127 As One Door Opens

Gillingham’s position in the league looked grim. Relegation to division four seemed likely but Paul Parker and I still had hope. Not enough to bet tuppence on their chances of survival, but enough to keep faith in a team that had driven us to drink – a bottle of cider from Benham’s being a rite of passage that we bought before a night match. From a position on the Gordon Road terrace near the Rainham End, our uninhibited vocal support helped the Gills to victory. The highlight of the game was the cider, though I regret clonking the bottom of the bottle as Paul was taking a swig, as it left him with a chipped tooth.

Whatever the weather I’d be at Beechings Way on Sunday mornings, where Gillingham Supporters Club played. Nobby Blackman, a stocky lad with ginger hair, was one player who caught the eye. If his appearance didn’t catch the attention his name surely did, especially when his team mates were yelling for the ball. ‘Nobby! Nob! Nob! Nob!’ How the local kids loved that.

From my usual position behind the goal near the pavilion I witnessed the comical, the farcical and the magical. And I heard plenty of colourful language. Rarely does a player score direct from a corner. For a player to perform the trick twice in the same game is unheard of, at any level. Yet incredibly I saw it happen. From successive corners, left foot and then right, from either side of the pitch, the ball swung over the goalkeeper and curled inside the far post. Amazing.

At home...

My brother Dave answered a knock at our door… and dashed back into the front room like he’d seen a ghost. ‘There’s a f-f-f-fakir at the door!’ he exclaimed.

Mam went to investigate and found a turbaned gentleman at the doorstep, peddling wares from a suitcase. I looked suspiciously at my brother. Whatever he’d been about to say, I knew it wasn’t fakir.

He laughed when I asked him about it afterwards.

‘It’s all I could think of,’ said Dave, of the word that had got him off the hook, because if he’d effed in front of our mam, Dad would have effing killed him.

Dave was always saying things that amused me. He’d got a job on the Evening Post but he struggled from the start after being given a difficult round. A lot of his customers were terrible at paying up, making Friday a day to dread. In comparison, my round was straight forward and I’d be home long before him.

Where’ve you been?’ I asked one Friday night, when he came home two hours behind me.

‘I’ve been traipsing up and down, trying to collect some money. I know they’re at home, but the rotten gits won’t answer the door. Those that do say they’ll pay next week and one horrible bastard swore blind he paid up last week. I know he’s lying but I can’t prove it ‘cause I ticked him off in the book and paid his arrears out of my own pocket last week, just to keep Quasi (our hunch backed boss) happy. I thought I’d get the money back when he coughed up so that’s me bolloxed with ten bob up the Swanee. It’s Quasi’s fault for giving me such a shitty round but he just keeps going on about the arrears. He said if I can’t collect the money then he’ll have to let me go. He’s going to give me the gooner, I know he is!’

Poor Dave. While most kids on the Evening Post were earning just short of a pound a week, Dave was lucky to scrape fourteen shillings. He was right in everything he said. He was the youngest kid on the job, yet his round was the most difficult. I did it for him one Friday and fared little better. The pressure he was under was very unfair but for all that, I couldn’t help laughing.

The Beast of Elham Close 

The biggest problem on my round was the dog I’d never seen. My luck had to run out sooner or later and it did, one Friday when collecting. As usual, the beast of Elham Close went berserk when I knocked. As usual, the old woman struggled to keep it back as she eased the door open just enough to put her hand out with the weekly payment. As usual, I took her half crown and scuttled down the path, but even as I made my escape, the woman cried out. How I wished I’d left the gate open when I heard the dog charging up behind me.

‘Don’t worry love, it won’t…’

‘Argh!’

The beast struck as I opened the gate, locking its jaws on my ankle. It wasn’t as big as I’d imagined, but it bit me good and hard, and only let go when I slammed it with the gate.

‘Are you alright love?’

‘Yes,’ I lied.

Though I walked away like John Wayne, my heart was booming like a big bass drum. Inspecting the damage had to wait till I turned the corner onto Waltham Road, where I sat on a wall and rolled down my sock. It could have been a lot worse than a small puncture, bit of blood and an ugly red mark that led to some bruising but even so, I was well shaken up.