99 November

November 5^th I spent most of the evening trying to get my little brother Garry to sleep. Garry was five years old but he couldn’t talk and he still wore nappies. Mam always tucked him in for the night around half six and it was my turn to lie beside him until he settled. Sometimes he dropped off quickly, sometimes he did not.

My heart sank when I heard the back door open and the excited whoops of my brothers running into the garden. Then I heard Dad telling them to stand back. With every bang and fizz outside, Garry reacted, mumbling in a language of his own. I tried whispering to him and I tried singing. When that didn’t work I cupped my hand over his eyes and pleaded with him to go to sleep, but Garry didn’t drop off till the fireworks were over and everything had gone quiet.

My brothers were still on a high when I finally got downstairs. ‘You should have seen them!’ they said. I couldn’t disagree, but it wasn’t to be.

Kevin Garlick and me bought a packet of ten fags at the shops. In the alley connecting Leeds Square to the back of Twydall shops, we smoked our first cigarettes.

On the telly… I enjoyed the first episode of Please Sir!

The money I earned as a grocery boy allowed me to buy my first proper LP.

And funded trips to the pictures...

Planet of the Apes enthralled me from start to finish.

James Bond had never appealed but a mate from Upbury Manor talked me into going to see You Only Live Twice. The theme tune wasn’t bad and in one memorable scene someone got shoved into a pool of piranhas, but the rest of it was as boring.

At school... my brother Dave got picked for the first year rugby team. Dave was tall, like me, but stronger and less gangly. I was pleased and hopeful for him.

At home… Mam said we needed a bigger dining table, or at least a bigger table top, and asked if I could make one at school. So I asked the woodwork teacher.

‘Of course you can,’ he replied, ‘but you’ll have to supply your own Formica. There’s a little shop down the road that sells it, on Green Street.’

In the news… the great and the good were always dying and getting mentioned on the news. Most meant nothing to me but I sat up and took notice when they said Enid Blyton had died. Everyone knew who Enid Blyton was – we’d all grown up reading her books. Indeed, Shadow the Sheepdog was the first proper book I’d read.