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A New Life Adventure
A New Life Adventure
A New Life Adventure
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A New Life Adventure

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Two young teenagers meet and fall in love in working class Nottingham, England in 1963. They live through the trials and tribulations of surrendering a child to adoption. They later marry and seven years after their first meeting they immigrate to Ontario, Canada, and this book covers the period of their lives from their first meeting to migrating west to Alberta in 1978 with two children.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJul 7, 2016
ISBN9781773020372
A New Life Adventure

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    A New Life Adventure - Robert D. Gardner

    Note

    This is a work of non-fiction. A young couple immigrate to Canada searching for a better life. Some elements have been modified and some names have been changed.

    For:

    Martin, Julie and Pauline.

    Preface

    I stand in the citizenship courtroom in 1980 with my wife Maureen and our two children Martin and Julie. After we have sworn an oath to our new country the Judge walks along the line of new Canadians congratulating us and shaking our hands individually. He makes a little small talk with each new Canadian, east Indians, Italians, Portuguese, Muslins, Christians and all. When he gets to Martin he asks him what we had planned for the rest of the day in the way of celebration and Martin said, I’m going back to England with my mom.

    The judge looked at me questioningly and I said, Just for a holiday Judge they’ll be back in two weeks. As I left the courthouse building I looked back over my life and what led me to become a Canadian.

    BOOK 1

    The England Years

    Chapter I

    It was pouring with rain as I climbed onto the green number 60 double-decker bus with my best friend Jeff. We sit on the lower deck to avoid the cigarette smoke upstairs. The ride down town Nottingham is nothing special, the bus is half full with weekend shoppers hoping to find a special deal and two noisy louts dressed in red and white toques and scarves looking forward to a pint of Shipstone’s bitter before watching Nottingham Forest play Derby County to the disappoint of their home fans once again.

    We arrive down town just as the rain stops and walk across Market Square, a gay man standing outside The Flying Horse offers to buy us a drink; we decline respectfully telling him we are under age. No problem Ducky’s, he said blowing us a kiss.

    We entered shop after shop, Jeff just loves trying on new clothes, or going into music shops to listen to the latest records. Chuck Berry is his favourite entertainer but a new English group called The Beatles is taking over the music scene. Jeff buys the Beatles latest single after sitting in the listening booth for half an hour. What do ya think? He said taking the record from the player,I prefer Jerry and the Pacemakers, I said in a bored tone.

    Jeff laughed, You gotta be kidding me Rob; they’re grottie. Jeff was picking up the latest entertainment lingo faster than me.

    The rain had started again as we climbed our bus for the return journey home to Bilborough Estate.

    I am so happy to be home after what I thought to be a waste of a day as we amble up the path to my back door and enter the kitchen. My sister Val and another girl I have never seen before are standing at the kitchen sink facing our way. The new girl is shorter than my sister by several inches and she is wearing tight blue jeans, and a hand knitted sweater and white bobby- socks. I feel like I have been struck by a thunderbolt by the new girl’s beauty. Both girls have their hair back-combed up in Helen Shapiro’s big beehive style. Val is very blond and the new girl has black hair and too much green eye shadow.

    Jeff and I continue into the front room. Did you see that? I said quietly.

    Nice, said Jeff, his mind on my sister.

    Later that day, after the new girl has gone home Val comes out to the back yard where I am cutting the lawn. What do you think of my new friend? she said coyly.

    She’s nice, where does she live?

    Her name’s Maureen, she lives three doors away, next to Mrs. Adams. She likes you.

    I am surprised, happy and suspicious all at the same time. ‘Why would someone that good looking be interested in me?’ I thought to myself, Really? I said.

    She wants to go out with you,

    My mind went to Christine. I like Christine, she’s the first girl I ever kissed and for the last few weeks we made out in the dining room under the pretence of playing table tennis when my folks were not around. I’ll think about it then.

    I can’t get Maureen out of my mind day or night and do not know what to do about Christine. Christine is a great kisser for a fifteen year old, but the taste of nicotine is a poor trade. Jeff and Val are pushing me to do something soon and I want so much to feel Maureen’s lips against mine.

    All at once Christine stops coming round and Val is now spending more time with her new friend Maureen and less time with Christine. I see more and more of Maureen at our house, but can’t seem to find the nerve to ask her out.

    The first time I had such a heavy crush on someone so pretty was two years before when I had just turned thirteen. Susan was known as a ‘prick teaser’ but I was new in the community and although super shy she got my attention and used me like a play thing until the day Jeff gave me the courage to try to kiss her. Susan rejected me and realization of what a ‘prick-teaser’ meant was very painful. Will Maureen treat me the same way? I thought.

    I am standing in the kitchen with my back to the sink with a hot iron in my hand, pressing my trousers for the next day at college when my sister Val and Maureen walk through the back door giggling as girls do. I had a knot in my stomach the size of a football when I said, Do ya want to go to the pictures, to Maureen’s surprise.

    Um, yes, when? she said.

    On Saturday to see ‘It’s a Crazy World’. Jeff and his girlfriend are coming too.

    Okay. She said again with a beautiful smile. That melted my heart.

    I un-plugged the iron from the wall socket. I’ll meet you at your gate at six.

    She smiled again and said okay, and followed my sister upstairs where they continued to giggle.

    Chapter 2

    I arrived at Maureen’s gate at two minutes to six and waited for her nervously for her to come out. Wow, I thought as she walked down the concrete path. She looks older than her thirteen and a half years and her beauty just about bowled me over. Maureen’s parents Denis and Nelly stand discreetly at the living room window of their council house watching as we walk to the bus stop.

    Jeff is meeting us there, I said as we reach the bus stop. The bus stopped with a whistling sound from its air brakes. Maureen followed me up to the upper deck where I stand nervously allowing her to sit on the inside of the green leather double seat by the window. She’s wearing a blue mini-dress that rides above her knees as she sits down and four inch blue stiletto heeled shoes that pinch her feet. She sits nervously wondering if she should offer to pay her own bus fare as the conductor approaches. Two to town please, I said to the conductor confidently. He handed me the tickets and glanced at Maureen’s knees with a lecherous smile.

    I have a nervous knot in my stomach, I feel intimidated by her as I look at her reflection in the window as she watches the world go by below. I pretend to look out of the window to, but I am really looking at her profile and too shy to say a word for the whole journey to town.

    When we arrive at the Elite Theatre there is a long queue already reaching out of the theatre and down the pavement. Jeff arrives by himself just as the pay kiosk opens. You go in, I’ll wait for Tammy, Jeff said as we reach the kiosk.

    Maureen again reaches into her purse for money. Here, she hands me a pound note to pay for her ticket.

    That’s okay, my treat, I said.

    We find two seats close to the rear of the lower floor just below the front edge of the upper balcony. The lights go down very quickly and the pre-show advertising comes onto the screen. I watch for Jeff and Tammy as the latecomer’s filter down the sloping gangway led by usher’s guiding their way with narrow-beam torches. Can you see Jeff anywhere? I whisper to Maureen. She shook her head in surprise that I finally spoke to her.

    When the picture starts all goes quiet and I relax a little with no pressure now to speak, and all I really want to do is put my arm around Maureen or hold her hand. I stretch my eyes to their sideways limit to look at her, but there is some invisible force holding me back from touching her.

    The picture ends and we get caught in the rush for the exits along the gangway to beat the National Anthem, but we didn’t make it. Everyone stops in their tracks to show their respect and I take this time to look over the heads of the crowd for a sign of my friend and his girlfriend. Maureen and I wait outside in misty drizzle until the crowds have diminished. They must have gone, I said to Maureen.

    Val is waiting for us in the kitchen when we get home.

    Thanks for taking me out. Maureen said.

    I said, That’s okay, and without saying anything more I go upstairs to my room.

    How was it? My sister said to Maureen.

    I don’t know; that’s as much as he said to me all night!

    I told you he’s shy.

    I sit on the edge of my bed frustratingly wanting to go back down stairs and talk to Maureen, to take her home, to hold her hand, to kiss her, to be with her. What’s holding me? I’ve blown it. I thought.

    Maureen thinks you don’t like her, Val said the next day.

    That’s not true; I really like her a lot. I replied.

    Why didn’t you talk to her then?

    I don’t know. She intimidates me.

    I can see Maureen from the front room window coming down the street to visit my sister. Val is upstairs fixing her hair yet again. I run to the back door before Maureen has a chance to knock. Would you like to come with me to see the Rolling Stones? I blurt out as I open the door.

    "What-what does it cost?’ She stuttered out.

    I’m paying, I said.

    Maureen goes upstairs and tells my sister what has just happened.

    That sounds great Val said excitedly.

    I meet Maureen at her gate as arranged and she comes down the path on time wearing a blue skirt and jacket and the same high heeled shoes that look so uncomfortable.

    On the bus ride into Nottingham, Maureen breaks the ice and talked about the performers on the show, what were their records and whom she likes the best? I know their names but being with Maureen is my main pleasure of this evening. We take our seats in the balcony to the left of the stage, at the Nottingham Playhouse Theatre in plenty of time. I sit next to her again agonizingly wanting to hold her hand.

    It is a great show with a number of famous acts on the program. The Paramount’s, Jet Harris, Billy Davis and Adam Faith do an excellent job of warming up the audience for the main event; the Rolling Stones.

    The Rolling Stones came out to a thunderous noise of clapping, cheering and screaming. Things start to get out of hand quickly when kids seated behind the stage start creeping up to touch the performers from behind. All of a sudden the main audience below the balcony surges forward. The Stones are only half way through their third song when they have no choice but to retreat from the stage. The concert is suddenly over. We are so disappointed at not being able to see more of the featured act, but I am with Maureen and that is all that matters to me.

    We arrived back at her place about ten-thirty and she thanks me again as she goes through her front gate. I watched her until she disappeared into the pitch-black darkness of the entryway between the houses. What’s wrong with me, why can’t I touch her? I think to myself as I solemnly walk home.

    The next day after work Val knocks on my bedroom door.

    What is it? I say.

    I have a message from Maureen. I open the door suspiciously.

    She wants to meet you at the corner tonight and go for a walk.

    I have been here before with Sue the prick teaser, I think myself.

    I didn’t have the same feeling for Sue that I have for Maureen. ‘Shall I take this chance’?’ Fear of rejection invading my mind. ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ I thought. What time?

    7.00 o’clock, Val said.

    It is cold and the sun has set to a frosty evening. The streetlights are on across the road and misty circles like angel halos surround the yellow lights. I watch admiringly as Maureen passes my gate. I am standing in the shadow of a privet hedge on the corner of Staverton Drive and she steps from one foot to the other trying to keep warm as I said, Where do you want to go?

    Where do you want to go? she replied.

    Let’s just walk.

    Maureen break’s the ice by telling me she likes my motorbike. I am feeling more comfortable as I listen to her talk about her love of music and knitting. I talk about fishing and would she like to come along some time?

    I’d like that, she said with a warm smile.

    We walk along Glaisdale Drive, Wigman Road and turn onto Bracebridge Drive enjoying each other’s company, the light mist is turning to fog and the streetlights seem far away and our breath can be seen as we talk.

    The space between us gets smaller and smaller until our arms touch softly. Instinctively we entwine our gloved fingers, and I feel the burden of nervousness lift from my shoulders. We walk for maybe an hour before she said she has to get home to do her homework. Panic starts to rise inside me as we approach the street corner next to the phone box where we had decided to part. ‘Do I dare try to kiss her’ kept rushing through my mind.’ Again my desires are vetoed by a sub-conscious restraint. See you tomorrow at the same time? I said as I walk away happy that I had held her hand but, oh so wanting to kiss her sweet lips.

    Did he kiss you? Val asked Maureen the next day.

    No, but I think he wants to, Maureen said.

    Chapter 3

    My aunt Beatrice lived in Ilkeston with my Uncle Ernie, Cousins Bill, Ernie junior, David, Kathleen and Irene. I worked for a small back street jobber builder with a yard just across the street from them on Wood Street. Wood Street was a dead end street with the entrance to the gas works at the end. Along the side of the gasworks was a paved laneway known locally as shit alley because of the dog poop obstacle course required navigating through to get to the playground and the long since abandoned Ilkeston canal.

    I liked Aunt Beat’ and Uncle Ernie; they were down to earth people. Aunt Beat’ was a large imposing woman and eldest of her siblings; my mum, Aunt Kath and Uncle Jack.

    Aunt Beatrice left home just prior to the start of the Second World War with Cousin Billy hidden in her stomach. Uncle Ernie was a deceptively diminutive man; he was as hard as nails and soon after a short romance married Aunt Beatrice before being shipped off to fight the Germans. Uncle Ernie was wounded at the retreat from the battle of Dunkirk and carried the shrapnel in his chest until the day he died of black lung disease in his seventies.

    It’s your Cousin Ernie’s twenty-first birthday in a fortnight, mum told us over a plate of ‘bubble and squeak’. Aunt Beat’ is renting the community Centre for a party and she said you can each bring a friend and we will be staying the night."

    I invited Jeff and my sister invited Maureen, we are all happy with the arrangement because my sister has the hots for Jeff.

    Mum, dad, Val, Maureen and my four years old sister Vicky squeeze into dads newly acquired used black Morris Minor. Jeff and I make our own way on the bus.

    The Community Centre is not overly full when Jeff and I arrive. Mostly family and some close friends of my cousin Ernie junior from the coal mine that he and Uncle Ernie work at.

    Tables are set up along the right hand wall with cocktail snacks including miniature sausage rolls, onions and crackers. Plates of triangular shaped sandwiches filled with watercress, cheese and ham are lightly covered with clear cellophane rap. At the end of the food tables are crates of ale and a smaller table carrying spirits like whisky, gin, Port, and Sherry. Music is supplied by a gramophone record-player sitting in the middle of the small stage at the far end of the hall. Cousin’s Kathleen and Irene take turns changing the records and the older folks complain about their choices.

    Jeff and I have only one thing on our minds, Jeff snogging with my sister and me snogging with Maureen. As the evening wears on the adults start to loosen up and pay less attention to us younger revellers.

    Uncle Tom gives Jeff and me a bottle of beer each. You shouldn’t do that, Aunt Kath scolded him with a discrete wink of her left eye. Aunt Kath is the younger sister to my mum and Aunt Beatrice. Aunt Kath is a lot of fun. She has long red wavy hair and her heavy smoking and love of dancing seems to keep her weight in check. Uncle Tom and Aunt Kath lived on the same street in Lenton until we moved to Bilborough Estate when I was twelve and was where I ran to when I needed a break from my mum’s abuse.

    Uncle Tom is a little younger than Aunt Kath and loves her to bits. They’re big lads, they’ll be all right. Tom replied wiping beer foam from his lips with the back of his hand.

    One bottle led to two and then three. Jeff and I share our drinks with the girls when no one is looking, and it isn’t long before my inhibitions weaken. Go on, take her outside, Jeff encouraged me.

    All the young kids are twisting and shaking to the ‘Hippy-Hippy Shake’ by a new group called ‘The Swinging Blue Jeans’ when I have finally drank enough to find the courage to speak to Maureen. I gotta get some air, I’m going outside; do ya want to come?

    It’s cold outside, it has been raining, and thick English smog is starting to descend. I leaned against the red brick wall as I watched the back door to the hall hopefully, shivering slightly as I’m only wearing a black corduroy jacket a white dress shirt with a narrow blue knitted tie and no sweater. Jeff comes out first followed closely by my sister Val and then Maureen. Jeff takes Val’s hand and leads her into shadows around the corner.

    I looked at Maureen nervously as she approaches with a slight limp. She looks gorgeous, I think. What’s up? I ask her.

    It’s these bloody high-heel shoes, they’re killing me, she said with a wince. We lean against the brick wall of the building in the shadow of a small alcove created by a chimney breast and after I blow my nose we kiss softly and affectionately. She tastes so good, but there is a very slight disturbing taste of tobacco.

    A few days later I met Maureen at our usual place on the corner of Burnside and Staverton and immediately join hands and commence our walk. My hands are getting hot, I said letting go of her hand to remove my glove.

    Mine to, she said removing her glove.

    Feeling each other’s skin again feels like it is meant to be.

    Before reaching the telephone kiosk at the far end of our street we tickle each other’s palms until I let go and put my arm around her waist, she instinctively turns toward me, raises her head, and our lips come together for the second time. I’ve wanted to do that since the night of the party, I said.

    We part our lips momentarily, Me too. She said.

    I blow my nose into my handkerchief and we kiss again and again. I suffer from allergies and have to wipe my nose constantly but it doesn’t seem to bother Maureen.

    Things were going great I thought. I liked my job, college one day a week was fun and I had a beautiful girlfriend. On Monday morning I rode my bike along the canal as usual happy as a Lark. My boss Bill was waiting outside the yard gate as I approached on my bicycle. Good morning, I said cheerily,

    Good morning Robert, Bill looked sad and nervous, We have to let you go, he said apologizing.

    I am stunned. Bill hands me a brown paper wage packet with my name on it.

    We’re closing the business son, we can’t make it pay Tom’s gone back to butchering and start a new job today too. He shook my hand and wished me well and drove away in the old flatbed lorry; I never saw him again. In the wage packet was two weeks wages and my employment cards.

    Chapter 4

    In the New Year Maureen turned fourteen and we gradually spend more and more time together. Christine didn’t seem to mind me going out with Maureen and we all stayed friends. Christine and my sister are smoking more and more and Maureen is following their lead; I can’t stand the taste of nicotine kisses, I tell her and she quits, never to smoke again.

    When I’m not riding my motorbike I am fixing it. Val, Christine and Maureen often come down to the waste-land known locally as Horses Field due to its history as a farm paddock. The girls take turns riding on the back seat of Mike and me and sometimes Mike’s friend Phil. The field is located between the railway track and Glaisdale Drive and grows wild while waiting for future development. As winter made way for spring Jeff and me grow apart and spend less together.

    Jeff’s parents totally ban him from motorbikes and he has little interest in them anyway. His aggressive attempt at fondling my sister turned her off on the night of the party and he was very happy now bedding a well emboweled girl three years his senior.

    It is the early 1960’s and the young people are dividing into two factions; The ‘Mod’s’ and the ‘Rocker’s’. Divided mostly by style of dress and mode of transportation, the radicals in both groups use these simple differences to create idiotic trouble for both.

    As Jeff fades from my life, school friend Dave Brown and Mick Smith are becoming more prominent. Dave and I did some fishing together and he too has an interest in motorbikes and comes to Horses Field to ride my bike. Mick rides a 1956 150cc James motorbike and we had a lot of fun giving the girls rides around the field and up and over the small spinney by the railway track.

    Then Mick met June Ashton at the bus stop on Parliament Street one afternoon on his way home from work. June is a tall skinny blond girl living on the other side of the city. She is one year older than Mick at sixteen and loves to play doctor with Mick’s private parts, so very soon Mick is scarcely around.

    Chapter 5

    Maureen and I are getting disapproving looks from older folks as we walk the length of the bus holding hands. I feel strange and uneasy and try to avoid eye contact. We are on our way to the city and looking forward to a full day out together. Winter is giving way to a warm spring and Maureen is looking forward to seeing the spring flowers in the Nottingham Castle grounds.

    As we approach the pay kiosk at the large sandstone entrance gate to the Castle grounds Maureen hands me some money. I want to pay for this, she insisted. I earn much more money than you, it’s only right.

    The flowers are spectacular leading up to the main building; a swaying sea of yellow daffodils seems to float in neatly trimmed rows, welcoming visitors to this oasis of solitude in the heart of city chaos. The sweet aroma of honeysuckle blossom fills the air as tulips in shades of red and pink sway in the warm breeze.

    After strolling through the grounds hand in hand to more unwelcome stares, we visit the museum; I’m so happy and prefer to look at Maureen than the exhibits. We stroll down Castle Road to look at the bronze statue of Robin Hood and I want to show Maureen Peoples College opposite the statue where I am learning my trade.

    Some prick stole his arrow again, I said as we approach the statue. We both laugh and continue down the hill to look at the old Trip to Jerusalem pub situated at the base of the castle rock. It’s the oldest pub in England, they say. Look there’s a café over there with some motorbikes outside, fancy a chocolate éclair and a cup of tea?

    I love chocolate, Maureen said with a warm smile.

    Castle Boulevard is very busy and the exhaust smoke from the Lorries and buses makes us both cough as we cross the road. I stop at the motorbikes parked outside the café. That’s what I want one day, a 650cc Triumph Bonneville, I said drooling.

    As I walk to the serving counter, one of the two leather-clad boys sitting at the back table looked familiar. Hey-up Rob, John said with his unmistakable cheeky little smile.

    I ordered a chocolate éclair for Maureen and a cream slice for myself and two cups of tea. Maureen followed me to John’s table. I introduce Maureen and John introduces his friend Ray. Are they your bikes outside? I said.

    Yah, Ray said, the Bonny is John’s."

    Both John and Ray are very small guys and either one would qualify in weight to be jockeys. John and me grew up in the same neighbourhood and although four years my senior John preferred hanging with the younger kids closer to his size.

    Maureen sits down while I go back to the counter for our order.

    Ray and Maureen listen amused as John and me catch up on the last three years. Remember the time we played hooky from school? John laughed.

    Me arse is still sore from that one, I said with a smile. We exchanged information on the whereabouts of the other neighbourhood kids for a while not knowing that that part of our lives was past and the next stage was underway.

    Why don’t we give you a ride home? John offered.

    As I wipe chocolate from the corner of my mouth. I look at Maureen who is already nodding with a grin. Ray senses my apprehension and said, Maureen can wear my helmet.

    We step out on to the cracked pavement, as a green coloured lorry belching blue smoke drives by. I looked up at the castle towering above the white-rendered ‘Trip to Jerusalem’, and watch wild pigeons glide on smoky air currents.

    Ray hands his helmet to Maureen and adjusts’ the strap before climbing aboard his red 200cc Triumph Sport and kick-started it into life. With its sporty fairing it looks powerful and fast and Maureen stepped up onto the footrest as discreetly as possible as her tight dress rides up high on her thigh.

    Very nice, John said as he jumped down on the kick-starter of his 650cc twin-cylinder while concentrating on Maureen’s legs. The engine roars into life and John’s toes barely touch the ground as he brings the machine to the upright position.

    I swing my right leg over the seat behind him. Ray leads the way, forcing every rpm he can out of the little engine between gear changes. John cruises by when it suits him just to show Ray whose is boss, and ogle Maureen’s legs at the same time.

    Maureen is a natural rider and is one with the machine; she’s ridden many times on the back of her dad’s bike and is very comfortable with speed. As Ray leans the little Triumph into tight corners and around traffic islands sparks fly from the footrests as the little bike whines along happily.

    Back home at Maureen’s house she slides the helmet from her head and shakes out her hair as she thanks Ray for the ride. That was fantastic. Maureen said eagerly.

    You should come up to the club on Thursday night, John said.

    I had heard about the 41 Club from my friend Dave who lives close by the clubhouse entrance at the old Grange Farm community centre on Tremayne Road. Sounds like fun, I said as Maureen nods her head at me.

    See you there at 8.00 on Thursday, John shouts as he revs his powerful engine to life.

    Chapter 6

    Mum was surprised when I walked in the house at half past eight in the morning. Before she could speak I told her that I had been laid off. You better get looking for another job right away then. She said with no compassion in her voice

    I’d had my belly full of small firms and needed something more secure. Most of the lads at college worked for large companies and I got a good feeling of what I wanted to do. I wrote to all the large construction companies doing projects in Nottingham and had several interviews. I was offered an apprenticeship at Wimpey and Richard Costain Ltd. Wimpey had a reputation for turning out shoddy work and my friend Mick Denis worked at Costain so I went there on a probationary basis for six months. On my sixteenth birthday I was indentured in the Richard Costain apprenticeship programmed. Are you stupid or what? Mick Flynn said.

    I had reported to work at Richard Costain ltd jobsite on Maid Marion Way, Nottingham. I know no one. I felt strange and intimidated and very nervous. Alan Hawthorne is the carpenter foreman. Mr. Hawthorne is a very animated fellow, who waves his arms around a lot when speaking. He always wears the same dark blue suit jacket, blue jeans, a striped blue tie, over-powering after-shave lotion, and too much greasy cream in his hair.

    Mr. Hawthorne liked to instil words of wisdom to the new apprentices whenever he got the chance. Whatcha want to be when you grow up son? he would say out of the blue. It didn’t matter what the apprentice said his response to the answer was always the same. Well then, if you don’t want to be a slave to your tools your whole life, this is what you do. At the end of your apprenticeship, drive down to Clifton Bridge and throw your tools in the river.

    Mr. Hawthorne’s best friend is Paddy Lennon. Paddy is the Forman of the labour-gang on site. He is a big, intimidating looking fellow with protruding lips, red hair and a strong Irish accent; he looks so strong he could have muscles in his shit. Both Paddy and Mr. Hawthorne love West-Indian people but hate East-Indian people! Let’s go Pakki-bashing tonight, they’d say on a Friday afternoon to impress anyone listening.

    It is a team effort; Mr. Hawthorne always picks out the target in the pub, usually standing alone at the bar minding his own business. Alan finds some minor excuse to antagonize the man before Paddy steps in to beat the crap out of the poor fellow. Take it outside, the Landlord would always say. Their weekend sport is always well received by the workers on site come Monday morning with a blow by blow account of their fun.

    I am assigned to work with Big Len. Lenny is from Jamaica originally but had spent some time in the United States; a year or so. He came to England because he didn’t like the way blacks are treated in America. He is 6’5" tall, 250lbs of ebony coloured muscle, and he’s handsome like Sidley Poitier or Mohamed Ali and arrogant to go along with it. Sometimes he tag’s along with his friends Alan and Paddy on their Pakki-bashing excursions for fun and enlightenment; This way Alan and Paddy don’t feel prejudiced when assaulting fellow human beings because they have brown skin and wear a turban and Lenny feels more comfortable when seducing his favourite women; white women.

    For all my eagerness, I just don’t fit in on this jobsite. Nothing I do or how hard I work feels appreciated. After one month I am transferred to what is known in the company as the ‘Jobsite of the Damned’ because workers on the outside of the mainstream clique’ end up there.

    A company bus picks us up in the town square at 7.20 a.m. All the men except for Bernie Tate and me smoke. The first lesson I learn is, never complain about the smoke, or it gets worse. The men on the bus are friendly enough and love to tell ridiculous stories; usually with sex involved. I laughed and coughed at the same time as Tom Cready told the story about the day old Sam Squire was riding the bus.

    It was on a previous out-of-town project and old Sam would sit by the small window at the back of the bus and whine constantly about the smoking. One day he made the mistake of asking the smokers to quit whilst on route. The next day Sam’s seat by the window is taken up by a big intimidating fellow by the name of Paddy Lennon and the only remaining seat is the furthest from any window. No one spoke and Sam feels suspicious as the van pulls away from the curb. Suddenly; almost on cue, ten men reach in their pockets and pull out huge Cuban cigars to Sam’s chagrin. For the next sixty minutes all Sam could say over and over between coughing fits is you rotten bastards.

    The smell of death meets my senses as I jump from the back of the bus with my lunch pack on my shoulder. What’s that stink? I moan.

    Welcome to guts-ache hell, Gordon the bricklayer said with a friendly laugh and a pat on my back, you’ll get used to it.

    You better report to the foreman in there, the van driver pointed to the green site office sitting alongside a barbed wire fence.

    I nervously knock on the site foreman’s office door.

    Come.

    Neil Portman the site foreman is tall, over-weight for a man in his thirties. He tries to hide the stress of his position with a mask of arrogant authority that only distances him farther from his men. Mr. Portman never leaves his sweet-smelling office unless it is absolutely necessary. Go find Bernie Tate and work with him for now, and try to keep ya mouth shut, Mr. Portman said in an intimidating tone.

    Yes sir, I replied shaking in my steel capped black leather work boots.

    And don’t call me sir. He said gruffly, my name is Mr. Portman."

    I find Bernie hunched over a plank of wood resting on his knee. Neil sent me to work with you Bernie? Bernie is a short, uncomfortably looking man with a white pencil protruding from his flat cap hat just above his right ear.

    Alright then, grab that plank, Bernie replied in a suspicious tone.

    I have never met anyone quite like Bernie before. He is different somehow. Bernie is helpful and caring and I feel he is a good man. He takes a shine to me and we get on fine for a while. Bernie has a wife and two small kids of his own and adored them. In some ways Bernie is like me in the way that he feels like a round peg in a square hole sometimes. Men who have known Bernie for many years mock him behind his back for being accident-prone.

    One day in the Lunch room Tom Cready told me without any sign of sympathy. The stupid fucker got picked up by the hook on the tower-crane on his last job. Fell twenty feet when his shirt buttons gave way. The only thing that saved him from falling fifty feet was steel starter rods sticking out from the building. Stupid fucker would have been killed.

    Why do you limp like that? I asked Bernie one day.

    I rode me motorbike into the back of a tractor going too slowly through the village when I was sixteen, Bernie reflected. I was unconscious for two weeks and woke up with steel rods and screws pinning me leg bones back together.

    Twenty years after his teenage accident Bernie’s facial scars and speech impediment are barely noticeable.

    What do they do here Bernie, I asked nodding toward the building across the car park.

    This is where they bring all the waste meat from butcher shops and dead farm animals. It’s made into fertilizer.

    At lunch- time I can’t eat my sausage sandwiches. I just sit and complain of a sickly stomach. You’ll get used to it lad, Gordon the brick-layer said yet again.

    Do you really? I said.

    Gordon the bricklayer looked serious for a second and said, Never, and everybody burst out laughing.

    From that first day forward on this jobsite I ate only banana, cheese or lettuce sandwiches for lunch.

    Lunchtimes are always an education for young apprentices in the workplace. With men ranging in age up to their sixties, there are hundreds of years of life’s experience to draw from. Politics, sports and sex are the favourite subjects of discussion but nothing is taboo.

    George is the labourer gang foreman; he is a man of fifty-eight years of age. George carries a huge belly hanging over his wide leather belt. His white wispy hair is combed from his left ear all the way over his head to the other ear. His hair is kept in place by a white safety-hat and he always has a yellow pencil stuck up into the hat by his right ear so as to look important. George never lifts anything heavier that a broom and never pushes it, and to avoid having to criticize his men for ‘slacking’ he always warns of his coming by whistling as he walks around the site. George is a funny man, with always a story to tell.

    I sit directly across the table from George in the lunch room toasting a cheese sandwich on the electric fire sitting on its side in the middle of the messy table.

    Did I tell you about the time I was working in Derby? George said loudly to all present but was looking at me. We got rained-off that day at noon, he said. I went over to the shops and met this absolutely beautiful woman. I asked her if she wanted to go to the pictures for the afternoon matinee. She said she would. We sat in the back row and very soon I nibbled on her ear and kissed her on the mouth. She was being very responsive so I slid my hand up under her blouse. She had the biggest pair of tits I had ever seen. He took a sip of tea to add to the drama.

    I take my sandwich from the improvised toaster and take a bite just as George said, I slid my hand up the girls skirt and grabbed the biggest pair of balls I ever seen.

    I laughed so hard my mouthful of food flew across the table into Gordon’s lap. Sorry Gordon, I said in a fit of hysterics.

    I got home from work about 6.45 and washed and changed my clothes as fast as I could so as not to be late for my date. What’s that smell? Maureen said turning up her nose, as I leaned down to kiss her.

    It’s from work. I said, surprised she can still smell it on me after a wash and change of clothes. I describe the working conditions on my new jobsite. They bring in lorry loads of bloated dead animals and rotting meat, the grounds around the plant are like something out of a horror show, heaving with maggots. Many of the men that work in the plant have growths on their faces, but all deny they’re from working there. But the good thing is I get unlimited maggots for fishing for free.

    Bernie is a very sensitive man and one-day he gets frustrated at the tentative way I am hitting a nail. Grabbing the plank from my hands in frustration, Bernie shouts, this is how you do it young‘un, he raised the hammer high above his head and swung at the nail as hard as he could, misses it and hitting his thumb. I can’t stop myself from laughing at the Indian style war dance Bernie performs as he sucks and blows at his finger at the same time. Even the pigeons roosting in the roof rafters had never heard language like this come from Bernie’s mouth, and they flew away like bats out of hell. Mr. Portman took the weeping man straight to the hospital and he didn’t show up for work for a week.

    Bernie comes back to work a few days later with a shattered thumb held together with a splint and bloody bandage. I don’t work with Bernie again after this incident, and gain the reputation in the firm as the lad that laughed at poor old Bernie’s misery.

    Chapter 7

    Why do you call me stupid? I answered the scruffy looking Irishman Mick Flynn.

    Going steady with a girl at your age, it’s stupid, you should be playing the field lad, spread some wild oats.

    I didn’t know what that meant but tried to stay at arm’s length from the man. Mick Flynn was an uncouth man of little education and always sprayed his food across the lunchroom table as he spoke. There are murmurs and nods of agreement around the table. I feel a sense of impending doom.

    Jeff too, and my friends at college are expressing the same point of view. I’m starting to feel pressure and confusion inside. My feelings for Maureen are real and growing, and deep down I know that this is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, but the logic of commitment to one person at this age is battling my sub-conscience at the same time. Other people’s opinions won out over my true feelings when I tell Maureen we should break up.

    With our break up Maureen returned to spending her time with my sister again, and I hang around with my old neighbourhood friend John at the motorcycle club.

    Later in the summer my sister Val asked our parents if Maureen could come on holidays with them. Dad said this would be okay if she paid her own way.

    Portsdown Hill campground on the outskirts of Portsmouth is their destination with a stop on the way to see some sites in London and my dad’s old neighbourhood.

    Dad has traded in the little Morris Minor for a larger Hillman Minx by this time, but it is still over loaded and top-heavy with a full roof rack on top. The journey south is mostly uneventful except for dad getting lost on the outskirts of his home town of London. As he approaches a traffic island on the ring road he finds himself in the wrong lane. An irate-looking man driving a little red Mini shouts an obscenity at dad as he tries to manoeuvre the Hillman into the right lane. Dad casually rolls down the window, gives the two-fingered salute and yells back at the man, fuck off to you to, to the surprise of all inside the car.

    My little sister Vicky said, What does fuck off mean Val?

    Ask dad, Val replied sheepishly.

    That’s enough of that now, Mum said, holding her hand to her mouth to stop from laughing.

    After an afternoon visiting Winsor Castle dad loaded up the passengers and headed south to Portsmouth. They arrived at the campground late in the evening to cloudy skies and the chance of showers over night. The campground was very basic with an office to check in and showers and toilets behind. There were no specific camp site’s marked out that Maureen could see and dad pulled over to a vacant spot that looked level enough to pitch the tents.

    Rob broke up with me, Maureen said to my mum as they sat outside the tent drinking a fresh cup of tea after a breakfast of milk and cornflakes. The sun was shining between cumulus clouds coming in from the sea. My dad sat in a deckchair with a white handkerchief on his head to protect his balding head from sunburn and it was knotted in each corner so the wind would not blow it away.

    Don’t worry gal, there’s plenty more fish in the sea, don’t know what you see in him anyway, he’s a nasty boy you know? my mum said.

    Chapter 8

    Terry Wells is basically a good lad but liked his drink, average height, clean-cut, keeps his dark hair cut short and creamed. I knew him in school a little, but didn’t become close friends. I found him to be too loud and arrogant. Maureen met Terry through my sister shortly after their return from their camping holiday in Portsmouth. Val liked Terry’s friend Bill and the foursome started walking out together. Things start to fall apart when Bill wants more of Val’s body than she is prepared to give at his pace and Maureen is not comfortable going out with Terry alone. No one knew at that time that Terry had only four more years of life.

    A year and a half after Maureen broke up with Terry Wells she got the news. Terry again had refused to heed his mum’s warnings to wear his crash helmet. Travelling too fast around a traffic island he lost control of his motorcycle, spun across the road and hit his head against the curb, fracturing his skull from ear to ear. Terry lay unconscious in hospital for over a year. His parents prayed and prayed and prayed every day for their only son’s recovery. Three days after the doctors had given up hope, and advised Terry’s parents to make the funeral arrangements, Terry miraculously woke up.

    Recovery was long and slow but those whom knew Terry before the accident saw a different man. The body is still Terry’s but his mind is that of a stranger. From an outgoing, confident and loud teenager before, he has changed into an introverted and shy boy.

    Terry’s parents didn’t care though; they had their son back and that was the main thing. As time went by Terry regained his motor skills, and went back to work in construction as a lagger.

    His memory started to return after about two years and he started thinking about motorcycles again. When Terry talked about buying a bike over supper one foggy night his mum couldn’t stand it, Please don’t do it, his mum would plead.

    Out of despair Terry’s dad offered to buy Terry a car of his own if his son promised to never ride a motorcycle again. Terry agreed and was so happy to be independently mobile again.

    I hadn’t seen Terry myself since before the accident when I met him at work in the summer of 1964. He was standing on a ladder, insulating pipes in the mechanical room. I said hello and was surprised when he recognized me. We talked for a few minutes about work and his new car and his days in the forty-one club but he didn’t remember

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