98 Eastcourt Estate

At home…

‘Ooo-woo Gerard!’

I couldn’t believe my ears. Shelley Jordan screeching through the letterbox of our new home on Aylesford Crescent was a terrible shock. Her appearance on our doorstep puzzled me for a while but means, motive and opportunity clicked into place when I found out she lived around the corner on Hawkhurst Road. Of all the rotten luck.

Shelley wasn’t the only Upbury pupil living nearby. Jim Barker lived a few doors down Eastcourt Lane and Steve Clay a little further up, facing The Sportsman pub. A surprise, as I’d never seen them on the bus. Nor would I, as both caught the school bus on the top road and that struck me as very odd. I knew special buses were laid on for kids in the outlying districts of Hempstead, Wigmore and Rainham, and I realised there had to be a cut off somewhere, but if kids from Featherby Juniors like Jim and Steve got free bus travel then the kids from Twydall Juniors fell into a black hole in the middle of this service. As unfair as it seemed I didn’t dwell on it.

Most days me and my brother Dave joined the secretaries and college girls waiting at the bus shelter on Eastcourt Lane, to catch the 1 or 1A. If we were a bit late and the bus was already at the stop we could still catch it if we legged it down to the next stop on Beechings Way, opposite the ESAB works.  And if the bus was full by then, as it sometimes was, it wasn’t a big deal as that stop gave us the extra option of catching the 1B that came straight along Beechings Way.

After school Dave made his way home with his friends, while I walked home with Paul Parker and John Greenland. It was around that time that an older boy came to my attention – David Day, a giant in the fourth year and a Twydall boy himself. I thought I could walk fast but I was nowhere near as quick as him. As hard as I tried to keep up when he shot past us in the alleys after school, he left me further behind with every giant stride.

We didn’t raid Benhams anymore. Perhaps because our numbers were depleted – Clive and Stan were regular cyclists by then. Or perhaps we were just older and wiser, and we’d just seen the error of our ways. Whatever it was, we’d become quite saintly.

It gave me a kick to say goodbye to Paul and John when we reached Eastcourt Lane. My new home on Aylesford Crescent was just a minute away yet they were still five minutes away from their homes in Wingham Close.

On telly… the Mexico Olympics.

Afro-American athletes, in black socks, gave clenched fist salutes from the winners’ rostrum and gained worldwide publicity for the black power movement. Though it caused a big stink, I didn’t get it. I just thought it was daft.

The events were far more interesting. Bob Beamon’s twenty nine foot long jump amazed everyone…

…and the Fosbury flop had to be seen to be believed.

He did what? Head first and backwards?

Of the British medal winners my favourites were Chris Finnegan the boxer and Lillian Board, the golden girl of British athletics.

I liked Lillian Board. She was the girl next door, but it was a girl on the motorcycle that kept catching my eye, on billboards everywhere. Too bad it was an X film.