My life . . . Already?
My RSS Feeds
Doodlebugs and nosegays - final chapter
posted Wednesday, 5 January 2005
Very scary
Irlam was another supposedly safer area. Auntie Doll and I fled there to stay with Uncle Art’s sister when doodlebugs were getting too close. It provided a fantastic adventure playground: the Manchester Ship Canal. Trawling its banks with a net cobbled from a sack and rusty bike wheel actually trapped an unwary prey - a water rat which had been dozing in the afternoon sun. Very scary. My companion quickly popped it with shot from his air pistol. How we all coveted that slug gun! I did catch one fish - a big one which I put in a rusty enamel bowl. Walking the mile or so home with water slopping at every step, my prize catch was on its dying gasp as I presented it to the two apprehensive aunties. Memories of the two Manchester schools have faded away.
Big boys’ schools
Collier Row and Romford featured on the educational trail with spells at Clockhouse Lane juniors and Pettits Lane seniors. I liked the ‘big boys’ school. It had a vegetable garden by the side of the playing field and the gardener would sell handfuls of the most tasty, sweet, freshly picked tomatoes for a penny or tuppence.
I recall little about classes but the mid-day meal times were sociable. Some boys took bottles of sauce to spice up the school dinner and we would all try to scrounge a splash. I saved up some pennies to buy my own and instantly all of my dozen or so table companions were best friends. How could I refuse their pleas? Around the table it went and the bottle came back empty before I’d had so much as a sniff of my Daddies favourite sauce, the ‘perfect complement for all meals’.
VE Day and front-room pianos
Pettits Lane was historic for that afternoon when we boarded the bus home and the smiling clippie (female conductor) announced that Germany had surrendered. VE Day, which was the signal for nationwide celebrations and street parties. Japan was still hanging in there, blithely unaware of its coming role in proving the effectiveness of the atom bomb. Twice.
Back home to Mum (Dad was still serving in the army) and brother Roy in East Ham, where Central Park Secondary Modern was my ‘finishing’ school. Bursting into adolescence with my mates Donny Lucas and brother Leslie, Frankie Childs, Bob Winkworth et al. DA haircuts, yellow socks, discovering jazz, comparing left hand boogie-woogie skills on front-room pianos. Summer evenings spent dancing counter-clockwise around the park bandstand with Donny’s sister Joyce to big band 78 rpm records squawking from the tannoy. The war, of course, was over.
I was suddenly fifteen and out to work . . .
Irlam was another supposedly safer area. Auntie Doll and I fled there to stay with Uncle Art’s sister when doodlebugs were getting too close. It provided a fantastic adventure playground: the Manchester Ship Canal. Trawling its banks with a net cobbled from a sack and rusty bike wheel actually trapped an unwary prey - a water rat which had been dozing in the afternoon sun. Very scary. My companion quickly popped it with shot from his air pistol. How we all coveted that slug gun! I did catch one fish - a big one which I put in a rusty enamel bowl. Walking the mile or so home with water slopping at every step, my prize catch was on its dying gasp as I presented it to the two apprehensive aunties. Memories of the two Manchester schools have faded away.
Big boys’ schools
Collier Row and Romford featured on the educational trail with spells at Clockhouse Lane juniors and Pettits Lane seniors. I liked the ‘big boys’ school. It had a vegetable garden by the side of the playing field and the gardener would sell handfuls of the most tasty, sweet, freshly picked tomatoes for a penny or tuppence.
I recall little about classes but the mid-day meal times were sociable. Some boys took bottles of sauce to spice up the school dinner and we would all try to scrounge a splash. I saved up some pennies to buy my own and instantly all of my dozen or so table companions were best friends. How could I refuse their pleas? Around the table it went and the bottle came back empty before I’d had so much as a sniff of my Daddies favourite sauce, the ‘perfect complement for all meals’.VE Day and front-room pianos
Pettits Lane was historic for that afternoon when we boarded the bus home and the smiling clippie (female conductor) announced that Germany had surrendered. VE Day, which was the signal for nationwide celebrations and street parties. Japan was still hanging in there, blithely unaware of its coming role in proving the effectiveness of the atom bomb. Twice.
Back home to Mum (Dad was still serving in the army) and brother Roy in East Ham, where Central Park Secondary Modern was my ‘finishing’ school. Bursting into adolescence with my mates Donny Lucas and brother Leslie, Frankie Childs, Bob Winkworth et al. DA haircuts, yellow socks, discovering jazz, comparing left hand boogie-woogie skills on front-room pianos. Summer evenings spent dancing counter-clockwise around the park bandstand with Donny’s sister Joyce to big band 78 rpm records squawking from the tannoy. The war, of course, was over.
I was suddenly fifteen and out to work . . .
©2005 Al Smith
Don't be shy. Tell me what you think!