The Family
Johnny knew he had not many years to live and set about consolidating his assets in order to provide for his family after his death. He decided he would leave the Athol Vaults and buy a newsagents, thus ensuring that his family would be provided with an income. He himself was confined to bed and ran the business from there. Cissie meanwhile was proving herself to be no mean business woman. But problems are never far away with children, and at the age of eighteen months I developed cataracts in the eyes and to all intents and purposes went blind. This was a body blow, medical science was not as it is today, and that which was available was only for the rich, but the Kane and Bennet family were a united bunch; the money was found for an operation at the Myrtle Street infirmary and I was returned to full health, for which I am truly grateful.
At the age of three I was an alert child who could already recall events, and today quite clearly recall my first contact with the police. It happened like this. The social life of Cissie was non-existent, and what there was involved visiting her family and relations after the business had closed after 9.30 PM.
On this occasion Johnny was in hospital and the children were asleep in bed when Cissie decided to visit her mother in Shaw Street about 10 minutes walk from Great Homer Street where we lived. Cissie set off, it being normal in those days to leave the children for half an hour or so (no baby sitters in those days). No sooner had Cissie set off than Wilfred (who had developed into a foxy little blighter) got up out of bed and woke me, saying that we were going to Grandma?s to see mum. I remember he dressed me, putting my clothes on top of my pyjamas; he also put on my overcoat and hat. Going down the stairs he got the step ladder from behind the front door where it was always kept, climbed up the ladder, unbolted and unlocked the front door and we were out. We walked along Great Homer Street up Prince Edwin Street to Everton Brow when the law pounced. A policeman saw us. He knew we should not be out, saw how we were dressed, and took us to Islington Police station. Wilfred told the story; a policeman went to Grandma?s, who came to the Bridewell with mother to pick us up. I can remember them coming in; I was quite happy, the policeman had given me a cake and a cup of milk and I was sitting in front of a large blazing coal fire. Nothing
was said to me but I imagine Wilf came in for a few harsh words after that.
Dad was back from hospital and Wilfred, now about seven, was enrolled at St Francis Xaviours College, a Jesuit school; dad said that the Jesuits would sort him out. Each morning mum would put me in a high perambulator and walk Wilfred to school about twenty minutes? walk from our shop. This went on for a long time, and eventually the time came for me to be enrolled for school. Then the balloon went up. The Jesuits refused to take me. They said that they wouldn?t waste their time with another one like Wilfred, who was absent from school more often than he attended. What had happened was that for a long time Wilfred had been saying to mum that there was no need for her to go all the way to the school gates and that he could run the last few hundred yards on his own. Mum being in a hurry to get back to the shop had been happy to let him do so, but instead of going to school Wilfred had run past the school to Shaw Street Park and Gardens where he had played all day with others doing the same thing. The outcome was that Wilfred was kicked out of St Francis, and both of us enrolled at all Souls RC Elementary school about 150 yards from where we lived. Wilf and I were at school regularly and punctually for the next nine years.
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I can clearly recall my first day at school. We stood with the other parents until the children in the playground had gone into school, then we all went into the playground and eventually a woman in a nun?s habit came out and spoke to the parents. She introduced herself as Sister Margaret, head of the infant?s department. We were enrolled and then we were introduced to two of the happiest women I have ever known, Miss Maxwell and Miss Joyce. I remember they seemed to be old, they were probably about fifty but as teachers of infants they were perfect. I remember being given a slate and slate pencil and encouraged to draw and write, copying what the teacher wrote on the blackboard. For reading there was a large loose leaf folder of objects and letters relating to each other. The system worked for me. In no time at all I was coping with books, and by the age of seven could read almost anything; reading became a regular pastime. I was developing in size and character; it was soon apparent that I was afraid of very little or anybody. I never shirked a fight and was quite adept at football. In 1920 a further brother arrived named John Douglas, he was born at Nurse Brett?s nursing home in Sackville Street.
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