42 A Summer Holiday

I spent the long summer holiday with my dear old Granny in Bolton. For the best part of six weeks home was an old terraced house in a slum clearance area, where boarded up houses and debris strewn streets were an everyday sight. For six weeks I drank Vimto and Dandelion & Burdock, ate black peas at the market, and passed my own dish over the counter at the chip shop when ordering steak pudding, chips, peas and gravy. And I loved every minute of it, as I revisited the life I’d been born to. 

Of course there were obligatory visits to be made, to see various people from the past, some that I remembered and some I did not. Whatever, I only had to smile and answer politely, as Granny did most of the talking anyway. A bar of chocolate from an old friend of my mother’s was gratefully received, as was an offer to watch The Buccaneers on the telly in the parlour of one of Granny’s friends. Less enjoyable was a visit to see Mrs Bailey – a former neighbour – and her sons. As happy as I was to go and see the Bailey boys in their new council house I could only grin and bear it when, after accepting and invitation to play in a field at the back of their house, I discovered – too late – that the field was alive with yellow frogs. Urgh!

Granny had a part time job as a cleaner, in a mill two streets from her house.

‘I’ll be home just after eight but you know where to come if you need me,’ she said, as she departed for work at tea time. ‘Are you sure you’ll be alright?’

Of course I’d be alright. Besides, it wasn’t the first evening she’d had to leave me. Sprawled out on Granny’s settee with a bag of plums and a Jennings book, I was living the life of Lord Muck.

I loved Jennings books. Though some aspects of boarding school life were beyond me, I loved the humour in them and read as many of them as I could.

On a grey evening, the light faded early. A glance at the clock showed another half hour before Granny got home. It didn’t bother me at first but as the minutes ticked by and the house grew darker, I started hearing little noises that played on my nerves…

In a brightly lit mill corridor, my cares dissolved as I sat on a bench and waited. Distant footsteps echoed further down the corridor… then disappeared. With nobody around I felt brave enough to try the acoustics myself with a little song that got louder as my confidence grew. ‘Johnny Remember Me,’ I sang. Not the John Leyton song, but an improvised lyric put to a mournful tune I’d heard on Rawhide.

 Of course there was no mention of dark houses and scared little boys when Granny appeared. Only the truth; that I’d wanted to come and wait for her, that’s all. 

Other memories of that summer…

 Stubby’s Silver Star Show; a talent show for kids introduced by Stubby Kaye. Week in, week out, songs of the day like Hole in My Bucket, King of the Road and Hello Dolly were murdered by a bunch of squawking kinds. 

Electrocuting myself; happened when I climbed on a wardrobe in the bedroom of my young Cousin Graham, with the intent of hanging a toy soldier from a light pendant. Sticking my fingers in the open socket was an accident that threw me off the wardrobe and onto a bed, stunned and shaken, and very lucky.

 A Mars Bar: at my young cousin’s house; my uncle came in from work and tossed me and Cousin Graham a Mars bar apiece. While Graham got stuck into his, I waited. ‘What’s the matter, don’t you like them?’ asked my uncle, seeing my apparent reluctance to unwrap it. I most certainly did like Mars bars, but I was scared of doing wrong. At home a Mars bar would have been shared between three of us, at least. The only Mars bar I ever had for myself was in a selection box at Christmas.

I went to the pictures too, though not to see this film… 

…which was advertised on many a billboard. Popular as it was, I didn’t fancy it because it wasn’t the proper Dr. Who. The film I really wanted to see was this one….

 
…but I didn't see that one either. Instead, I went to see this film with my Cousin Graham. Sheesh!

At the end of the holiday my Dad came and took me home. On my arrival at Crundale Road, Mam and my brothers made a fuss of me and gave me a welcome home present – a dozen toy soldiers, all brand new. I wasn’t ungrateful, but their present made me very uncomfortable. I’d been away. My brothers had not. I’d had a holiday. My brothers had not. If anyone deserved a present my brothers did, not me.