by Yvonne Young
Lil and Kath both recalled how Beattie cried during the day and the dreaded memory of when she tried to commit suicide. After dealing with her husband’s attitude and wayward stepson, things simply became too much for her. Kath found her and as they didn’t have a phone, she rushed over to a family friend, who helped. However, as with most working class women, she simply had to get over it herself.
Uncle John didn’t work – he sat in his rocking chair in front of the fire all day, then rushed up the road to The Quarry public house at the first opportunity. Most of the time, he simply got drunk and came home, but on the odd occasion he would act himself with other customers. One day, he took Blackie the dog with him and after one too many, the publican removed his pint: ‘Right, that’s it, you’re barred.’ He then looked down at the dog and said, ‘Blackie, you have been no bother at all, you can come in here any time you like.’
Billy subsequently became disillusioned with school – the teachers offered him nothing and couldn’t see their way to recognising an entrepreneur when they saw one or channelling his energies. At eleven years of age he secured a job in the Bigg Market on one of the stalls, learning how to cut keys for a man called Ken, a friend of the family. He also gave Billy a set of extendable ladders, with which he immediately set about acquiring a customer base in the local area. This meant taking a Friday off school every fortnight and he soon developed a skill for excuses. When the shift was done, Billy laid the ladders up against the first-floor balcony of the flat, climbed up, then raised them over the railings and secured them by way of chain and padlock. This little trade proved very lucrative until a pal of his ‘borrowed’ the ladders and they weren’t returned. He moved on to help Michael on his ice-cream van. This meant two to three days a week off school.
Later, he said, ‘Why would I want to go to school when I was earning money? They couldn’t teach me anything. When would I need to refer to the Romans in my life, or how much coffee was produced in Brazil? What good would that have done me?’
He then worked for a company called Scott and Stobbs at Marlborough Crescent in town, who sold clothes and shoes. As he knew his way around town, a customer asked the boss if he could borrow Billy to take around the shops to show him where various companies were based. The fella was impressed with his street knowledge as they travelled round in his car and Billy pointed out all of the addresses. This became another sideline for our Bill – his pushbike came in handy as he delivered parcels and was paid for doing so.
Meanwhile, Billy cottoned on to the practice of a church which offered free trips to the swimming baths to local kids in return for their presence in church on Sundays. He hid outside with his mates until the procession emerged from Mass, they joined the queue and enjoyed a splash about with the other conscripts.
The summer holidays always came to an end too fast and I longed for the next half term at school so that I could get back to my cousins.
* * *
I formed a friendship with a lass in the Poplars (each block was named after a tree – the Larches, the Beeches, etc.) called Ann, who lived with her dad (her Mam had died when she was very young). Ann was really trendy, she had a record player and we listened to the ‘Wooly Bully’ and ‘The Name Game’ and ‘Twenty-Four Hours From Tulsa’. Her dad was very protective of his only daughter and complained about the length of her miniskirts. She had a tartan sleeveless dress which she altered to show more of her shoulders; he nearly had a fit and forbade her to wear it, but she did anyway. She formed a friendship with a teenage married man who also lived in one of the blocks. I had the job of arranging meetings by going downstairs in the block of flats to check if he was outside yet. This went on for some months until the relationship ended and Ann was left bereft.
After one of our nights out at the West End Boy’s Club, Ann walked home alone. As she was nearing home someone grabbed her from behind and was intent on dragging her onto a grassed area. Just then a light went on in the kitchen of a ground-floor flat and the man ran off. A couple of weeks later we learned that a young lass had been raped.
Our emotions ran riot at this time. I remember being deeply ‘in love’ with a paper lad – I knew nothing about him, but obsessed about him day and night. When I knew he was on his round, I hid behind the curtain in my parents’ bedroom, peering and wasting away with romantic notions. Norman! I wrote his name on countless pieces of paper, wandered along Beaumont Street in the hope of seeing him, but with no intention of speaking to him – this was a totally innocent, unrequited admiration, based purely on looks alone. I would have run a mile if he had even smiled at me.
* * *
Back at Kenton, at half term, Woolworths was a favourite shop of ours and we went up to the Hillsview Shopping Centre with our few shillings pocket money. Billy bought Fry’s Five Boys chocolate and we were interested in the perfume, but we called it ‘scent’ – 5711 was all we could afford, or the cheap stuff in tiny coloured glass bottles. Kath had just left school and decided she wanted to work there but was too afraid to ask so we stood outside while Lil went inside:
‘Excuse me, have you any jobs going?’
‘Yes, who is it for?’
‘My sister.’
‘Well, where is she?’
‘She’s outside.’
‘Bring her in then.’
Kath was interviewed and given the position as sales assistant on the spot. For the first time, she had more money than she knew what to do with. She bought some crazy foam and sat on the ledge of the laundry room squirting it to the joyful cries of kids below, who eagerly grabbed it.
That Christmas, Kath had saved her money and bought us all a little tin of sweets. The tree was decorated with lights and when one went off, the whole string had to be tested to find out which one had caused the problem. The Broons and Oor Wullie were the staple choice for annuals. We loved looking around at the make-up in the Woolworths store. Bourjois Rouge was a hard cake of ‘Rosette Brune’ with a little powder puff inside a cardboard pot. We looked at mascara in a block, which people spat on and rubbed a tiny brush around before swiping it over their lashes.
After Kath left Woolworths, me and Lil went with her to another interview at a company in Byker, but this time we stood outside. The position was at The Metal Box factory, where she sat with ten others, sorting out the tops for bottles of jam and pickled onion jars. A lad came in and tipped a massive boxful onto the table and they checked for scratches or imperfections. Half an hour in and Kath thought, Yes, I can do this OK. The lad came back with another box and once more tipped lids onto the table.
‘What’s he doing?’ asked Kath. ‘He’s already brought a box in for us to sort.’
‘Yes, we do this all day.’
‘I need to go to the toilet.’
‘You can’t go now. I’m sorry, I should have explained,’ said the supervisor. ‘Toilet visits are only allowed during break time. As you didn’t know, you can go this time.’
Kath took this opportunity to go to the office.
‘I want to hand my notice in.’
‘OK, I will just get your file. That’s strange, it’s not here. When did you start?’
‘This morning.’
‘Oh well, that would explain it – it hasn’t even reached the cabinet. What’s the problem with the work?’
‘Well, I can’t sit here all day, just checking jar lids.’
By the end of the week, Kath had been through all of the jobs in the factory, but still left.
She made a start at a clothing manufacturer in the city centre – they supplied many of the clothing stores in the city. She was shown into a massive warehouse with rows and rows of ceiling-high products. The owner explained that she would be supplied with an overall, the cost of which would be taken from her first wage. He told her that if a store wanted thirty dozen vests, she would be responsible for finding, bringing them to the distribution point and logging their distribution. She took one look around and thought, How am I going to find stuff in here
? She collected her coat and went home. And so we had her to play with for the times in between her ‘new jobs’ for a little longer.
With her new employment status, Kath became more aware of her surroundings. She had always been the tidy one and Lil couldn’t care less where her possessions ended up so Kath drew a chalk line down the wall, across half of the bed and along the floor.
‘Lil, I’m sick of your belongings and clothes strewn all over the place, keep to your side.’
‘Where do I go then?’ said I.
It was a bit confusing for a while, but the rule didn’t last long as it was found to be very impractical.
Kath was beginning to grow up and the adventures would soon be no more. I still think of those times and how it really felt like at last I had a brother and sisters. Kath went on to become a secretary and later, when I caught up age-wise, we both worked as telephonists for GPO Telephones. She was to have twenty-two jobs before finally settling down as an usherette at the Odeon on Pilgrim Street.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bognor and The Beatles
Mr Thompson sported a Clark Gable-style moustache; he owned a car which stood outside the house but never went anywhere. His wife wore flat shoes, had flat hair and a flat chest; she took in clothing that needed alterations and had one friend, Mrs Pearson, who lived across the street. The couple had three daughters. Ann was the youngest, aged about seven, and the favourite. Pat was working, fashionable and had a lock on her bedroom door. Then there was Lillian, the middle child, who wasn’t particularly favoured by any of them. Lillian emptied any sweets she might be lucky enough to lay her hands on into her pocket so that no one would ask for one. After cookery lessons everyone stood at the bus stop, sharing their creations. Lillian stood at a distance, basket under her arm, ferreting beneath the plastic cover to eat hers. Food which she cooked never made it home, as she knew she would at least go to bed that night without being hungry. Times were hard and some families simply didn’t have enough to eat. Pat had bought a new Sloppy Joe jumper which Lillian was desperate to try on but was forbidden. While Pat was at work, we went out into the backyard, where Lillian had dragged the dustbin under the window. There was a two-inch gap where the sash window had been left open. I had to hold my hand over my eyes as Lillian turned the bin lid upside down and placed a pouffe, box and stool on top. Was she really going to climb up there? Balancing precariously, she pulled down the sash cord and was in. Coming out the way she had entered, she threw the jumper down onto the yard. Once inside, she tried the garment on, but it was far too long, right down to her ankles. Undaunted, a pair of her mother’s dressmaking scissors were produced and Lillian, much to my horror, cut the new jumper to size. Swanking around in front of the mirror, she thought she was it – that is until her sister returned from work. I didn’t hang around for this, but no doubt Mrs Nosy Parker would have been there to see the fallout.
I should have known better than to trust in Lillian’s judgement on anything. One day, during the school holidays, when she was left alone in the house, she asked me if I would like an egg sandwich. Imagining that this would consist of a boiled egg, I said yes. The coal fire in the sitting room was well ablaze and Lillian fetched a chip pan full of lard. This was placed on the fire until the fat was popping. She cracked the egg into this maelstrom and it spluttered into pieces.
‘I don’t think that’s how it’s meant to be done,’ I said.
Common sense was not a quality Lillian possessed, which was again evident when she decided to try on a pair of her sister’s high-heeled stilettos. They looked fair enough, despite being three sizes too big, but what she did next was totally unexpected: she jumped from one dining chair to the next, piercing all six of the vinyl covered pads. Another signal for me to beat it! I told Mam when I got home.
‘Wouldn’t you think that after the results of the first one she would have stopped?’ she said.
‘I couldn’t believe it,’ I told her, but really, I could.
Lillian was always at the bottom of the pecking order when anything was to be handed out. She pleaded with her mother until the last chance.
‘Mam, can I have tuppence?’
‘No.’
‘A penny?’
‘No.’
‘A ha’penny?’
‘No.’
‘A farthing?’
‘No.’
‘Well, can I take the bottles back?’
‘No, Ann’s having them.’
Lillian was regularly chased by her mother out into the street and pursued around her dad’s car. They were darting back and forth, mother at one side, Lillian at the other, round the back, the front, until Lillian made a dash up the street. When she came to the next parked car, the dance would continue. Mrs Thompson always gave up first. Lillian and I spent time in the street playing with our tops and whips until her mother had calmed down. The tops were wooden, shaped like a mushroom, with a little metal button on the bottom. We wrapped the string from the whip around the shaft of the top, knelt on it, then spun the top around by quickly pulling the whip. The button got extremely hot while it was spinning so could be used to torture anyone who tried to disrupt the game.
* * *
The first year I was taken to Butlins at Clacton-on-Sea my parents were very excited as we had never been away from home before. Mam took great care to choose her best clothes. Dad took a couple of shirts, with which he never wore a tie (he would roll the sleeves up above the elbow) and a couple of pairs of trousers with turn-ups at the hem. He bought a pair of flip-flops, which he didn’t like because they did what flip-flops do, so he took the thickest white elastic and sewed it across the top. Not a good fashion accessory as he didn’t wear shorts either. But that didn’t bother Mam as she wouldn’t be with him much anyway. In an unprecedented move the services of a local dressmaker were enlisted to make me seven cotton dresses. I felt like a princess, with one dress for each day.
We took a third-class train from Newcastle Central station and spent the day in London before catching a train to the holiday camp. Dad put on his cockney accent. We proceeded up a few quiet roads with what looked like office blocks and then, as we turned a corner onto Westminster Bridge, I got the shock of my life to see a sea of men in dark suits and bowler hats carrying briefcases. Where had they all come from, how had I not heard them approaching? They were marching like they were on a military exercise – I wonder if the idea for the Cybermen in Doctor Who came from sights like this?
I met up with a girl on our dining table: Lorraine from ‘Leighton Buzzard, Beds’. We went everywhere together and mostly I was with her parents at the fairground, dances and Beaver Club events. She could never get it that Geordies from Newcastle upon Tyne say ‘Man’ after a request, such as:
‘C’mon, man’ (meaning hurry up)
Or:
‘Hawway, man’ (also meaning come on, hurry up).
And even:
‘Harraway, man’ (Go on with you or I don’t believe you).
She continually remonstrated with me.
‘Don’t call me a man, I’m not a man!’
‘It doesn’t mean you’re a man, it just means man! We say it to everyone, man.’
It’s surprising how many Norse and Anglo-Saxon words are still used in the Geordie dialect today, for example:
Hoy (to throw)
Wrang (wrong)
Bairn (child)
Hoos (house).
Although we were on holiday with Dad too, we didn’t see much of him. Mam preferred sunbathing, wearing her latest costume, posing and pretending she was a model, while he was off playing snooker or swimming in the sea. When we were by the pool, she asked me to look over at a man lounging nearby.
‘Is he looking at me?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Go over and tell him not to look at me when your dad is here.’
I didn’t understand the significance at the time, but in years to come, I couldn’t get over the fact that she didn’t consider m
y recollections as an adult. What would I make of this behaviour? She lived for the moment and although Dad was the one with Asperger’s, she displayed more than enough insensitivity as far as I was concerned. She certainly displayed more male characteristics. I have never had intimacy with someone I didn’t love, but with Mam, she defied the logic of the Billy Crystal quote: ‘Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place’. Of course you could say her reason was that she enjoyed it, but somehow, I don’t think that was the intention of the message.
One night, Mam took Lorraine and me to see the new Beatles’ film, A Hard Day’s Night. After we left the cinema that evening, Lorraine and I sang about love that can’t be bought with money. Mam asked us to play on the swings for a while, she had something to do. The man from earlier in the day walked past and she followed. It was getting quite dark by the time she came back for us, but we weren’t bothered as we just swung as high as we could, perfecting the lyrics of the new songs: ‘I’m Happy Just To Dance With You’, ‘It’s Been A Hard Day’s Night’.
The following year, 1964, it was decided that our holiday camp break would be at Bognor Regis. I had had such a great time with the pal I met the year before, but I was worried there might not be anyone to hang about with at this new camp, so I asked if we could take Lillian. Her parents were approached and much to my surprise, they agreed. We travelled by train, Third Class: there were no corridors back then so you had to sit in a compartment accessed directly from the platform. Dad had used white paint to embellish his initials ‘K.E.L’ in six-inch-high block capitals on his suitcase. This did not please Mam, who grumbled about it. He justified his actions by saying nobody would steal it. It took ages by train, back then, and she was bored, but Dad had his copy of Reader’s Digest so he was sorted.
Butlins was good fun. I could go off with Lillian and we joined the Beaver Club, where the Redcoats organised all kinds of activities. I would imagine that most kids didn’t see much of their parents – it was a totally safe environment. There were donkey derbies, fashion shows and knobbly knees contests. The bathing beauties lined up for contests wearing swimsuits and high heels, their hair piled high, bouffant-style. I still have a photo of when Dad came third with a partner in a ballroom dancing competition – he always hoped that he could win a free holiday for the following year. Mam wasn’t interested in such things – she enjoyed dancing, but considered this style old-fashioned.