A Cockney's Journey

by Eddie Allen

  After the birth of my first son, Daniel, my relationship with Sue’s parents was getting slightly strained to say the least. I wasn’t used to being cooped up in such a limited space. Me, Sue and the baby lived in the attic. The bedroom was so small that if you jumped out the bed too quick, you would fall down the bloody stairs. I was getting very frustrated and my tolerance level dropped dramatically during our time there. I would lose my temper very quickly, which ultimately ended in a fight with her father, something I regret to this day. Even though I appreciated their kindness, I didn’t show it too often. I had to find a way to get our own space and as soon as possible. It was Sue’s father who introduced me to gambling. One Saturday, he was going on about the ITV Seven, asking me if I fancied a bet in the big race. The race was the Irish sweeps hurdle at Leopardsdown. I never had a clue about racing. I looked at the runners, deciding on Steel Pulse, and gave Bill ten-bob to put on him. He reliably informed me I was backing a donkey, asking me if I wanted to change my selection. My answer was a resounding no. All my life I had been told what I should do. This time, I was in control of my own decisions, so I stuck with Steel Pulse. What happened that afternoon would have a resounding effect on the rest of my life, ultimately causing me major grief and heartache and getting me in and out of serious shit! If only, I ask myself. What would have happened if Steel Pulse had been beaten? Easy money, I thought. Bloody 20/1! Ten pounds, I won; a full week’s wages! That was it, hooked! My love affair with horse racing nearly destroyed my family and me. From that day, I had a bet every Saturday and then the disease rapidly spread to every day. Today, however, I have a little dabble at least twice a month on the dogs. I seem to crave that adrenaline rush a lot less now than I did ten years ago, thank God, but I still need it occasionally! I still bet every Saturday during the football season, spending a fiver on predicting results. These days it is more for fun, than gain.

  The following week, I was walking through the arches underneath Peckham train station with Tony and Brian. We were making our way to the café for a coffee, hoping to also meet this guy called Fred. He ran a local building firm. We heard he was looking for labourers for a site in New Cross. Coming out of the arches, I noticed a white Jag parked across the footpath we were on. I stopped and looked around, thinking there was no reason for that motor to be there. It was an unused cul-de-sac with waste-ground all around. Tony glanced at me.

  “You all right, Eddie?” he asked, looking concerned.

  “Not sure. Those wheels look familiar. I just can’t place them,” I said, sounding very mysterious.

  “I’ve seen that motor parked up outside Frank’s house,” Brian informed me.

  “Who’s Frank when he’s at home, Brian?” I asked.

  “A little runt who thinks he’s one of the chaps.”

  “Oh, I know who you mean,” Tony said. “Isn’t he the idiot that your cousin gave a good hiding to outside the boozer?” He was looking in my eyes, reading my mind. “Shit, fucking leg it!” he screamed.

  In a split second, the Jag came speeding up the path towards us. Out jumped these two burly guys, brandishing a sawn-off shotgun, pointing it towards me. I ran like a whippet, back under the arches towards the other end. I heard two loud short bangs echoing through the arches, followed by running footsteps and high-pitched screaming. I gave a quick glance over my shoulder as I turned out of the arches, nearly running straight into a lamp-post. Brian was lying on the floor, holding his leg. Tony had vanished into the train station, seeking help. The two assailants started to retreat to their Jag as people from the station poured out into the arches calling for the old Bill. I ran back to where Brian lay, fearing the worst. He looked up at me, his ashen face looked distraught with shock.

  “You was fucking dead lucky, Eddie boy,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Never mind me, mate. What about you?” I bent down to give him a hand to his feet.

  “I think I’ve twisted my ankle. I bloody tripped up on that raised slab,” he said, cracking half a grin.

  “Why was I lucky?” I asked, puzzled.

  “The guy with the shooter was gaining on you. Just as he pulled the trigger, he fucking tripped, blasting the deck. The other guy got blasted in the foot and screamed his head off.”

  “What a pair of plonkers!”

  Tony came running out of the station, informing us that the old Bill would soon be here. We made our excuses to the onlookers and pissed off a bit lively.

  “You’ve got to keep out of the manor for a while, Ed, or at least till Al’s out of nick,” Brian warned me.

  “Yeah, you’re right. This is getting a bit dodgy now,” I said, agreeing with him. The three of us decided to drink elsewhere for the time being. Tony suggested the Magdala in Lordship Lane, Dulwich. He’d heard the music was good and the punters were sound as a pound. That Friday, I took Sue out for a drink with the lads to suss out the Magdala. What a blinding boozer. It was heavy metal night and the whole place was covered in dry ice. The pub was packed to the rafters with all types of people, listening to Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Deep Purple and, one of my favourite bands, Pink Floyd. The only problem, according to Sue, was the fact you couldn’t have a conversation with anyone. Well, I must admit the sound system was extremely loud. But, as I tried to explain to her, you just can’t listen to rock music without feeling the sound penetrate your mind and body!

  Over the next couple of months, we became regulars at the Magdala, enjoying some really good nights. One notable exception is still crisp in my mind. After leaving the boozer slightly worse for wear, I said my farewells to everyone, expecting to reach my mother-in-law’s in forty minutes. Sue stayed at home this particular evening, nursing a bout of flu. I stood at the bus stop waiting patiently for the night bus. After waiting twenty-five minutes, my patience began to desert me. I decided to walk towards the next bus stop. Sod’s bloody law. Halfway there, the night bus sped past me. Looking on in vain as the back of the bus disappeared around the bend towards my destination, I stood staring into the darkness feeling as sick as a parrot. I carried on walking, glancing over my shoulder every now and then, hoping to catch sight of another bus. I glanced at my watch. Bloody hell, it’s 12:30, I thought. It never occurred to me that I might have missed the last bus. My walking started to increase into a slight jog as I began to sober up rather quickly. After half an hour, I slowed back down to walking pace, taking in deep breathes, filling my lungs with the night’s brisk air. I reached Peckham by 1:15, knowing that I still had at least another half an hour or more before reaching my mother-in-law’s. I suddenly became aware of the stillness and eerie silence of the night. Not a single person was about, nor any cars. It felt like I was the only person wandering about in the dark. It was getting late, so I opted for the short cut through the park. I approached the locked gates and, cocking my right leg on top of the railings, I catapulted myself over the gate, landing on my feet. I walked along the path, flanked both sides by tall oak trees and thick brambles with occasional park benches. Venturing deeper into the park, I realised there were no streetlights lit. I stopped and tried to get my bearings.

  Bloody hell, I can’t see anything, only trees and bushes.

  I knew there were four ways to get out of the park in daylight; however, not being able to see in the dark had its disadvantages. I decided to follow the path for a little while longer and then I would cut through the dense woodland on my right, hoping my instincts were on the ball. This was ridiculous; I had no idea where I was going. I stopped in the woodland, looking all around me, I was surrounded by tall trees and large prickly bushes. I just couldn’t suss out which way to go.

  Right, I’ve had enough of this. I’m going back to the gate.

  Turning around, I set off in the direction I thought I had come. My progress was halted by some kind of scuttling movement behind me. The scuttling changed to a distinctive rustling sound, like an animal padding through leaves.

  Probably a stray dog.

  The r
ustling grew nearer. I stood there, straining my eyes into the murky darkness trying to catch a glimpse of the perpetrator causing the noise. The wind blew through the trees, swiftly moving branches from side to side, interfering with my concentration on the rustling sound. The rustling was ahead of me now, and then it was to the right, then behind again, and then to the left. Whatever was out there was now circling me. I felt like I was being stalked, like I was some kind of prey. The sound of heavy panting echoed in my ears. The creature began to close the circle around me. Suddenly, the movement and panting stopped. My heart was racing and my mind churned over the last time he came for me.

  It can’t be him; I’m being completely paranoid.

  I stood in complete silence, listening for any movement, waiting for something to appear. I didn’t have to wait long. Staring out of the gloom, I could see two red eyes about three feet above the ground. Thinking it must be a large dog, such as an Alsatian, I really hoped I was going to see two floppy ears and a wet nose and nothing to do with him. The creature didn’t move a muscle, its eyes burning with malice. It was watching me, waiting, but for what? I took two steps backwards when the sound of vicious growling halted my progress.

  Oh shit! Now what am I going to do?

  My instinct told me to run and run like mad, but I was rooted to the spot, paralysed with uncontrollable fear. Through the trees in the distance, I could see four points of light flashing about and heading in my direction. I ripped myself from the fear, running like an Olympic sprinter through the brambles, with the creature growling in hot pursuit. I ran through thick dense bushes and brambles, hoping the terrain would slow down my pursuer. Prickly talons lashed my arms, face and legs as I ran blindly, consumed with utter fear. Behind me, the creature’s growling grew more menacing as it struggled to follow my path. I heard yelping, followed by the occasional whimper. Obviously, the creature was getting injured in its relentless pursuit through the thick, unwelcoming terrain. All of a sudden, I was running at full speed. Realising I’d run out into the park, I legged it towards the gate. Within seconds, the creature entered the clearing and was bearing down on me. I knew I had no chance of out-running the beast. The scampering of feet grew closer and then the creature pounced on my back, growling. The weight threw me to the deck and I instinctively raised my arms for protection. The dog grabbed my right arm, growling and shaking his head like I was a rag doll. Suddenly, the four points of light appeared to be moving at great speed to where I lay.

  The mad Alsatian had pinned me to the floor. I was trying to focus on the lights, praying it was the old Bill. Then I heard the magic word, “heel”. I sighed with relief as the dog released its grip. Four policemen flashing their torches in my mush surrounded me.

  “What are you doing in the park?” one officer asked, looking at me and shaking his head in anger.

  “I was taking a bloody short-cut home. Why, is there a law against it now?” I said, impertinently. The growling prompted me to stay on the deck. “This is ridiculous. Do you mind if I stand up?”

  “Get up slowly,” the officer warned me. “If you run, Bazza will have ya.”

  Apparently the park was under surveillance. The police had been trying to catch a rapist who had struck three times in the last month. The last assault was pretty violent. They had a good description of the rapist; fortunately, I was the wrong colour. After giving them my name and address and promising not to use the park at night again, they let me go. I arrived home at 3:45, much to Sue’s disgust. I was given the third degree for an hour, being forcefully told I was a liar. Well, I was covered in cuts, my shirt-sleeves were ripped and my shoes smothered in mud. I actually thought it was bloody obvious, however she never believed me. The next morning my in-laws questioned me on my whereabouts the previous evening. Needless to say, they didn’t believe me either. I decided it was time to move on, find a place of our own.

  It was a cold November afternoon and I’d been looking around Deptford for some work. I read in the local rag that a certain paper mill required workers. I decided to stop at this café for a coffee before going on to the paper mill, hoping I could warm myself up a bit. Being a very friendly person, I was soon engaged in conversation with a couple of customers. I was explaining my plight to this guy who was sitting next to me. To my surprise, he informed me that the café owner had empty rooms above his establishment. I decided not to pursue the matter until I’d secured a job at the mill. After drinking my coffee and feeling slightly warmer, I said my farewells and left the café for the paper mill. One hour later, I returned to the café, safe in the knowledge that I had a start on Monday. Ordering another coffee, I sat down with the café owner and asked him about the rooms he had for rent. After securing a deal with him on the amount of rent he required, I viewed the rooms on the first floor. Satisfied with what I saw, we both shook hands. I informed him my wife would have to look at the accommodation and assured him it would be a formality. Which it was! The only thing that played on my mind was the fact that the rest of the building was empty. Three floors of rooms with no tenants. Why? I asked myself.

  The following weekend, we moved in. A friend of mine who had a small van made a couple of trips from my mother-in-law’s to Deptford with our possessions. I also received news from my friend that Al was out on parole. I told him to let him know where I was now living. That evening, we had a Chinese takeaway meal, washed down with a couple of cans of beer. At last, we were living like a family. My son, Daniel, was fast asleep in his cot and we watched TV for a while before retiring to bed, feeling completely knackered after the day’s graft, moving in to our new home.

  Monday morning, I was up early, getting ready for my first day at the mill. I kissed Sue goodbye like I always did when I left for work. I spent the morning feeding a very large shredding machine with rolls and rolls of printed paper. What a laborious job, and the afternoon gave no respite to the boredom. I’ve never seen so much paper in my life. In the yard, rats would run to and fro from stacked bales of paper, unhindered. According to the supervisor, they were part and parcel of the trade. Well, they might be, but the sight of hundreds of rats scuttling around the yard and warehouse all day made my skin crawl. I wondered why the firm didn’t employ the services of Rentokil or some other pest control company. Maybe the cost had a lot to do with it. The sounding of the hooters at 5 o’clock ended my day, thank God. I quickly clocked out, leaving the mill to the rats.

  That evening after dinner, we were relaxing and watching the box, waiting for the 9 o’clock film to start. It was East of Eden, which starred Sue’s favourite actor, James Dean. We both agreed that his untimely death robbed the world of a great star. Just before the film started, there was a loud slamming of the front entrance door. I jumped up, turning the television right down.

  “Who the hell is that?” Sue asked, looking at me in a puzzled way.

  “I ain’t got a clue. Nobody else lives here and the landlord reckons we’re the only ones with a key.”

  I pressed my ear against the door, listening for any indication to who it might be. The stairs started to creak in an even motion, suggesting that someone was inside the building and slowly making their way up. I glanced around at Sue, shrugging my shoulders and shaking my head, indicating I didn’t know what was going on. I returned my ear to the door and the creaking became louder and louder as the person neared the top. Suddenly, it stopped. A weird sensation came over me. I can’t explain it, but I felt like I was being watched. It was as if whatever was out on the landing sensed I was behind the door. The deadly silence was broken by the sound of heavy trudging along the hall. I backed away from the door, indicating to Sue with hand movements that she should get into the bedroom. The sound of footsteps approached our front door. I braced myself, taking a deep breath and waiting for the confrontation. The sound of footsteps stopped for a few moments then carried on past the door, along the remainder of the hall. Creak, creak, creak went the stairs. They were now advancing up the second flight to the landing above. Su
e crept out of the bedroom, cradling Daniel in her arms and looking distraught. We both stood there in silence, listening to the heavy trudging along the second floor hallway. The opening and slamming shut of a door confirmed to me that someone was now in a room at the top of the house.