26 Tabeart's

Having Granny Gray live with us was a massive help to Mam. Each day, as soon as Dad had gone to work, Granny helped get me, Dave and Mike ready for school. But once we’d gone and Granny herself went off to work at the canning factory – behind Betabake on Eastcourt Lane – Mam was left alone to care for the little ones and tackle the multiple tasks that mothers are expected to do. Sometimes though, there just weren’t enough hours in the day for Mam to do everything and if, on occasion, a bit of shopping needed doing, I got the job when I came home from school.   

Tabeart’s – the newsagent and convenience store on Twydall Lane – kept longer hours than the shops on Twydall Green, which was handy for some but bad news for me, as halfway up Twydall Lane seemed twice as far when Children’s Hour was on TV. Missing Yogi Bear to run an errand was disgruntling, but my resentment was tempered by hunger on the day I was sent for a pound of sausages. Loosely wrapped in greaseproof paper and a brown paper bag, the temptation to pinch one was hard to resist. So what if it they were cold. In anticipation of a nice, tasty sausage, I took a bite out of one. Urgh! Thus, I learned that eating raw sausages isn’t a good idea. As for the incriminating evidence, the bitten sausage got lobbed up someone’s garden path.

~

After another excursion to Tabeart’s I found myself on the wrong end of a desperate cat and mouse game. I’d just left the shop and was strolling down Twydall Lane, lost in my thoughts, when I heard someone run up behind me.

‘ere, I want you dunni?’

I found myself gazing up at a boy that appeared to be nine feet tall. Never had I seen a boy so tall, certainly not a boy in short pants. Frightened, I spluttered a nervous denial. But the boy was insistent. 

‘Yeah, I want you.’

I didn’t know him and I was sure he didn’t know me, but I was in no position to argue. Expecting to be duffed up at any moment, I could only stay calm and walk on, mindful not to say anything that might agitate him.

‘Now let me think, what was it I wanted you for?’ 

Passive behaviour comes naturally when the survival instinct kicks in. Every step took me closer to home, yet survival seemed a long way off.

‘It’ll come to me in a minute.’

Even when we reached Crundale Road, I fought the urge to run, holding back till we got to my garden gate before making a dash to safety. So ended an incredibly tense, heart thumping, nerve jangling fifteen minutes; what a relief.

In time I’d learn my tormentor lived at a house on the corner of Hollingbourne Road and Milsted Road. I learned too, that his name was Smith. Many years later I learned his full name – Ray Smith.