brilliant posts Brian. You are a gifted writer :handclap:
Printable View
brilliant posts Brian. You are a gifted writer :handclap:
lol brian what level you in writing you a pure writer keep it going:PDT11
Although we had left Lodge Lane,we hadn't severed all our ties with it,Mum still had her"slate" at Bessie Holdens and Dad still had his collars starched at the chinese laundry.When we first moved,it was Jessies' job to go and get the groceries and laundry,as time passed the journey to Bessie Holdens stopped ,but Dad still had his collars done at the chinamans.
Let me tell you about dad and his clothes,he was a snappy dresser,never wore ready made suits,always had them made by a tailor called Mr Duggan.He would come to our flat and measure him up and then come back for the fittings.He had a fine collection of suits and cut a handsome figure when dressed up.He always reminded me of the actor Fred Mcmurray,in his lounge suits he had real class.My mates used to ask if he was a detective or special agent and I used to feel so proud if the way he looked,I promised myself,even at that young age,that I would be as smart as him some day.
He worked hard at staying smart,Saturday afternoon would find him polishing his shoes to a military gloss,checking out his apparel for that night out and making sure that his Sunday outfit was o.k. too.
His trouser press was under the mattress of their double bed,he would leave his trousers there all week,ensuring a razor sharp crease for the weekend.his shirts were boiled and starched by the Pioneer Laundry and our oriental friend in Toxteth took care of his collars......................................until a very unfortunate incident occurred.
Our Jess passed on to me the task of fetching Dads' collars now that there was no grocery to collect,I didn't mind this because it gave me the chance to keep in touch with Ikey Harris and I used to walk from Garston and thus pocket the busfare which gave me enough for an extra night at the pictures.
I would walk through Grassendale to Sefton Park and then on up the lane;being a Saturday there was no pressure on me for time and I would stroll leisurely around the park lake on the way back,loking at the model yachts and generally enjoying the sights.
Dads collars were always wrapped up in a brown paper parcel,tied with string and had a label attached which had chinese letters on it.I used to shove this inside my lumberjacket,thus leaving my hands free to pick up sticks .pick my nose, scratch my ears,or any of those things that you need a free hand for.
One particular Saturday I was making my way around the lake when I heard a voice calling from the opposite shore"Hullo ,You there" I looked across and saw a man calling to me,he was pointing to a beautifully rigged model yacht that was heading towards me,"Turn her round please" he called.Without thinking ,I leaned forward and turned her about and ,as I did so, the parcel of collars slipped from my jacket and splashed into the water.I was horrified,Dad was still a martinet and I was a dead boy."What the hell was I doing in the park?"he was sure to ask that question ,"Where was the bus fare?"Oh, was I was a goner!!.But the parcel didn't sink,it dipped under and then floated.I was old enough to know that you shouldn't hold wet paper too firmly and so lifted it gingerly from the water and laid it on the grass to dry.The day was warm and sunny and old Sol did a brilliant job of drying that parcel,so good in fact that you would never have guessed that there had been a mishap at all.The label was still intact and the unsuspecting eye wouldn't know a thing.
When I got home I put them on the kitchen shelf as usual and made myself scarce.That night ,as Dad was getting ready,I heard him explode with anger at the state of his collars"That little *******,look at them,they're like prawn crackers!! I,m not sending any more collars to him again" Phew!!That poor old laundryman carried the can for my misdeeds.
Now that we had a place of our own we began to see a lot more of our relatives,on a Saturday night Mum and Dad would go up to the Coffee House in Woolton where they often met up with Dads relatives.Come closing time they would nearly always come back to our place with a crate of ale,Mum would have had a pan of pea soup and spare ribs simmering on the stove,which our Jess took care of ,so that when they arrived it was ready for consumption.You know ,those ribs were so well done that you could eat the bones , no trouble.You could stand your spoon up in the soup.
The Daleys' were a musical crowd,Dad was a great singer,like a cross between Bing Crosby and Al Bowley,his brother George,a big powerful man, with a voice to match,sang like Eddy Fisher;indeed he sang professionally in the pubs in Liverpool until quite recently.And then there was Great Granddad Maher,a bull of a man,he'd been a donkey greaser on the White Star and Cunarders,and had lost a lot of his fingers so that he just had stumps,but he could play a concertina with the best of them.
So ,Saturday nights at 17c were a lot livelier than we had ever experienced anywhere else.Jess and I were often called from our beds to perform our party pieces,she with Me And My Shadow and one or two other songs,and me with my bits and pieces from that long ago minstrel show.
Our uncle Harold had a second hand car business and he would ferry everyone home,blind drunk the lot of them,already for mass in the morning.
No matter how much Dad put away on a Saturday,he was still up with the lark on Sunday,getting the saltfish on the go to the sound of Alastair Cookes letter from America on the radio.YES,we now had a radio!!!Oh ,the magic that little brown and cream box now brought into pour lives.Dad put it on the highest shelf in the wall cupboard to ensure that we never fiddled with the dial,in fact he used to feel the case when he got in to make sure we hadn't been using it.It was a valve radio and got hot when it had been on for awhile.
Of course we "fiddled" with it,thats how we discovered Radio Luxemburg,AFN and Radio Athlone,great stations for the Yankee records,we always made sure it was put back on the Light Programme before Dad got home.
The school holidays were fast drawing to a close and it was soon time to go to my next school,Gilmour Heath Road Secondary Modern.It was a boys school and had been built in the 30's and was much newer than Tiber Street or Banks Road.It was in Allerton,a much posher area than Garston and it had huge playing fields.The classrooms were bright and airy and the whole place had a drive and impetus about it that I had never felt in the other schools.The head master,MrSimpson,was a very grand personage,he had a wooden leg,it was believed he lost his leg in the trenches,and came to school each moring in a chauffeur driven Daimler.The head boy would meet him at the pavement edge and take his briefcase in one hand and his arm in the other.Any boys who were in the vicinity of the gate had to form a line and greet him with a "Good Morning Sir" as he made his stately progress into to school.
All of our teachers were ex servicemen,some from the Great War and the younger ones,from the Second War.My first teacher,Mr.Parry was one of the younger generation,he was kind and helpful and we boys really liked him,a kind of hero worship developed.
Most of the boys who were at Banks Road were here as well as boys from the CofE school and the local junior school in Allerton,we would be together for the next four years.
I'll never forget that first day,we were all lined up in the yard ,and Mr Haigh ,the Deputy head and Miss Pugh the school secretary,were checking us off and detailing us to our new classes.When she came to me,she drew a blank."Who are you boy?"she sked,"Daley,Miss,Brian Daley"."Well you're not on my list young man" she replied."We've only just moved here from Toxteth Miss"I told her.She Took details of my old school,Tiber Street ,and I left it at that.2 weeks later I was called to her office and was told that my records had been lost in the post and that they would sort everything out.So I was still a year ahead of myself.
I was going to like this school,not only did it look good ,but it felt good too.
Bloody good read that.Enjoyed it.:PDT_Piratz_26:
smashing stuff Brian :handclap: you should definately get this published - I'm sure a book like this would sell loads.
It still rankled with me that I had missed the Festival of Britain,the square we lived in had remnants of the decorations here and there, my new school had illustrations of the Festival site in London and the motif,that three pointed star topped by the head of Britannia,was everywhere.In our art classroom,there were paintings by the pupils showing all manner of images of the wonder of the modern age..................and I had missed it all.Well there was now talk of something even greater than that old Festival,and I was going to make sure that I wouldn't miss out on that;we were going to have a coronation!!
You couldn't miss the news about it,in every paper ,magazine,childrens comics and on the newsreels,there were nonstop items of what 1953 would bring.Now I don't know how the Earl Marshall of England,the Duke Of Norfolk,was planning for the day itself,but the women in our square were very well organised.I don't know who was in charge,I was too young for that,what I do know was that plans were afoot for our square to have a celebration to beat them all.Almost a year in advance dicussions were taking place as to who should do what and how they should do it.These people had celebrated V.E. day and the Festival of Britain but this was going to top them all.Collections were held for the decorations,all the men got together ,landing by landing,to set about painting the walls come springtime.After years of drab greyness, colour started to come into our world.And I'd like to dilate on that world if I may.
Speke Road Gardens sat majestically between the matchworks,Bryant and Mays,the railway sidings,Speke airport and the docks.
Blackwells foundry lay just over the bridge and behind that lay Garston gasworks.When you walked into Garston ,you walked through clouds of thick black smoke that issued from Blackwells chimneys,you breathed in the sulphurous fumes from the gasworks and your ears were filled with the sounds of steam trains chugging as they heaved their loads from Garston docks whilst overhead was the drone of the Dakotas taking off and landing at the airport.The docks were but a stones throw away and you could hear deep throated sounds of the ships whistles,mixed with with toot toot of the tugboats as they travelled up river.Garston thrived with industry,you knew that when you left school you were going to have a job.Thus was the world I now lived in;as I lay abed in my room at night,I knew that one day I would be sailing down that river to places unknown.
But,I had to grow up yet ,there was school tomorrow.
Our school had a very strict code of discipline,corporal punishment was meted out for any misdemeanours,the Headmaster would administer the punishing of any thing that was deemed serious,teachers could cane you at any time in class.Our form master,Mr Parry never dished out any rough stuff,we thought he was O.K.
I was still in the first year and heard that there was a form of punishment that was talked about in whispers,The Mystery Tour!!This was a system whereby a boyhad to go to every classroom in the school and get beaten by the different teachers, right there in front of the class.
I had been there six months by now and had ever seen that punishment take place;I had seen many canings though.
We were always having fund raising drives at Heath Road,we had football teams,rugby teams,swimming teams,cricket teams and athletic teams and they all needed money,and we got it by fund raising.
One of the most lucrative ways of raising money was by collecting jam jars,we used to get thousands of them,and the school used to give prizes at the end of term to the boys who collected the most jars.
The Avenues to the north of our school were very affluent,a lot of the houses had cooks and maids,dinnertime would find me and my trolley going door to door collecting the empty jars.This one day I had a load so great that it was taking me forever to pull it back to school,but I knew that it was a prize winning load that I had aboard,I checked it in with the caretaker and went off to my class feeling like a hero.............I was late ,everyone was at their desks and Mr Parry stood at the front.He seemed cross and I heard him say "Daley,go on a mystery tour!" I couldn't believe it ,but he stood there pointing at the door.Speechless with shock ,I set off on my journey around the school,12 classrooms,12 teachers,I was beaten on the hands,legs and buttocks,standing in front of class after class,barely able to speak the words "Mystery Tour" as I approached each master.When I got back to the door of my class,I couldn't go in for I was crying with pain and was sore all over.The door opened and Mr Parry stood there looking at me ,"Where the heck have you been Daley?"he asked.I couldn't speak but showed him my hands,full of red welts.He looked horrified "What have you done" ,I managed to sob "I went on the Mystery Tour sir". He laid his hand tenderly on my shoulder and said "You silly,silly boy,I told you to go and stand outside the door"
He put his hand in his pocket and gave me a shilling,"Go the pictures tonight boy....and listen carefully in the future"After that ,you bet your sweet life I did.I don't recall ever seeing another boy go on a Mystery tour...........Those jam jars?I got a swimming costume next prize giving day,treasured it for years.
Fantastical writings Brian, briliant recollections and you paint a picture which has us living it with you as though it were yesterday.
You can find some Speke Road Gardens pictures here and many more
http://pic7.piczo.com/inacityliving/?g=30679502
Keep the memories coming.
Absolutely superb Brian. You brought back so many memories with your vivid and inspired words.
Hi Brian
Great reminiscences, Brian. I am handing them on to my 87-year-old Mum who used to live in Garston on Inwood Road. They should bring back memories for her as well. Bravo. :handclap: :snf (41):
Chris
I've been showing Brian's posts to my dad. :)
It wsn't a palace,but by god it was a step up from what we were used to.That little 3 bedroomed flat seemed enormous to me when we moved in,it had everything,a kitchen with a stove and a boiler,a big hot water tank that was heated by the living room fire,electricity,a bathroom and 3 bedrooms,for the first time in my short life I wasn't ashamed of bringing my mates home.
We were still a bit short in the furniture department,we each had a chair at the table though ,and Dad had treated himself to a rocking chair.The chaise longue stood in the bay at the front of the room,so there was a lot of space for us to play in.Mum had bought a big jute mat for the living room,nowhere near as posh as a carpet but it softened the sound of our feet on the floor so as not to annoy the folk who lived beneath us.
And that was a real consideration , those floors transmitted every sound right through to the ceiling below.We were lucky with the people above us,they had lived there for years and never gave us anything to complain about,they were far from shrinking violets,having teenaged children who were very lively.
Our next door neighbours were alright too,not having a wireless,they were very quiet at night,On the other side of the stairs was a "different " family.
Old Mrs.T lived with her two middle aged sons,one was a woodcutter and the other had lost his mind.I shan't call them by name ,it would be hurtful to do so ;the woodcutter always looked angry and ready to blow his top,whilst his brother used to stare vacantly into space.No one ever insulted them or made the usual calls that kids did to those who were different.It was strange,like living next door to uncaged tigers.The elder brother was hardly ever seen without his old army overcoat on,most nights he would bring home big logs,3 or 4 foot long ,and he would cut them up on his doorstep.I remember one summers eve, when he was chopping away at a huge log ,sweating profusely,when he stopped,went into his flat and came out with a hammer and nail,which he proceeded to knock in to the wooden front door.And then he hung his coat upon it.
Mum used to say that Mrs,T. had a lot to put up with,we were never to how much she had to put up with until many years after we had left Garston,when we heard that she had been axed to death by her son.
But that was way in the future, our neighbours to the right end of the landing were the Hamptons,a nice couple ,with an even nicer daughter,Pat,who was quite the prettiest girl on the block.They seemed fairly well to do and were always very pleasant,Frank was the father but I can't remember his wifes name.The end flat was occupied by the Barnett family,Florrie was the matriarch,a lovely woman who loved a glass of stout.They had an African grey parrot that used to sit on its' perch, outside the front door,whistling and singing,whenever strangers called,the parrot would shout "she's not in" and some of them turned and left.
So these were our close neighbours for a few years,there were a lot of the families within our square whose children were now grown and had left to start families of their own.The first family to go, would be our neighbours upstairs,the Jones,but that was a little way in the future.1952 had not yet run its course and Christmas was on the way.
This would be our first Christmas in a house of our own,Mum and Dad were working hard to make ends meet and Mum was determined to see that her children did not go short.Sturlas cheques and the talleyman provided her with the wherewithal,all she had to do was pay them back,at a huge interest rate.But you don't know that when you're a kid.
Both Mum and Dad used to work five and a half days a week,leaving Jessie to look after the major household chores,I did the dishes and polished the brass,but our kid was forever cooking ,scrubbing and tidying up.
Mum would go shopping in the town centre on a Saturday,getting cheap cuts of meat in St.Johns market and the veg too.We used to sit in the bay overlooking the road,watching out for her return ,Dad ,who would have had a couple of pints on the way home,would sit in his rocking chair,nodding off to sleep.The Saturday before christmas, he came home just a bit worse for wear and was in a grouchy frame of mind,we ignored him and sat there looking out of the window ,Mum should be home soon. Jess said to me "Can
you smell burning?" I sniffed,"Yeah" She then turned and saw that Dad was
smouldering.He had droppped his cigarette when he fell asleep and was just about to ignite.Jess shook him awake and he gave us all such a look, you would have thought we had set him alight! When Mum got home he told her that I had been wafting the embers trying to get a fire going.
Dad used to cut himself a lot when shaving ,he used a Gillete safety razor
The only thing was,Jess and I always sharpened our pencils with his blades when he was out at work.He never found out,but you could hear him cursing in the kitchen that they didn't make blades like they used to.Jess and I kept our heads down and went on with our drawing.
Christmas was a week away and we were getting excited........................
BrianD
So am I, so am I....
The thing I loved about Garston was the wealth of characters that dwelt there and the nature of the "village".Come on a walk with me from our house;we go over the bridge,past Blackwells,cough,cough,and here we're just
passing Horrocks Avenue on the right hand side,the 86 tram runs up there,past my school,through Allerton and all the way to to town.On the corner of Horrocks Avenue stands Henry Wilsons,they make stuff for the army and navy stores.Pickfords garage is just down from there and you can see the heavy haulage wagons parked up on the central reservation ,monstrously sized,these are the wagons that haul anchors,chains and propellors amongst other things.On the other side of the road are of couple of terraced streets and then a vast open stretch which rises to a fair old height,on the part that is at ground level stands a solitary black sentry box,which,on a closer look,turns out to be a sandwich "shop".Within waits a little old lady who will do you a dripping crust for a penny,or a piece of toast for a ha'penny more.The "shop " was made of wood and was covered in a kind of oilskin.It was just big enough for her to turn around in,I don't know what she used to cook on, the place closed down
before I was big enough to see over the counter.But I loved that dripping toast.There was a big sandstone cliff face for about 50 yards,after which was the Trustee Savings Bank and then Irwins grocers.
Back up on the other side of the road was the tram and bus garage,there would be a steady stream of drivers and conductors milling about,some just arriving and some getting ready to go.
Down past the garage was the heart of Garston ,the Washouse,you would see the ladies heading there with familys' weekly wash,all in a bundle which they carried on their heads.There were still a few "Mary Ellens" about at that
time,wearing linsey skirts which ended just below the knee,black lisle stockings and a black top too.They wore beautiful woollen shawls,which had intricate patterns, around their shoulders and on their feet they had black lace up boots.Their hair was done up in a bun on their crown,this acted as a cushion for the heavy loads they carried there.They would have seemed more at home in a 19th century fishing village as they smoked their little white clay pipes.Both my mother and sister became members of the washhouse sorority,and ,though the work was hard,they enjoyed the companionship they found there.
Cheek by jowl stood the Baths,our sports master sweated blood trying to teach me to swim there,his name was Bert Holmes and he had been on Britains Olympic swimming team between the war.I was not one of his successes.
The crossroads at the bottom had a big pub on the corner that led down to
"under the bridge",sitting with his backside on the middle window ledge ,was Manxie,our village bobby,and a bigger.fatter bobby there never was.Everyone knew him ,and vice versa,you could hear his laughter half way up Saint Mary's Road.And that was a nice road then,there were cakeshops,pubs,shoe shops and chemists,sweet shops,clothes shops banks and hardware stores.Lloyds where the latest bicycles,radios and televisions filled the windows.Appletons,the windows a wonderland of colour withthe new wallpapers and paints.
We had two cinemas in Garston,the Empire,where the ushers and doormen were decked out like Ruritanian generals,and the Lyceum ,which was more down market but popular with courting couples because it had twin seats at the back of the stalls.
Along these streets would flow a river of people,Soft Sid,an immaculately turned out old man with a mental age of a 5 year old.He would call in all the shops waving a cheery hullo,his smile would light up your day.Yarbo,a villainous looking character who walked with one foot in the gutter,swooping every now and then to scoop up a cigarette end.He carried an old shopping bag which he would fill as the day went on.
The Swearer,this was a big fat jolly looking man who would get on the bus and proceed to utter the foulest of profanities for the whole journey.We none of us were aware of Turettes disease then.
And the Man with no Nose,this poor fellow used to walk around holding two handkerchiefs which he covered his nose with ,every now and again he would lift them and reveal a gaping great hole where his nose should have been.Garston accepted them all,there were no kids cat calling after these poor afflicted souls,they were just part of village life.
So ,there you are then,my village.
I can't remember the Christmas season starting in late Autumn as it does now,with us it began to get Christmassy just a few weeks before the big day.
About a fortnight before,we would start making the multi coloured paper chains in readiness for the the "official" start which was two or three days before Christmas Eve.
We didn't have a fridge in those days so the goose,or leg of pork was left in the butchers until Christmas Eve itself.Like most people then,Mum saved up in the Butchers club ,sixpence a week,to buy the festive meat.
This year we were going to have both a leg of pork and a goose.Now that Mum had a proper stove she was showing just how good a cook she really was.We had two stoves in fact,for the range in the living room had an oven and 2 hobs.This was a great iron contraption,very modern in 1929,but considered a nuisance in 1952,it had to be blackleaded every Saturday,yes,you guessed it,by our Jess.Today a yuppie would snap your arm off to buy one , back then Mum couldn't wait to get rid of it.
The weekend before the holiday,I was given some money to take our Bette to Lewis's grotto.They were always fabulous affairs and we excitedly boarded the 82 to go to town.When the conductor came for the fares,I handed him the 10 shilling note Mum had given me and ,after he had dropped the change in my hand ,I counted it and it was 2 shillings short.He was collecting the fare off a soldier in the seat behind me and I told him he hadn't given me enough change.He called me a liar and said that he had counted it out, so I was trying it on.2 shillings was an awful lot of money to me,and my Mum wanted her change!
I held out the money he had given me and asked him to count it,he started to get angry when,the soldier uncurled himself from his seat.He was enormous;" How much was the fare?"he asked ,I showed him the tickets,"Wheres the change?" I gave it him."This is 2 bob short mate",he said to the conductor."Give him his money" he demandedThe conductor,red faced ,gave me 2 shillings.When we got off the bus,I felt a little lump in my coat pocket,it was the 2 shilling piece.Somehow it had slipped through my fingers and found its way into my open pocket.I felt really sorry for that conductor ,honestly,he had been humiliated for doing nothing wrong.
But 5 minutes later,we were in the grotto and all was forgotten.
We had a christmas party at school before breaking up,we all took cakes,jellies and trifles.It was fantastic,all the rules were suspended on that last day and the whole thing ended in a massive bunfight.The season could now begin!
Our little home was magically transformed by the paperchains and tinsel,a tree was put in the window bay and all was set for Christmas Eve.
When we lived in Mozart Street,Jess and I knew what we were getting for Christmas presents because Mum was very poor at hiding them;when we were on our own,Jess would prise open the wardrobe door, just enough to get our presents out(they were not wrapped yet)and we would have a little play and put them back.Not now though,the pressies had been well hid so that this year we could really act surprised.
Even though I was ten and a half,I still got butterflies going to bed on Christmas Eve,it took ages to get asleep,but the sandman soon got to you and next thing you knew was it was CHRISTMAS!!!
When I awoke, I could hear Bette and Jess opening their presents as I was opening mine,there was an Eagle annual,a Dan Dare ray gun,some games and some new clothes.More than I'd ever had on a christmas morn before.
When we got out of bed there were some more presents,one that I remember still,a hardbacked edition of Robinson Crusoe,it was from my Aunt Sally and I treasured it for years.
It was still salt fish for breakfast and then on with our new togs and off to the "rellies" in Walton to wish them all the best ,swap some presents,pick up a lot of pocket money and get back home for Mums first Christmas dinner.
There was a magic in the air at Yuletide,as you walked along Walton Road ,strangers would call out greetings,families in their brand new clothes off to church or Grandmas,children playing with their new bikes and scooters and the men going from pub to pub for their free christmas tot,something that I was to enjoy when I was old enough.Arms laden with presents,cheeks still red from aunties kisses,it was back on the bus and home to Mum.
What a feast there was that day,the meat just melting off the goose,the potatoes crisped and brown,sitting alongside the juiciest carrots and rich green cabbage,a creamy flavoured gravy covered the veg, and the whole lot went down without touching the sides.And then it was time for the pudding,covered in sweet white sauce, it was just perfect.We washed it down with lemonade shandy and then we cleared everything away and got stuck into our new presents,the radio in the background playing the sounds of Christmas. Boxing Day was when we had the pork,a big leg wonderfully glazed and roasted so that the crackling crunched in your mouth,as it should do.We went to the cinema after dinner and saw a Doris Day musical,I loved her then,with her blonde hair ,red lips and blue,blue eyes,as young as I was,I wanted to crush my lips upon hers.Yes,I was beginning to notice girls.It's funny,but I never thought of my sisters as being girls,they were just sisters,but the girls who lived on our block were "girls" and I fancied them like hell.I never ,ever told them.I fancied Dolly Hinton and Ralph Gerkins sister,but I knew I would never stand a chance,anyway there were games to play and lots of mates to play them with.Soon enough 1953 came bursting in and it was going to be an exciting time for our family not just with the coronation ,our whole world was going to change.
subperbbbbbb how u write like that u must me a lvl a++++ if you dont do that 7a
I read your posting Gerrards fan..........................I don't know what it means,I'm afraid that I am a dinosaur,can't text,can't post properly........
bear with me while I learn this new language,
love and peace,
BrianD
oh soz i wish u could undertand the new language sorry brain
Brian Daley,,,,
fantastic stuff.Put it all together in time for xmas and you got a buyer.
Really good.You should do something about getting a few quid for your stories.
Nice work.:PDT_Piratz_26:
are you drunk ? All day ?:PDT_Xtremez_42:Quote:
Originally Posted by gerrards#1fan
Where do our memories reside?,in the heart,or in the mind?.Both my head and my heart are full to bursting with the emotions that are evoked by those long ago happenings.!953 brought such richness into my world that the heat of those moments lives with me still.
At school I was a very poor pupil,I was innumerate(still am),incapable of any kind of sport and was given to daydreaming.I was so so at art,good at history and geography,loved english lit.,could start the most fantastic essays,but never had the staying power to finish them off.
Our woodwork master,Mr Campbell,was a lovely man with the patience of a saint;he had to have with me,I was forever destroying chisels and planes as he endeavoured to teach me the rudiments of carpentry.
Our form master in 53' was a complex character called Mr Butler,handsome,smartly dressed and with a degree in sarcasm,he caused me quite some grief during my time with him.
He had been in the RAF during the war and I was ready to hero worship him,
he looked the part,white teeth and slicked back hair,he could have stepped out of the pages of the Eagle.There was just one problem.............he didn't like me.
Let me tell you what I looked like then,some toothy kid,a bit like Alfalfa out of Our gang,my hair still fell in curtains right down over my nose.I never possessed a school uniform,but wore some cast offs from a second hand shop and my shoes were down at heel.......very down at heel,I had to put the cardboard from the Kellogs boxes to cover the holes in the in the soles.
Mr Butler noted all of these things,his way of helping me was quite unique.
One morning,when the bell had sounded and we had formed up in our class groups in the school yard just prior to entering assembly,he stood in front of the assembled pupils and called me out to the front."This Boy is an example of how not to dress!",he roared and ordered me to turn my back to the assembly,with the handle of his cane he hooked my instep and pulled up my foot so that the sole of my shoe could be seen by the multitude."And this is not how we at Gilmour wear our shoes!"the memory of that moment burns within me still.With a sneer,he dismissed me and turned away.
My classmates were shamsfaced when I rejoined them.
My maths book was a constant source of humour to his twisted mind,there was a song in the hit parade at that time called 7 Lonely Nights;after a maths test he paraded my maths book in front of all the boys,singing "7 lonely sums make one lousy test.................."
But the man could paint and draw with best of them,he taught me about perspective,how to mix colours and compose pictures ,so much so that I had one painting hung in the Walker Art Gallery in a schools exhibition and another was put in the bar of the R.N.R clubship that once stood in the Albert Dock.
Mum packed up work in the spring of that year so there was one less pay packet coming in.I stopped having school dinners and used to come home
and she would do welsh rarebit or poached egg on toast and then I had to run like hell back to school.I had a mate,David Royle,and we used to do the journey together,we were supposed to get the tram,but we pocketed the fare and bought sweets with it instead.
Just before I stopped school dinners,an incident occurred that lived with me for a long time.During our lunch, I could always be found in the queue for second helpings,of dinner or pudding;one day we had prunes and custard for pudding........................I had three large helpings of same.
It was during an english period with Mr Reed that the prunes began to make themselves felt.After my fourth hurried run from the classroom,Mr Reed summoned a prefect and gave him the tramfare to take me home.Not before lecturing me on the power of the black coated workers.
I used to enjoy those times at home with Mum,listening to Athlone on the radio,eating my lunch while she did the ironing,the smell of ironed starch still lingers in my nostrils yet.
Bette was at school and Jess was top of the form at Duncombe road,although they were my sisters,they were girls and girls stick together,confide in each other and consider boys a nuisance.I used to wish I had a brother that I could confide in.............................I started to notice that Mum was putting on weight.
Meanwhile ,both at school and in the Square ,plans were afoot for celebrating the coronation,the four houses in school started to get sports teams together for an in-school coronation sports day.A usual, I was selected to be part of the audience,well someone has to do the cheering.Flags and bunting were made ready,both in the tenements and at school.Easter went by at breakneck speed and every newspaper and magazine ran storys' of how Britain and the Commonwealth were going to celebrate the crowning of the new Queen.
One of the girls from our square was chosen to be our queen for our own coronation.Chrissie Hogg was the young lady,and the women of our square were determined the she would do us proud.
Slowly our square was being transformed with streamers ,bunting and flags,all in red white and blue and all coordinated so that there was a uniformity of design.
Our school was bedecked with artworks, done by both pupils and masters and all was made ready for the great day.Coronation Day was declared a holiday so we had to have our celebration at school before then.
Every schoolboy was treated to ice cream and a coronation mug.
Saint Marys Road was also decorated and Lloyds,the television shop,let some lucky people view the broadcast while sitting in deck chairs in the shop entrance corridor.
Mr and Mrs Hampton had bought a 14 inch television set and invited our family to watch the whole event with them,even though the picture was black and white and subject to interference,it was a great experience.The party in the square was an even greater experience,chairs and tables had been fetched from the flats and set into line in our playground.The tables were bedecked with red white and blue covers,laden with sausage rolls,pork pies,sandwiches cakes,trifles and custard and jelly.The months of planning
culminated in a banquet that would not be seen again in that Square.
We children were sat in our places awaiting the arrival of our own queen.And down she came,in a beautiful dress,a crown upon her head, trailing a red velvet cloak with imitation ermine trimming.In her hands she held the Orb and Sceptre and we kids cheered her to the echo. As we sat down to our feast ,kids from the other squares looked on enviously.The Mums in our square were the only ones who had put so much effort into making it the greatest day of all.
The party went on all night as the adults brought out a grammaphone and bottles of beer.What a day,2 queens crowned,Mount Everest conquered,seeing the whole thing on live television...........life couldn't get better than that,could it?....Mum didn't half seem fat now.................
BrianD
Brian you are truely a gifted writer and I love reading about your life. I too have printed the stories out (hope you don't mind) for my mum, sadly we have just had to put my father into a care home and reading your memories has restored her spirit so I thank you for that. Please continue with them. Have you tried to get them published anywhere I can't believe that in our year of culture somebody wouldn't bite your hand off to get these wonderful stories out there.
Thank you again from my mum and me :handclap:
I went up to Liverpool again on Sunday,my 9 year old granddaughter had expressed a desire to go and see the wonderful places I had told her about.St.Georges Hall ,the Museums,the river and the seashore at Waterloo.
Whilst sitting on the seafront at Crosby,watching the ships and seagulls,she snuggled into me and said "We will come back again,won't we Granddad?"
Such moments in life are a gift.
I want to thank you all who are giving your gifts,you will never know the feeling I get from knowing that my words have given someone,somewhere,pleasure.I love writing for you,I feel grateful for the interest you have shown.And I hope your Mum is getting on now Sweetcheeks.Thank you Lindylou, Chrizmiz and everyone else out there.
I'll be posting some more very soon,
BrianD
Looking forward to hearing more Brian. I'm hooked :handclap::handclap:
In August 2006 I took my 4 year old girl to Liverpool - the Matthew St festival was on. She adores all the cousins she has in Liverpool. She started school a week later and in the first week came home with a cornflakes box with three little boxes stuck on it, painted with glitter all over. I asked her what it was and she said the buildings in Liverpool. It was the Three Graces at the Pier Head. I was amazed, and coming from a 4 year old - so observant and the buildings must have made an big impression. Nothing in London makes an impression on her.Quote:
Originally Posted by brian daley
She thinks Liverpool is a separate country as it is so different to where she lives and that she lives in England. When we leave she asks if we are going back to England. I always reply, yes.
Again last August I took her to Liverpool and she had a ball. West Kirkby beach, pony rides, the sand, glittering pebbles which she collected and train rides through tunnels. All so exciting for her.
ahh, that's nice to hear how much she enjoyed Liverpool. it's good that she is learning about our city too. :)
Although we had only been in Garston for just under a year ,we were well settled in.The coronation party had been a great ice breaker for getting to know the neighbours and we began to feel a part of the squares community.
At school,I had made friends with boys from other parts of Garston,Frankie Williams,a real laugh a minute person,always up for a joke,we didn't know about "speed" then but he he seemed to be on it.John Greavey,he was my closest mate at school,he came from "under the bridge".Jimmy Lothian,one of the boys from Banks Road School, a bit of a scally but a good pupil.
We all stayed dinners and would get up to Woolton Woods,or the Golf course
and do a bit mischief,never anything serious,scrumping apples,hunting for conkers or searching for "lost" golf balls. We were the least succesful criminals in the business.
That hour for lunch at school at school seemed interminable,we seemed to wander at will for ages before the whistle went.
The school itself was very nice,it had an enormous playing field,there were football pitches,rugby pitches,cricket pitches as well as athletics tracks.The field was so big that the local farmer used to graze his cattle on it during the holiday,a consequence of which, were the great big cow pats that we would stumble in during games.
They were sports mad at that school,you had to be on a team,there was no escape.I was put in one of the rugby teams.Mr Bagot was our coach,a real Gung Ho type,ex navy,square jawed and all round sportsman.He was going to make me a rugby player!He had no chance....................I was born with 2 left feet and poor spacial coordination.The poor man didn't stand a chance..
I'd flunked at every other sport and this proved to be no different.I was very good at minding the coats and things,the lads in our square had learned that too,whenever we went off to "fight" ,I was the one at the back carrying the macs and spare "weapons"I always had a comic in my back pocket for use on games days or "battles"
Consequently ,on our great summer sports day,at which there were dignitarys' present,I was the boy at the far end of the field, out of view from the prying eyes of the masters,catching up on the latest adventures of Dan Dare.I was never caught,or maybe they just gave me up as a hopeless case ,I've never changed,I'd rather go for a good walk than play golf,and watch a good movie than athletics.Odd I know,but I enjoy life.
The sports day always ended the spring term and then we broke up for six long weeks.........Bliss
With Mum at home, her cooking skills seemed to blossom ,her apple pies were special,a thick, sugar crusted, short crust pastry covered slices of apple, so juicy and sweet that they melted in your mouth.She covered it in a rich ,golden coloured custard that could have been eaten alone, it tasted so good, Whenever Ikey came to us from Mozart Street,Mum would always do an enormous load of sausage and mash,we both loved it and Mum was quite proud that Ikey ate such quantities.
About Ikey,he was the closest thing I had for a friend,he loved coming to the Tennies,and the girls there loved him.The girl I had always had an especial affection for,Pat Hampton,took one look at Ikey and dropped me like a hot potato.But we never let girls come between us.
Mum had stopped her slate at Bessie Holdens and started to shop locally,Billys' was the nearest grocers and we would get the bread, milk and other stuff there. Mum would go to the Co op for her main shop,49908 was her divi number.Billy opened a chippy next door to his shop and did a roaring trade,because it was the only one for miles! He had a unique way of cooking the pies though.............he would chuck them into the fryer for 5 minutes and serve them up drenched in fat............I loved them!!
As July came,Mum got tireder and slower,she was pregnant,not that she told me,or that I had guessed,it was Jess that gave me the news.And what news!!! I was going to have a brother! Nobody told me that-I just knew it.
I was excited,we were going to be mates,I would take him the Pier Head and show him the ships,I would take him on adventures to Speke,the Cast Iron Shore.And I would have someone to tell my secrets to...............I wonder what he'll be called.?My imagination worked overtime.
That summer is indeliby etched into my memory,August was a long sunny month,the hedgerows were a riot of colour with foxgloves,celandine ,daisies and dandelions.Bees hummed lazily in the torpid summer air,spiders spun their gossamer which glistened with the morning dew.On such days we would leave home with a bag of sandwiches,a bottle of milk and some water and ,clutching our penny for our "scholars returns" we would head off to anywhere in Liverpool.We'd get home in time for tea and a good scrub and then off to bed.
And then one morning Jess awoke us at the crack of dawn,or so it seemed,Mum was still in bed and Dad was still at home. Jess had made us some Polony sandwiches,some banana cake ,a bottle of milk and a bottle of water.She handed me the bag and told me to take our Bette and go out for the day,she wasn't coming with us.Bette and I called up to the Lloyds,on the next landing and Frank and his sister Vera came out with us.
We went down to Garston shore ,a weird place,the Bottle works used to dump all their broken glass on the beach ,and several factories had waste outlets that poured out their poisons as well.We never went swimming there,not that I could anyway.No, we used to walk to Oglet(What a name) from Garston,it was quite nice there, and then on to Hale Beach,which was very nice then.We spent hours among the sand hills and then made our way back through Speke,walking along the boulevard by the airport.We had munched our way through pounds of blackberries that we had picked ,our hands,faces and clothes were stained deep purple.We were within site of home when our Bette began screaming.I couldn't see what was amiss ,she hadn't fallen or cut herself on the brambles.It was when she pulled her dress up that I saw what was wrong,she had stood on an ants nest and had a small army of them at the top of her legs,heading straight for her knickers.We swatted them away and started off for our flat.We never had watches,and you can't really tell the time in the summer,so we were just hoping it was tea time.
When we got to our square,Doctor Gibsons car was parked by our stairway and people were on their landings,gossiping in little clusters.They looked at us ,all filthy, and then looked up toward our flat and my stomach turned over.We ran up the stairs and our Jess met us at the door,I could see a man in a surgical gown and mask in the doorway of Mums room,Jess hushed us and took us to get washed in the Kitchen sink.She told us that Mum was very poorly and we had to be quiet,the doctor had been there for hours,and, with the help of the midwife, had had to perform major surgery on Mum because she was in a very bad way.It seemed hours before the doctor left ,when he did ,the midwifetook Bette and me in to see Mum.........and our new baby. Mum looked so tired,the dark rings beneath her eyes testament of the agonies she had endured,seeing us,she motioned us to her and showed us the little bundle that lay by her side,a mass of black hair,three and a half pounds in weight..................my new sister!
I fell in love,lock stock and barrel.
She had a very tough start in life and our doctor devoted a great deal of time to Mum and baby.He was a dour Scotsman with a heart of gold,to him ,my sister would always be Brenda, Mum and Dad called her Christine,I always called her Chris...
Jess was a mother to Bette and me for nearly six weeks,Mum was realy ill.
Dad tried his hand at the catering one day,serving up something that was just about edible,which we forced down,but I drew the line at the way he made the tea.Milky.......I hated milky tea ,and do to this day."Drink that tea Lad!!" he growled. Normally one growl was enough for me to jump into line,but not for Milky tea."No" I replied all of a tremble,"I can't drink milky tea Dad". "Well you better start learning then ,hadn't you ?" he snarled .his face pushed close up to mine.
I don't how I did it ,but I picked up the tea cup and poured it over his head!He sat there non-plussed,the cup on his head and a look of total bewilderment on his face......I was up and out of my chair and speeding to my bedroom.I slammed the door shut and slid the bolt across,shaking with fear at the enormity of what I had done.Within seconds ,he was beating on the door,murderous threats pouring from his lips.I was dead,memories of the coffee episode came sharply to mind ,I was a trembling wreck,but I was'nt going to open that door.I heard my Mum calling,"Billy what are you doing?" he roared a reply but she was calling "Billy,Billy,come here"
He stopped banging the door and I heard muffled words through the wall.
All went quiet and then ,a little while later he came back and gently tapped on the door,"Brian,let me come in and talk to you,I promise I won't hurt you" "You will,I know you will"."Brian son I want to take you for a walk,just you and me...honest" Frightened to death,I opened the door and he took me in his arms and hugged me.Down all these years I can still feel the scalding tears that fell down my cheeks.......I felt safe in his arms.
After that,our Jess took over the role again,she was thirteen and did everything for us ,I washed the dishes,in a fashion and did some brasswork too ,but our kid worked so hard that Doctor Gibson expressed his concern to Mum that if she didn't have a break she could end up very ill.
As soon as Mum was able she sent Jess off to Llandudno to spend a fortnight with Aunty Dolly.
Meanwhile we were getting to know our Chris.
When Jess got back from Llandudno,she had some smashing photographs of Willy,Elizabeth and Eleanor,and looked so much better for her holiday.
Mum was on the mend ,but Chris was still in need of constant care,being visited by the midwife everyday.The midwife was lovely,black haired with dark brown eyes,her starched collar and pinafore,her lovely face and her black hosed legs,I was madly in love with her,but I was only 11.Doctor Gibson was a regular visitor too so we were all aware that Chris was in a bad way.But she was a happy baby and I considered it a privilege when I was allowed to hold her.Dad made us treat her like she was made of glass,when he came home from work he would examine her for bruises in case we had been less than gentle with her.With the love and care of Mum and the family,the ministrations of the Doctor and Midwife,and plenty of Abidec,Chris began to thrive.
Our relatives began to visit us more often now that we had a new addition,
and Mum started to get some new furniture.She was at home for a long time,looking after Chris,but as soon as she was toddling,Mum started looking for another job.And I set about earning some coppers too.
We used to have scrap iron men come around in an old Bedford 5 ton,ex army breakdown truck.It had a little crane on the back and they would buy any scrap metal,copper or brass.They had a set of scales in which they would weigh your load and pay you what they thought it was worth.
We used to scavenge anything that wasn't tied down,rooting through bins and rubbish heaps,we made just enough to get in the cinema.One week Georgie Hogg,Kenny Ford and me struck gold.The scrap men paid by weight......we had "found " a buffer off a railway wagon,it was laying in the long grass by the railway embankment and it took the 3 of us to move it.We left it where it was until the scrapmen appeared.When they came we told them to hang on while we fetched our special cargo,we got our sisters skipping rope and tied it around the buffer and dragged it up to the wagon.
We could'nt lift it and we thought we would get a fortune for it.
The mens eyes lit up when they saw it and they came and helped to drag it for the last few yards."We'll have to lift this up with the crane" said the driver as he disappeared into the cab and started the engine.His mate threw a chain around the buffer and lifted it clear of the road,and as soon as it was , he jumped aboard, and the wagon sped away with our fortune.You never saw such discontented kids,all of our dreams of big money disappeared with that wagon .They never came back.
We tried to get jobs potato picking,but we could never get up in time to catch the bus.A mate of mine from the next square,Joey Fergo,had a paper round in Grassendale and let me help him with it for 2 shillings a week (I know,I was a sucker),the houses we delivered to were very posh,The Serpentine comes to mind,all beautiful Edwardian buildings with neatly trimmed lawns and colourful gardens.
The shop Joe worked for was called Gents,run by Mr, and Mrs Gent,who had a special son called Charley.He would be about 20 when we knew him,but he was of a younger mental age than Joe or me.
In the attic of the shop,Charley had constructed the most elaborate model railway that I had ever seen.It was built on a base that was about four foot high,and covered the entire attic.He had stations and villages,bridges and canals,it was a miniature world and had taken him years to complete.I saw it only a few times but was very grateful for being given that pleasure.
Sometimes Joe would let me do the round on my own,I got an extra shilling when that occurred,and on one such occassion I was walking up the driveway to a house in The Serpentine,when the front door opened and this tall,distinguished gentleman,came out toward me and said "have you got my Radio Times there boy?",I had it in my hand and gave it to him.
He riffled through it until he spotted something,and then he held it toward me and said "That's me there boy"showing me a picture if himself............
"Commodore Ivan Thompson,the Captain of the Queen Mary,talks about life at sea". I was thrilled as I gazed in awe at the page,"Thursday night ,home service at 9 0'clock,don't miss it boy" he said as he slipped sixpence in my hand.
I used to keep a look out for him after that,but never saw him until many years later in very different circumstances.
Besides spending my money on the pictures and sweets,I used to buy a lot of comics,the Eagle was my favourite,never had to buy the Knockout ,Dandy,Beano,Film fun and Radio Fun because Grandma Hengler always had them in for us at Eton Street,where I still went every Sunday,well I had to keep up with the serials in the comics.So,the comics I used to buy were the Yankee ones,loved the westerns,with Lash LaRue and Tom Mix,Superman,Batman,Don Winslow and Archie.They were fabulous
productions,multicolored and well drawn.We kids used to swap comics,they were precious commodities, I had a mate in the next square I used to trade with, Frank McNemeny,(Try saying it) we were the sharpest traders in the district,we dealt in everything readable,movie mags,War Illustrated,Classics Illustrated and the Funnies out of the American Sunday newspapers.
Looking back, we had what would now be priceless pass through our hands.
Television was becoming more popular,Joeys' Dad bought one and I used to watch some of the early evening programmes with them,Television Newsreel,The Grove Family,The Appleyards to name but a few.It was tame stuff compared to the radio where we had Journey into Space,Riders Of the Range,Dick Barton,and a whole host of comedy shows.Radio was in your head,your imagination creating scenes that no film crew could ever produce,television was very limited in content.But that did'nt stop us wanting one.
At school a new divide opened up,those with T.V. and those without;it almost followed the divide of Garston from Allerton and Hunts Cross.
We had to wait awhile in our house before the cathode ray tube made its appearance.
And at school we had started to sort out our pecking order,a gang of sorts
was formed out of the harder elements,and victims fell prey to their bullying.Mercifully I learned that a fast tongue and a good joke was all it took to keep the bullies off your back,all except for one that is.We called him Fat Bob,because he was fat and his name was Bob.He was a minion of the class top dog ,Arfur,who was always O.K. with me because I was mates with his younger brother.But Fat Bob was always looking to punch ,kick ,chinese burn or otherwise disrupt the peaceful day of someone smaller than himself.I suffered the occassional bit of grief from him,you put up with it because he would always theaten you with something worse if you made a fuss.One day,we were playing some kind of chase game in the playground when I found myself alone behind the bike sheds with Bob.He thought he would treat himself to dishing out a bit of gratuitous GBH,on me!
I freaked when he started toward me and slammed my fist into his stomach as hard as I could............................................. ....and he burst out crying.I waded in with everything I had,which, on reflection was'nt very much ,but it was enough to keep that bully off my back forever.
Gradually his victims were reduced in number to the very few who would never fight back,I felt sorry for them,but you had to watch out for number one at a boys school.
And thus another year passed and 1954 brought some more small surprises
You gotta get a book sorted for christmas.It will sell no problem.
Loads of people enjoy your stories here......Get em' out into the big wide world.
Honestly,you really need to do a paperback book/magazine of some sorts.
Am sure many on here would pay a few pennies for more of your tales.
:PDT_Piratz_26:
I'd buy that book :)
Well shall we sign a petition to get this guys works printed up?
I will!!!
Infact...sign below the dotted line........................................:handc lap:
I really wanted a pair of "longies" for Christmas '53,but it was not to be,there was some unwritten law,"Thou shalt wear short trousers until your plums drop" or something like that.Iwas going to be 12 in May and I wanted to look "older".One of the kids in the square,Georgie Hogg,was so way ahead of all of us 12 year olds because his Mum ,who'd been to America,came back with a full yankee outfit for him, Wrangler jeans,baseball boots,tartan shirt and a hand tooled leather belt.We were green with envy.You only saw kids dressed like that in the movies.We had to make do with our grey flannel pants and buttoned up jerseys.
Chris was getting stronger and I used to love cradling her in my arms to help get her to sleep.Jess was becoming a proper teenager.getting bumps in the right places and Bette was becoming a bit of a tomboy,nerves of steel ,she was up to everything,Dad was still a bit of a martinet with his brass inspections,no pocket money until the job was done properly,and Mum was being a homebody. We now had lino on the floor in the living room and a nice big rug,life was getting better by the week.
Winter eased into spring and summer was getting near and before you knew it,it was my birthday and........................I was given a pair of "longies"!! I can still feel them now,slipping them on in the bedroom,getting the braces just so that the turnups rested on the top of my shoes.The touch of the flannel on the back of my legs,the crease ,sharp and true,I was officially grown up.It felt great going to school,in a blazer and long grey trousers.And there was an even bigger surprise to come,they had also bought me a grown ups suit.It was a brown double breasted one ,I looked the business,Mum had good taste,she had got me a new shirt and a tie to match.Walking to Walton that Sunday ,with Dad in his Sunday best and me in my new suit,was a feeling that would stay with me forever.But the trouble with boys is that they grow,and how.It was'nt long before Mum had to let down the turn ups,she had a job to keep up with me.But we all of us kids were in the same boat.
I started looking round to see if I could get a good part time job,like a delivery boy,or a paper round ,they were like gold dust .As soon as a job became vacant,there would be ten boys queueing up to get it .I started getting a bit of work on Garston Market,helping the stall holders pack up and carrying thier baggage to the station.It was only a couple of times a week ,I used to do a weekday and a saturday,but I would make about 5 shillings a week.It was a shilling to get in the Empire cinema and 6d for an Orange Maid iced lolly,so it was'nt too bad.One of the stallholders,a Mr Phineas Cohen,had a haberdashery stall and let me work for him all day saturday for the princely sum of half a crown;I was still fetching and carrying for the other stallholders at the end of the day and so pulled in nearly 7 shillings for a days work.Magic.I was becoming financially indepedent,not quite a magnate,but better off than I'd ever been.It was decided to let me go to school camp,something that had been beyond my wildest dreams.To spend a week in Port Erin in the Isle of Man................here was the catch ,I had to pay for it myself,I was earning see.
I gave my Mum the lions share of my weekly earnings,leaving me with my picture money and a bit left over.Out of the money I gave Mum,she would give me some back on a Monday to make weekly payments to the camp holiday fund.One black Monday, she told me she could'nt afford to let me have anything as she was "broke".I was outraged,I'd given her 5 bob on Saturday,where had it gone?I'm sad to relate that I lost my temper and said words that a son should never say to his mother.
I slammed out of the house and made my way ,not to school,but to the Pier Head,I was running away.Mum had a job at Dunlops,and would'nt have known that her errant son was off to make his way inthe world.I knew where I was headed,LLandudno,not to Aunty Dollys',but to a cave that Will y had shown me all those years ago.I was going to stay there until I was a man ,and then come back and show them what I had become.Armed with my dinner money,I walked to the Pier Head and got the ferry to Birkenhead .I walked down the New Chester Road through Bromborough,where I bought a bag of broken biscuits for stores."I'd show 'em,they won't half feel sorry when they realise I'm gone."
I was walking through a little village called Neston ,when a Bobby on a bike came riding by.He passed me slowly,taking a long look at me ,and the turned full circle to come alongside me."What are you doing out of school son?" he asked,"I'm on holiday sir" I replied."There are no schools on Holiday around here,where have you come from?".I hesitated before replying and before I could say anything he said"You running away from home son?".I was dumbstruck,lost for words,I shook my head."Have a row with your Mum this morning?" he asked kindly."Don't you think you Mum wil be upset when she gets home and finds your not there.Filling up ,I nodded,trying to hide the tears."Come on with me,You look like you could do with a nice cup of tea and a cake".He got off his bike and pushed it along with his free hand resting on my shoulder.
As we walked to the station he told me of the time he had fallen out with his Mum when he was my age.By the time we got to the station he had put my world to rights and told me to say SORRY to Mum.
The Police station was small and welcoming,the desk sergeant telephoned Dulops and gave Mum the news and told her to come and collect me.It was hours before she turned up but the segeant magicked up some comics to keep me entertained until Mum arrived.
I was nervous when I heard her enter the station,the Bobby who had found me was talking to her and he was soon making her laugh.When she turned and saw me she gave me a rueful grin and said "Come here soft lad,you've caused me a lot of trouble" Waving goodbye to the sergeant she turned to me and said "Don't you tell anyone about this,'cos if your Dad finds out you can kiss your holiday goodbye".She bought me the Junior Express to read on the journey home and I knew that things were going to be alright.And I still had a bagful of broken biscuits!!
Hello. Welcome :)
Changes were taking place in our little abode,added to the new 3 piece suite, lino and rug,was a new fireplace.Out went the iron masterpiece,and in came a "modern" fireplace,a little tiled affair that was easy on the eye,took up a lot less space and was easy to clean.The men who fitted it threw the old one over the landing,a drop of about forty feet,and it smashed to pieces when it landed.All we lacked now was a T.V. set.
Mum never told Dad of my "running away" episode and so my holiday was still on.As the time drew near they set about kitting me out for my week under canvas.Dad offered his advice as to what was the best equipment for me to take ,he'd been in the Army and knew about these things.So it was down to the Army and Navy Stores, by Lewis's for the kitting out.I kitbag,ex-army,1 set of eating utensils,ex-army,1 sleeping bag,large,ex-army.I was a bit embarassed because I was the only one in my tent who was done up like a private in the Pioneer Corps.
Soon the day arrived for our journey to the Isle of Man,Dad took me down to the landing stage and there were thousands of people milling about.We were going on the Ben My Chree,but the were other boats alongside as well,the King Orry and another one whse name has slipped my memory.The St Tudno was tied up a little way down from the Manx boats and the whole river was abuzz with ferry boats and tugs.The sky was slate grey with a fairly strong breeze ,but we were too excited to be put off by smal things such as the weather........we were going to sea!
Our teachers gathered us all together in the main hall and ticked us off on their lists,Dad waved goodbye from the doorway and then we were marched on down to the gangway,jostling and joking,the air electric with happy anticipations.There were other schools making the journey as well as families setting off for their annual holiday,teachers anxious for their charges,Mums and Dads,laden with kids and luggage,and sailors in blue jerseys making ready for our departure.The ship seemed like some fantastic beast ,you could feel it tremble,smell the fuel oil,hear the hum of its great generators And then there was a clanging of the telegraph and an almighty blast from the ships whistle,and the whole ship reverberated as the engines thrust into life.
Children rushed to the side to watch as we pulled away from the pier,this was it we were really on our way.I saw Dad,amongst a hundred other parents waving from the shore,it was a strange feeling ,leaving him there.
To sail down the Mersey was an unforgettable experience,looking back at the three Graces,those unmistakeable landmarks,sailing past the docks ,full of ships from the world over, the river itself was a mirror of the sky ,grey and uninviting.Seagulls wheeled and shrieked above us and the Red Ensign was cracking in the wind.Past Burbo Bank now and a gentle swell starts to make us move in a way that was new to us.I felt so alive,this was what I wanted to do forever.
As we began to gather speed,the movement became more pronounced and little faces started to turn green,soon we were rolling and dipping and big faces turned green too.The toilets were full of people heaving and retching but our small group seemed immune.For a small while we lost sight of land and that seemed to make some people worse,but the time flew by and Douglas appeared on the horizon in sharp silhouette.As we got nearer the excitement was palpable,this was our first trip abroad!
The decks filled with people who had been down below for the journey and the rails were crowded as everyone strained to take the scene in.
We were disembarked and on our way to the station in double quick time,no customs here,everything looked the same as Llandudno but was different too.
The trains were the first big difference,beautiful old steam engines,painted in green and gold with massive chimneys,brass rimmed,and a big bell housing in gleaming brass too ,the coaches were small but cosy,and very Victorian,it was as though time had stood still.There was a slamming of doors and a belching of steam ,Chugga chugga,and then we were off to Port Erin.We went through some of the most picturesque places,Rushen stands out in my mind ,being ablaze with floral colour.It was raining and were off to a holiday under canvas,very few of knew what it would be like,those that did kept quiet.Nothing was going to spoil our enjoyment.
The camp was in a field alongside a kipper curing house,the farmer that owned the field,let the organisers have it at a special rate because of what we would leave behind.
Every year our school,and other schools too,had a fortnight booked so that the field was occupied for the whole summer.There were no toilet facilities,instead a large rectangular pit was dug,about 6 foot deep,3 foot wide and about 10 foot long.two large tree stumps were sunk into the ground at either end of the lenghth of it and a thin plank was nailed to them.This was our loo,and the contents were part payment to the farmer.!
If you were caught misbehaving,you were put on the bog squad whose job it was to keep the place clean,and keep the load level.Our group were forever on the bog squad.
Port Erin was an unspoiled little resort,pretty as a picture,with a perfect bay and Bradda Head standing sentinel.Our group were out first thing ,after a breakfast of porridge,thick and sweet,followed by a very tasty kipper,washed down with a cup of tea ,after which you swilled your eating eqipment in a bucket,made sure your tent was tidy and then the day was yours.No supervision,no guided tours or lectures,this was freedom with a capital F.
Mum and Dad had given me a pound spending money and I had saved twice that myself,so I was loaded.There were 2 other lads from the Tennies with me Joey Fergo and Jimmy Lothian,there was Eric Cran from under the bridge and a couple of other classmates so we were well set for a good time.And that is exactly what was had ,when it rained ,we went to the pictures,and when it was dry we went out for long walks or boat rides.
If it was too wet too go out we would sit in the tent and play games,one time,we must have exhausted all the games we knew ,for we found ourselves playing the most stupid game ever.Only a bored schoolboy could have thought it up.The rules were thus, one boy wielded a tent peg mallet as he knelt down,whilst another boy sat on the floor with his legs stretched out,The sitting boy had to scissor his legs open and closed while the other boy had to hit the ground between his legs with the mallet........Eric had to have his ankles strapped up for what remained of the holiday,he was hobbling for a week or two after we got back to Garston.Another prank they played was rubbing the tent canvas above some unsuspecting boys sleeping bag with a damp cloth.This allowed the rain to pour right through,Jimmy Lothian got soaked.And then someone had the bright idea of performing an ancient initiation ceremony.......on me!They whipped my kecks off and covered my meat and two veg with black polish,it was pouring down outside and I could'nt get out for a wash and so went to bed in my Pyjamas which got covered in it.
Our week came to an end all too soon,we had been fed like farm horses and had had kippers with every meal;when we packed for our return, we took boxes of them for our families .My kitbag needed a good airing afterwards.
Dad was there to meet me when we got back and I near made his ears bleed on the bus journey, there was so much to tell.
It was great going home, seeing my sisters as though I had been away for a year,Jess wanted to know all about it,and Mum wanted to know how I had managed to get my pyjamas in such a state.
I had a fund of memories from that time in Port Erin,and I never had another holiday until I returned to the Isle of Man 12 years later.
1954 still had some tricks up its' sleeves however.
While the summer holiday was still on, there was a day when I was left to take Chris out,I think our Jess had to go the wash house now that Mum was back at work.I had planned to go off with the lads as usual,but I couldn't wriggle out of it.So there I was,Chris, me, and her pushchair.I was standing in the square wondering where to go ,when Kenny Ford came by ,holding his little brother ,Danny,by the hand.I asked him if he wanted to walk to Oglet to see if there was anything about,you sometimes got things washed ashore,
one time we found a whole box of Brazil nuts.So off we went,it was a very grey day ,but it was dry.There were puddles eveywhere from yesterdays downpour but we were not bothered,the sand should be dry,it always was.
We walked down Window Lane,past the Bobbin works,down by the Bottle works and then on to the path above the shore that would take us through to Oglet.This path was atop a sandstone wall that looked like an old sea wall.It was about seven foot high and the path was about three foot wide and there was a chicken wire fence that ran along the back of the Bottle works.There was just enough room for a pushchair,there were puddles on the path and they seemed to be getting deeper.we could not go along the shore because it was filled with broken glass from the bottle works and there were a lot of large rocks up against the wall too.
We were about half way along the footpath when we came to a puddle too deep for the push chair.Kenny picked up Danny and walked along the top of the sandstone wall.I could not carry the chair with Chris in it because the wall was too narrow and the weight would be too heavy to attempt such a precarious walk.I took Chris out of her chair and told her to hold on to the fence while I carried the chair across the puddle.She nodded,smilingly,all of one year of age.I watched as she held on to the fence and then began my passage along the wall ,just as I had reached the other side I saw a look of horror come across Kennys' face.I turned and saw Chris standing on the edge of the wall.Dropping the pushchair on the dry path I ran back to the puddle to grab her..................................I was too late.I still recoil in fear as I recall her little black coated body,falling down to the rocks and glass below.Over and over she went,bouncing from rock to rock,landing with a sickening crunch in the mound of broken bottles.Heart thumping with fright for her,I jumped down and raced to her.She was lying face down,making a kitten like mewing sound.I turned her over and she looked up at me ,her little face showing shock and surprise................but no cuts or other injuries.I almost wept with relief,I'd nearly killed my beloved sister because I was foolish and unthinking.
We carried on our trip,and had an enjoyable time,but the experience marked me for life.
It was shortly after that that an old lady in the White Cottages died,she had lived by herself, but was not reclusive,she was always on her balcony watching the goings on below.
Her daughter came and made all the funeral arrangements,having her mother laid out in her coffin in the small front bedroom for people to come and pay their last respects.We watched as the trickle of adults passed through the doors and someone ,I can't remember who,thought it might be a good idea if we paid our last respects too.I had never seen a dead person and so went out of curiosity.We were allowed in and were a bit awe struck at the site of this old lady laying there like a waxwork.Word spread like wildfire,kids started coming from the other blocks to see the dead lady.Pretty soon word got out past the tenements and kids were coming up from all over Garston.By nighttime there was a queue right around the square,little kids,big kids, kids with sticks ,kids with macks tied around their necks like cloaks.Every manner of boy and girl was in that queue,and some of us paid our respects twice.
When I went the second time,the white silk coverlet that lay near face was blackened by the multitude of grubby fingers that had grasped it.
It was our mothers that brought the proceedings to a halt,shooing the strange kids away and taking us home out of it.
After the funeral life returned to its' normal pace.
We were playing in the square, just after our evening meal when I felt a tap on my shoulder,I turned and saw my Dads youngest sister Joan.This was midweek and late evening,what was she doing here?
"Granddad Mahers dead"she said abruptly,"Wheres your Dad?" I was shocked,my great granddad was dead,like that old lady.I couldn't believe that he was no more,that tough old bruiser who had sailed the seven seas and called me Brian Boru ,his stumpy hands would no longer squeeze a tune out of his concertina.I didn't even know he was ill.
I never went to the funeral and in a short while he had passed into history.
As winter neared Dad became very ill and it was my turn to go to my Nins with a message from my Mum,he was very,very ill.
Doctor Gibson was again the ministering angel,because Dad was too ill to be moved the good doctor treated him at home.
I remember the note Mum gave me to take to Nins,it said that he had developed pneumonia and was hallucinating.I didn't really understand the last word,all I knew was that he would cry out loud that strange things were happening.
It was while he was ill that I had my next brush with death;I was on the 86 bus going to town to get a few messages for Mum.It was a a very rainy day and I was sitting in my favourite seat,top floor ,front, on the drivers side.We had just entered the bottom of Smithdown Road, and were coming toward the stop by the Home and Colonial,when a lady wearing a green gabardine mac with the hood pulled down over her face,stepped into the road.
Right into the path of the bus.I watched it all with horror,the bus swerved in an attempt to miss her .People screamed ,there was a sickening thud,and we screeched to a halt.The conductor came upstairs and asked us to stay in our seats.The adults talked hurriedly amongst themselves,no one had seen what had happened,crowds gathered round the bus,but we were above the tumult and could only hear what was happeing beneath us.
Soon the police arrived and began asking if anybody had seen what had occurred,heads were shaken and the policemen were turning to go downstairs when I found myself saying "I saw it ,I saw what happened ".A big segeant came and took my address and left me to carry on .
I didn't think to tell Mum about it when I got home ,she had enough on her plate with Dad.About seven o'clock that evening the front door was rattled so loudly that it woke Dad out of his slumbers,Mum hurried to the door to find two poicemen standing there."Mrs Daley,is your son Brian in?" one of them asked.Dad was calling out "Who's at the door Jessie?"" No one Billy,just some men for Brian" ,"What bloody men?" he cried. "We,re from the police,Mr Daley" one of them said,not knowing of Dads' condition.What father said then could not be published in this missive ,suffice to say that the policemen
took heed of mothers gestures and shut up.They assured her that I wasn't in trouble and just wanted a statement from me as witness to a fatal accident .I sat with them and related what I had seen,all the while with Dad raging from the bedroom.
A few weeks later I received a letter from the police thanking me for my statement and life was starting to return to normal,well almost normal......Maggie Brown had moved into the Tennies.!!!
Lindylou,Zappa and all you other kind folk,
thanks for showing an interest in my writing,it is something that I feel driven to do.Not for the want of fame or fortune,there is no chance of that.But to record the events of my life so that I might understand what it has been about,to bury old ghosts' ,and to rejoice in the memories of those loved ones who are no longer here.
I was given a wake up call this February when my number very nearly came up.I realised that I could have gone without my grandchildren ever really knowing from whence they sprang.I would never be brave enough to sit and write a book,but sitting here ,talking to you via my keyboard,helps me nail those memorys' to the page.Thank you once again for your kind support.
With Love and Peace
BrianD
Keep it going Brian.:handclap:
Horrocks Avenue was shaping up into a nice little estate,there were a mixture of houses,3 bedroom family houses and pensioners cottages.There was a school being built,Blessed John Almonds,a Roman Catholic secondary modern.
This new estate began to have an effect on our square because some of the older families,whose children had grown up and left home,were rehoused on that estate.New families moved into the vacated flats and ,slowly,but surely ,our little world began to change.
We had a new family move both below and above us,the ones' above were boisterous and not too neighbourly,and the family in the flat below us were a really tragic little group.The mother was heavily pregnant when they moved in and when she went into labour ,she suffered a massive stroke that left her paralysed down one side of her body.
Her husband left her shortly after,leaving her to bring 2 small children entirely on her own.She was hardly ever seen outside her door and no sounds were ever heard from her house except for the crying of her children.
Even now I can see that sad little woman,one side of her face hanging limp like a clowns sad smile,holding her baby in her good arm ,dragging her crippled body as she shuffled her way to the door.She ,obviously,could not join in the cleaning rota for the stairways,the woman above us wouldn't join in,she said "It is'nt my job!".And so the stairs started to get grubby.It was something that was happening to the whole block,pride was going and so was the community spirit.In the autumn of that year, a coach was being organised for a trip to Blackpool Illuminations.Normally it would have meant having to book a big coach because so many people would want to go.Not this year folks,with so many of the old community gone,very few new ones wanted to join in.We got just enough people for a smaller coach,there were about 30 of us.It was a few weeks away yet and we had to start saving the coppers,it was just Mums and Kids ,the Dads would be down at the Gay Cavalier.
Maggie had been in the Tennies a while now,she was the reason Mum was able to work at Dunlops,she had our Chris during schooltime,she only lived around the corner, so Jess,or me , would take her there and bring her back.
Our relationships with her daughters had changed,they were quieter,the house was smaller,and Eddie hadn't come with them.Maggie was still a madcap though,when she came around to see Mum,she would have her in fits of laughter with her tales;Dad never liked her coming round,it reminded him of the Time they had been split up.
Joey Fergo,who I had always thought of as being a mate,started to change,he was a year older than me,his features started to harden ,as did his attitude,he used to set boys against each other,had a knack for starting fights so that he could watch us knock lumps off each other.
Now this kid upstairs,he wasn't coming on the coach to Blackpool,nor was Joe,so they started to take the mickey out of those who were going.
I put up with Joes insults,I couldn't beat him ina fight,but the kid upstairs? I was'nt going to take any s==t from him. I told to stop the mickey taking or I give him something to think about.
Word got back to Joe,and subsequent events showed me what a real piece of work he had become.He knew that I picked up our Chris from Maggies on the way home from school,and it was while I was doing just that one evening that Joe and his cronys' met me at the bottom of the stairs by Maggies.I was holding our Chris and they egged the kid from upstairs to have a go at me.
I told them to wait until I had taken Chris home,but Joe wanted blood,now! We were by the pavement edge when he jumped me,I'm trying to stop my baby sister from going into the road and this swine is not giving any quarter.I took a beating but got Chris safely home.I felt terrible,the boy I had thought of as a friend had just engineered a crushing humiliation on me.
I waited until I got the kid upstairs alone,it was only a day later,and I gave him back in aces what he had given me that awful day.I realised that he was a coward and treated him as such ever after.Joe faded out of our existence,he didn't live in our square anyway.That coach trip?It was brilliant,there was John Tillett,Frank Lloyd and me,we had as good a time as you could with a pound,we even made a record,Frankie Laines "Water".Cost a shilling in the little booth by the pier,I didn't have a record player so I never heard what it sounded like.I never went to Blackpool again until 1973. Not that I didn't want to ,but thats another story.
Hi Brian, just started to read your stories they are brill :handclap: and i agree with the others you should try get them published as mant poeple out there who dont have a pc would love to hear them.
oh by the way wierd coincidence my hubbies name is Brian Daly lol
Look forwrd to more from you
Scousette X
I was starting to enjoy school now that we had a new form master.His name was Mr Reed,a man of infinite wisdom with a unique sense of humour.
Picture a man who looked like Eric Morecombe,with the build of Ronnie Barker,and it will help you to visualise Mr Reed.He could control his class of adolescents with hardly any recourse to the cane ,or other punishments.
We knew he wasn't a pushover,he was firm and fair ,but also very funny.
He was a dapper person,wore three piece suits,with a matching tie and handkerchief ,and his shoes gleamed .Using chalk had given him a form of eczema and so he always wore white gloves,which seemed to add to his authority.He took us for maths ,english and history.Literature was then a part of the english lesson and Pop Reed made those periods so enjoyable that they became a thing to be looked forward to.He would read to us.I know it sounds simple,but he would take books like David Copperfield or Ill Met by Moonlight ,and make those pages come alive for us.It was through him that I came to know Mr Micawber,John Ridd,Masterman Ready and hundreds of other characters that live within the pages of those old classics.
I can recall those golden afternoons,chin on hands,resting on my desk ,watching the dust motes glistening in the shafts of sunlight,my mind on some distant coral strand ,as old Pop took us on another verbal adventure.
Sometimes,in those moments when you are changing from one lesson to another,he would sit with his newspaper and read out items that were never on the page.Holding the paper up to his nose you would hear him mutter things like,"Hmm..car drops dead in high street...",or "House falls through window,police informed." I was unaware of Beachcomber at that time,but when I discovered him years later,I was much minded of old Pop Reed.
We used to have an examination at thirteen in those days,it gave you a second chance to gain a scholarship to a grammar school.Well,I never took the 11 plus and now I missed the 13 plus,not that I would have passed it mind.
I missed because I was beset by a plague of boils.And an abcess.They seemed to appear overnight on my right arm ,just below the elbow.There was this huge abcess ,upon which were eight boils.A red,glowing mountain with nine yellow pustules.You could have heated a room with that arm.The good Doctor Gibson arranged for me to be taken to Myrtle Street hospital to have them seen to.Dad had to take me because they were going to give me an anasthaetic.This was duly done and I was off school for the week with my arm in a sling.I had to go back at the end of the week to get the dressing changed.There was standing room only in the outpatients that morning, next to me was a little lady who had two small boys with her.My arm was in a sling and she asked what had happened to me,I told her about my boils and near sent her to sleep.The sister came around and told us that we would have to assist the nurses by removing our own dressings because they were so busy.I quickly stripped off my bandage and saw that there was a piece of something sticking out of a hole where the abcess had been.It was multi coloured,green ,red ,yellow and yuck...I was staring at it,fascinated as to what it could be,when the sister came by again"Just pull it out boy" she said.
I did ,all 18 inches of it,covered in gore.There was a sigh and a bump beside me,the little lady passed out cold at the sight of it.I was going to ask the nurse if I could take it home to show my mates,you know how pre-teenage boys are.
One mans rubbish can be another mans treasure,and I found this to be a truth when the council opened a tip at the back of the Tennies.You could'nt imagine it being allowed today,but they had a rubbish tip within hundreds of yards of our homes.The adults were outraged,we kids were not.Although our families only dumped rubbish ,there were those who dumped anything that was superflous to their needs.And we kids were there to harvest such things.This was in the days before the HSE and political correctness,the tip men never chased us off,we would stand there as the bin wagons disgorged their loads and then dive in, rummaging like mad before the next wagon was ready to tip.I found a miners helmet which I kept for years,lots of old toys and books,some times you would get gems,like when I found some very early American movie magazines.Soon ,there were loads of kids sifting through the rubbish and it began to attract the attention of the police.
They would let you pass unheeded if they thought you didn't have anything of value,just warn you that you shouldn't be doing that etc.etc.
One night I struck gold,there was a huge leather bound book laying atop a heap of freshly dumped rubbish.I hurriedly picked it up thinking it was an old family bible.It was huge,about 12 inches long ,8 inches wide and 6 inches thick.The leather cover had a golden coat of arms on the front,and on the spine,in gilt,was written"A History Of Clan Tartans".The pages were vellum and it was hand written ,in the most beautiful copperplate,rather like the old white five pound notes.On pages that were made of a thicker paper,were attached pieces of tartan cloth which were covered in a kind of tissue paper.
It was the most wonderful book I had ever held in my hands.Not wishing it to come to further harm,I made my way home to show it to my parents.The two policemen were on duty as usual and ,as I passed,one them reached out and snatched the book. "We could 'ave you for this lad" he said,putting it under his arm,he turned to go"Now get off home before I do yer". I felt gutted.
The tip soon lost its' magic after that,there were lots of other distractions for a boy then though .
Some of our mates joined the cadets,I can't recall anyone from the square joining the scouts or the boys brigade,that seemed to be a bit of a middle class thing.We were a mixed bunch really,catholics and protestants,without any of the tribal aggro that you got in Walton or Everton;remember ,I came from a mixed background where religion counted,but it wasn't like that in Garston.There was the Orange Lodge,and on the 12th of July some of the catholics would go on the coaches with their protestant friends for the knees up in Southport.I never saw any violence in the village when the bands were marching,we'd all be on the pavement enjoying the colourful parade.
And Garston loved its' parades.The annual carnival was always a sight to behold,the different churches,streets,clubs and assorted groupings would create the most wonderful floats,bedecked with flowers and bunting and accompanied by brass bands, pipe bands,and the ever hilarious Woodcutters Band,they would make their way through the village,cementing the bonds of the village community.
I suppose it must have rained sometimes,but I can only recall the sunshine and the bright,bright summer days.
But here we are at the end of another year,Christmas is upon us and there is much to be done.No toys this year,books ,pencils ,cartridge pad and clothes.I wish I'd got a bike, but none of my mates did either, so I was far from deprived.
!955,our Jess would soon be leaving school............
BrianD
Grandma now had a t.v. set,as did a lot of my classmates families,the newspapers carried lots of stories about the programmes and the new television stars.We were missing out,but I couldn't quite see what it was that we were missing.When I went to Grandmas ,on a Sunday,I would see programmes like "Animal Vegetable Mineral" which had professors guessing what objects had been laid before them.Sir Mortimer Wheeler,Professor Joad,Marghanita Laski and other divers characters peopled these shows,and they were popular! But only because there was the one channel.There was always a childrens play on a Sunday,as well as Sooty and Sweep.Most of the good stuff seemed to be on in the week,which we never saw because we never had a television.And then one day Mum got Jess and me together and proposed that we get our own t.v.set.We would have to contribute towards it,but it would be like being able to go to the pictures every day.Sold!!
She went off to arrange an HP deal with Pools(shudder),and within a week they delivered the most wonderful looking television set.It was like a small wardrobe,finished in polished mahogany,it had two doors,behind which was a 17 inch screen.It was a wonderful piece of furniture...literally.When the man installed it, he got a picture of the test card on screen ,switched it off ,and then told us that broadcasts would start after 3-00p.m
We waited for Dad to get home so that he would have the pleasure of launching the Daleys into the T.V. age.
As soon as we had cleared away the evening meal,Dad switched on the box.
Zilch,there was nothing but snow on the screen and loud noises from the speakers.
Jess had to call Pools out to get things sorted,days later,the man turns up,twiddles the knobs,gets the test card,and goes away again.That night was a rerun of our first night,and so it went for many more weeks(I find it hard to believe that people put up with such poor service then ,but they did)
Pools would not take the set back,Mum wouldn't pay them,we were missing programmes.I phoned Pools,I told them that their set was being put on the landing and they would have to get it before the local kids did.It was gone within hours ,and Mum went to Radio Rentals.
Prior to possessing a t.v.,Mum and Dad would go out every Saturday,leaving Jess to watch over us.They would go out with friends and relatives to places like the Coffee House in Woolton. It was always jars out after closing time,and they would come back to our house for a pea soup and spare rib supper.There was always a crate or two for wetting the tonsils,and everybody used to give us their favourite song;quite often Jess and I would be fetched out if bed to sing a song or three.
Television killed all that stone dead.
Mum would stop at home from now on,there would be a big bag of toffees,and all, except Dad, would sit down in front of the box for our evenings entertainment. Dad would get togged up as usual and go off on his own to get bladdered.He always came home with the War Cry in his pocket.
What was it that kept us glued to the Box on a Saturday?Well,there was a thriller serial at about half past seven,"The Quatermass Experiment" and "The Trollenberg Terror" are two that I remember.We were so frightened of them that we checked under the bed before going to sleep.There was a series of "Saturday Spectaculars" which were variety shows hosted by stars like Eric Sykes,Dave King,Jon Pertwee,and others.Except for Jon Pertwees,most shows were just stage shows,with jugglers,ventriloquists,etc.Jon used to have some filmed sketches as well.Broadcasting stopped well before midnight,and so we would be in bed by the time Dad got back.
Mum staying at home enabled Jess to get out and start enjoying her teenage.
She was now a very pretty young lady,with a string of admirers and some very nice mates,with whom I was constantly developing crushes,not that they ever knew it,pre-teen age boys didn't appear on teenaged girls radar.
There were very few lads over the age of eighteen about now,I was beginning to become aware of a thing called National Service.Something my Dad was always saying we could do with.Apparently they made men out of you,it certainly changed the older lads in our gang.Teddy boys went in and would come home on their first leave.....unrecognisable.Short haired,with a Khaki uniform that had creases that were razor sharp ,and shiny boots to match.They were smart,and Dad used to point them out as examples.
Our Jess would have gone to college in another life,she had the brains for it ,and the aptitude,I was like Eeyore beside her.But school leaving time was here and Jess was going to work,in the Matchworks.
The first working day after Easter !955 saw our Jess,with a fresh white turban and an emerald green overall,join in the throng that responded to the works hooter.Out along the landings they flooded ,a green and white tide surging across Speke Road to begin another working day.For Jess ,it was the first step on the road to independence.
It was now my job to see to the fetching and and carrying of Chris to Maggie Browns.It was not much bother to me because I did it on the way to and from school.
It was around this time that my Mums younger brother, Frank ,came to see us .He was living at Grandmas with his wife Vera and their three children,life was a bit crowded for them there and he was so excited because the railway were going to let him have one of their trackside cottages by South Liverpool cemetery. It was very isolated,reached only by a long cinder track that ran between the cemetery and the wall that protected the railway track and property.The gate to their cottage was set in the wall about a third of a mile from Horrocks avenue.When they moved in ,Uncle Frank invited me over and showed me around.It was wonderful,there were vast expanses of growing areas ,and it was all his.The wall shielded the property the whole length of the lane.Frank was so excited as he mapped out the land with his hands,"We'll have potatoes there ,and cabbage,over there I'll plant beans and peas.Here we'll have a flower garden and we'll clear some ground for a play area." I was swept along with his enthusiasm and promised to help as much as I could. The cottage itself was very Victorian,there was room enough for all his family but it was old fashioned.Vera and Frank would have their work cut out for a few years before they would make any headway.
In the meantime ,I was still on the lookout for a regular source of income.And most jobs for schoolboys involved the need to ride a bike.Problem.I had never had a bike,nor could I ride one.
One of my classmates had a commando bike,these were made during the war for our special forces,they were fold up bikes and had a double crossbar.But they were bikes and I would have been glad to have one,however on this day,Ray let me have a go at riding his bike.I got it in motion,very shakily,but momentum ironed out the wobble ,and soon I was riding.I didn't see the kerb until it was too late.The front wheel hit it and I shot forward on to the double crossbar crushing the crown jewels.I hobbled home,covered in embarassment,for some of the girls from Duncombe Road school had seen my mishap.
When I went to the lavatory that night ,I saw that my stool was bright red.I didn't wish to alarm my Mum an kept quiet about it.Next morning ,it was the same bright red colour.After dropping Chris off at Maggies,I went to see Doctor Gibson,who promptly ordered an ambulance to take me to Myrtle Street hospital.I was pushed and pulled ,and given a good old examination,but they were puzzled as to why I was making bright red stools.
They gave me a note to come back next day,with a parent,or guardian ,so that I could have an X-ray.Mum asked Maggie if she could go with me and she said o.k.
Next day I was mortified when Maggie sat in the room whilst the doctors pulled my meat and two veg this way and that.The X-ray was taken and the doctors were looking at it,trying to see what was wrong,when I reached into my pocket for the bag of sweets that I had there for the past three days.
I was just putting an aniseed ball into my mouth when the doctor looked at me."How long have you had them for?" he shouted.I told him and I thought he was going to hit me,but he burst out laughing instead."Go home boy " he said.And I walked out with a familliar burning of cheeks.
Maggie couldn't wait to tell Mum,she also told her something else"You Know his willy isn't any bigger than it was when I caught him waggling it at our Rose 8 years ago.I wanted the floor to open up beneath me.