The Ashton Rd. Gang.

[Palustris]

This is a work of fiction.

Chapter 1

Sledding on the Leas

"Billy! Mum says you're to put your hat and coat on and go round to Uncle Joe's on a message for her."
That was my sister Mary shouting up the stairs.
"Typical!" I thought. I had just rescued my 'Beano' from under Dad’s bed and I was settling down in the bathroom to read it in peace.
"And hurry up, or else," she added. "I want to go in.”
Slowly I made my way down the stairs in time to hear Mary moaning to our Mum.
"It's not fair, he spends hours in there, just when I want to go in."
"You could always use the outside toilet," said Mum. She was sat in front of the fire sewing a button on to my school coat.
"But there's no mirror in there and I want to comb my hair," said Mary.
"Comb it over your face and give us all a treat." I said that very quietly because I like living and our Mary was the best fighter in the road.
"That's enough Billy," Mum frowned. "And young ladies don't punch," she added looking at Mary's clenched fists.
"Hummph!" Mary said as she flounced out of the room.
I grinned after her. Dad often said that one day she would flounce so hard her head would fly off her shoulders. The sooner the better I thought.
"I don't know why you two have to fight so much," sighed Mum.
I did. We hated the sight of each other, but I was not going to try to explain that to our Mum.
"Ah well!" She said. "Take those parcels from the table round to Uncle Joe's. It's their Christmas presents. And be careful with them."
"Aww, why can't she go? It's raining."
"I'm sending you. Anyway Uncle Joe told your Dad that you were to be sent round. So off you go. Now!"
There was no point in arguing. You could argue with Dad, sometimes, but Mum just looked at you over the top of her glasses and something inside you just froze. I put on my hat and coat, hid the 'Beano' under the piano in the front room and went. I did allow myself a small protest by slamming the front door behind me.
Uncle Joe's house was not that far. I handed over the parcels to Aunty Lily, accepted a biscuit and waited to see what Uncle Joe wanted. I always felt a bit nervous of him, one minute he was friendly and the next he shouted at you for nothing. Mum just muttered something about "Nerves" and "The War" when I said anything.
"Have you been good?" he asked suddenly.
"Er!" It was a silly question really. According to some people I was never good. "Not especially bad, why?" I asked.
"So I heard." He was smiling. "What are you getting for Christmas then?" he went on, still looking friendly.
"I have no idea" Dad was not well paid. Mary and I had been warned not to expect too much in the way of presents. "Mum reckons we'll be lucky to get anything the way prices keep going up."
Uncle Joe nodded. "Well I've got you something. It's too big to wrap up so you can take it with you, now.
It's in the yard. Come on."
I had no idea what 'It' could be. I was led through the kitchen and into the backyard. There, leaning against the wall was a gleaming new sledge. I was speechless.
"It's got steel runners," said Uncle Joe.
My eyebrows climbed.
"Well! Don't just stand there, like one of Woollies, say summat."
I could not, I went on my knees next to it and ran one exploring finger over a shiny runner trembling in case it somehow evaporated and disappeared into thin air.
"Is, is it really for me," I asked breathlessly.
"Aye!"
"It's, it's!" Words failed me.
"Ah well," said Uncle Joe. "Happen as how it will stop you sawing up your Dads stepladders when it snows."
I must have blushed at that because he laughed. It was true. The gang and I had been considering using the stepladder as a toboggan.
Eventually I found the words to thank him. I must have done it properly because he was still beaming when I left carrying the precious sledge. I could not wait for it to snow so that I could show off in front of my friends.
Christmas came and went, very pleasantly. The Weather was miserable, warm for December and sunny. Every night I prayed for snow. Somebody must have been listening. On the last day of the year it began to snow.
I heard Mum say that she hoped it was not going to be another 1947, but I did not care. The snow fell and soon covered the ugly houses and factories in a Christmas Cake like layer of white.
The snow fall was too heavy to go out that day. I went to bed early to bring the morning sooner. The next day brought sunshine and best of all, frost.
The road on which we lived, Ashton Road, sloped from top to bottom. It was only a side road so the council did not spray salt on it. Pedestrians were safe because the pavements were cleared by people throwing ashes over the snow and ice. At any time when there was enough snow or frost we made a slide down the middle of the road. The few cars and lorries stayed on the main road so the slide was not in as dangerous a place as it sounds. The only wheeled traffic to use Ashton Rd was either two wheeled which kept to the side or the horse drawn milk float. The horse had no trouble with its studded shoes.
It did not take long for the hobnailed boots of the sliders to pack the snow into ice and polish the ice until it shone like glass. As with everything else, just sliding was soon not enough for the Ashton Rd. Gang. Competitiveness crept in. We wanted to know who could slide farthest backwards, crouching down, who could do twirls. We would try anything to impress the others.
These tricks led to a crop of injuries, cuts, bruises, grazes and ice-burns. My mother used to go mad about the cost of plasters and the damage to my clothes and boots.
This morning I pulled my new sledge to the top of the road, trying not to look smug. The rest of the gang were already out with their sledges, wooden runners of course. With a gentle push I slid down to meet them. The sledge glided like a dream. The lads gathered round.
Stew, who lived next door to me, said,"Cor! Where did you get that?"
"Christmas present from my Uncle Joe," I replied proudly.
"It's got metal runners," exclaimed Bob.
The sledge had to be turned over so that the runners could be examined closely.
"They're only bits of tin," sneered Simon. "They'll wear out in a day". His parents owned a shop on the corner of Ashton Rd and Green Lane. They had more money to spare than anyone else's parents. He was used to having the best of everything.
"They are steel, real steel." I was not having him being rude about my prize possession.
"Where did he get it from?" Noddy asked. His real name was Lawrence but he had an unfortunate physical disability. Every few seconds his head jerked forward. Not far, just enough to look as if he was agreeing. That is how he got his nickname.
What he actually did and said was (nod) "Where did he get (nod) it from(nod)?"
"Pinched it," suggested Simon.
What difference does it make?" I asked. "It still goes faster than yours."
"Rubbish!" Simon snorted. "Race you down the road, ten steps and first to reach No. 76's front door."
"Right you're on. Noddy you call 'GO' and the rest of you watch the finish."
The gang scattered.
"No cheating!" I said to Simon. I had competed against him before.
"Nor you!" he replied.
"I don't need to."
I was full of confidence. Rightly so, I won easily. Simon was annoyed until I let him have a turn on my sledge. For the rest of the day we slid down Ashton Rd. At tea-time we all went home. I hoped that the snow would still be there next morning.
It was. After breakfast the sledding began again, but it did not last for long.
"I'm fed up with this," said Stew. "The road is not steep enough to go really fast. Besides, my Mum will send me on a message before long. I can feel her watching me."
This being sent on messages was the bane of our lives. All the mothers did it. That was the trouble with Ashton Rd all of it could be seen from front room windows. It cramped our style at times.
"Where would we go?" Peter asked. "You know Mum doesn't like me going too far away."
Peter was an only child and had no father. He also suffered from bad attacks of asthma. His mother tended to baby him, much to his embarrassment. He liked to think he was as tough as the rest of us.
"Holly Bank," suggested Grubby.
His nickname had nothing to do with a lack of washing, but from his habit of carrying matchboxes of assorted caterpillars, beetles and spiders. Even his parents called him by his nickname.
"That's a good idea," I said. "Come on."
We were too wise to suddenly grab our sledges and dash off. Somebody's mother would be certain to call us back and demand to know where we were going. Slowly and innocent-like, we wandered off, some in one direction, some in another. We met in the alley behind Simon's house and set off.
Holly Bank was a fenced off piece of land next to a railway bridge. It was part of the bridge embankment and railway property. It sloped steeply nearest to the bridge, but flattened out at the other end. Even there it was steeper than Ashton Rd.
"Cor! Nobody's been on it," exclaimed Simon, peering at the perfect layer of snow through the tall iron railings. "Gimme a leg up."
It did not take long for seven agile lads to climb in. We started off sledding down the shallow slope until Simon got bored.
"I'm going down the steepest part," he announced.
He did too, so the rest of us had to follow him, just to prove that we were as brave as him. The fence a t the bottom was tricky. You had to dig in your toes and fling your weight to one side to stop. Remember we were going down head first.
"I can get nearer the fence than anyone else." Simon was full of himself.
"Oh aye," said Grubby in a challenging sort of voice.
Simon went down like an Olympic champion, head first lying on his stomach. He stopped in a shower of snow only inches from the iron bars of the fence.
"Beat that!" He shouted as he climbed back up the slope.
Bob was a bit more timid and stopped a foot short. Peter went next. He lay on his sledge and gave himself an almighty shove and slid down like an avalanche. I have no idea what went wrong. The fence stopped him. For a moment, we just stood and looked down the slope to where he lay, unmoving.
"Oh heck!" said Stew.

[ideasguy]

Boys will be boys, but they are in trouble now!

[Palustris]

Then we all began to run. If you have ever tried running down a steep slippery snow covered slope you will know how stupid that was. Grubby who was behind everyone else fell and began to roll. There was no chance of getting out of his way. Simon, Bob and Noddy were mown down. They rolled past me, missing me by inches. The shock of seeing them go past caused me to lose my footing and I finished up sliding feet first, after them. The fence stopped all of us, except Stew. He was the only one still on his feet. He was bent double half up the slope, laughing hysterically. Not for long though, his feet slipped as he stood up to catch his breath. After a quick slide he joined the rest of us. Five small snowmen sorted themselves out staggering around in circle brushing snow out of eyes, mouths, ears, faces and clothes.
I could not help them. My feet and legs had gone through the bars of the fence and my thighs were jammed tight. I could not move them.
Peter could not help either. Remember he had gone down head first. He was yelling because his head was stuck between the railings. Eventually the gang stopped giggling and tried to free us.
"It's no use" Stew puffed, "You are stuck fast."
"It's 'is ears," said Bob nodding wisely.
"It's 'is fat legs," said Simon grinning widely.
"If you lot stopped laughing you'd do a lot better. I screamed. My legs were hurting Peter was sobbing and choking.
"What are we going to do?" Noddy was beginning to sound panicky.
"Go to the station and get help", I shouted, I'm freezing".
The Railway Station was just the other side of the bridge.
"Er!" Bob said. "They ain't gonna be very pleased." He pointed to the sign which read 'Railway Property No Trespassing."
"I don't care!" I was desperate. "Get us out!"
"All right," said Simon. "Don't go away."
"Ha!ha!ha! Very funny. I'll give you something to laugh about on the other side of your face when I'm free”, I screamed at him." Get going."
There was nothing else they could do. First, though they hid the sledges round the corner, leaving Bob in charge, just in case.
Five cold minutes later they were back with three railway men. Peter had stopped coughing and sobbing by now His breathing sounded very peculiar. He did not answer when I called to him. I thought he was in a huff.
"Well?" said a familiar voice, "And what have we here?" It was my grandfather who worked at the station. It was just not my day. Grandad Acock was a great bloke, but he was strict. Even my Dad had to be on his best behaviour when Grandad Acock came to visit.
"Er. Hello Grandad." I managed a weak smile "We was only sledding." I thought a tear might help so I squeezed some out. They were wasted really.
"Jack Come here!" shouted one the other men. "Come here quick!"
Grandad went over to Peter and bent over him. He straightened up and said something to the man who had shouted. That man went running off back towards the station.
"You'll have to sit there for a bit longer while we deal with him," shouted Grandad to me. He sounded worried.
He and the other man lifted Peter up, turned his head a bit and out of the railings he came just like that. His face was a funny blue colour. I did not think it was that cold.
The third man came back. "It's on its way," he said
I wondered what it was and why Grandad was pushing up and down on Peter's chest.
Grandad looked over at me. "Yank him out?"
His two mates grabbed my arms and yanked. It hurt, but I came out. I tried to stand up, but my legs were numb with cold and lack of circulation. I sat in the snow and rubbed them.
There was a jangle of bells as an ambulance came rushing up. Grandad lifted Peter over the fence to one Ambulance man. While he wrapped Peter in a big red blanket Grandad talked to the Ambulance driver. Two minutes later the Ambulance with Peter in it was out of sight.
"Right!" said Grandad turning to me. "We'll deal with you now."
I did not like the sound of that, "What's up with Peter?" I asked.
"Never you mind. Can you walk?"
I nodded.
"Then get off home with you, And straight home, mind you, no larking about."
I shook my head, then nodded.
"And if I ever catch you sledding on here again I'll tan your hide so hard you'll stand up for a month. You hear?"

[Palustris]

I was not going to argue. It was plain that he meant what he said. He lifted me over the fence, none too gently and watched me go slowly towards home.
The gang was waiting round the corner with the sledges. Nobody said much on the way home. My Mother gave me a roasting for putting Peter in danger. There was no sympathy for my sore legs, just complaints as if it was all my fault. At least I found out what was wrong with Peter. Grandad Acock had rung Simon's mother to say that Peter had been rushed off to the local hospital. Stew's father was a long distance lorry driver and was at home for once. He drove Peter's Mum to the Hospital in his lorry. It seems that Peter had stopped breathing for a bit because of his asthma.
"Your Grandad saved his life," said my Dad when he came in. I showed him my legs. All he said was," They'll heal. And it’s no more than you deserve."
Peter was out of hospital within a few days no worse for his adventure, but he was not allowed to play out for a while after that.
The snow stayed until my legs were healed enough to go out again.
"Stay away from Holly Bank" warned mum as I went out. "Do you hear?"
"Yes Mum."
Simon was waiting for me. "I've just been to Leather's farm with my Dad for Spuds."
"So," I was still annoyed with him. Peter's (and my) accident was his fault.
"We came past the Leas," he went on. "The snow looked great for sledding and there are no fences."
I was interested. The Leas was an open area of sloping meadows on the other side of town. We did not go there very often. It was out of our territory.
"I'm game. Where's everyone else?" I wanted to know.
"Round the back of Bob's."
"Great, let’s go then."
Mum had only banned me from Holly Bank she had not said stay in Ashton Rd.
Minutes later we were on our way.
The Leas were smashing, the snow icy and flat, the slopes steep long and exciting. Across the middle of the meadows in a deep gully was a stream. This flowed from its source somewhere the other side of a factory that made sulphuric acid down to the river. My other Grandad always said that when he was a little boy, hundreds of years ago the water was full of frogs and fish and things. Now the 'water' was a peculiar rusty yellow colour and the banks were encrusted with yellow powder. A yellow mist hung permanently over the gully. The best slopes led down to the edge of this gully. They levelled out giving one time to stop or turn.
"Race you down" shouted Stew.
I won.
"Give us Ten yards start," ordered Noddy.
Reluctantly I agreed.
We were flying. I was rapidly overtaking Simon. The others were well behind or had fallen off. The finishing line was in sight. I flashed over it looking to the side to see where Simon was. He was half a yard behind.
"I won!" I crowed. In my excitement I completely forgot to stop or turn. Before I could do anything about it I was over the edge and really flying. At this point the gully was about ten feet wide and five feet deep with the stream in the bottom. There was not time to even scream before the sledge and I began to fall.
Somehow I managed to land on my feet in the stream. The sledge flew on to land in the yellow snow on the farther bank. For a full two minutes I stood in the foot deep liquid shaking my head in disbelief.
Simon's head appeared over the gully edge. "Here he is," he called, "In the stream." The rest of the gang lined the gully
"Are you OK?" asked Stew.
"Yeah, yeah, give me a hand out and the first one to laugh gets murdered."
"I'm not laughing," said Bob quickly.
"Well just don't, that's all."
They slid down and helped me get the sledge out taking great care not to go in the stream.
I had had enough "I am going home, you lot can do as you please."
It was about twenty minutes walk home. I put the sledge in the coal shed and went in.
"What on earth have you done to your clothes and your wellies? "Mum said. I looked down. There were little holes and some big ones all over my coat and my wellies were covered in yellow. I tried to explain but mothers have a habit of not listening when they are as angry as mine was. I had to have a bath and all my clothes went into the bin.
"That sledge can go back tomorrow and I never want to see it again". She said a lot more of it none of it very pleasant.
Next morning I trudged off to Uncle Joe's. He was in and listened to my story. When he stopped giggling he said," Well, I suppose you Mum is right. Listen, leave it here and I'll overhaul. Keep quiet about it until your Mum forgets, then you can come and get it back, OK?"
"Thanks Uncle Joe."
It did not really matter. The following day the weather took a turn for the worse. It got warmer and rained. The snow turned to slush and disappeared. I did not care. I had lost interest in sledding

[Palustris]

Chapter 2

Finnegan

Stew and I were working on my bike in the back yard. The chain kept slipping off so it needed tightening.
"Billy, take this note round to your Granny Jones's" It was my mother.
"Can Stew come with me? I asked.
"Yes, but don't be too long," she replied.
Neither of us minded going to my Granny Jones's. She owned a small general shop of the kind found on most street corners in those days. She was generous with treats for small hungry boys sent on messages. We went there the quickest way through the back alleys and delivered the note. We decided to come back by a different route to make sure that we had finished the sweets before we reached home.
Between Granny Jones's and Ashton Rd was an area of the town that was very much scruffier and run down than where we lived. Crumbling terrace hoses opened straight out on to the cracked and uneven pavements. Half the widows were boarded up, even in the occupied houses. Those window frames still with glass showed little evidence cleaning or paint on the woodwork. Ragged clothed children played in the gutters. Old women gossiped on the door steps. All seemed to view passers-by with suspicion and dislike.
At the top of one of these slum streets my bicycle chain came off again. Stew did not hear me shout and kept going. Hurriedly I fixed my machine. I did not want to hang about on my own in that part of the world. As I raced after Stew, a huge, flaming-red haired figure leapt out of a door way. He grabbed Stew and pulled him from his bike and on to the floor.
I must have had a brainstorm. I did not stop to think of the possible consequences. I pedalled hard and accelerated until I was almost level with the red haired thug. There was no time to apply the brakes. His foot was drawn back to kick Stew. With a scream of rage I launched myself, head first and scored a direct hit in his midriff with both fists. The lout collapsed in a heap with me on top of him.
"Gerrup and scram"! I screamed at Stew as I scrambled up. Seconds later, before the would-be thief could get his breath, we were pedalling for dear life.
We did not stop until we were safe at home. Flinging down his bike Stew puffed "What was that all about?"
"That!" I said now trembling with reaction. "That was Finnegan."
"Who's Finnegan when he's at home then?"
"Finnegan is the biggest, nastiest meanest bully anybody could ever have the bad luck to meet," I told him with a nasty sinking sensation in my stomach.
"How do you know him then?" Stew wanted to know.
"He is in the fourth year at school," I said miserably. "And he's got a gang nearly as horrible as him."
"Oh! Do you think he recognised you?" Stew asked.
I nodded.
"You've had it then, haven't you? Stew said sympathetically.
I did not need to be told that. On Monday morning Finnegan and his cronies would be waiting for me. They would beat me to a pulp and then kick the pulp into a smear on the playground.
"It's all right for you," I told Stew. "You're a Catholic, you go to a different school."
"Sorry! What are you gonna do?
"Heaven knows. I'll have to think of something." I was very worried.
"I am awful sorry, but thanks for saving me," said Stew.
I was wishing that I had gone off quietly round the corner and waited for a battered and cycle-less Stew to arrive. We could have gone to the Police. I did not tell Stew that after all he was a friend.
"I'll have to go, said Stew, "See you on Monday night?"
I was not allowed to play out on a Sunday. "If I am still alive," I sighed.

[Palustris]

I went in and started work on getting out of going to school on Monday morning All Sunday I tried. I was sick. I had a headache. I was dizzy. I cried, I pleaded, I begged, I beseeched, all in vain.
"I don't know what you are up to my lad, but come what may you are going to school on Monday. I am not having you under my feet when I am doing the washing," said Mum.
I got a smack for being cheeky when I sniffed, "You care more for clean sheets than you do for me."
My Dad asked, "Why don't you want to go to school?"
I found that I could not tell him that his only son was a coward. There are some truths that parents should never find out.
At 8.40 am. on Monday morning I was stood at the bus stop with Dad and Mary. This going to school with Dad was nothing to do with my Finnegan troubles. It was as a result of a letter from Mary's teacher. Mary used to take me to school at one time. She had been arriving with a rash of bruises on her shins. Nobody believed me when I claimed self-defence. I had no evidence. Her hair pulling left no marks while my boots did. Still it meant that at 8.45 am. Mary and I got off the bus near to school.
"Can I walk with you?" I smiled sweetly art her. She might have hated me, but no one else was allowed to thump me when she was around and if anyone could handle Finnegan it was Mary.
"Get lost yer little pest." Her fists were already clenched. I dropped back and walked ten paces behind her. She kept turning round and glaring at me. I did not care.
When she turned to go in through the Girls’ entrance there was still another unprotected fifty feet or so, for me to walk. I hung around outside for as long as I dared, but being late for school was a sending to the Headmaster offence. On balance I think he scared me more than even Finnegan did. Salvation came in the round shape of Mr. Peach my class teacher.
His loud voice made me jump. "What are you hanging about for. You should be in the yard by now."
"I was just thinking, sir," I replied, not really thinking.
"Hummph! The day you start thinking my lad we'll put the flag up."
"One day," I thought. "All the things you would put flags up for will come true and the school will have more bunting on it than the town did for the Coronation" I did not say it out loud though. I am not a complete idiot.
I allowed myself to be shepherded into the yard by Mr. Peach, past Finnegan and his gang who were waiting just inside. Fear stopped me from enjoying their frustration. I followed Mr. Peach until we reached the toilets. I dashed in and locked the door. I was safe for a little while. When the whistle went I waited for a few seconds, then I sprinted into my line just before Mr. Peach came to lead us in.
"You are up to something, my lad," he said, looking down at me puffing at the end of the line." I shall be keeping an eye on you."
I prayed that he would, a very close eye, but there was no depending on it.
In the cloakroom, my school friend Rob said, "I hear Finnegan is after you."
"You heard right," I said and told him the story.
"Oh boy, are you in for it?" He thought for a few moments. "Er, I, erm, think I'll play with someone else for a while. I'm sure you understand."
"Great friend you are." I was not really surprised. I would have done the same thing myself had the positions been reversed. After all personal survival came before friendship.
My next concern was Playtime. There would be a teacher on duty, true, but there were plenty of dark corners where I could be dragged. If the whole school knew Finnegan was after me there was nowhere to hide. Some cowardly rat would go and tell. I could not stay in the toilets. The duty teacher would soon haul me out and ask awkward questions.
It never entered my head to complain to the teachers. It was just not done to tell tales. If I had gone in after play, battered and bloody they would have asked, naturally, but I could not have told them. The whole school would never have spoken to me again. Even death at the hands and feet of Finnegan was better than being an outcast.
The solution to my playtime problem came to me in the middle of Morning Assembly and nearly got me into trouble with the Headmaster. The idea arrived during his talk and without thinking I exclaimed "Got it!" Then I realised and quickly turned to look at the boy behind me, pretending it was he who had spoken. The Headmaster shouted at him He was a Fourth year and a softy so it did not matter if he glared at me.
What I had decided to do required perfect judgement. I had to give Mr. Peach just enough trouble for him to keep me in at playtime, but not so much that he caned me and sent me out. Mr. Peach did not believe in giving two punishments for the same crime.

[Palustris]

The morning began with Arithmetic. I was not very good at that. It is far more difficult to get a sum deliberately wrong than to get it wrong by accident, but I managed it.
Rob, who shared my desk whispered. "You've got number two wrong, its nine hundred and seventy three."
"Shut up traitor, I know." I whispered back fiercely.
He looked puzzled. When I took my book out to be marked Mr. Peach was not pleased with my efforts. He leant down from his high desk. "You definitely are up to something and I don't like it. I think you had better stay in at playtime and do these again, properly."
I could have reached up and kissed him. I was so relieved that I started to say "Thank-you," but managed to change it to a cough. He raised one eyebrow and pointed to my seat. I sat down in what I hoped was the manner of a bitterly disappointed child. In reality my heart was singing.
"Clever!" whispered Bob.
"Shurrup, he'll guess if you carry on."
Getting the sums right at playtime was no trouble. When Mr. Peach went out of the room for his cup of tea I looked at the answer book on his desk.
Dinnertime was easier. Finnegan stayed for school dinners while I went to my Granny Jones's. School dinners were served at exactly 12 o clock With any luck Granny Jones could be persuaded to let me stay off school for the afternoon. Mr. Peach was suspicious of my offer to collect in the books at lunchtime. He had to let me do it though, nobody else wanted to and I had got all my sums right in the end. By the time I got out the school dinner people were in the canteen eating.
My mother had obviously been round and talked to Granny. Just as I was about to start feeling sick, Granny got her hat and coat and said, "I am going to the Market. I'll walk down to school with you."
I knew that was just an excuse. She never ever left Grandad Jones in charge of the shop. My shoe laces came undone. I looked in every shop window. I dawdled and lagged behind, but it made no difference. Granny slowly led me to my doom.
Terror and near panic, forced me to plan a desperate and dangerous escapade. At the corner of the road I said, "OK. Granny, I promise to go into school."
"Well you know what happens to people who don't keep their promises?" She looked at me over the top of her glasses.
I nodded, "Don't worry I am going into school."
"All right son Have a nice time."
I watched her go off down the main road. As I explained before, the Girls Entrance was nearer to the corner than the Boys Entrance. But and this was the big snag, the Girls Entrance was guarded by a dragon of a Dinner Lady. Her job was to stop anybody getting in, except the girls of course. There was a way from the girls’ yard into the boys’ yard, not an official route, but possible if desperate.
I waited until a large group of girls demanded entry. Quietly I sneaked behind them, through the gate and past the Dragon. I was in. A quick dash across their playground took me to the wall that separated their yard from ours. By now I had been seen and the girls were squealing and screaming.
The wall was eight feet high. I swear that I hurdled it. I do not remember climbing up it nor dropping down the other side. Luck or something must have been on my side. Nobody on the girls' side seemed to have recognised me and no body on the boys' side saw me at all.
The whistle went almost immediately. The look on Finnegan's face when he saw me lined up with the rest of my class was one of pure baffled rage. It made my blood turn cold. I was finding out the hard way that cowards die many times before their death. I was also beginning to realise that sooner or later I would have to face Finnegan. I wanted it to be a lot later.
In my fear I had forgotten that Monday was games day. There was no afternoon playtime. The School did not have its own playing fields so the whole of the third and fourth year boys were taken by bus to a set of fields a few miles away.
Finnegan was the star player of the Schools rugby team. They normally played separately from the rest of us. Not on this afternoon Mr. Peach announced that the rest of the third and the fourth year were to provide a team to play against the School team. I noticed that he did not mention this until after I was already changed. If I had known, I would have lost a boot.
We all lined up. Mr. Peach walked down the line choosing players. I may have been a third year but I was wider and heavier than most of the fourth year. I was selected.
"You can play at prop forward against Finnegan. He needs some weight against him." Mr Peach said.

[Palustris]

He moved on before I could get my voice working to protest. There would have been little point. Mr. Peach was in a bad mood. Some naughty boy had been seen in the Girls' playground at lunch time and nobody would own up to being the guilty party.
I could see from the gleam in Finnegan’s eye that he thought that his chance had come. We lined up for the kick off. Right opposite me Finnegan stood, flexing his muscles. I decided that under no circumstances whatsoever was I going to tackle him or give him the chance to tackle me.
The school team kicked off. The ball gently travelled the ten yards that it was supposed to and landed, plop, in my arms. In great surprise I stood and looked down at the ball then up at the opposition.
This great, huge, hairy monster, like something out of a Spanish Bullring was charging at me. I could almost see the stem coming from his nostrils and he was definitely snarling.
I panicked. Instead of throwing the ball away, anywhere, I began to run. Not as you might think away from Finnegan, but towards him Years of being taught that you ran at the opposition guided by uncontrolled legs.
Fear is a marvellous thing. Without really knowing what I was doing, I side-stepped Finnegan's mad rush, ducked under his flailing arms, handed off another would be tackler and set off the down the field. When Finnegan managed to stop, he turned and gave chase. I ran like a scalded cat. Now not only was he the best Rugby player in the School he was also the School Sprint Champion. As much as fear lent me wings and with a good fifteen yards start, he soon began to catch up.
To gain speed I must have shut my eyes. I could still feel and hear him getting nearer and nearer. I opened my eyes just in time to see the goal post no more than a pace away. My last ounce of nervous energy was just enough to dodge the post and put the ball down over the line for a try.
I turned as the whistle went meaning safety and was just in time to see Finnegan run head first into the goal post and collapse.
Unfortunately, he had a hard head and the base of the post was well padded. Still it was a good five minutes before he could return to the game.
Mr. Peach, grudgingly I thought, congratulated me on my try. My team mates were very pleased with me. Mr. Peach tore a strip of the School team for allowing me to run through then so easily. They all glared at me as if it was my fault
When Finnegan returned to the game he still looked a bit dazed. He cheered up a bit when the whistle went for a scrum. Mr. Peach fussed about showing the second row forwards how to pack down properly. Finnegan glared at me from a yard away.
Rob who had also been chosen, was standing next to me. He was at scrum half.
"What's it gonna be then, a knee in the groin...a swift uppercut... or a head butt?"
He grinned.
"Shut up you traitor. "How nice it was to have sympathetic friends.
Finally Mr. Peach was satisfied and down we went. Fortunately, he decided to put the ball into the scrum himself to check on how the forwards were playing. He would have certainly seen any foul play by Finnegan and punished it severely. It did not stop Finnegan from whispering in my ear, "I'll kill you!" His teeth were too close to my ear for comfort.
The ball came in and we all pushed. Finnegan was so busy threatening me that he was caught off balance. He lost his footing on the muddy field. My second row gave another really hard push and I lurched forward. Somebody shouted "Ball gone" and I found myself kneeling in the middle of the field, on my own while the rest of the players chased off down the field after the lad with the ball.
Well, I was not quite alone and it was not mud or grass that I was kneeling on. It was, in fact, a head. Moreover, the head was covered in dirty, flaming-red hair. I did not wait for Finnegan to push me off. I got up and ran. I was going to spend the rest of the game stood as near to Mr. Peach as possible.

[Palustris]

The scratch team had just scored another try and Mr. Peach was fuming. The school's star player was being made to look stupid and the team was losing to a bunch of no-hopers who only did games because they were not given the choice of doing something else.
When Finnegan arrived, scraping mud out of his eyes and mouth, Mr. Peach said to him. "If you don't buck your ideas up, my lad, you will be out of the team."
The game went on. Neither the ball, nor any one needing tackling came anywhere near me. Mr. Peach moved me to the back of the scrum so Finnegan could not get at me then either. I began to enjoy watching the game from the protection of Mr. Peach's side. He did not seem too happy about my following him. I could put up with him glowering at me.
The School team were getting worse. It did not seem to matter what they did, they could not score. The harder they tried the worse they got, the worse they got the more angry Mr. Peach became.
Then I made a foolish mistake. One of the school team took the ball, saw a gap in our defence and hared through it. He did not see me hiding behind the bulk of the teacher. Forgetting everything in the excitement of the game, I tackled him. The tackle was straight out of the coaching manual. He went down like a lead balloon.
Mr. Peach stopped the game. He looked at me with an odd expression and announced that the Rest had beaten the School Team by two tries to nil. We gave ourselves cheer. Mr. Peach stopped the cheering with a stern look.
"Since the School team appear to have forgotten everything which I have spent the last three years teaching them about Rugby," he snarled. We sniggered. He frowned. We stopped. "And since the rest of you have never even bother to try to learn them." We muttered He frowned. We stopped. "We will spend the rest of the session practising the basics." We groaned. Mr. Peach smiled.
"And since the only decent run and the only decent tackle came from you," he pointed at me.
I would have bowed if he had not been in such a foul mood.
"You can show everybody else how to do it."
Terrifying thoughts began to creep into my brain.
"The school team can practise taking the ball on the run and how to be tackled," finished Mr. Peach. He made the School team line up opposite me. When he shouted they had to catch the ball from his pass and charge at me, one at a time. In the normal run of things I could have done that all day. The one thing I could do in Rugby was tackle.
The first person to be called was, naturally, Finnegan. I had to decide whether I was more afraid of him or the teacher. To judge by the way Mr Peach's moustache was bristling, he was very angry indeed. I felt like one of those Roman gladiators. "We who are about to die salute you." Let's face it you can only die once, but I had another year and a half to suffer from Mr. Peach. I prepared to die.
Finnegan took the ball and charged as if he was in an Olympic 100 metres Sprint final. There was going to be no fancy dodging or weaving for him. This was his chance to go straight through me and out the other side. The expression on his face was one of indescribable viciousness. Behind me I heard the watching boys take a deep breath, anticipating the body breaking crunch. My body that is.
I concentrated, going quickly through what I had been taught about tackling. It is amazing how many thoughts can flick through your mind in a short time. The tackle was perfect, head well out of the way, shoulder driving into the attacker's midriff, allowing his weight and speed to take him down. In his desire to trample me into the mud Finnegan must have forgotten everything he knew about being tackled. When I stood up to a cheer from my team Finnegan stayed where he was in an untidy heap. He had landed on the ball and winded himself.
Mr. Peach said, Well done," to me and sounded as if he meant it
By the time he had recovered the School team were practising tackling. This was quite enjoyable. Nobody was trying to hurt anybody. Finnegan tackled the first lad who ran at him, gingerly, but hard and fair. Then it was my turn. Mr. Peach shouted "Run!" Finnegan crouched down ten yards away. But, instead of glaring at me as he had done all day, his eyes kept shifting left and right as if he was seeking a means of escape. A wonderful, glorious happy though leapt into my brain, he was afraid of me. I had won.
The ton of lead in my stomach instantly evaporated. My step lightened. A second later I crashed into him. It was not deliberate. To some extent it was his own fault. My left knee connected with his right eye.
The rest of the lesson passed in a daze as did the bus ride back to school and the walk home. Stew was waiting for me. I told him what had happened. We laughed so much that my father came out to see what was the matter. I explained it all to him.
Next morning I strutted into school Finnegan was stood on his own. I went over to him. His right eye was blackened and half closed. I looked at him. He looked at the ground. "I heard you were after me," I said. "Well here I am".
My father had told me it was better to face Finnegan and get it over with. I was not feeling as brave as I sounded, but Dad said that I had to talk big so I was.
"Look 'ere, you," said Finnegan.
"I'm looking" I forced myself to speak calmly and sound confident.
Finnegan went on, still looking down. "You keep out of my way and I'll keep out of yours."
"That's all right by me," I told him.
"Good!" said Finnegan
We never ever spoke to each other again.

[Palustris]

This is about the only story with a certain amount of true happenings in it.

Chapter 3

Grandad's Sweet peas

Uncle Joe had bought an old car and rebuilt it. During the summer he had offered to take my parents and me out for trips. It was supposed to be a treat for me as my sister Mary had gone away on holiday for a week with one of her friends.
The first and only journey that we made turned into a disaster. The weather was fine, warm and sunny, but not too hot. The car ran perfectly. The place we went to was beautiful. The disaster was me. I was travel sick. Not straight away, then we could have come home. No, I started when it was too late for that. I was not mildly ill either, but violently and frequently. Uncle Joe shook his head and said that he had never seen anyone dredging up his boots like that before, or ever wanted to again. While the car moved I was sick, when it stopped, I stopped. In stop and start fashion we finally arrived at our destination.
This was one of those large public gardens, I cannot remember its name or even in which town it was. There were swings and roundabouts, even an Ice Cream Kiosk. However it was not those entertainments that saved the day for me. In any case I was feeling far too delicate to go up and down and as for round and round, just the though made me shudder. Even a promised ice-cream was turned down and as for the picnic lunch, I turned green. Joe said that it was the first time that he had ever seen me not eating, never mind turning down one of Mum's cakes.
What made the day for me were the flower beds. The houses at the top end of our road had small areas at the front. They were about three feet wide and as long as the house. Hordes of children playing in them stopped anything from growing except the tough old privet hedges that everyone had. Our local park was really just grass and non-flowering evergreen shrubs. The town was too poor after the war to go in for fancy bedding out. So, I had never seen anything like those flowers.
Roses, petunias, snapdragons, pansies and hundreds more, hid the soil. There was even a clock made out of plants. I exhausted my adults dragging them over every inch of the place, demanding to know the name of every plant, determined not to miss one display." I don't know" became my mother's constant cry. Fortunately, a friendly gardener was able to name the delights for me.
It was only the memory of those flowers which kept me alive during the even more horrific journey home and the three days afterwards which it took me to recover from the motion sickness.
From then on, until a good hiding stopped me, I pestered my parents to move to a house with a garden. They tried to explain that they could not afford that kind of place and even if they could, the houses were just not available. There was a National Housing Shortage. The smacking drove my obsession underground, so to speak. I began to read every book on gardening and flowers in the Public Library. I took to cycling round the better-class areas looking at the gardens, until winter robbed them of interest. I dreamt of getting an allotment, but there was a hugely long waiting list.
To make matters worse my mother's sister and her husband moved into a new council house with a garden, front and rear. I heard Uncle Frank boasting that he was going to grow prize winning Sweet Peas like his father used to do before the War. That did it. By hook or by crook I had to have a garden.
Our house had a long back yard, surfaced with tiles. These had been laid on a bed of foundry ash. Many of them were loose and fairly easily lifted. My father had just completed, with my help (getting in the way, he said) changing the old wash-house into a large kitchen. One of the things that we put in was a long picture window. That and the loose tiles gave me an idea. I now knew exactly where I was going to put my garden. I measured the new kitchen wall. There was enough room to make a bed 12 feet long and 3 feet wide. Only 36 square feet, but it was the best I was going to get.
Somehow I had to prove that nobody would miss that part of the yard and that Mum could still hang out her washing. First of all I filled the area with my go-cart (wooden box, plank and pram wheels), bits of bicycle and lots of other things. None of it was quite rubbish, that would have been given to the binmen. The soil was another problem all together.

[Palustris]

One Saturday morning at the beginning of March, Stew, my best friend, came into the yard.
"The Sycamore Avenue gang have challenged us to a game of Rugby on the Rec. field, are you fit?" He asked.
I was always ready to play Rugby, except at school. "When?"
"This afternoon," said Stew. "Simon's gone to call for everyone else."
"We need more than seven, there's at least twenty of them." I said.
"I know," replied Stew. "You and me have got to go and ask the Foster St. mob if they want to play."
"OK! Mum, I'm off out." After my sledding troubles I had to keep her informed of my whereabouts.
She came to the back door, "Where to?"
"Down Foster Street to make up a Rugby team. Can I play this afternoon on the Rec field?" I was hopeful. I had been good....ish.
She nodded, "Be careful."
“OK, Mum. See you later."
It did not take long to round up six bodies from Foster Street and after lunch we met the Sycamore Rd. Gang on the Recreation ground. This was an area of Rugby and Football pitches owned by the Council. They did not stop us using the pitches on Weekdays as long as we kept well away from the Cricket square and any mid week proper games, which we did. It was not far from home.
Simon said. "I'll be captain."
"No, you won't" said Noddy. "It's my ball so I'm captain."
Simon muttered but had to agree.
Noddy tossed up and won which was no surprise as he used his special coin. The game began. It lasted all of five minutes. While all the players stood in a circle arguing about the rules a man came out of one of the gardens of the houses that backed onto the field. He was pushing a wheelbarrow full of garden rubbish. This he tipped onto a mound of soil at the edge of the field. Obviously seeing and hearing the argument he left the barrow and came over to us.
"Now then!" He said. "What's going on here?"
The position was explained to him.
"Right," he said. "Give me five minutes and I' ll referee for you."
As promised, five minutes later he was back. He was wearing boots and had a whistle. The game began again. It was a grand afternoon. Not only did he control the game, but he also seemed to know everything about Rugby. He turned the game into an immensely enjoyable coaching session. We lost the game by a couple of points, but it did not seem to matter. We had enjoyed ourselves far too much to complain. I had not played that well though my mind was elsewhere, on a mound of soil to be exact.
The man said, "Thank-you for an enjoyable afternoon." We were so surprised at him thanking us we almost forgot to thank him.
Before he reached his garden I caught up with him.
"Er. Mister."
"Yes, son?"
Thanks for refereeing, it was great."
"My pleasure!" He smiled.
"Er," I was a bit uncertain how to ask and the words came out in a rush. "Does this mound of soil belong to anyone?"
"Not really, that I know of, its mainly garden rubbish that won't go on the compost heap. It's been thrown here for years. Probably good soil by now. Why?
I answered with another question. "If someone came and took some of it away would anyone be, er,angry?"
"I doubt it, why?"
He looked like the kind of bloke you could trust. I told him. He did not laugh or tell me not to be silly instead he asked me a few questions about my plans and gave me some advice. He suggested standing the tiles upright around the garden to increase the depth of soil and to save a bit of digging.
Finally he said. "I'll not let anyone stop you from having some of that soil." He stopped and looked at me for a moment. "If you go ahead with this come and see me at Easter and I'll let you have some Sweet Pea plants."
I could not thank him enough, but he just said, "You'd better hurry or your mates will go without you."
I went.

[Palustris]

When I got home I got changed and had a wash. Before tea I went into the yard and began tidying up my 'rubbish'. It did not take long to have the area clean.
At tea that evening, when we were all round the table, I said, "I've been thinking."
Dad said," I'll get the thermometer, he must be ill."
Mary sniggered. I ignored the insults and pressed on. "That stuff of mine in the yard was not in your way was it Mum?
"I didn't fall over it," she said. "But it was dreadfully untidy. Why?"
"If I took up the tiles where that rubbish was, there would be enough room to make a little garden," I said.
"You and your stupid gardening again," sneered Mary. "You can't make a garden in the yard it would be in Mum's way."
I bit my tongue. I was determined not to get into a row with her. That would only make my parents annoyed. I looked across at my Dad. You could tell he was thinking because his forehead was wrinkled. He said nothing though. He usually waited for Mum to decide anything.
"It would be nice to have a bit of colour in the yard." Mum said slowly. "But Mary's right, the yard is too small."
"But you just said that all that stuff of mine wasn't in your way. It will only take up the same amount of room." I was sweating a bit.
Mum and Dad exchanged glances. They did not seem to need to speak to know what the other was thinking. Funny that. "What about soil? It's only cinders under there and even I know nowt'll grow in that." Dad asked.
I was ready for that one. I explained about the soil on the Rec. Field and about the man. I finished with, "He promised me some Sweet Pea plants, so I can't let him down can I?"
“No, I suppose not," said Mum with a smile.
I was winning.
Mary said, "I think it's a daft idea."
"Nobody asked for your opinion," said Dad, "You can go and wash the dishes while we talk about it."
Mary went off in a huff. I did not let even the merest glimmer of a smirk cross my face. That would have been fatal. My parents wanted to know everything about 'the man' and whether the soil really was free to take. I really was sweating when Mum finally said, "Alright, your Dad will check if it is OK. to take the soil. If it is you can do it."
I beamed.
"But!" she went on, "You'll have to look after it when it is finished."
"I will, I will, I promise!" I was so excited I flung my arms round her.
"Get off, you daft clot. You'll spill my tea." she said, but I could see she was pleased.
"I've got one question," said Dad. "Why Sweet Peas?"
"Uncle Frank" I began.
"'Nuff said," smiled Dad.

[Palustris]

The week went by agonisingly slowly until Dad came in from work on Friday evening. "I've been talking to your soil man. Did you not know who he is?" he asked.
"No! Why?" I was puzzled, What did it matter who he was?
"You are very lucky, his name is Joe Pickering," he went on.
I was still puzzled.
"He was one of the best Rugby referees I have ever seen. He retired a couple of seasons back," finished Dad.
"What about the soil?" That's all I wanted to know about.
"He says it is OK. You can take as much as you want as long as you leave the field tidy." said Dad with an even bigger grin on his face.
I cheered.
Mary sniffed. "I still think it's a daft idea. And he'll get fed up with it by next week. And someone else will have to clean up the mess. And I was going to keep my things there."
Before I could say anything Dad gave her a hard look that sent her scurrying quickly upstairs.
Next morning I was up at the crack of dawn, well half past eight. The tiles were easy to lift and I stacked them carefully out of the way. Then I began to dig out the cinders. We had no wheel barrow so I loaded them into a bucket lashed onto my go-cart.
Opposite our house was an open space that we called Andy's Bank. It was about 50 yards square and already covered in cinders. All the children in the roads used it as a playground. Over the years it had been used as a sand pit by many generations of children. My cinders were just right for filling in the holes.
Bob came to see what I was doing. Since there was nothing else to do, and he liked grubbing around in the dirt, he joined in. Next Grubby turned up with his go-cart. Noddy and Stew brought spades. Finally Peter and Simon arrived. The whole gang were happily filling buckets and tipping the spoil on the bank.
I was very clever not one of them was asked to help. They all volunteered. Nor did I tell them why we were digging the trench. I gave them the impression that I was doing a job for my father.
When I went in for a drink, Mum was in the front room looking out of the window. From there she had a good view of Andy's Bank. She was laughing.
"What's tickling you?" I asked.
"Just look at that," she gasped.
I looked at her a bit worried. I had never heard her laughing like that before. Then I looked out of the Window. Stew, Grubby, Noddy and Bob appeared to be doing some sort of dance on the bank. They had their arms linked and they were shuffling round in a circle stamping their feet every now and then. They looked like something out of Zorba the Greek. I had to admit they did look funny.
"Don't let them see you, Mum or they'll stop." I warned her.
"What on earth are they doing?" she asked between giggles.
I told her," They are flattening out the cinders from the back yard."
"I see, Ah well, I suppose I'd better get on." She took a deep breath and went off upstairs.
With all of us working it did not take long to dig out the dirt to about 18 inches deep. The next step was to fetch the soil. I wanted the gang to help with that as well, but I did not think they would do it just as a favour for me. I did have a plan.
"Did you hear what one of the Sycamore Avenue Gang found on the edge of the Rec. field?" I asked when we were all sat in our yard, drinking some of Noddy's Mums home made Ginger Beer.
They all shook their heads. "What?" asked Stew.
"A real Roman coin." I said.
"Rubbish!" Grubby snorted.
"Honest!" I protested, with fingers crossed. "It was in a mound of soil at the top end. I'll bet there's more there."
Noddy looked interested, "We could go and have a look."
"We could be rich," said Simon.
"Come on lets go now," said Peter, jumping up.
"Hang on a bit," I said, "we don't want anyone knowing what we're doing. They'll only want a share. We should bring the soil back here, sieve it and then no-one but us will know when we find the treasure."
"What do we sieve it through?" Bob asked.
"Oh, that's no problem." I said airily, "Look at this." I went to the coal shed and brought out a garden riddle which I had borrowed from Uncle Frank
"Great!" said Simon
"ER, What are we going to do with the soil afterwards?" asked Noddy.
"Oh, I hadn't though of that," says I, looking around as if for inspiration. I managed a big grin. "I know, we'll put it in the trench."
"Won't your Dad shout?" asked Bob.
"Not when he sees all the gold coins we'll find." I said.

[Palustris]

That settled it. Go carts were rounded up, mother's buckets lashed to the seats, a variety of digging implements acquired, with or without owner's consent and the Rec. Field Grand Treasure Hunt got under way.
On the field I showed the gang the mound of soil. They started digging while I took a message from my mother to Mr. Pickering.
"I've come for the soil," I told him.
"Do you need any help?" he asked.
"The gang have offered to move it," I said, "But don't say anything to them or they might get embarrassed and go home."
His eyes twinkled. "What yarn have you spun them?" He asked.
He was too nice to lie to so I told him about the treasure. He laughed and laughed.
"You'd better make sure they find something, or they'll tear you to pieces." He could hardly speak.
"I'll think of something, I'll have to." My plan making had not got that far.
Still choking he said, "Let me know when you are on to the next to the last load and I'll see what I can do. Now buzz off before I laugh myself sick."
I buzzed off.
We worked hard until darkness, digging, wheeling and sieving. The small amount of stones, roots and other rubbish I took back myself. The soil went in to the trench. We found no Roman coins, but Simon found a penny so the day was not entirely wasted. When it was time to stop the trench was full.
Next morning I used the tiles to build a wall round the garden. Mum was very nice, mainly because I had very carefully cleaned up the yard and had a bath without groaning. She said, "For once you can miss Church, you'll want to get that finished while the weather's nice."
The gang were all Catholics and went to early Mass. They turned up still full of enthusiasm for the Hunt. By lunch time though, with no treasure they were beginning to get fed up. I reckoned one more load would do it.
I nipped into Mr. Pickering's garden and told him, "We'll be back for one more lot."
"Righto," he said. "Just make sure you dig in the same place next time."
Mystified I nodded. The last trip was the most successful. It was Bob who caused it. Digging away half-heartedly with his mother's coal shovel he suddenly gave a yell and started scrabbling with his hands. Seconds later he was on his feet dancing around clutching something. When we finally caught up with him he displayed a beautiful golden coin. That did it. Every one started digging feverishly, filling the buckets until the carts creaked. Except me, I was not as gold struck as the others. My eyes kept straying to Mr Pickering's hedge where I could hear rustling.
Back at home the soil was sieved and a further thirteen coins uncovered. Six very excited and one worried boys gathered round to share out the spoils. While they had been frantically sieving I had taken a look at the coins. It struck me as odd that Roman coins should have the head of Queen Elizabeth II on them. Even I knew she was not that old.
I t was Grubby who discovered that the outer gold covering came off, revealing, not more gold, but chocolate. "It's a swizz!" He shouted "A dirty con trick"
"Don't look at me!" I protested. "I didn't put them there." That was true.
They were all annoyed.
"Well I'm sorry" I said. "Oh heck!" I looked grim."How am I going to explain filling up the trench to me Dad?"
They began to collect up their spades and things.
"I'll bet me Dad makes us take it back." I went on.
They began to back out of the yard.
"Aw come on lads you wouldn't leave me to do it all on my own, would you?" I begged.
"Oh yes we will," said Simon.
"You miserable lot!" I shouted.
That brought my mother out. "What's going on here then, who's fighting?"
That was enough for the gang, they left in a hurry.
"What’s up with them then?" She asked.
"Nothing!" I was all innocence.
"You got you soil then, I see. Any bother?"
"No!" I said grinning" Easy as ...............eating chocolate." There's only this one load of rubbish to take back."
"Brush up the yard when you come back and dinner will be ready." She said as she went in.
I was happy to do it.
At Easter my Dad gave me the choice of Easter eggs or money. I took the money and bought three rose bushes, some seeds and canes for the Sweetness. Grandad Acock gave me a trowel and Granny Jones a bag of fertiliser. On the first day of the Easter holiday I went to see Mr. Pickering.
"Come for your plants? "he smiled.
"Yes please if that is all right with you?"
"It is a pleasure," he said. "I haven't laughed so much for years. Are your mates speaking to you yet?"
"Yeah, they saw the funny side of it in the end, and they did get some chocolate." I said.
In his garden frame was a box of Sweet Pea plants. They were even labelled with my name I could only say "Thank-you" in a very small voice.
Planting was easy and then it was only a question of waiting. Those plants were the most cared for, cosseted, loved plants ever. They grew and they flowered, huge sweet smelling blooms on long straight stems. The crowning glory came when Uncle Frank did as he had boasted and won first prize at the local flower show with his Sweet Peas. He offered Grandad Jones a bunch for Granny Jones. Grandad looked at them and said, "No thanks our Billy's are better than those."
Uncle Frank came rushing round. His face when he saw my blooms made all the effort worthwhile.
Mr Pickering had done me proud.

[Eric Hardy]

Hello Eric,
I have just read your "The Ashton Rd Gang" from beginning to end and enjoyed it a lot. I loved the descriptions of school rugby, they brought back memories of my own school rugby many years ago.
You must get your work published!
Eric H

[Palustris]

Chapter 4

Maxie
"Hey up," said Noddy. "Here comes Maxie."

The gang were sat on the wall of No.72 at the bottom of Andy’s Bank.

"Grotty little herbert!" said Simon. "I wonder what he wants."

"Better be nice to him. He’ll only go and tell Mummy," said Peter. "Then she’ll tell our Mums and they’ll stop us going out on the bikes.

"Maxwell Forrester Shevington, to give him his full name, was not a member of the gang, but he wanted to be. His mother did not approve of us. We were rude, scruffy and noisy. We did not approve of Maxie, he was a mummy’s boy.

Maxie sidled up. "Are you going on a ride?" he asked.

"Yip," said Grubby.

"Can I come with you?" asked Maxie.

Simon groaned.

"Will Mummy let you?" I sneered. She usually banned him from leaving the road.

"Won’t tell her," declared Maxie, defiantly. "Where are you going?"

"Willow Grove," said Noddy.

When Maxie looked puzzled, Noddy explained. "It is a patch of trees, the other side of the Cemetery. There's a stream."

"I’m coming with you," declared Maxie.

"Well, hurry up and get your bike." I could see our curtains moving. That could mean that my mother was looking for me.

Maxie was back in two minutes, before we could set off without him. If we had gone by the shortest route it was not far. However, this was an Expedition! The first part of any of our expeditions was the ride through the Park. No matter where we were going the Park was visited first. The notice outside which said ‘Dogs must be kept on lead.’ and ‘No Cycling. By order of the Council.’ was regarded as a challenge.

The park keepers were all red-faced old men in blue uniforms and peaked caps. They all carried stout sticks with spikes on the end for picking up litter. I cannot remember ever seeing them used for this though. Instead they waved them threateningly in the air at anyone foolish or naughty enough to break the rules, whether human or animal. The parkies ranked somewhere between Nazis and Teachers in our estimation. They were fearsome, bad tempered and petty minded to a man. All we wanted to do was to ride our bikes through the Park. All they seemed to want to do was to be nasty to everybody and everything. Mind we would probably not have ridden through the Park if it had been allowed. After all it was the long way round to most places.

The trick was to choose a route through which avoided the patrolling parkies. Since there was no pattern to their meandering this was not easy to do and rarely accomplished.

If spotted, then we had the excitement of being chased. They shouted things like,

"Gerroff them bikes, yer little devils. Can’t you read."

We were on bikes so we could have easily escaped, but we were kind and considerate children. We never rode so fast that the poor men had to run hard after us. We usually kept our speed down so they only needed to trot.

They used to try to ambush us. It took some pretty fancy riding to dodge those dreaded sticks. It never occurred to us to escape by riding across the flower beds or through the shrubs, or even on the beautifully manicured grass. We always kept to the paths.

Halfway through the Park, Stew stopped and called out, "There's a parky in the bushes next to the Tennis Courts."

[Palustris]

We stopped and looked. Nobody else could see him.

Simon declared scornfully, "You're as blind as me Granny’s dog."

Simon’s grandmother lived in the next road along from Ashton Rd. Her dog was a large black mongrel of extreme old age and unpleasantness. It was indeed blind, or nearly so. It spent most of its time lying on the doorstep, like a balding doormat. It also smelt. Despite its blindness, it still managed to give unknowing callers a few nasty shocks. The postman always put her letters in her next door neighbour's letter box rather than take the risk.

Stew was, naturally, upset by this insult. He pushed Simon off his bike. Simon got up and punched Stew on the nose. The blood ran freely. This immediately stopped the fight. Once Stew’s nosebleeds began it was a fearsome sight to see just how much blood his nose could produce and it took a lot of doing to stop it.

"Idiot!" I said to Simon. "Why did you have to go and do that?"

"Put a bunch of keys down his back," said Noddy.

"Don’t be daft," said Peter. "We ain’t got no keys.

"Cold water," said Grubby.

"I am not going to the drinking fountain." Bob was quick to assert. The drinking fountain was next to the parky's hut. Nobody ever got water from there.

"Well, I am not going to the lake." I said firmly. "It is full of them idiots with model boats. Anyway my Dad would kill me if I fell in." I had this bad habit of falling into any and every stretch of water which I visited. "Besides, Stew’ll have bled to death by the time we get there. It’s the other end of the Park."

"Stew blubbered. "Well, do something!"

His nose was certainly producing an awful lot of blood, even more than usual it seemed.

"The Fountain" said Grubby.

The Fountain was a red brick Gothic style memorial to Queen Victoria. It was close to where we were.

"Stew took one look at it and declared, "I am not sticking my head in here!"

"Oh yes you are," said Simon. "Come on lads, it is for his own good."

Simon and I grabbed his arms. Grubby and Noddy his legs while Peter pushed Stew’s head under the water. Bob flapped around saying, "Be careful. You’ll drown him."

The bleeding stopped, but not before the water was rather polluted. While we thus occupied, Maxie caught up with us. He had obeyed the signs and pushed his bike.
In a very loud voice he informed the world. "You rode your bikes. It is against the rules."

"Oh, shut up," said Peter in disgust.

Meanwhile, Stew was spluttering and trying to get the water out of his eyes and ears and hair. He was also saying some very naught words. I thought he was being rather ungrateful. After all we had just saved him from bleeding to death.

Maxie took one look. "Awwww, you’ve been fighting. My Mum says it is wrong to fight. I am going to tell her."

In his excitement, Maxie’s voice got even louder. The noise must have reached the ears of a parky who was hiding in the bushes next to the Tennis Courts. He almost ran to see what was going on. We did not wait to explain the reddened fountain water, nor did we give Maxie time to display his saintliness at our expense. With a soggy "Told you so" from Stew, we leapt on our bikes and raced for the nearest exit.
Maxie was left to explain it all. Looking back over my shoulder I saw him being led away. He looked as if he was in tears.

"The Parky’s got Maxie!" I yelled

"Serve ‘im right and good riddance!" said Noddy.

The next stop was Holly Bank. My Granddad had only told me not to sled on it. He said nothing about rolling down the slope. Peter did not join in. We tumbled down the grassy slope until we were dizzy. Then we used underneath the bridge as a toilet and got ready to move on.

Maxie appeared. His eyes were red and dirty. His nose was running.

"Cry baby," muttered Grubby.

"You’re a rotten lot. I had to tell the man where I lived," snivelled Maxie.

Grubby shrugged his shoulders. We had all been through that one at least once. Then a thought struck Grubby. "You didn’t tell him your REAL name and address did you?"

"Of course," said Maxie in surprise. "It is wrong to tell a lie."

"Blooming heck!" exclaimed Simon in disgust. "You dozy clot. You absolute ......" Words failed him.

[Palustris]

"Everyone knows you don’t tell them where you live." Peter was contemptuous.

"Why don’t you go home to Mummy!" Bob was as disgusted as the rest of us.

"You said I could come with you and I’m coming." Maxie sniffed.

You had to admire his persistence if nothing else.

"Let’s go then," sighed Stew.

The route now led us alongside the Cemetery. The path was narrow and bumpy. Maxie had to get off his bike and push. We would not wait for him and soon were well ahead.
Grubby said, "I am going to look if there is a funeral."

He had a thing about funerals. He used to cycle all over town following hearses. He could not wait for his grandfather to die so that he could go to a funeral of his own, so to speak.

"You are weird, you are," said Bob, but we all stopped to look.

The bushes inside the Cemetery railings were too high to see over and too thick to see through. We leant our bikes against the railings and stood on the saddles. Grubby was almost in luck. Right there before our very eyes, two workmen were digging a grave. We were fascinated. If it had not been for Grubby we could have stayed, unnoticed by the gravediggers until they were finished.

"Hey, Mister, if you find a skull can I have it?" Grubby shouted.

He chose the wrong moment to yell. One of the diggers was just pulling the other out of the hole. The puller was startled and lost his grip. The man in the hole fell back with a shout and a thud. Naturally we did not wait to see what happened next. We pedalled away for dear life.

The workman yelled "Yer little hooligans!" He grabbed his spade and gave chase, inside the railings, fortunately for us.

His poor friend was left inside the half dug grave. A that moment Maxie arrived. Looking back I saw him lean his bike against the fence, climb on the saddle and look over the bushes.

Two minutes later Maxie overtook us and disappeared down the path in a cloud of dust. Simon drew a circle on his temple with a dirty forefinger and shrugged his shoulders.

"Nutcase him."

We caught up with Maxie when exhaustion overcame his panic.

"What’s up with you then?" Peter asked the still shaking Maxie.

"I looked over the fence and this skeleton, jumped out of a grave and tried to grab me!" He was still panting, either from fear or riding.

"Oooh!" Stew said with a broad grin. "It's a sin to tell lies. I shall have to tell your Mum!"

[Palustris]

Maxie’s panic stricken dash had brought him and us to the Willow Grove. This was a triangular patch of grass between two fields. The trees grew on the bank of a drainage ditch. The footpath carried on, over the ditch and led back to the main road. The willow trees were a perfect place for a gang of lads to play. Our favourite game was copying the antics of Tarzan. Somebody had fastened a rope to a branch so we could swing across the ditch. The stream had very little running water in it. It was filled with years of rotting leaves and grass.

Practice had made us all quite good at timing the leap on to the rope and off again at the other side of the ditch. Maxie had never been with us before, nor did he go to the pictures on a Saturday morning. He had never seen Tarzan in action. He would not even try at first.

Noddy stripped down to his underpants to make himself look the part. He was swinging from a branch, making noises like a chimpanzee. "Nah.nah, Maxie’s chicken!" He chanted in between the grunts and squeals.

Eventually the taunting was too much even for Maxie. "I’ll show you," he screamed and he jumped for the rope.

The result was spectacular. He missed the rope completely, turned a somersault in the air and belly flopped into the muddy ditch with a great "Splat"

The sight was too much. We collapsed into hysterics on the bank and Noddy fell out of the tree.

Trying to catch my breath and when Maxie did not get up, I puffed. "He’ll drown!"

Everybody leapt to their feet. Maxie was dragged by his ankles to the bank. He was still breathing, but he was plastered from head to foot in thick, black, evil smelling ooze!

Now that it was obvious he was safe, the sight of him sent us all into giggling fits again. I laughed until tears ran down my face and my stomach hurt.

Maxie howled as well, but I do not think it was with laughter. Considering how well brought up his mother claimed him to be, it was disgusting to see how much he was spitting.

Peter had by now laughed so much he was lying over the edge of the ditch being sick.

Maxie wiped some of the mud from his face and said tearfully, "I hate you lot. I am going home to tell my Mum!"

He staggered towards his bike, gobs of mud falling off him on to the grass..
Noddy took a deep shuddering breath and wiped the tears from his eyes. "We’d better go with him. You never know what lies he will tell."

Puffing and wheezing we climbed on our bikes and followed. Not one of us had escaped liberal splashings of mud in rescuing Maxie, but he looked and smelt like ‘The Creature from the Swamp.’ The wind was blowing from him to us. The stench was awful.

"I can’t stand this," said Peter who was still a bit white faced from being sick.

"Nor me," I agreed. "Let’s get past him."

Maxie was riding slowly, the mud beginning to solidify, but not losing any of its powerful odour. He was still howling as we rode past. That did not please him either. As we rode alongside the Cemetery, through a gap in the hedge we could see that a Funeral was taking place. Grubby insisted that we stop and watch. Peter only agreed in Grubby was gagged. Simon produced a filthy rag which was tied round Grubby’s mouth.

The Minister was reading the Service as Maxie arrived. The wind carried the appalling stench over the railings. The ladies at the graveside did not seem to notice. They all had handkerchiefs over their noses anyway. The Minister was the first to react. His reading faltered. Then the other men began to cough and reach for their handkerchiefs.

Maxie was too sunk in his misery to notice the smell he was so generously spreading around him, but we saw its effect. Silently we got on our bikes and rode home.

Later we learnt that Maxie's mother had stood him in their back yard and hose-piped the mud off him. The general opinion of the gang was that it served him right. Especially as his mother had paid a visit to each of our mothers.

That afternoon most of the gang leant against the wall of No.72 discussing the events of the morning. No-one seemed to want to either sit on the wall or on anything else for that matter. Not that anyone was saying anything though. Peter was not there. His Mum had kept him in after seeing how white faced he was.

Neither was Stew.

We went to stand outside his house, not quite daring to knock. The upstairs window opened and Stew put his head out.

"Coming out?" called Noddy quietly.

Stew put his fingers to his lips. "Can’t!" he said. "I've got to rest, 'cos I lost so much blood when I had my nose bleed."

"OK!" said the gang. "See you tomorrow."

The window closed quietly. Stew’s parents were a bit unusual. They did not believe in smacking children.

[Palustris]

Chapter 5
Roller Skates and Boards

I was in trouble again. Not with my parents this time, but with old Mrs. Blaggard.

"You wait till I see your Dad. I’ll tell him," she was shouting and waving her walking stick.
Anyone would think that I had deliberately fallen off my go-cart outside her house just to annoy her. I did not argue. I just grabbed the steering rope and ran. Most people who lived in Ashton Rd. were very tolerant of the children who played around in front of their houses, but not Mrs. Blaggard. She lived further down the road where the houses opened straight out on to the pavement. The sour, irritable old woman used to go mad about the noise made by people roller skating, sliding or carting past her window. She objected to us even walking past. On one occasion she complained to my mother that I had been rude to her when I was walking up the road with my Father.
Most parents took Mrs. Blaggard’s complaints with a large pinch of salt. In deference to our parent's wishes we usually went past her house on the other side of the road. It did not always matter, out she would come, waving her stick and threatening us all with good hidings. We took great care never to let her catch us.
I took my go-cart in to the back yard. Either as a result of the accident or possibly the cause of it, the front wheel was buckled. Until I could find a replacement set of pram wheels the cart was of no use. I went in.
"What’s up?" asked Mum. "You look miserable."
"The cart’s bust and Mrs. Blaggard will be telling you all about me." I told her.
"What have you been doing to her now?" She asked with a sigh.
"Nothing! I just fell off the cart in front of her house. You know what she’s like."

Mum shook her head. "You’ll just have to find something else to do then won’t you?"
I opened the door of the toy cupboard. Everything fell out. I groaned. Mary must have left it like that. I had not been in there for months.
Mum looked at the mess on the floor, "Well, now you’ve got something to do. Putting that lot back in."

[Palustris]

"Aw Mum," I started to protest, but she had that look in her eyes so I started to shove things back in. When I came across one of my roller skates though, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I jammed the door shut, hoping that it would not be me who opened it next time. "It’s all away, Mum," I shouted. "I’m off out." Her reply was muffled so I assumed it was all right and went.
Simon was in his back yard, working on his go-cart.
"Got a piece of wood?" I asked.
"Plenty." He said indicating a pile in the corner. "Help yourself."
I found a piece the size I needed.
"What’re you doing?" asked Simon, wiping his hands on an oily rag.
"Watch," I said. I put the board on top of the skate, sat on the board and pushed myself along. "See!" I grinned at him.
"That’s great!" He said. "Hang on I’ll find one of my skates and we’ll have a go down Ashton Rd."
Within half an hour all of the gang was out skate and boarding down Ashton Rd. Bob found a piece of chalk and used it to mark out a twisting course.
"Right!" He announced. "Who can get the farthest? No crossing the lines or touching the floor."
Noddy went first, steering by leaning to the left or right. Since the skate and board were not attached if one leant too far over they came apart. He fell off at the third bend. Everyone else went farther, except me. I fell off at the first bend. We had another race. I fell of again and so it went on, or off in my case.
The more I fell off the more determined I became to complete the course. After all the skate and board was my idea. At last I began to get the hang of it and I managed to get halfway. The gang cheered.
The next run was a brilliant effort. I completed the course at record speed. As I ran out of chalk lines to follow I found myself heading for the Hypo man’s horse.
The Hypo man came round once a month selling Hypo, a general purpose bleach and cleaner. He also collected bottles in which he sold the stuff. We always smelt the contents of any bottle before drinking, just in case it was Hypo.

[Palustris]

Unfortunately for me, this was his day for visiting Ashton Rd. Of course I had seen him before I set off, but I expected to fall over long before I reached him. Now I was heading straight for the horse's hooves. My speed was too great to fall off. With a gasp I steered the skate into the alley between Nos. 75 and 77. I felt the hot breath of the horse ruffling my hair as I shot in front of it.
That horse was magnificent. It did not even turn a hair. It just carried on plodding up the road in its usual patient way. The Hypo man, himself probably did not even see me at all.
Unlike the road the alley was not smooth tarmac, it was made up of cobbles. After no more than two yards the skate came to a halt. The board and I carried on for a further couple of feet. However, it was not the board that was touching the cobbles though, it was the backs of my fingers and knuckles.
The gang came running up. "That was brilliant!" shouted Peter
I could not speak for the pain.
"What’s up?" asked Bob.
I pulled my mangled fingers from underneath the board and held them up dripping blood for him to see.
"Yuk!" said Stew.
Somehow I managed to get home. I got no sympathy.
"Well!" said Mum as she bathed and bandaged. "That’ll stop your gallop for a while."
Dad was no better, he just laughed. Mary also laughed, until she opened the Toy cupboard door and everything fell out. She had to put it all away by herself. My hands were too sore to help.
It took a fortnight for my fingers to heal enough to skate and board again. The enforced rest gave me time to think of a way of stopping board and skate parting company for a second time. I drilled a hole through the board and bolted it the skate.
"That’s a clever idea," said Noddy and went off to do the same.
The obstacle course was easier now. It was Grubby who came up with a new game. "Watch this!" He cried and charged off down the road. Suddenly he turned in towards the pavement. We waited for him to hit it and fall off. Somehow he managed to lift himself and the board into the air and on to the pavement. "Pavement hopping," he said.
We were impressed and all had to have a go. We all found out, soon, that the penalty of failure was a scraped chin when you fell off forwards as you hit the pavement.
I just could not do it. By the end of the week my face was beginning to fall to pieces. The laughter of the gang spurred me on.
"I’m going to have one last try, then I am going in," I told them. We were sat on the wall of No.72.
"Give it up," said Simon. "You’ll never do it, you’ve been trying for a week."
"I’ll do it if it kills me!" I said hotly.
"It probably will," said Noddy.
"He’s too fat to do it," sneered Peter.
"I haven’t done it yet," said Bob.
"You've never tried," pointed out Simon. "You’ve got more sense. If Billy’s face hits the pavement again, we’ll have to give him a badge with his name on. Even his mother won’t recognise him when he goes in."

[Palustris]

I was nettled by the scorn. Off I went. The speed was right, the jump perfect. I finished up on the pavement. A quick lean to the left and off down the pavement I rolled. I heard the gang cheering.
Out of her front door came Mrs. Blaggard. She faced up the road, waving her stick, her feet well apart, ready no doubt to scream at us for making a noise. There was no way I could avoid her or stop. She was too close.
To my astonishment the expected collision did not happen. In an effort to avoid her stick I lay back and went straight between her feet and out the other side. I did not get much further before falling off.
Meanwhile Mrs. Blaggard was having loud hysterics. I did not wait to see any more. I fled. Hunger and thirst eventually drove me home. Mum looked hard at me as I went in. "Eat your dinner, then you can wait for your Dad to come home."
Dad heard the full complaint in silence. "Upstairs!" He said.
Slowly I sniffed my way to my bedroom. I sat on the bed fearing the worst.
Dad looked at me. "Did you really go right underneath her?"
I nodded too scared to speak.
"Do you know that she told your Mum, that from now on, every time she came out of her front door she would have to do her kerb drill?"
I looked at him, puzzled.
"You know, look right, look left, look right again."
I wished he would stop talking and get the punishment over and done with.
"You, you......"
I looked up. Dad was grinning from ear to ear. Seconds later we were both giggling fit to burst.
"Oh, you, you are as bad as he is," Mum was stood in the doorway, looking very black. Dad stopped laughing and blushed. He coughed. "Look, son, we can't have you doing that sort of thing," he said trying to be stern. "That roller skate can go back in the cupboard and the board goes on the fire."
"Yes, Dad." I agreed. I did not care, skate and boarding was too risky. Anyway the season was over, it was time for Cricket.
For the next ten days we saw nothing of Mrs. Blaggard. I overheard Mum and Stew’s mother talking about how bad tempered the old woman was becoming. "It’s probably because the lads don’t go anywhere near her house any more, she’s got nothing to complain about," said Stew’s Mum.
The following day we were playing cricket on Andy’s Bank when Mrs. Blaggard came marching across the middle. We had rules for this situation. You could not be out to any bowl while she was on the Bank. Usually we just stood still until she had gone out of sight. She snarled at me as she went past. I kept my face straight and did not listen. The last time I told my Mum the word Mrs. Blaggard used I had to wash my mouth out with soap. The game did not restart as we waited for her to return from the corner shop.
There was quite a step down from the pavement on to the Bank. Mrs Blaggard came round the corner and stepped down. She then appeared to just sit down on the edge of the pavement. We waited for her to get up and go. When she stayed where she was I was a bit puzzled and not certain what to do. We cautiously approached her.
"Are you all right missus?" asked Simon nervously.
"I can’t stand up," she replied. "Give us a hand."
She was too heavy for us and she could not help herself and was obviously in pain.
"I’ll go and get my Dad, he’ll know what to do." I said.
I knew there was something wrong, she had not sworn at us once. When I returned with my father, quite a little crowd had gathered. An Ambulance was called and Mrs. Blaggard went off in it, on a stretcher. We shrugged and went back to our game.
Next morning my Dad came back from the Newsagents and told me. "Mrs. Blaggard has broken her hip."
"You don’t break your hip just sitting down like that," I protested.
"When you get older your bones break more easily," explained Dad.
The next news we had of Mrs. Blaggard was when my Mum told Mary and me that the old lady had caught pneumonia. She died a few days later.
Her daughter came to sell up the house. She came up to the Bank where we were playing. "Are you the lads who tried to help Mrs. Blaggard?" She asked.
We nodded.
"I just wanted to say thank-you," she said and then she knocked us flat with, "Mother was very fond of you lot you know. She was always telling us of the daft tricks you got up to. They made her laugh."
"But she was always moaning at us," protested Stew.
"Oh aye," said her daughter, "She liked a good moan. That’s probably why she liked you."
That was beyond me.
"Anyway," she went on, "Before she died she asked me to give you all something for trying to help her," and with that she gave us all half-a-crown each.
We were all absolutely flabbergasted. We just about managed to express our gratitude.
After she had gone Bob summed up our feelings exactly. "I’ll never understand grown ups, as long as I live!"

[Palustris]

Chapter 6

Fits

While the rest of the gang had to make do with second-hand or home built bikes, Simon had a brand new, drop-handle bar racing bike. The generosity of his parents could have led to trouble, if Simon had not been willing and ready to share his good fortune. Except, that is, his pride and joy, the racer. Nobody else was allowed to sit on that saddle.
Next to the Newsagents at the top of Ashton Road was a hairdressing salon. This was owned and run by Mrs. Smith. I suppose there must have been a Mr. Smith, but I can not remember seeing him. There was, however, a boy, Stephen, of about our age. He was not in the gang. Stephen suffered from epilepsy. Naturally, his mother did not want him to join in the rather exciting and sometimes violent activities of the gang.
Eventually, though, the doctors decided that the epilepsy was under control and that he could play with us. We were quite happy to welcome him and immediately christened him ‘Fits’. His mother explained what to do should he ever have an attack. We listened in awe to the symptoms and promised faithfully to carry out her instructions to the letter.
Fits was a very popular member of the gang. This was mainly due to his willingness to do anything suggested to him without apparent thought for the possible consequences.
His mother was also the ideal sort, large and jolly. She was so pleased that Stephen was able to play that she beamed whenever anybody complained about his behaviour. If my mother had received as many complaints about me as his mother got about him, I would have been locked in my room forever.
This period of grace did not, could not, last forever. It was one of our cycling expeditions that changed things. Nobody blamed us for what happened to Fits and Simon. Once again our destination was the Willow grove. Fits had acquired a bike from somewhere and Simon was on his brand new racer.

[Palustris]

The ride through the park was exciting. We had the satisfaction of seeing a clerical gentleman being told off for riding his bicycle and then we were chased by a parky ourselves.
"Funeral!" grunted Grubby as we rode past the Cemetery. He was disappointed.
"Let's have a race?" suggested Peter.
"I’ll win!" boasted Simon.
"So you should," said Stew. "But racing‘s a bit hard on this path. It's very rough and it’s only wide enough for two."
"That’s all right," said Fits. "Come on, I’ll race you, Peter."
Along the side of the path was a line of tall poplar trees. The sun shone through them leaving the path alternately light and dark. At normal speed it did not matter. Riding fast, though, the sun appeared to flicker. Afterwards we learnt that flickering lights can trigger an epileptic fit.
Fits obliged by having one. The form of his normal attack was for his legs to pump up and down and for his hands to lock tight on whatever he was holding. If he had been walking he would have collapsed on the floor, but he was riding a bike.
To me, watching for the outcome of the race, it seemed at first that Fits was trying very hard to win. However, when he reached a speed that was stupid on that path, and, when he did not stop at the very sharp right hand bend that was the finishing line, I knew that something was very wrong.
Fits went straight on, through a gap in the hedge and carried on in a fairly straight line across the field.
For a second nobody reacted, the Noddy yelled, "Come on! He’s having a fit!" He whipped out the spoon that he had thoughtfully brought for just such a happening. "It’s to stop him biting through his tongue," he had explained when he showed it to us.
We leapt on our bikes and gave chase. Simon soon pulled ahead, but we were not far behind him.
Bob yelled, "He’s heading for the Pits!"
During the war, the Germans had attempted to bomb the railway lines. They had missed, but the explosions left four deep, water filled craters. The local angling club was in the process of filling them with fish. Fits was heading right for them.
Noddy stood up on his pedals and screamed, "Come back ‘ere and have this spoon in your gob!"
Fits, probably wisely, ignored him.
With unerring accuracy he rode straight between two of the ponds. We followed, Simon well in the lead with us about ten yards behind. Grubby, who had the most disreputable bike, could not keep up. He had his head down, pumping away for all he was worth. He missed the path between the ponds and rode full tilt into the water.
Peter looked back to see what the splashing and yelling was about. He did not see the large lump of sandstone in the field. He found himself flying over the handlebars. He completed his gymnastic display with a graceful swan-dive into the ground.

My poor bike, having seen better days, decided to give up the ghost and lose its chain. That put me out of the hunt. Stew stopped with me, he had a stitch in his side.
Bob was the next to fall out. His legs were not up to it and he just went slower and slower until he stopped, exhausted. That left Simon and Noddy. Noddy had the spoon clenched between his own teeth. Not for long. The nut that held on the handlebars undid itself. He continued of a few seconds with loose handlebars, then he fell off and dropped the spoon.
Fits by now had reached the end of the field. He was riding towards the garden wall of some cottages that backed onto the field. The wall was about four feet high. Fits must have woken up. His reactions were instantaneous. He slammed on both brakes and threw his back wheel into a sideways skid. He halted inches from the wall.