that one of my mice had won first prize in the local pet show. It meant that he could put up the price and advertise the mice as coming from a prize-winning strain. The extra profit provided a new metal cage for my mice.
One afternoon I was in the hut clearing out the cage. While I did this, the parents and their latest litter of three or four day old babies were placed in an old shoebox. The wind had been blowing all morning and was getting much stronger. A gust came, which was far stronger than any of the previous ones. The whole hut shock and then moved sideways. Before I could even shout, or do anything the shed began to collapse around my ears. The doorway was blocked by the fallen in roof, but in moving sideways the wall had left a gap between it and the shelter roof. It was the only way out. The space was just big enough for me to wriggle through on my stomach.
As I did, another gust completed the destruction of the hut. A falling beam knocked me over the edge. A head first drop of six feet on to a hard tiled floor is not to be recommended for your health and there I was hanging over the edge of the roof facing just such a drop. I screamed. However I did not fall, a piece of the hut had me trapped. I merely dangled down, head first. Slowly I slipped free and slid down the rough brick wall to finish in a crumpled heap at the bottom under a pile of timber.

[Palustris]

My mother came rushing out to see what all the commotion was about. She screamed when she saw me. I staggered up the yard with my shirt and shorts ripped to shreds and covered in blood. In the bathroom, we discovered that my front, from knee to chest was covered in tiny scratches. I looked as if I had been rubbed down with sandpaper. Mum dumped me in the bath and put disinfectant in the water. It stung. Then I had to be patted dry and cream put on the worst of the scratches. We found a few bruises doing that. All the while my mother grumbled at me for doing it, as if I had deliberately thrown myself off the roof.
I was feeling pretty sorry for myself and forgot all about the mice until half way through tea. Sick with sudden fear, I ran out of the back door, leaving my food. What my parents thought I do not know. The pile of timber that had once been my hut, was still, most of it, on the coal shed roof. Frantically I clambered up.
Dad came out, "What on earth do you think you are doing?"
I was too busy flinging aside planks to answer. Seconds later I had uncovered the metal cage , a bit battered, but not broken. Next I found the shoebox flattened.
"Oh no!" I cried.
"Well?" shouted Dad from below.
I hardly dared remove the lid. Vaguely I hear Dad shouting to me. I opened the box.
Inside, huddled in the one uncrushed corner, was one white mouse and some babies. It moved. They moved. They were alive. I sighed in relief. Then I realised there was only one adult. The female was missing.
By this time, Mum had come out. "Get down off there!" she shouted. "Now!"
There was nothing for it, the secret had to come out. Slowly I climbed down carrying the battered shoebox and cage.
It was beginning to rain. I followed my parents into the house. I hoped that they would think the water running down my face was rain. I put the cage and the box on the draining board.

[ideasguy]

In trouble again!

Good work Eric.

[Eric Hardy]

Keep them coming please, Eric, you provide me with my bedtime reading on my iPad 

Eric H

[Palustris]

"Well!" said Mum in the tone of voice that meant tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The whole story tumbled out. Dad leant in the doorway listening. He kept having to turn his head away and cough. I did not know that he had a cold. Anyway, the cough sounded peculiar.
"Hmmm!" said Mum when I finished. "Let’s have a look at these babies then!" I opened up the box expecting her to scream. Surprisingly she did nothing more than shudder as she looked at them. I waited for the explosion. After all, I had disobeyed her orders about the mice.
Dad came over and looked. "Are you sure that’s the father?" he asked stroking its back with his forefinger. Dumbly I nodded. "The mother’s got sort of er… well, er… milk bags underneath." I went red. Dad’s shoulders shock and he coughed again.
"Are you getting a cold?” asked Mary as she came in. Then she saw the mice. Of course she had to scream and yell.
"Here we go!" I thought. To my utter astonishment, Mum shouted at her. "Be quiet. You can go in the other room if you are going to be silly!"
Mary looked sulky.
"And,” went on Mum. "You can explain later why you were late for tea." Mary slunk out of the kitchen.
I was too upset and worried to feel any pleasure even at that. Mum turned back to the mice. "You’d better put them in the cage and finish your tea." She said.
"But they’ll starve with out their mother." I was very worried.
"Your Dad and I will think of something." She smiled reassuringly. "Now eat your tea. It’s in the oven keeping warm and watch the plate it’ll be hot."
It was hard to eat when I thought of those babies, starving to death. Mary was sulking because she had been shouted t. "It’s not fair," she sniffed. "He got the mice and you said he wasn’t to." She chewed a piece of meat." It serves him right, loosing the mother. He should be smacked for not doing as he’s told."
"I’ve had enough of your nastiness for one day," said Mum. "Bed!" "It’s not fair!" shouted Mary and stamped her foot. That was enough for Mum. Mary got her legs slapped. She went upstairs in tears. I cannot say I felt sorry for her. She had often got me sent to bed before. Mind I did not say anything, I still reckoned there was a good chance that I was in for a good hiding before the day was over.
After tea, the case was placed in the middle of the table. The father mouse had rebuilt the nest in the little partition made for it. He was busy washing the babies. They were moving around poking at him, looking for food. Every now and then, he would run round the cage as if looking for his wife.
"Now!" said Mum. "Fetch the medicine chest out of the cupboard." Puzzled I did as I was told. Mum rummaged through and found an old eyedropper. From the kitchen, she produced an eggcup full of milk. Fascinated I watched as she took some milk in to the eyedropper and gently allowed the babies to drink it. I do not know which was more surprising, my mother, who was terrified of mice, sitting there feeding them, or the way the babies sucked until they were full.
"I don’t know if cow’s milk is good for them," said Mum. "But it’s all we’ve got. How often do they need feeding?" I had to confess I had no idea. "Well, we will just have to watch then and see how long it is before they start looking for food again," she said.

[Palustris]

A couple of hours later the babies were hungry again. It seemed they needed a little and often. We fed them and then it was my bedtime. Mum came up with me to make sure that I had a good wash and to look at my almost forgotten scratches. "I’m sorry," I said when I was in bed.
"What about?" she asked as she tucked me in.
"The mice! But they haven’t cost a penny honest!"
"Don’t fret," she smiled. "I knew they were there. Mr Black at the pet shop, asked me if it was all right to buy the babies from you."
I was speechless. Later Dad came up to go to the bathroom. "Dad!" I called. He came in.
"What’s up son? Scratches hurting?"
"A bit," I said. "Did you know that Mum knew about the mice?"
"Oh aye! She wanted to let you bring them in, but I reckoned they were as safe as anywhere up there. I meant to go out and put a few extra nails in your hut but I’ve been a bit busy. Sorry about that. I didn’t think the place would blow down."
Parents are funny things. Mum sat up all night feeding those babies. I know, though she never told me, because I woke up in the night. The scratches were rather painful. I heard a noise downstairs and crept down. The clock was striking four. The light was on in the living room. There sat at the table was Mum, feeding the babies. I crept back to bed.
Next morning, Mum was looking very tired. We all went round the house very quietly. Mum tended to be a bit short tempered when she was tired. Mary was still sniffing about being sent to bed, but one look from Dad sent her off to her friends. She gave me a look as she went that promised painful revenge.
I fed the babies and tidied downstairs. When it looked neat enough to me, I went outside to clear up the mess left by the collapse of the hut. Also I wanted to find the body of the mother mouse. She deserved a decent burial. Grubby would organise one for me.
It took quite a while, there was an awful lot of timber. Nor could I find the body. Next door's cat was sniffing around all the time I was there. It had probably eaten the mother and was now looking for the rest of the family. I threw piece of wood at it and it fled.
I went in. Mum was sat down yawning, so I persuaded her to go and lie down. I made some lunch and took it up to her at twelve. She looked a bit better. After lunch, she got up and went out shopping. I did not have the heart to play out with the gang and anyway the scratches made movement difficult. I stayed in and watched the father mouse as he looked after his children. He was fantastic. He did everything that the female used to do, except give them milk. I had to do that.
That night Mum stayed up with them again. Next morning the weather was warm and dry so the cage was put outside while the house was cleaned. Mum said that I had tried hard, but it was still untidy. It looked all right to me. When it was feeding time again, I went into the kitchen and got the milk ready and took it outside.
Sat on top of the cage, busily trying to gnaw its way inside, was a white mouse. I put the milk and the eyedropper down on the step and crept up to the cage. I had already lost the female, I did not want to lose the father as well. Next door’s cat was bound to be around somewhere. It spent more time in our yard than it did in theirs.
I wondered how the male had got out. The cage door was definitely shut. I wondered if Mary had let him out in revenge. No. Even she would not do that. Beside she was scared of them and had refused to even look in the cage since it had been in the house.
The mouse took absolutely no notice of me nor did next door’s cat which was busy stalking up the yard, its eyes fixed firmly on the cage. I stamped my foot and shouted, "Scat!" The cat stopped moving and stared at me. The mouse did not stop trying to get in. I could probably have driven up in a steamroller. All it was interested in doing was getting into the cage. Quickly I picked it up before the cat could decide it was safe to leap. The cat gave an angry lash of its tail and walked off down the yard, growling to itself.
I looked at the mouse in my hand and then in the cage. Another white mouse sat in the middle, staring up through the bars. I looked at the one in my hand again more closely. It was the female.
My shriek brought my mother running out of the kitchen. "Look!" I cried. "It’s the mother, she’s alive." Quickly I put her in the cage and watched. The father retired to a corner after a quick sniff at his wife, then she fed the babies and re-arranged the bedding. "Typical Woman!" I thought, but I did not say it out loud.
"Thank Heavens for that!" said Mum. "Now perhaps I can get some sleep."
I was allowed to keep the mice in my bedroom. As winter came on, the bottom fell out of the white mice market. Mr Black could not sell the babies. I had to split up my pair to stop them having any more litters. Eventually they grew old and died, within hours of each other. I never replaced them.

[Palustris]

Chapter 9

Marbles

Andy’s bank was just right for games of marbles. People’s feet had crumbled the cinders to fine dust. The bottom end was fairly level and it was here that we drew the rings in which we played. There were many variations, Big ring, Little ring, Two rings, Nuggy and so on. The rules were strict, no fudging, knuckles down, play and pay, dip to start.
I will try to explain the rules. No fudging meant that every part of the shooters hand had to be outside the ring, or if inside had to be kept still; Knuckles down, the shooter’s knuckle had to be touching the ground when shooting a marble; Play and pay meant accepting the loss of any marble; finally, Dip to start was just a method to decide who would have first shot. Shooters, the special marbles slightly larger than ordinary ones and used to fire at the others, could not be played for.
The marbles themselves were easy to come by, the toy shop or Woolworth’s sold them very cheaply. I never bought more than one packet in my playing career. By the end of the marbles season, I had won enough to last me a lifetime.
Our favourite game was Big ring. A large circle was drawn in the cinders usually with someone’s heel. Each player agreed to put the same number of marbles in the centre of the ring. Turns were taken to shoot from outside the ring, trying to hit and knock marbles out of the circle. Any marble knocked out was kept by the successful player. If in knocking out a marble, the shooter stayed inside the ring, the player had another shot from where it stopped. A good player, like me, could empty the ring on one turn.
Friendly matches could be played by arrangement. This meant that at the end of the game the marbles were shared equally between the players. It was wise to check that opponents understood the rules before playing. It saved a lot of arguments.
One Saturday afternoon, Peter, Simon, Grubby, Noddy and I were enjoying a game, most of us where anyway. As usual, Peter lost all his marbles. He was the world’s worst player. What was unusual was that he began to cry.
"What’s up with you?" demanded Simon.
We never cried, not in public anyway.
Amid sobs Peter sniffed, "My Mum said that if I lost these she would not buy me any more, so I can’t play again!"
I was very sympathetic. "Then you’ll have to watch won’t you?"
He carried on sobbing.
"You could have asked for a friendly," pointed out Noddy.
"If you weren’t such a lousy player, you wouldn’t have lost them all." I said. "And for heaven's sake stop whining. You’ll have a mother over to see what’s going on!"
Andy’s bank was overlooked by most of the houses on Ashton Road so mothers could see what was going on from front room windows.
Peter carried on snivelling.

[Palustris]

My father had been nagged into mending the gutter at the front of our house. I had been given very strict instructions to stay well away until he had finished up the ladder. Some years before, when I was little I had knocked the ladder over when my Dad was up it. Now he did not trust me when he was doing anything up a ladder.
He must have seen the argument because he came across to see what was going on.
"What’s up then?" he asked "Why’s Peter crying?"
Most of the adults in the street had a soft spot for Peter because he had no father. He played on it at times and got a way with things that the rest of us could never have done.
"It’s his own fault!" I protested, nodding at the crying Peter.
Dad’s voice softened, "Come on Peter, what’s the matter. Have they been bullying you?"
I was upset at that.
Peter rubbed his eyes, spreading dirt all over his face. "It’s your Billy. He’s pinched all my marbles and my Mum said I can’t have any more."
I protested. "Cheeky Blighter! I won ‘em, fair and square. He’s just a bad loser, that’s all!"
Dad looked at me, "Play and pay?" he asked.
That was a surprise, I had no idea that he knew anything about marbles. The only time he ever mentioned them before was to complain when I accidentally left some on the stairs. It was his own fault. Mum was always telling him off for walking round the house in his socks.
Mum did not like marbles either. That was because of the dirty knees and scuffed shoes that I got when playing the games.
"Right, Peter!" says Dad. "Lend me your shooter and let’s see if we can win them back for you."
Peter handed over his shooter with a surprised sniff.
To me Dad said, well ordered really, "Lend me enough for in."
I would have preferred not to play, just to have given Peter his marbles back. I did not want to show him up by winning them all back again. Still I was never one to turn down a challenge. I gave him six marbles.
"No fudging?" said Dad. I nodded. "Knuckles up or down?" he went on. "Down!"
"Right!" said he. "Six in and dip to start."
This was puzzling. He knew the rules. We dipped and Simon went first. Peter watched, hands jammed in his pockets, still sniffing.
The game started properly. When the players are as good as we were, big ring can be as tactical and complicated as say, snooker or bowls. I was going to give my Dad a chance, even let him win a few, if he could, then I would clear the ring.

[Palustris]

That was my plan. It did not quite work out that way. My first shot separated the marbles nicely, knocking out one of my own. My shooter just trickled out over the line. Grubby missed everything. Noddy split the marbles even more, but won nothing. Then it was Dad’s turn. He had been having a few practice shots to one side, to get his knuckles loose and his eye back in, he explained.
I did not want to watch. His practising had not filled me with confidence. It would be very embarrassing if he was as bad as, or worse than Peter. The others would laugh themselves silly. Then I would be forced to defend the family honour and punch their heads in. It could lead to the break up of the gang.
Dad walked around the ring, studying all the marbles looking for the best position from which to shoot. I began to get even more worried. He finally chose his spot and knelt down. He fired. That first shot was good. The ones that followed were brilliant. He never missed and he never let his shooter leave the ring. He cleared it on that one turn. His tactics were perfect.
"Fluke!" muttered Grubby.
Me, I just stood with my mouth open.
"Close your mouth son, there’s a bus coming," said Dad with a grin. "Another game?"
I was on my mettle. "Right!" I said. "But don’t expect any favours this time."
"Why?" said Dad. "Did you give me any last game? I thought you were playing your hardest."
That made me mad. I was going to wipe the floor with him. Never mind the family honour. I was going to take every single marble that he had won back. I was going to make him look like a novice while I was at it too.
Within twenty minutes, he had won back every marble that Peter had lost, returned the six I had lent him to start, and won them back. Between us, we had wiped out Simon, Noddy and Grubby.
Losing their marbles did not please them. They stood around muttering. Dad was too absorbed in the game to pay any heed to them. Simon’s father came around the corner. Seeing us all gathered around my Dad, he came across.
"What’ve they been doing?" he asked in that disappointed tone of voice which adults use when they see their precious offspring in trouble, again.
Simon told him, "Billy and his Dad have won all my marbles off me,"
Noddy added "And mine!"
Grubby just scowled.
"Oh! They have, have they." said Simon’s Dad.
My father tried to explain, but Simon’s Dad brushed aside the explanation with, "Never mind, Play and Pay?"
My Dad nodded.

[Palustris]

"Right!" says Simon’s Dad. "Let’s see if I can win them back. Lend us your shooter Simon." Simon handed it over, reluctantly. "Thank you!" said his father. "Now, who’ll lend me some to start?"
My father looked at me so I handed over six marbles. I lent some to Grubby and Noddy so that they could play. Simon’s Dad was quite good and it was not long before all the marbles were in the possession of one father or the other. Grubby wandered off and returned a few minutes later with his father. He was lent a few marbles and the game began again. He was quite good.
Then Noddy’s Dad rode up the street on his bike. He borrowed his son’s shooter.
The lads, that is us, finished up sat on the wall of No.72 watching the four Dads playing marbles. Peter was the only one who was happy. He had been given all his marbles back.
I turned to him. "It’s all right for you, but it’s my marbles they are playing with."
"Not all of them!" warned Simon. "Quite a few are mine."
"And mine!" added Noddy.
Grubby just scowled.
An awful thought struck me, "I hope he doesn’t lose my shooter."
"Hey up!" said Grubby. "Trouble!"
We looked to where he was pointing. My mother had just come out of our front door. She looked up at the ladder, no doubt expecting to see Dad, hard at work. When he was not to be seen, she looked for him.
Quick as lightning, we disappeared behind the wall. We had all seen that look on her face before. That look means that somebody was going to get their ears roasted.
"Jack!" That being my Dad’s name. "What on earth do you think you are doing?" Mum had seen Dad on his knees on the bank.
The fathers, not being as wary as us children, had not been keeping a watch for interfering adult. My Dad was just picking up a marble that he had knocked out of the ring. He jumped up and whirled round to face Mum. I was almost sure that he was blushing. He claimed later that his face was red because he had been bending down.
Mum advanced towards him. Dad was brave, he just stood there and waited. If it had been me, I would have run. He looked like I did when I had done something wrong. The other Dads stood up and began to back away, like little boys escaping from the scene of the crime. Mum glared at them too.
She stopped two yards away. From Dad and put her hands on her hips, "Well?" she tapped her foot.
Dad just looked sheepish.
"Just look at the state of your trousers!" She sounded really angry.
Dad tried to brush away the cinders from his knees.
Mum snorted, "And you’ve scuffed your shoes!"
Dad tried to polish his toe caps on the back of his trouser leg. His ears were a fierce red now.
The other Dads disappeared round the corner.
"Playing daft kids games, you great…………..!" She appeared lost for words. "Aw now love, don’t go on so. I’ve finished the gutter." said Dad in a pleading tone. It did not seem to work. Mum shook her head and pointed towards our front door. Dad slowly walked across the road and into the house. Mum stood on the bank and looked round. We kept well out of sight. In that sort of mood, my mother was as dangerous as an unexploded bomb. Not one of us wanted to be the one who set her off. She shook her head again and went in. The front door slammed.
"Phewww"! I turned to Simon. "I’m glad that wasn’t me."
"Me too!" said Simon. He laughed and I had to join in.
"He’s lucky," I giggled. "If that had been me, she would have led me in by the ear."
Noddy was hanging over the wall chuckling. "I’m glad it wasn’t me either." Then a thought stuck him. "Do you think she’ll smack his bottom?"
That made us laugh even more.
Gasping for breath, "I said, "I doubt it. She’ll probably just send him to bed without any tea," A sudden thought sobered me up. "You know, I don’t think I’ll go home for a little while yet. I somehow think that it might not be very safe." The others agreed.
"We could have a game of marbles!" said Peter.
Grubby snarled.
"What’s up lads?" asked Peter. "Why’re you looking at me like that."
I nodded to Simon and he nodded back.
"I think!" said Noddy. "That you had better start running!"
Peter ran.
We played in Bob’s back yard until his mother called him in for his tea. He was fascinated by the idea of the Dads playing marbles. He decided to challenge his Dad to a game.
I went home. The atmosphere in our house was cool, but nobody said anything to me. I thought it was wise not to mention marbles until things had calmed down.
When I did, Dad said, "You’d better give your mates some of these. Oh, and keep them out of your mother’s sight for my sake."
I knew what he meant about Mum. I had overheard her talking to Noddy’s Mum. They both agreed that the fathers were worse than us kids.
I was not sure what he meant about giving some marbles to my friends until I counted them. There were six times as many as I used to have. He must have won every blessed marble that the gang owned, except Peter’s. No wonder the rest of the gang were not speaking to their fathers.
I decided that the next time my father challenged me to a game, any game, I would very politely refuse.

[Palustris]

Chapter 10

The Cinema

Mum shouted up the stairs. "If you are going to the Cinema this morning you had better get up. Now!"
I hurried out bed and into the bathroom. The gang would be waiting for me and I did not want to be late. We nearly always went to the Cinema on a Saturday morning.
"There’s no need to gobble your toast that quickly," frowned Mum. "The films don’t begin until 10 o clock. You’ve got plenty of time."
I slowed down a little. Mum did not understand, that part of the fun of going to the Cinema was choosing which one to grace with our presence and then deciding on the route to take to get there.
"Your sixpence is on the sideboard," said Mum as she straightened her hat in front of the mirror. "Don’t forget to shut the front door when you go. I’ve locked the back door already. If I am not in when you get home, I’ll be in the Chapel."
The ladies of the Chapel took it in turns to keep the place clean and tidy. This week it was Mum’s turn. She took it very seriously and went down every day. As far as I could see, the place was only open on a Sunday and then everyone who went wore their best clothes. I just could not see how it got dirty.
She looked at me from under her hat brim. "There is no need to break the glass in the front door to get in this week. Either come down to Chapel or sit in the back yard. Right?"
"OK Mum. See you later.
"Behave yourself!"
Mum always said that.
"Yes, Mum." I always said that. I did try.
The front door shut. Thankfully I stuffed the rest of my toast in my mouth and slurped up my tea. By the time I had put the cup and plate in the sink she was out of sight down the road. Carefully I closed the front door behind me as instructed.
Bob and Simon were already sat on the wall of No.72, waiting for me. The others had not arrived yet.
"Got your money?" asked Bob, jingling the coppers in his pocket.
“Yep!" I replied. "Where’s the rest of them then?"
"Not out yet," said Simon. "If they don’t get a move on I am going without them."
Noddy arrived followed by Stew and Peter.
"Is Grubby coming?" asked Peter.
"He said he would try, but you know what his Mum is like," answered Bob with a shrug of the shoulders.
Every Saturday morning it was the same poor Grubby had to beg, wheedle and coax his mother into giving him the money for the Cinema.
"I wonder why she makes it so hard for him?" I mused out loud. "I mean, she nearly always gives it to him in the end."
"Grown ups do some strange things," said Stew wisely.
Grubby turned up wiping away a stray tear with the back of his hand.
"Tough was it?" asked Simon.
Grubby sighed.
"But did you get it?" asked Bob.
Grubby held up a sixpenny piece with a triumphant grin. Tears were not something most of us admitted to shedding, but Grubby could turn them on and off at will. It was very useful sometimes, as long as he did not overdo it.

[Palustris]

"Great!" said Peter. "Where are we going then? The Royal?"
"Not likely!" said Stew. "It is too far. It’s only worth going that far if there is a special film on. Anyway, it’s too posh. You have to sit still and watch or they toss you out.."
"I’m not going to the Scala," stated Bob. "Last time we were lucky not to get thumped."
"Chicken!" sneered Simon, but not really nastily. None of us were that brave when it came to fighting, especially with the kind of people who went to the Scala on a Saturday morning. They were the toughest of the tough they were.
"I agree with Bob," I said. "I can’t see the fun of spending money to fight my way in, fight while I am in there and then fight my way out again."
"My Dad says it’s a flea pit," said Stew.
Grubby produced a matchbox. He opened it and showed a large, fortunately, dead flea. "Scala, last time." he said proudly.
"Put it away," shuddered Bob. "It is making my head itch."
What about the Palace?" asked Stew. "We haven’t been there for ages."
"No! Definitely not," I said firmly.
"What's wrong with the Palace?" asked Bob, in surprise. "The films are usually very good. There’s a Tarzan film on this week according to the paper."
I can give you four very good reasons for not going there this week," I told him.
"One, my cousin John. Two my cousin Mary. Three Joan Lord and Four, Our Mary."
"Are they going to the Palace this morning?" asked Peter.
"They said they were, " I replied. "Our Mary is bad enough on her own but with those three........." I could not think of a strong enough word to describe my sister’s friend and our cousins.
"I know what you mean," said Simon. "That cousin John of yours is a right trouble maker. I’ll never forgive him for telling Mrs. Blunt that it was me who tied her door knocker to her garden gate."
"I remember that," said Noddy with a grin. "She spent twenty minutes trying to open the front door." He laughed. "Who gave you the idea? It is too good for you to have thought it up for yourself."
"It was John’s idea in the first place," said Simon. "I can still remember the good hiding. Anyway I want to go to The Odeon. I’ve got an idea for getting into the Sixpennies.
I should explain. In our town at that time there were four Cinemas. They all charged the same price for entry. There were three sets of seats on a Saturday morning costing, three pence, six pence and nine pence. A nine pence ticket got you onto the Balcony, but only girls and under sevens were allowed up there. The ground floor was split into two sections, divided by a white line across the aisles. This line was guarded by fierce, sharp eyed usherettes. There was an aisle between the last seats of the cheap Threepenny seats in the lower part of the Cinema and the Sixpenny seats in the upper half. This aisle was patrolled by another usherette. We normally sat in the Three penny seats.
We could have paid six pence, but that would have left nothing with which to buy ourselves some sweets and an ice lolly. The only one in the gang who could have asked his parents for more money was Simon. Mind you, even if we could have got more pocket money, we would still have sat in the cheapest seats and tried to get into the more expensive ones. It was a game, a challenge, like the notice in the park.

[Palustris]

"You've always got a plan," said Noddy.
"And they never work either." added Stew with a grin.
"Well I am not scrabbling around on the floor looking for half tickets this time." said Peter. "Last time I put my hand in something very nasty, and we never found any."
To show how much entry money had been paid, the tickets had the amount printed on them. To get past the usherettes on the dividing line a ticket had to be shown. If you lost your ticket, you had to stay in the Three penny seats, no matter what you had paid to get into the Cinema.
"Charlie Jones scheme was good though, wasn’t it?" remarked Bob.
"Never hard of him!" said Peter. "What did he do?"
"Course, you missed for a few weeks, didn’t you?" said Noddy.
Peter nodded. "Mum needed the money for new shoes for me."
"Well," I said." Charlie noticed that the tickets were always the same colour, week in, week out."
"So what?" asked Peter.
"So when everyone threw away their ticket when they left the Cinema at the end, he picked up a sixpenny one and kept it ‘til the next week. Right?"
Peter nodded.
I went on. "Then he paid three pence to get in as usual, but showed the sixpenny ticket to the usherette to get to the back."
"Hey that’s fantastic. Can we do it?" said Peter.
I shook my head.
"Something went wrong?" asked Peter disappointedly.
Charlie had to go and boast about it at school didn’t he!" I said.
"You should have seen it," interrupted Stew. "It was a scream. The next week nearly everybody had a sixpenny ticket to show." He giggled at the memory of the chaos. "The sixpennny seats were so full not every one could find a seat and the three pennies almost empty. The usherettes were gong hairless trying to sort it out."
Bob gurgled at the memory of it. We were among the lucky ones who had been allowed to stay in the sixpenny seats. I had had the foresight to iron the old tickets so they looked new when we presented them.
"What have they done to stop it happening again?" asked Peter.
"They now have a different colour for each Saturday. Charlie is having to collect one every week and is waiting for them to repeat. He could finish up with a shopping bag full before that happen," said Simon.
"Crafty lot," said Peter. "Anyway, Simon, what’s your plan?"
"Wait and see," he said with his nose in the air.
"It won’t work." said Noddy.
"Time?" asked Grubby, putting a stop to any argument that might have broken out.
Simon looked at his watch. "We had better get a move on or we’ll be right at the back of the queue."
"Through the alleys?" I asked.
"Yes!" everyone chorused.
"Right then, follow me!" I shouted as I charged off.
In a few minutes we were outside the Sweet shop next door to the Odeon. There was a queue to get served. We joined it and waited our turn.
"There’s a super Tarzan film on at the Palace!" said Simon in a loud voice.
"And there’s no queue either." I added seeing what he was trying to do.
"Shut up you two!" said a lad in the queue. "It wont’ work this week."
I recognised him He was one of the people we had fooled the previous week into leaving the queue. We had told everyone that the Palace was giving away balloons. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled sweetly at him. He could not complain too much. He had once sent everyone racing off to see the Fire Brigade deal with an unexploded bomb.

[Palustris]

When we reached the counter I bought two pence worth of Hundreds and Thousands. These were puffed grains of rice coloured and coated in sugar. I kept a penny back for an ice-lolly inside the Cinema.
The queue to get in the Cinema was long. Stew and I started at the front while the others saved us a place at the back.
"How many?" asked Bob when we reached them.
"Not too bad," I told him. "We’ll miss having to sit on the front row easily."
He heaved a sigh of relief.
The reason for wishing to avoid the front row of seats was simple self-protection, as in a way was trying to get into the six penny seats. The nearer the front you sat, the more missiles from behind. This barrage was made up of orange peel, lolly sticks, sweet papers and bits of lolly ice. Nothing particularly dangerous, but it was messy and unpleasant. We did add our own bits to the barrage. You could not do that from the front row very easily. Right at the back was the best place of all. There was no-one behind you and the girls on the Balcony could not drop things on you either. There was one heck of a rush every week in the Sixpencees to get to the back row.
At last the doors were opened and the queue surged forward.
The Odeon was managed by Uncle Tom, as he styled himself. He was a short, round figure of a man who always wore evening dress. He always sported a large red carnation in his button hole. He smelt strongly of flowers, cigars and whisky. To complete the picture he wore a straw hat with a black ribbon round the brim. I think the style of hat was called a ‘boater.’ I cannot ever remember seeing him without it perched on the back of his head.
Until the film began, Uncle Tom prowled up and down the foyer, near to the Ticket office, making sure that everybody actually paid to get in.
"Single file, single file!" he used to shout, manhandling back into place anyone who dared to step out of line.
Five minutes shouting and shoving later we were in, clutching our precious tickets. The noise inside the Cinema was well above the pain thresh-hold, but I did not notice. It was like that every week. Until the films began that is, then it got louder or quieter, depending on the film.
"Come on!" screamed Simon. "To the back."
We followed him up the aisle as far as we could, until we found a row with enough seats together for us all to sit down. We had to move a couple of smaller lads, but at least we were altogether. Then we waited for the show to begin.
"I really wanted to be a bit farther back than this," shouted Simon.
Well, you’ll just have to wait until people start going to the toilet." I shouted back.
Simon nodded.
"And you’ll probably have to sit on your own."
Simon shrugged his shoulders. It was nicer to sit with your friends, but it was not always possible. If you were late arriving you just had to sit where there was room.
The lights dimmed and the first film began. The change in noise from screaming kids to the familiar music of a Tom and Jerry cartoon was instant. The cartoon was very popular so everyone stopped shouting and watched. The start of the films though was the signal for half the audience to get up and go to the toilet.

[Palustris]

"Let’s go," said Simon. It was an unwritten rule that if you left your seat, unguarded by a friend then it was anyone's for the taking. Slowly but surely Simon and I worked our way back. With some luck and persuasion, both friendly and not so friendly we managed to keep together and find seats at the end of a row, about three rows in front of the white line.
"This is close enough," said Simon.
"Good!" said Bob, who had managed to follow us unnoticed. "I don’t think you would get any further back without fighting."
It needed a certain amount of toughness and cheek to acquire and keep a seat this far back in the three pennies. We settled down to watch a Three Stooges adventure.
A disturbance behind us took our attention from the screen.
"What is it?" asked Noddy. He and Grubby had fought their way back to the row in front of us.
"Someone has tried to climb over the back of the seats into the six pennies. The usherettes have taken him down to the front row." said Bob who was closest.
"Could have told him that wouldn’t work!" snorted Simon.
"Watch!" growled Grubby. He liked to get his money’s worth out of the films. I suppose you could not blame him. He had to work very hard to get there.
We watched the screen. Well I did, until Simon nudged me and whispered. "I’m off, watch, if it works then you can follow me."
I nodded.
Simon got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl up the aisle. He waited, crouched in the shadow of the seat until the usherette was busy with a group of children who had tickets, then he continued his crawl. It seemed to be working. He crossed the white line.
Then disaster struck. Simon did not notice that the girl who sold the ice-cream was coming down the aisle ready for the interval. She could not see him because of the tray which she carried in front of her, slung from her shoulders. To me, who could see it all, the accident appeared to occur in slow motion.
Simon put his hand forward, the girl trod on it. Simon screamed and leapt up. The girl screamed. Simon’s head connected with the bottom of the tray. The tray went up. Simon went down, clutching his head. The contents of the tray flew all over the place.
For a few seconds nobody moved. Then the hundred and fifty children nearest to the scene, gave a whoop and started scrambling for the ice-creams, lolly-ices and cold drinks now all over the floor and seats.
I watched Simon slip away in the fuss into the Sixpences. I started to follow, but the crush round the spilt tray was too thick to get through. Sadly I returned to my seat clutching a lolly-ice or three. The gang slipped into the seats next to me, while their former occupants were otherwise occupied.
By the time the usherette had picked up the girl and stopped the riot there was not a single item from her tray to be seen. There was, however, a very happy bunch of children getting ready to enjoy their ill gotten gains as soon as the lights went up for the interval.
I could see Simon sitting about three rows back in the six pennies, sucking his fingers, but he had a triumphant smirk on his face. There was not point in trying to join him as the film ended and the interval began.
The lights went up and so did the noise level. The surviving ice-cream sellers marched down the aisles selling their wares. They did not sell many on my side of the Cinema. Just to show willing I bought a penny ice lolly. They were not very nice to eat, but the ice, once you had sucked the flavour out of it, was just right for stuffing down the neck of anyone I did not like. The flat stick down the middle, with others collected from the floor, could be made into a very satisfactory glider. I made one and watched it float through the air to land on someone’s head five rows in front. Then a lump of ice hit me on the back of my neck. The interval was well under way.
Uncle Tom made his usual appearance on the stage. This was the signal for an ear splitting chorus of screaming, jeering, booing and hissing. From where I was sat I could see that he was rather angry about something. He was red in the face and almost screaming. Mind, he had to shout pretty loudly at the best of times to make himself heard. I do not know what he was trying to say. I only heard a little, something about an ice-cream girl. He was finding it almost impossible to make himself heard.
In the end he left the stage and the films began again. It was one of our favourites, Roy Rogers. We settled down to boo the goodies in the white hats and cheer the baddies in their black hats.
As I was about to try and copy Simon, he appeared next to me.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Had to go to the toilet," he said.
The boy next to me had gone to the toilet, so I moved over and Simon sat down. We watched the film for a minute then he laughed. "It worked though, didn’t it? I got into the six pennies."
At the end of the film before the National Anthem began a horde of shouting screaming children poured out of every exit and headed home. The Ashton Rd. gang played Cowboys and Indians. We screeched and whooped and fired imaginary weapons at each other back through the alleys to Ashton Rd.
Back at the Cinema, the cleaners moved in to get the Cinema ready for the Evening show.
I went home for my midday meal with a splitting headache. This was usual, the noise in the Cinema was very loud.
Mum was at home. "Good film?" she asked.
"Yeah, it was great!" I told her as I tucked into my food.
She always asked the same question and I always gave her the same answer. She never asked for details and I would never have dared tell her.

[Palustris]

Chapter 11

Graham

"I have just been on the Barracks field," announced Noddy.
"What a thrill," I said, unhappily surveying the remains of our Bonfire and not really listening to him. "Two weeks it took us to collect that lot and now look at it."
All that was left of the pile of timber, old furniture, cardboard boxes and hedge trimmings which had been our Bonfire in the middle of Andy’s Bank was a few scattered planks.
"The lads from Foster St. are going to be peeved. We were supposed to guard it, "said a worried sounding Bob.
There was nothing like Andy’s Bank in Foster St. so the two gangs joined together for Bonfire night.
"Well, it was your idea to go down town asking the shopkeepers for cardboard boxes," remarked Peter.
"Will you stop arguing and listen!" Noddy was dancing up and down in an effort to gain our attention. His head was jerking like a demented puppet.
"What’s up with you?” asked Stew. "If you need to go to the toilet, go home, nobody’s stopping you"
"For heaven’s sake, I’ve just been on the Barracks field.
"Filthy little beast," interrupted Stew.
"That’s not what I meant," shouted Noddy. "I’ve just come back from the Barracks field."
"So how is that meant to help us?" asked Peter.
Noddy sighed. "If you lot would just shut up and listen I’d be able to tell you, wouldn’t I."
We shut up and listened.
"Do you remember the sideboard we got from Mrs. Potter?" he asked.
"I’ll say, it weighed a ton, so what?" I asked.
"Well, I’ve just seen it. It’s on the Bonfire on the Barracks field. That lot from Sycamore Avenue must have been the ones who pinched our stuff. They must have done it while we were down the main road," he said triumphantly.
"The thieving hounds!" said Peter.
"True!" said I. "But you can’t really blame them. I mean after all, we did pinch half the stuff from them last week."
Stew laughed. "We did, didn’t we? Now I suppose we’ll just have to go and pinch it back again."
"It could have been worse, I suppose, It could have been The Black’s End lot," said Bob.
Black’s End was a street in the roughest part of the town on the other side of the main shopping street. The lads from there were as tough and unpleasant as could be. We avoided them as much as possible. Even the girls from that part of the world were nasty.
"Do you know what they have done this year?" asked Peter
We shook our heads. None of use wanted anything to do with them.
"They have put all their stuff in Kronski’s Scrap Yard," he went on.
"Isn’t that the one with all those big fierce dogs?" asked Bob.
Peter nodded. "They’ve got piles of stuff ‘cos they’ve been raiding Bonfires all over the town and nobody’s been able to get it back again."
I asked, "How do you know? Been talking to them?"
"Not likely," said Peter. "I want to stay alive. No, my cousin Ray and his Dad went to Kronski’s with some scrap iron and they saw it all. Ray recognised some of the stuff that he had collected for their Bonfire. When his Dad told Mr. Kronski, he just laughed."
"Well he would, his son is the boss of that gang," said Stew.

[Palustris]

"Well, we had better get our stuff back from the Barracks field before the Black’s End lot get up there then," said Stew.
"I hope you are not thinking of fighting them for it," said Bob. "There’s more of them than us."
"Don’t be stupid," I told him. "We’ll wait until they’re not around, just so as you don’t have to run and hide."
"I’ m not scared," said Bob. "It’s just that I always seem to get hurt when there’s a fight."
"That’s true," laughed Stew. "Last time you fell over and cut your knee when you were running away."
The laughter of the gang drowned out Bob’s protests of bravery.
I said, "Never mind, Bob, we don’t expect you to fight anybody at any time or in any place." I turned to the rest of the gang. "Let’s go and have a look."
We were in luck. The Bonfire on the Barracks field was unguarded. We reclaimed as much of our stuff as we could carry. It was still unguarded on our next trip too, by which time we had got all our stuff back and some of theirs.
"Pity we cannot get more of theirs, they still have a lot." said Stew.
"It’s not worth it. The more we take, the more likely it is that they would come and raid us again." I said.
Stew agreed. "They will probably raid us anyway."
"Hang on!" said Bob. "I’ve got an idea how to stop them."
"What?" we chorused.
"It’s easy. We make them think that their stuff was taken by the Black’s End lot."
Peter said, "Great idea, but, er, how exactly do we make them think that then?"
"I’ll tell them," said Bob.
"If they see you hanging round here, they’re just as likely to flatten you than listen to you." I pointed out.
Bob sniffed. "Don’t care. I’ll show you I am not a coward."
"Well, whatever we are going to do, "said Noddy looking round. "Lets get away from here before they come back."
We left, but halfway back Bob disappeared.
"We shouldn't laugh at him, you know, after all he is one of the gang." I said.
"You’re going soft." said Stew.
"Would you like to find out how soft I am going?" I said, putting the piece of wood I was carry down on the ground and bunching my fists.
"Yeah!" said Stew doing the same.
"Oh break it up you two," ordered Peter. "There isn’t time for fighting now. We’ve got to get back to the Bonfire. Remember, we left it unguarded.
Stew and I stared at each other for a few seconds, then he unclenched his fists and looked away. I picked up my load of wood and we walked on. Before we reached Andy’s Bank, Bob came running after us. He looked really pleased with himself.
Noddy said, "What’s up with you then, found sixpence?"
Bob puffed out his chest. "Better than that. I got taken prisoner by the Syacmore Avenue gang."
Stew peered closely at him. "Well, you look pretty healthy, so I suppose they didn’t hit you too hard."
They didn't hit me at all", said Bob, still looking like the cat that got the cream. "I let myself be captured."
"I think his brain must have seized up," commented Noddy.
"When they got me," went on Bob, ignoring the sarcasm. "I pretended I was glad. I told them that I was being chased by the Black’s End lot. When they asked,‘ Why?’ I said that it was because I had seen the Black’s end lot stealing their Bonfire stuff. And they believed me."
"Fantastic," I said. "You deserve a medal."
"Told you I wasn’t a coward."
"Never said you were," said Stew.
Back on Andy’s Bank the Foster St. gang had arrived with some more stuff.
Looking at the pile there Stew remarked. "If we could keep all this and with the stuff in our back yards, we would have the biggest Bonfire we’ve ever managed."
"The stuff only goes when there is nobody here to look after it!"pointed out Peter.
"We need a guard dog like Kronski’s."
"You could try ours" said Stew.
"You’ve got to be kidding. That mutt of yours is so soft, he would probably help them," laughed Peter.
Stew gave a broad grin. His dog did not have a vicious bone in its body. It even wagged its tail at the postman.
"I can just see it running after them, picking up the pieces they dropped," I said.
"Trouble!" grunted Grubby.
Trouble he said and trouble he meant, trouble with a capital T.

[Palustris]

Graham had just arrived. We left the Foster St gang rebuilding the Bonfire and went to sit on the wall of No.72.
"What’s up with you lot?" shouted one of the lads.
"You’ll see!" shouted back Noddy.
"Shouldn’t we warn them?" worried Bob.
I thought for a second or two. "Don’t see why we should After all, we had to find out the hard way. Anyway it is too late now."
There was a flurry of movement round the Bonfire, a screech of pain and the Foster St. Gang fled. Graham came from round the side of the Bonfire and sat down on the ground and began to dig in the cinders.
Laurie, one of the Foster St. Gang, came to join us. "Did you see that?" he asked in a horrified voice.
"What?" Peter asked all innocent like.
"That little blighter just bit Percy!"
"That’s nothing unusual," I said airily.
"Who is he?" asked Laurie, looking nervously up the bank to where Graham sat.
"Ah well now," I told him. "That is Graham, the one and only."
"Graham," added Stew, "Bites, everything and anything he can reach."
What do you mean?" asked Laurie.
I smiled. "The postman has refused to deliver any more letters to Graham’s house, because Graham kept on biting him."
Noddy nodded. "That’s true. I heard him telling my mother and he had bite marks on his hand to prove it."
Peter joined in. "Graham likes to hide just inside his front door, and then when people go past he rushes out and attacks them."
"My Dad always crosses the road so he doesn’t have to go near the house," added Stew.
"I don’t blame him, Graham is only little. He only reaches most peoples waists and who wants to get bitten down there," I said.
"He must be crazy," said Laurie.
"Oh, he is," said Noddy. "Completely off his skull."
"We do our best to keep out of his way," said Bob.
"I am not surprised," said Laurie. "Does he come on the bank a lot?"
"Fairly often. You just have to play well away from him," said Peter. "Last week the rugby ball landed next to him, so we had to wait until he went in to go and get it. He had bitten a hole in it too."
"He sits there in the middle of the bank, digging holes and chewing rock, staring at you through those jam-jar bottom glasses. If he sees you, he gnashes his teeth," said Bob with a shudder. "He’s terrifying."
Laurie was fascinated. "Doesn’t his mother do anything?"
I shook my head. "Not as far as we can see. When anyone complains she says things like," I put on a high pitched voice," My little darling Graham would never do anything like that!"
The others laughed
"We often wonder how she fed him as a baby without losing any fingers."
"Look!"called Grubby.