A Pocketful of Holes and Dreams (9 page)

The first Sunday we put our plan into action we were nervous wrecks. As 12.30 approached, I told Sheila I was going to Bernie’s house and would see her later. I couldn’t tell her what I was really up to, particularly with Aunty Doris working at the rink. It would have been too embarrassing – for all the family – if we were caught. As quickly and as quietly as possible, we made our way upstairs to the changing room, then sat down and waited. There were benches and a row of metal lockers, so we decided that, if we heard anyone coming, we’d hide in them. Hardly breathing, let alone whispering, in case anyone heard us, the time seemed to drag so slowly, every creak or sound becoming a warning that we’d be discovered.

Finally, we heard the organ music for the beginning of the next session starting up and knew we had almost succeeded. Now all we had to do was to get back down on to the ice without being detected. We tiptoed to the door, pausing at the slightest noise. Then, opening it slightly, we peered through the narrow gap to make sure the coast was clear.

Fortunately, there was no sign of the dreaded Mr Kay, the rink manager, a man who seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. Still crouching, we made a dash for it, skates clutched to our chest so they wouldn’t bump against anything and make a noise.

The relief of success made our enjoyment of being back on the ice even greater, and as we laughed and skated around, Bernie and I felt like two stowaways who had crossed the Seven Seas!

For at least the next eight or nine Sundays, we managed to pull this off, each time spending the whole day at the rink and only paying once. Then something happened which changed it all.

A man named Hughie ran the ice-rink-maintenance gang, and Bernie and I had been pestering him for months for a job. One afternoon, we had emerged from our hiding spot and were about to head out on to the ice when a hand landed on my shoulder. Startled, I turned to find Hughie standing behind me with a solemn expression on his face. I immediately thought that Bernie and I had been found out and were about to be punished. As the weight of the hand bore down on my shoulder, I began to imagine all the different types of punishment that awaited me. Public humiliation in front of everyone (including Aunty Doris)? A lashing at the hands of Mr Kay, watched by my friends and family? Or something even worse – being banned for life from the ice rink, never to skate again? I was finished; it was all over for Bernie and me. But before I could say anything, Hughie spoke: ‘Lads, I need to talk to you in my office.’

Bernie and I looked at each other, fear written all over our faces. Letting go of my shoulder, Hughie started walking in front of us, with Bernie and me following. Our legs were shaking so badly we could hardly keep up and we were frantically signalling to each other. Bernie was forming a hangman’s noose with his hands – yes, we were dead men!

In his office, Hughie sat down at his desk before continuing. ‘You know those jobs you two have been on at me about? Well, they’re now available. What do you think? Do you still want them?’ I was so overwhelmed with relief I nearly wet my pants. Seeing I had lost my voice, Bernie jumped in for us both.

‘Dead right we do,’ he almost shouted. I just stood there next to him nodding, a big grin on my face.

So we became part of the ice-gang, working for Hughie, and in return we got a small wage, but most importantly, free permanent passes which allowed us to come in and out of the rink whenever we wanted. Our dreams had come true!

I gave up my job at the wash house to concentrate more on my new job at the rink and my passion for skating. Bernie and I literally lived there, skating every free moment we had. In the six weeks of the summer holidays, we never missed a day. It was the best time of our lives. For the first time, we both felt really important, doing proper jobs. And we felt that we belonged to something bigger than the small world we had grown up in.

We soon got the knack of scraping the ice. And we were working there just at the right time. As with everything in the 1960s, times were changing, and Mr Kay announced that he was going to build a discotheque on the balcony to attract more teenagers, so the organist was replaced by a DJ.

It was about this time Bernie and I discovered our hormones. Suddenly girls were mysterious; they smelled nice, they moved differently … The girls we knew were changing, developing into young women, and these physical changes fascinated us. Girls were no longer just sisters or friends, they had become objects of desire.

I soon noticed a very pretty young girl called Kim. She was not only about the same age as me but also the same height, which to me made us a perfect match. She had shoulder-length golden-blond hair and big blue eyes. Whenever I spotted her on the ice with her friends I’d start to skate closer to her, casually getting nearer and nearer, then acting surprised to see her there next to me. After doing this a few times I plucked up the courage not only to start skating alongside her but also to talk to her. Of course, when it came to it, I was completely tongue-tied. I had waited all week for this moment, and now I had another week before I could speak again. But that would at least give me more than enough time to practise my lines. And that’s how I fell in love for the first time.

I started to wash my hair every day and helped myself to Barry’s Old Spice, splashing it all over and leaving the house smelling like a tart’s boudoir, and clothes became important to me too. It was all part and parcel of creating the right image to impress Kim: I was going to ask her out on a date. After a great deal of input on Bernie’s part and endless speculation on mine, I decided on a very simple plan. Kim caught the same bus home as me but got off a couple of stops before mine. I would just ask if I could take her home after skating.

I was so nervous and, like all young boys, so scared of rejection that it took me several weeks to find the courage to ask her. From the way I was behaving, anyone would have thought I was about to propose!

That day, we had been circling the ice for a good few minutes, and she was on her own, her friends having gone for refreshments – perfect, as there would be no audience to laugh at me if she said no. So taking a deep breath, I launched into my proposal, trying to sound as casual as possible and hoping she wouldn’t notice the tremor in my voice. ‘Can I take you home after skating tonight?’ I asked.

‘Yes, she said, smiling at me as if she had known for some time that I was going to ask her this and had rehearsed her answer dozens of times. Was it really that simple? I let out a huge sigh of relief, which I was sure was heard all round the rink. I was amazed. I just had to tell Bernie, so mumbling some excuse, I skated away as fast as I could to look for him. It was official: I was about to have my first date!

So much planning had gone into it that I knew exactly what I had to do. We’d get off the bus together at her stop and then I’d walk her to her front door. After a few minutes’ conversation I’d lean forward and give her a kiss goodnight, creating the impression that this was something I had done many times before. Kim would be so impressed she would want to go out with me again.

That evening, when the ice rink closed, we walked side by side towards the bus stop. Kim linked her arm through mine as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I felt like an adult – this whole dating thing was so grown-up. We were more like a couple of sophisticated twenty-year-olds than green thirteen-year-olds.

When the bus came, downstairs was full, so we had to make our way upstairs to try and find a seat. But I couldn’t have picked a worse evening: the top deck was almost full, too, with men and women returning home from the pubs around town. The conversation was loud, the air was thick with cigarette smoke, and it didn’t look as if there were two seats together. Then I saw two at the very front and, taking Kim’s hand, literally dragged her towards them before anyone else tried to grab them. We sat down together, and the pressure was momentarily off. I gave a little sigh of relief to myself before I continued my role of leading man.

A moment or two went by, and then Kim leaned over and whispered in my ear. ‘I’ve lost my shoe,’ she said.

‘What?’ I couldn’t believe what I’d heard.

Again she leaned into me and whispered, ‘I’ve lost my shoe, I think it’s downstairs.’ I looked down in disbelief and saw that she wasn’t joking. I looked up at her and frowned. ‘Please can you go and get it for me?’ she pleaded.

I was starting to feel all hot and bothered, sweating at the thought of pushing through all those drunk people. In my experience, you could never tell what people would do when they’d had a few. I’d seen my father fly off the handle often enough, in a rage over nothing. The last thing I needed was for one of the passengers to have a go at me as I searched the bus – for a missing shoe, of all things. With these thoughts going through my mind, I started to walk back along the bus, holding on to the seat rails to keep my balance as the bus rattled and swayed along the road. I had my eyes pinned to the floor, trying to catch a glimpse of the shoe in amongst all the ankles and trouser legs.

I kept on looking as I walked downstairs. Reaching the platform at the bottom, I could hear everyone laughing. The conductor was standing on the platform with his back to me, facing his audience of passengers. My arrival behind him prompted another, louder outburst of laughter, and I could feel my face burning up. Sensing my presence, the conductor turned to me and, with a bow, held out his hand, revealing Kim’s shoe. I stood there, not knowing what to do or say. Should I snatch it from him, or just jump off the bus and leave Kim to it?

‘Are you looking for Cinderella’s slipper, Prince Charming?’ The laughter got even louder.

‘Yes,’ I gulped as I took the shoe from him. ‘Thanks,’ I mumbled before stumbling for the safety of the top deck. But it was not to end there.

The conductor followed me, and as I made my way back to Kim I could hear him broadcasting to all the upstairs passengers what had happened. I could feel everyone looking at me, as he described me as Prince Charming, who had come to find his Cinderella. Kim and I were the centre of attention, with everyone wanting to say something to us or make a comment on our version of the ‘romance’. But I didn’t need this sort of attention: this wasn’t part of my script. No, what I needed was a quiet corner in which I could curl up and die! My first date. And I was the object, not of envy at my good fortune, but of ridicule and amusement. It was too much for a teenage boy embarking on romance for the first time.

As the bus pulled up at Kim’s stop, I let her get off, staying firmly in my seat. All my hopes of a tender goodnight kiss were dashed. I think she tried to say goodbye to me, but I just sat in stony silence, head turned towards the window and my face still a burning shade of crimson.

I never asked Kim out again, and in fact I can’t really remember ever talking to her again. But Bernie and everybody else who knew me thought it was hilarious and laughed for weeks after.

As for me, I think that in some way it scarred me for life, as I can still clearly remember every embarrassing moment as if it had only happened yesterday.

10. Mum’s Perfect Place

Life went on. At the start of 1967, Lesley left home and went to live in London. Within weeks of her arriving there, she met Roy Smith, a young science teacher, and married him shortly afterwards.

Barry was nineteen and doing very well as an assistant sales manager at Johnson Brothers, a television company. He had passed his driving test and was the proud owner of a grey minivan. As for Sheila, she had a job as a sales girl in Sayers, a local confectioners.

I was thirteen, and June was five and growing up very quickly. We got on well, she and I; she was a cheeky little madam but also very special to me. I got to play the older brother and would often put her on my shoulders and take her to the sweetshop, and if she’d been good for Mum and I had the extra pennies, I’d treat her to an ice-cream cone when the ice-cream van came down our street.

Dad was still Dad. We didn’t see him much; he still worked nights driving taxis and spent the days sleeping off the effects of too much drink the night before. As for my darling Mum, she was starting to look a lot older than forty-seven. Her constant despair at my father’s behaviour and the continual worry about money were beginning to take their toll on her. But, unbeknown to us, she had made plans of her own, and things were about to change dramatically.

We were all sitting around the table having our tea, apart from Dad, who was out in his cab, when Mum broke the news. ‘I’ve got something to tell you all,’ she said. We carried on eating but looked up to see what she was about to say. ‘We’re moving.’

‘What?’ Barry was the first to speak, his fork suspended in the air in front of his mouth. ‘What do you mean, we’re moving?’

‘We’re leaving this bug-infested place and moving to something bigger and better, away from this slum.’ There was a note of excitement in Mum’s voice.

‘What about my job?’ demanded Sheila.

I piped up, ‘I’m not changing school now!’

Poor Mum. She didn’t know who to answer first.

Barry said, ‘Dad will go ballistic! He won’t move all the way out there, it’s miles away!’ He was spot on. Dad was going to suffer the most, having to travel to his favourite pubs! However, judging from Mum’s reply, that had been her intention all along.

‘That’s my worry, son, not yours,’ she said firmly. She believed that by moving us all further away and extracting Dad from the clutches of his drinking partners at the Boundary, he might start drinking less.

It was a plan she’d had years ago, and she had put our name on the council housing list without telling anyone. It was so long ago I think she’d almost given up on it, but she’d just had notification that a house was available, and after a long trip, involving three buses and several hours, she had viewed this house ‘in the country’. Her prayers had been answered and her mind was made up. As far as she was concerned, there was no going back: we were moving to West Derby.

Needless to say, Dad wasn’t happy at all and came up with all sorts of reasons and excuses why we shouldn’t move. He tried every trick in the book, even adding a few of his own, but Mum stood firm. We were moving whether he liked it or not. She was determined that her children would have a new life, away from the slums where we had lived for so many years.