Comet

by Andie J Fessey

  “What are yer on about?”

  “Our Maurice ‘ere said a couple of your lads jumped him and his sister the other day,” Ian replied, “throwing stones and stuff at him. Came home full of cuts and bruises they did.”

  “A couple of my lads? Doubt that very much son,” Tom replied.

  “Well, that’s what our Maurice ‘ere and his sister said, isn’t it our Maurice?”

  The large youth nodded his head.

  “They’re lucky we didn’t call the coppers or something,” Ian remarked.

  “Well, if it was as serious as yer say,” Tome replied, “then maybe yer should call them.”

  Ian stared at him, to figure if he was being serious or not.

  “I’ve a telephone in the back office yer could use if yer’d like? I’m sure yer remember where it is don’t yer?” Tom said.

  “As, I’ve just remembered that’s where I caught yer trying to nick the petty cash, didn’t I?”

  “As I said,” Ian replied, “that was when I was younger, I’ve learnt my lesson since then.”

  “If I recall rightly, I didn’t call the coppers way back then did I?”

  “No.”

  “That’s right, no. If I also recall rightly, yer were lucky enough to get away with only a hiding from one of my lads, didn’t yer?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Ian replied lowly, staring into Tom’s eyes.

  “So, if yer don’t want to call the coppers, for whatever reason, what do yer want to do? That is however, if the lads who allegedly jumped yer brother are actually here?”

  “Well, I want…” Ian said, interrupted by Maurice pulling on his arm, pointing to the far wall.

  “What is it?” Ian hissed.

  “That’s a couple of them, our Ian,” Maurice replied, “over there, with the skipping ropes.”

  They looked, to where Jack and Frank were skipping side by side.

  “Jack and Frank? Bollocks,” Tom said, laughing.

  “And him,” Maurice pointed at Robert, slowly walking to his brothers.

  “Rob?” Tom asked.

  Maurice nodded.

  “Rob!” Tom yelled.

  Robert stopped, turning to look at them.

  “Get yer arse over here son, and bring yer brothers with yer!”

  Robert beckoned to his brothers, already walking to him, noticing the presence of the two Nelsons.

  Reaching Tom, ensuring they stood alongside him, they stared at Maurice, who returned their gazes through squinted eyes, a grubby makeshift bandage on his head, causing his bright hair to stand up.

  “Do yer know this lad?” Tom asked, not taking his eyes from Ian, who not being able to hold his stare, looked at the Bennett boys instead.

  “Yes,” Robert answered.

  “That’s the bully who tried making Wally eat dog poo!” Jack exclaimed.

  Tom looked at Jack, before turning his gaze to Maurice.

  “Is that right then?” He asked.

  Maurice glanced at his brother, who continued to glare at Robert, surprised the younger boy held the stare.

  “No, I didn’t!” Maurice exclaimed, pointing at Robert, “He threw stones at me.”

  “Yes, you did and no he didn’t,” Frank interrupted, “our Robert never picked one stone up.”

  “It wasn’t me, it was me sister!” Maurice exclaimed, receiving a dig to his ribs by Ian’s elbow.

  “Oh, is that right?” Tom asked, “and yer just stood by and let her, did yer?”

  Maurice stared at the floor.

  “So,” Tom continued, staring now at Ian, “where do yer want to go with this?”

  “What d’yer mean?” Ian asked in reply.

  “Yer said yer wanted justice, didn’t yer?”

  Ian nodded his head, uncertain where Tom was taking this.

  “Right then,” Tom said, “let’s see if justice is done then.”

  “What?” Ian asked.

  Ignoring him, Tom turned to one of the older boys stood nearby.

  “Seth, go and find a pair of gloves to give to yon feller ‘ere,” he nodded at Maurice, “then tell Chris and Davey to pack in their sparring.”

  He turned to Robert, whilst Seth quickly undertook his given task.

  “Gloves on Rob son,” he said, turning to face the Nelson brothers, “then, get in the ring.”

  Robert stared into the eyes of Maurice, who glanced around nervously.

  This was not what he envisaged, when his brother agreed to accompany him to find the Bennett boys.

  Climbing into the ring, Robert held his hands as Jack placed a pair of large boxing gloves onto them.

  “Don’t worry our Rob,” Jack said, smiling as he tied the long laces, “you’ll be fine.”

  Robert smiled, nodding.

  They turned, hearing a loud exclamation as Maurice tumbled through the ropes, falling onto the canvas floor.

  “You’re not supposed to hit the deck yet,” Mark Young said, laughing as he and a crowd of the other youths came to the ringside, “let Rob hit you first!”

  Maurice stared up at the sound of the laughter at his expense, before turning his gaze to Robert, silently stood in the opposite corner.

  “Get up!” His brother commanded from nearby.

  Struggling to his feet, Maurice felt his cheeks redden, as the boys in the hall continued to laugh.

  “Alright lads,” Tom said, “turn it down a bit and let’s do this properly.”

  He turned to Ian.

  “Regardless of the outcome, yer drop it after this alright? Or yer’ll have me to answer to.”

  Nodding his head, Ian turning to his brother in the ring.

  “Take yer time Maurice lad,” he ordered.

  Maurice turned, staring at his sibling before turning to face Robert, the echo of the laughter and taunts still resounded within his mind.

  “Right you two,” Tom said, climbing onto the edge of the canvas and leaning upon the top rope, “I want this clean and tidy alright?”

  Nodding his head, Robert stared at Maurice, stood with his arms at his sides.

  “First thing I want yer to do is...” Tom began.

  Before he completed his sentence, Maurice ran at Robert.

  “Oi!” Tom shouted, but Maurice continued to run, screaming in anger, his arm swinging at Roberts head.

  Robert remained stock still, until Maurice’s flailing arm was mere inches away from the side of his head.

  Ducking quickly and avoiding the blow, he brought his own arm right arm forward.

  It connected solidly with the other boy’s stomach, stopping him in his tracks.

  Winded, Maurice brought his gloved hands to his injured stomach.

  Before he let out a breath, his vision became obscured by a blur of brown leather, as Roberts glove connected square with his nose.

  Slowly, Maurice fell backwards, his back creating an impressive thud as it struck the canvas.

  Ian immediately climbed into the ring and ran to his brother’s side, Robert taking a couple of steps backwards, least he attempted to strike at him.

  “Well, I think that sorts that little matter out,” Tom exclaimed, taking a roll-up cigarette from his pocket.

  “Nice one Rob,” Seth said.

  “Yeah, nice one!” Mark Young shouted, smiling broadly.

  Before Robert said anything in return, the doors to the hall opened wide.

  Saul Newton, one of the eldest of the youths frequenting the club, sprinted across to the side of the ring.

  “What’s up Saul son?” Tom asked, as the youth caught his breath.

  “That explosion last night,” Saul exclaimed.

  “Yeah, woke me up, what about it?” Tom asked.

  “They know what caused it. Me Dad just got in from work at the docks and told me Mam.”

  “Well, what was it?” Tom asked, Robert now at his side on the other side of the ropes.

  “It was a UXB! One of the ones the Germans dropped.”

  “I know what a UXB i
s son, but bloody hell, that could’ve done somebody an injury.”

  “It did more than that Tom,” Saul continued, “somebody died!”

  “What? Poor swine, I wonder who it was.”

  “I can tell you Tom,” Saul said, “me Dad was talking to the Watchman there. It was that rag and bone man! You know, Archie?”

  The weight of Roberts gloves at the end of his arms, felt miniscule in comparison, to the weight of sorrow he now felt in his heart.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Will you put that bloody thing down and get over here!” The large man in the corner called, across the large, hot room to his apprentice, “If you don’t listen, you will never learn.”

  “I think, I know enough about how to make a shoe Bob,” his apprentice David said, smiling and walking across to where Bob stood next to an anvil.

  The noxious, sulphurous odour of burning hair originating from burnt keratin, held thickly in the air from the two dray horses recently left with their handlers from the Brewery.

  “Is that right Davey boy?” Bob asked, as David reached his side.

  “Well, I know enough how to make one, repair one and how to shoe a horse with one,” he replied.

  “A bloke once asked me if I’d ever shoe’d a horse,” Bob said, turning to him with a grin.

  “I know! And you told him no, but you’d once told a donkey to bugger off!” David said hurriedly.

  “I’ve told you it before then?” Bob asked, a quizzical look on his large face.

  “Every day,” David replied, “every day.”

  Bob chortled loudly, his huge barrel chest moving rhythmically in time with each sound, straining against his dark overalls.

  “What do you say to a cup of tea Davey boy?” Bob asked.

  “Not much.” David replied, “They don’t hold up much with having a decent talk eh?”

  “What? Oh, very funny Davey, we’ll make an honorary Scouser out of you yet.”

  “Take your time Bob, I’m in no rush.”

  “Yer cheeky Welsh sod,” Bob replied with a hearty laugh, his overalls fit to burst at any second.

  It took a few moments before his laughter subsided, his face spread with rare sadness, which David noticed immediately.

  “What’s up Bob, my jokes aren’t as bad as that are they?” He asked, his voice betraying concern.

  “Nah, it’s not that Davey lad, it’s the thought of having to go to the funeral.”

  “The funeral?”

  “Old Archie’s funeral.” Bob said, striking the hammer hard onto the anvil, causing bright sparks to fly from the shoe he held there, within a large set of pincers.

  “Oh. Sorry about that Bob. Did you know him well, I only met him a couple of times?”

  “Yes son, I knew him well,” Bob replied, his face now furnishing a smile, picturing in his mind’s eye, the wind scoured and sun leathered face of Archie.

  “Knew him since I was a nipper,” he continued, “he only ever trusted me with shoeing his horse, that’s why you never saw much of him really. He wasn’t being funny or anything, but after my old fella passed away, he’d only ever let me shoe his horse and the one before that.”

  David smiled at his employer and friend, indicating no insult had ever been felt by him.

  “I know some people like that back in the valley Bob,” he said, “there’s nothing wrong with a bit of tradition.”

  “Yer right there Davey and let me tell yer, he was a good one was old Archie.”

  “He seemed like a nice guy, the times I did meet him.”

  “He was a diamond Davey lad, a bona fide diamond,” Bob replied, “I still can’t believe what has happened.”

  The burly blacksmith turned from David’s gaze, busying himself placing some shoes onto a hanger nearby, the thoughts of a cup of tea now forgotten.

  Understanding his friend’s feelings and wanting to occupy his mind to distract him from feeling so sad, David walked across to where a large piece of metal gate leant against the opposite wall.

  “What do you want doing with this Bob?” He called.

  Bob did not hear him, above the strikes of his hammer against the glowing shoe held against the anvil.

  Each downward thrust became more forceful than the last, less without purpose and more born of frustration and sorrow.

  “Bob!” David called, louder.

  Bob slowly turned, beads of perspiration glistening across his forehead.

  “What?”

  “I said, what do you want to do with this?”

  Bob stared at the gate, for a moment unable to remember where the gate was from, before it occurred to him.

  “That’s from one of the houses down near Sefton Park, give me a minute to finish this and I’ll check the paperwork.”

  “I’ll grab a moment of fresh air then,” David replied, satisfied his friend was now pre-occupied with something to take his mind from the loss of his friend, as difficult a task as it was.

  “Oh, will you now? Missing the valleys are you Boyo?” Bob replied, a friendly grin replacing the look of sorrow encompassing his features moments before.

  “Something along those lines Bob,” David replied, smiling.

  He walked passed his friend, patting him on his large shoulders before exiting through the large double doors leading to the courtyard of the Blacksmiths.

  Located in the village of Woolton, it stood there since before the Great War.

  Bob’s Father Victor, was the Smithy back then and mentored his son as his apprentice.

  Victor passed away several years ago, leaving the business in his son’s hands, in addition to the adjacent detached house.

  Bob informed David on several occasions before, it could not have come at a worse time for him.

  When David questioned why, Bob replied it was his ambition when he was younger, to join the hallowed ranks of the Household Cavalry as one of their farriers.

  But he could not tell his Father, who assumed his son would take over from him, without question.

  David looked up to the blue afternoon sky above Liverpool, interspersed with thick billowy white clouds drifting slowly and serenely now, after the heavy winds befalling them over the last few weeks had abated.

  Sighing, he remembered he gazed in the same wistful way at the sky back home.

  Revelling in the quietness around him, save for the noise of Bob’s hammer striking upon the anvil inside the Smithy, he thought of how different the sounds were here in Liverpool to back home in Wales.

  He never ceased to be amazed by the variety of noises, as he passed through the city and its suburbs.

  His lodgings in Lime Street however were not quiet.

  Located in the heart of the city centre, the couple of thin panes of glass forming his one window, were no protection to the endless noises invading his rest from the world outside.

  Unlike here, in this picturesque suburb of the city, were you were more likely to hear the songs of birds, amidst natures beautiful orchestra, than the heavy, tuneless drone of traffic.

  I love these moments of peace, these moments of quiet.

  “Davey!” Bob bellowed, bounding from the workshop in huge strides, pulling at his overalls.

  “What is it Bob?” David asked in alarm, as his friend ran to him, pulling the overalls from his broad shoulders.

  “Has something caught light? Are you on fire?”

  Stopping for a moment, Bob stared at his young apprentice before turning his gaze to the Smithy, then to his overalls.

  “What? Fire? No, of course not,” he said, struggling to pull his overalls off.

  “Then what is it?” David asked bemused.

  “It’s the funeral, isn’t it? It’s today! Help me get out of this bleeding thing so I can change, or our Flo will bloody kill me if I don’t meet her there in time!” He exclaimed, a pleading look upon his huge face.

  “Come here, you silly sod,” David replied, sporting a huge grin.

  Chapter Fourteen


  The cobbled streets of Bootle the procession led through, were lined with hundreds of respecting mourners.

  As the entourage headed along Hawthorne road towards Christ Church, the people bowed their heads in respect.

  “I can’t believe he’s gone,” said their Mother, wiping a tear from her cheeks with a handkerchief, her children standing on the pavement alongside her.

  “I know Mother, he was a lovely old man.” Iris remarked.

  “What will happen to Comet Iris?” Robert asked, standing alongside her, holding onto Daniel’s hand.

  “I’ve no idea Rob,” she replied, as the horse drawn carriage passed them.

  “Who will look after him?”

  “I’ve no idea Rob,” she repeated, turning to her Mother, “Did Archie have any family Mum?”

  “Not that I know of Iris,” her Mother replied.

  “What will happen to the poor thing?” Iris asked.

  “I’ve no idea love,” her Mother replied, “I’ve no idea.”

  “Why do you think they haven’t used Comet to pull the hearse?” Iris asked, watching as the two black horses pulled the hearse behind them.

  They were magnificent in their finery, albeit nowhere as large as Comet.

  “Poor thing is probably tied up somewhere,” she replied.

  “We are having a wake back at the Anchor for Archie,” Ron said quietly, stepping forward to them, his wife Pam at his side, her arm around his waist.

  She did not hide the fact she had been crying and did not care. As strong and fearless as her husband was, she complimented it with her love and compassion for her fellow man.

  “You know you’re all welcome,” she said, “we thought it was the least we could do.”

  “Of course, we will be there,” Patty replied, “as sad as the occasion is, it will be nice to raise a glass in honour of Archie’s memory.”

  “Bring the little ones as well Patty,” Pam said, “we’re having a spread put on for everyone.”

  “Pam, do you know if Archie had any family?” Iris asked.

  “None that I know of love,” Pam replied.

  “We’ve tried our best to find out if there’s anybody, but we’ve come up with nothing,” Ron added, “for as long as I can remember, it’s only ever been Archie, Winnie, Comet and the other horse he had, before that one passed away.”