"She locks us in at 11.00pm. Oh well, I suppose she'll give you a key to use the toilet. There you go," he pointed. "You'll never see anything like that in Allen Park. Can you see? Right in the distance on the horizon - Crich Stand. It'll start flashing in about two hours."
"Very phallic," came the slightly testy reply, but Gary acknowledged the north westerly view as impressive. He took a little time and his eyes swept over the patchwork panorama of varying gentle shades of green and grey. He noted the occasional small splash of dark brown which spoke of far off communities. Further still, a distant misty sea of deeper green could just be discerned, the special green of Derbyshire woodland and fern meeting the sky.
Chapter 24
Clothes of the Dead
It was time to unload the car and check into the room. Gary noted two beds, a double and a single -
"... on the floor! Why do we sleep on the floor?"
"Best way. You recall that awful back trouble I had in the mid 1970's? Aunty Joyce's bed: it cost me a fortune in medical bills. To be more precise, Grandma and Granddad's bed: so old, tired and worn, it was no better than a hammock. No support at all. Just a few nights put me in agony. It's still there, she'll never get rid of it."
Simeon pointed to an untidy heap of ugly Victoriana leaning up against the wall.
"That is disgusting!" said Gary.
"The old bed?"
"No this 'eye'."
Gary had discovered the antique chamber pot which had an open 'eye' looking directly up at the user. He took an armful of clothes to hang in the wardrobe and received a shock.
"What's this! It's full! And there's two of us."
Simeon explained that each year since 1965, Aunty Joyce had always removed about four garments from the wardrobe as a concession to make a few inches of room for his own clothes for the time that he was resident. Gary was close to boiling point.
"A few inches! I need more than a few inches! How can a woman like that need so many clothes? She never goes anywhere. She looks like she hasn't changed her clothes at all since 1965!"
"Calm down, Gary, she may hear you. Look ... they are not her clothes ... "
"Not her clothes?"
"No. They belong to her dead sister, my old Aunty Elizabeth and Grandma. I suppose it's sentiment."
A moment earlier Gary was near to boiling, now he was steaming, struggling for self control and rapidly approaching apoplexy.
"Let me get this straight. For the last 38 years you have been laying your shirts, coats, suits and pants all around this miserable little room because that stupid old woman down there gives priority to the dead. The living need the space but, in her book, the dead come first. Am I correct?"
"Not quite. There is room in the wardrobe for two of my suits. The rest have to lay around. Gary! Think about it. Think of the money I've saved over those 38 years. Some of those years were lean years and I wouldn't have been able to afford an eight to ten week vacation. London is expensive. Derbyshire is central, a good base. Closet space has never been a big issue because I simply accept her rules."
"Do you know what I would like to do to that woman?"
Simeon was silent. He waited for a narration of the forthcoming evil fantasy. These sadistic scenes had been heard many times before. This was, in fact, a good sign. The final stage of the Gary Mackenzie tantrum had now come. Apoplexy had been averted because, now, a dramatised verbal vengeance would be inflicted. All being well, the histrionics would pass and Aunty Joyce would know nothing about it and not be the slightest bit damaged. It also had the added advantage of diminishing the fury of Gary Mackenzie.
"I'd like to tie her up in a chair in front of that fire place and, slowly, one by one, in front of her eyes, burn each item of clothing in that hideous old closet. Oh boy! Wouldn't I just love to gloat watching her struggle to get free and try to scream against the gag."
This monstrous suggestion had the effect of reducing Simeon to roars of laughter which eventually infected his friend who had, by now, reviewed his position with regard to the cost of guest house accommodation.
"Poor Joyce! How could you be so nasty. It would serve you right if she tied you up to a chair in the middle of the Woodward Bar and had Bun Bun dance around you for a couple of hours!"
Minutes later they came down the stairs and heard voices at the front door. Aunty Joyce had received a visitor. Uncle Wilfred from number three had noticed the car and came to enquire. When they came in sight he stared very hard at the two guests. This familiar and rude ogling had never failed to irritate his nephew. Big round rheumy eyes, a pouting lower lip, and an annoying silence seemed to shoot out a reproach from the cantankerous old man who eventually gave voice to his unwarranted grievance -
"Yown com then!"
Simeon translated -
"'You have arrived at last' - I'm being rebuked." He addressed Wilfred Hogg directly, in a sharp manner, to head off a further reprimand. "Hello, Uncle Wilfred. How are you?"
"Huh! Our am a? Are think our am a. If a were an os [horse] they'd av shot me."
"Sorry to hear that, Uncle Wilfred. You look fit enough to me."
"Know what day it id?"
"It's Sunday." replied Simeon
"Huh. Arr think Soondy. It me bothdy. Am 84 tady."
"Congratulations, Uncle Wilfred. By the way, this is Gary Mackenzie."
"Hi! Happy birthday."
"Huh!"
"Now if you and Aunty Joyce will excuse us, we really must visit all the other Hoggs before it gets too late."
"Thee nedna goo fa may."
Gary looked puzzled. Simeon translated -
"He said 'You need not go for me' or, 'Please don't leave on my account'. It's pit talk from his coal-mining days. I'm not quite sure about 'Huh!' Some sort of recurring expletive, no doubt a censure expressing dissatisfaction ... "
"Yo what?"
"I was just telling Gary we'll have to be going, Uncle Wilfred."
"Huh!"
For a moment the sun went out! It was the shadow of something large and silent drifting overhead. All four were distracted and looked up to see a low flying hot air balloon sailing towards Smalley and Heanor on a gentle westerly breeze.
"Ooo a should loove ta be in that basket," wished Aunty Joyce.
"Huh. Ad sooner cape [keep] me fate [feet] on t' ground!" demeaned Uncle Wilfred.
Simeon was very fond of Gertie and Fred Hogg. Over the years Aunty Gertie had very kindly pressed him to stay at their house. Over the many years Simeon had thanked her and politely declined on the grounds of Aunty Joyce having much more room and possibly, as a lonely soul, being more in need of the company. Number Two, Bog Hole was rich in company. Gertie Croake was one of a large and fertile family of Croakes who, like the Hoggs, had inhabited Horsley Woodhouse for generations. Gertie, one of fourteen children herself, had personally increased the Bog Hole population by eight: three girls and five boys. As long as Simeon could remember, there had always been little children crawling along Aunty Gertie's spotless floors. In the sixties and seventies these would be the grandchildren, in the eighties and nineties they were great-grandchildren and now Gertie and Fred were fussing, doting and cooing at a collection of great-great-grandchildren. Children were accompanied by parents and sometimes grandparents. The result: Aunty Gertie's living room was often full to overflowing with a humanity of Hoggs. Simeon recalled hanging his coat on one of the clothes pegs: it fell off! Like the room, the pegs, already overburdened, could hold no more. Gertie and Fred were generous to a fault. The kettle was always on the boil supplying an endless supply of tea for the multitude.
"Mash 'em some tea, Arr Fred."
Two mugs arrived and Gary tried to look grateful for the tea he did not want but the home-made fruit-cake looked delicious.
"Get thee chops round that!" ordered Aunty Gertie thrusting a tea plate at her grinning nephew. "Thas like a bloody Cheshire cat! As bin ta see t' Dooks yet?"
"Perhaps later."
"Silly owd bog
gas! Tha'll not see a lot a change. Thee get fatter. Thee dunna walk, thee roll down t' Ole." [Bog Hole Row]
Simeon loved his Aunty Gertie. Her entertaining banter was an annual treat. She sounded and looked like the much loved quintessential, all British battle-axe - Ada Larkin. But the superb actress Peggy Mount was playing a part and Gertie was the real thing. At 81, with robust health she was still going strong, calling, criticising, bossing, dominating and intimidating. This was the first house on the row to get a television but also it was the one house on the row which did not need one. The show went on and on, and it went better when Simeon had an opportunity to direct. As with his friend Gary, Simeon knew which mischievous buttons to press to get Aunty Gertie going. He usually started with Aunty Joyce.
"We've been talking to Joey. He put his hat on for us!"
"Bloody 'ell! An t' bod [bird] on t' middle at table. What must ya friend think?"
"Oh, it was different," said Gary cautiously and slightly intimidated by the crowd in that small room. Aunty Gertie continued her assault on Aunty Joyce -
"Nowt else ta do but talk tat bod all day. Bloody pathetic. Silly owd bogga! Owd fashioned as Methuselah. What must ya think, Gary? An you from America where it's all posh. It must be like goin' in t' bloody Ark. Noah were more bloody modern than owe is. Soft owd bogga 'er!"
At this point Simeon was seated, struggling to drink his tea, convulsed with chuckles, when he felt the familiar heavy hand of Aunty Gertie. It was not unusual to get a smack across the back of his head. He did not mind and it only made him laugh all the more.
"What you bloody laughing at? Daft bogga."
Being a Croake, Aunty Gertie was well disposed and enthusiastic to be critical of the Hoggs because the Hoggs had always been disposed to look down on her family of Croakes who were regarded as a lowly, rough and ignorant tribe. Simeon had always been amused at this ongoing soap opera of the low looking down on the low. Both families were from a mining working class background and both spoke in 'pit talk' but the Hoggs enjoyed a reputation as 'chapel folk' and actual swearing was taboo. In the 21st century, 'strong language' needs to be put in context. It was doubtful if Aunty Gertie knew the origin of her favourite expletive - 'bogga', from 'bugger' meaning a sodomite, but, no known obscenity would ever pass her lips or be tolerated from another. She probably assumed that 'bloody' was a reference to blood, when in fact it is a centuries old contraction of the oath - 'By my Lady', a reference to the Virgin Mary.
Aunty Gertie asked about Wilfred's wife -
"Ave ya bin ta see arr Nelly yet?" Before Simeon could answer, she pressed on. "Rough owd bogga! Owe asna [has not] bin out at t' Ole in twenty year. Owe asna! Owe blames 'im.
Here Gertie did an excellent impression of the ultra common, decayed, tripping, monotonous and toothless voice of Nelly Hogg -
"Owe said - 'A canna gerr 'im ta goo anyweir.' A thought, yo ignorant owd bogga! Fa God's sake don't mention Vivienne. It's arr little Vivienne this and arr little Vivienne that. Am sick a 'earin' about bloody Vivienne."
"I heard all about the much lauded little Vivienne last year - incessantly. Being childless I suppose she tends to dote on her niece," suggested Simeon.
"Great niece. Nowt else ta do that's 'er trouble. Owe were tellin' me what furniture t' owd man Broom'ead [Mr Broomhead] ad delivered next door ta their Elsie's 'ouse. A sez, arr da yo know? Owe sez - 'A peeped through 'ole in t' fence!' Nosy owd bogga."
After Simeon felt there was no further mileage to be had from Nelly, he made a mischievous reference to Aunty Gertie's other archenemy -
"I really must pop in and say 'hello' to Annie Oakes."
"Annie bloody Oakes! The owd rob dog 'er. Dunna buy any vinegar, its more bloody water than vinegar, an them bloody eggs, thee more than thee should be." Gertie turned and addressed the gathering. "Owe'd steal Jesus Christ's shoe-laces!"
"Owe's bin callin' ya agen, arr Gertie, owe as, owes bin callin' ya black an blue!" This from a prominent big woman, Aunty Dorothy who was Gertie's sister.
"I'll slap 'er bloody chops if 'er sez oat [anything] about me! Wot yo laughin' at?" said Aunty Gertie to Simeon as he received his second 'clout'. He quickly recovered to ask after Aunty Dorothy's health. As a child he recalled her massive legs with prominent varicose veins when she did a 'knees up' with Aunty Gertie at the Miners Welfare Club.
"Am all right, me dook," replied Aunty Dorothy and added "Am in t' ladies darts team nar. Ad never thrown a dart before, but a threw, an it wore 60! An arr Gertie sat there we a face as long as a bloody fiddle!"
"A never did! Tek na notice of a, Gary. Owe's a soft owd bogga."
Gary took full advantage of this comment to make one of his own. He was listened to with quiet respect by the congregation of mainly women who were curious about him personally and quite fascinated by his accent.
"It's really great meeting you all at last. Simeon's told me so much about you."
"Wot's 'e said about me?" asked Aunty Dorothy abruptly.
"Oh, no problem. Simeon speaks kindly of all his relations and tells everybody - 'I'm a friend of Dorothy's'."
To Simeon's relief, no one in the crowd appeared to catch the significance of Gary's hidden agenda regarding his last remark. Forty years before, Aunty Gertie and others in that room would tease Simeon about girlfriends. Thirty years before the questions became more personal and more intrusive. Marriage was mooted. It all became more serious and very uncomfortable for the visiting bachelor who had to field hostile questions and deal with working class homophobic innuendoes which cast doubt on his manliness and virile duty to 'do the right thing', to produce new Hoggs, to carry on the clan. Twenty years before the questions ceased, probably on the instructions of Aunty Gertie who, at long last, had begun to accept, to realise that 'Arr Simeon' was a Hogg of a different colour who had always danced to a different drum.
On this occasion, as well as assorted children on the floor, Aunty Gertie was holding court in front of aunts, uncles, several first and second cousins with a sprinkling of nephews and nieces. Referring to Gary, one woman said -
"'E looks like 'im as were on t' telly last night."
"Ooo arr," said Aunty Gertie. "Nar oo was it?"
"John Inman?" suggested Simeon.
"I'll give thee 'John Inman'! It were a proper man not arf a bloody man. Ooo was it, ever so famous, tall and fair?"
Several incorrect names were suggested by the audience. Simeon chimed in with 'Liberaci' which annoyed both Aunty Gertie and Gary. Following further offerings from the gathering, Simeon made his last and final offer - 'Charlie Drake'. Aunty Gertie was about to apply a third blow to her nephew's head when, to Gary's delight, Uncle Fred called out -
"Paul Newman!!"
"That's 'im!" cried Aunty Gertie triumphantly, immediately giving her irritating nephew a look of scorn. "Charlie Drake! Yo silly daft lookin' bogga!"
"A bit early aren't ya? 'Ow long for this time?" said Edna, a somewhat truculent and sharp tongued wife of a cousin who, for reasons best known to herself, always addressed Simeon in a hostile tone. The question gave an opportunity to speak of his recent retirement and the plan to discover the location of Brian Forrester. This information, once imparted and absorbed, changed the humorous tone and left a slightly constrained silence which was interpreted by Gary as privileged local knowledge, possibly dangerous knowledge. The silence was broken by a young woman who was sharing an ottoman with a skinny vacant looking girl.
"Well, it'll be nice ta know after all these years, wunt it, if ya can find oat out. A mean it's nice ta know t' truth in tit, Aunty Gertie?"
But, like Aunty Joyce, Aunty Gertie was not inclined to agree -
"Truth can be too bloody close ta om [home], then it's not so bloody nice, arr Lilly."
These proceedings were interrupted by the door opening. In came an attractive blond girl, Sara Hogg the great-granddaughter. Just behind and much bigger, big with child, was the notorious Kelly Grocock. Sara gave Simeon his annual greeting which
seldom varied from -
"Ey oop, Yanks are 'ere! Art all rate, arr Simeon?"
Just as Gary had problems with effeminate men, so did his friend have an aversion to working class teenage girls. Especially such an unpolished, uncultured example as the smug, if rather plain freckled slag who now stood before him. Instinctively, Simeon feared unkind comments from an unrestrained acid tongue. Kelly examined him curiously with her typical, over-long feminine leer. He felt vulnerable. This was not his classroom and no threat of punishment was available for protection. However, as usual, all went well.
After cursory introductions and a brief banter of good natured cut and thrust, Aunty Gertie launched into a stinging attack on the state of Sara's new trendy hair style -
"Eee, arr Sara! Bloody 'ell! Just look at thee. Thay looks a bogga abaht t' 'ead!" [about your head]
"Wot ya mean? Ave paid a lot a mooney fa this!"
"Ya could a saved it. It ad looked like that fost thing in t' mornin'! Get shut a thee comb. It 'll save thee plenty a mooney it will!"
When the roar of laughter died down, it became clear that Aunty Gertie (a virtuous woman from the 'old school', not renowned for her gentle tact) was receiving Kelly for the first time since the sensational news of her recent, and now all too apparent activities with the tearaway Wayne Pickles. Gertie laid in with a rhetorical -
"Wot the bloody 'ell 'ave you bin doin' then?"
"'E run me round rec."
"We 'n all see that bogga! Chasin' dunt mek ya pregnant?"
"Arr - but 'e catched me!"
This last reduced the two girls to a fit of giggles. Aunty Gertie shook her head and continued with a long reprimand which included harrowing accounts of punishments meted out to hapless girls of her own generation who 'got into trouble'. It was during this censure that Simeon felt a gentle nudge from Gary's knee, the signal that he had had enough of 'the relations'. It was time to give thanks for tea, make civil apologies and move on.
Lost Lad Page 19