by Derek Reid
“When I’ve found my dad, Boxer, you, me and the Big Five can go in my balloon and we’ll find him - your Blacky. You bet we will!”
“Anyway, what’s the stack all about, Matty?”
I stood up and pointed. “It’s the chimney stack which is part of the old mill, where we’ve just come from. They are going to demolish it.”
He looked towards where I was pointing.
“Let’s go over and have a look,” he replied.
At the back of the old hosiery mill, in the corner of the nearby field, the chimney stack had been standing for a hundred years. It had the name and date painted on the side: ‘Klingers Hosiery Mill, 1842’.
“Such a shame, Matty,” said Boxer with a disappointing look on his face as we reached the mill. “A wonderful piece of history, that’s what it is, and them people are going to knock it down.” Looking back at me he punched the air with a clenched fist. “Let’s do something about it, Matty.”
“But it’s all finished Boxer,” I said in despair, kicking among the rubbish and broken bricks as we both looked around at the deserted factory, empty and bare. All I could think of was what it had been like in its heyday. What had happened to Ollie and all of the dedicated staff? It had all happened so quickly - the closure and all of that. The trucks lay deserted, still with socks and things inside, just as we had seen in the other part of the hosiery mill. The Tannoy no longer played the wonderful big-band sounds - no more of the sweet singing by the ladies as they worked and no more ruffling my hair! I felt sick looking at it, I can tell you. “Let’s go, Boxer.” I felt further despair. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be here now.”
“Explain what you mean, Matty,” said Boxer, his curiosity aroused.
“Well,” I said, not feeling jubilant about recalling those wonderful days, so quickly past, “I just don’t want to think about it, Boxer. Well, I’ll tell you a little. My house is just opposite the mill. I could at one time look out across the street at the people working in there. I could see from my bedroom window the bobbin things going up and down as the wool was woven into socks. The trucks were full up to the brim with woollen socks, gloves and all sorts ready to go to our soldiers on the front. I often wonder if any reached my dad in Africa. All the women wore white overalls and white hats. Sometimes they would still have their curlers in at work. Nearly all would be singing along to the big-band music on the Tannoy. Sometimes the ladies would sing away as I stood watching them, and they would ruffle my hair, still singing and laughing as they went by. All of the staff would sit outside at dinner times and talk about their husbands, children and wider families. There was a young boy who worked there too - about twenty, I think he was. His name was Ollie. He talked strangely and pulled odd faces, but he didn’t know he was doing it. One day I heard one of the ladies saying she felt sorry for Ollie with his problem. I remember that because I felt sorry for him too. He would shake my hand sometimes, laughing. Poor Ollie! One thing I remember about Ollie, though, is the day I decided to climb on to the roof of our three-storey house. The attic window didn’t have a window sill, and this made it difficult for me to climb out of. I didn’t consider how I would get back in. The roof was covered with small peg tiles, so I had nothing to grip on to as I began climbing, making my way up to the ridge tiles. I actually stood up. ‘I’m the king of the castle; you’re the dirty rascal,’ I shouted. Ollie spotted me and stood up, waving his arms about hysterically. Mrs Storey, one of the ladies in the office started screaming. She came running out to find out what was wrong with Ollie and saw me on the roof. I grabbed hold of one of the six chimneys, and then I froze solid, stuck to the chimney. I was now terrified with all the shouting going on. In the meantime, my dad came out and saw me. He called out calmly, ‘OK, Matty. It’s OK. Don’t be frightened.’ By now the whole factory was out. ‘The fire brigade will soon be here,’ someone shouted. The fire brigade came shooting over the Norman bridge, bell ringing. Out came the ladders, ready to fetch me down. I was baking hot by now with the hot sun at twelve o’clock, I can tell you. I suddenly plucked up courage and inched my way down towards the attic window before the fireman’s ladder reached me. I was wearing only navy shorts and plimsolls. I was pretty cut about on my chest due to the tiles. I never received a smack or anything from Mum or Dad. I think they were glad to get me down in one piece.”
Boxer laughed.
“Attached to the hosiery mill was the canteen. The ladies there working in the canteen would give me a shilling for any eels I caught from over in the backwater. I wouldn’t say I was a fisherman, by any means - just a stick and a worm on the end, that was me. I watched one day as the cook prepared the eels. She had a special fork which she used to hold down the eel’s head; then she slit the eel and pulled off the skin. I never watched again, Boxer, I can say.”
Chapter 11 - The Big Five Meeting
Back at the pillbox, a heated argument was brewing within the Big Five.
“No, there is no such thing and I don’t believe it,” said Little Joe very abruptly. “Here’s Matty - he’ll tell you, I’m sure.”
I was barely through the door.
“Isn’t that right, Matty?” He paused a moment to catch his breath. “Tell them that shadows do move even if you’re still.”
I sat down on our rickety old bench. Although it was uncomfortable, it was all we had in our old pillbox.
“He’s right, you know, guys. In fact I will prove he’s right.” I searched on the ground and found a lump of grey chalk. “Lean against the wall, Joey.”
He whinged a bit when the cold from the bricks hit his bare back as he was wearing just his shorts and plimsolls. I then drew a chalk line around Joey’s shadow.
“Right, now stand still for ten minutes.
All the gang went dead quiet, all eyes watching Joey to make sure he never moved one inch. Joey stood staring at the opposite wall, hardly daring to breathe. All together we counted down: ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. I then drew an outline again and Joey moved out of the way for all to see.
“There you go, guys: two different outlines means his shadow has moved.”
All were gobsmacked.
“Yeah,” said Rocks with a sneer on his face, “that line ain’t moved much.”
“It has,” the others said aloud.
“We’ll see in one hour’s time,” I replied to Rocks. “You’ll see - just you wait.”
We chatted about girls and who had the fastest go-carts. We also chatted about the St Neots mob.
“You can’t beat them up all on your own, Rocks,” Nifty said. “My brother will beat them up, though. He’ll fight them till death on his own. The St Neots mob will be no more.”
“You may be champion fighter, Rocks,” said Nat, who had kept quiet for some time, “but I can beat you easy-peasy at go-carting.”
“When the hour is up, Pete, your challenge is accepted hands down. Winner takes a penny from each member,” he laughed. “Time’s up,” called out Rocks with a wry grin on his face. His face dropped. “The shadow’s moved.” He pointed to the wall. “It’s bloody moved round by twelve inches.”
Everyone was gobsmacked. I stuck out my chest for applause all round.
“Nah!” sneered Rocks.
“Shut up and sit down,” called out the rest of the boys.
“Back to my dad’s workshop, lads!” said Nat, “Get your cars ready!” he shouted, waving to us all to follow him.
Everyone from the Big Five made for the workshop to assemble their go-carts.
“Castle Hill Racetrack is the main attraction around here, Boxer,” I said with the pride of being part of it.
With Tonka barking and running alongside, having a great time, I felt a winning day lay ahead.
At the track, lots of girls from school had also turned up. They kept pointing and sniggering as wel
l as whispering in one another’s ears. I kept looking around to see if I could spot Rita. I had a chance to show off my go-cart and I wanted her to watch me as I flew first past the winning post with perfect ease.
“To build my cart, Boxer, I managed to get a set of old pram wheels from the dump some time ago. The dump is always full of rats and stinks.”
“Sounds a charming place, Matty. I hate rats.” He pulled a long face at the thought of meeting them.
“If you can drag out a wide plank from over there in the corner of the workshop, we can use it as a base to build up the cart chassis, Boxer.”
“How ya gonna steer the cart, Matty?”
“Get two bits of wood to make the struts to go across the chassis, then we can put a bolt though the front strut and main plank, then fix the back strut, Boxer.”
Boxer looked a bit vague.
“I see now, Matty.” He nodded his head up and down. “It’ll be strong as an ox then, won’t it.”
“It’ll knock the spots off the lot of ’em, Boxer. Rita will be shocked at the speed I’ll be pushing. All we have left to do for the cart now is to put the bed-knob spindle in. I’ll step back so you can do that last job, Boxer.”
He was over the moon. We had both worked hard. Mr Harris always kept his tools sharp. We made a point of cleaning his tools and placing them back where we found them.
“We don’t spy on each other’s carts neither, Boxer. It’s not on. You would be slung out of the gang if you were caught doing it. A bit of sandpaper to round off the edges, Boxer, then we can paint her.”
We both painted her white as quickly as possible and added the name ‘Tiger’ in black on the side. That was the name of one of the derelict bomber aeroplanes I used to pass on the way to school. My cart was soon ready for action. Rita, here we come! As I spun the wheels around I could feel one of the wheels crunching and I realised the small bearings needed replacing.
‘When my dad comes home he’ll fix it for sure,’ I thought.
I had just spotted Rita. I knew I had to win the race. Just then the boys came back with their carts. I walked slowly past Rita, pulling my cart with utmost pride. I pretended not to notice her as I made for the start line. Boxer was tickled watching me parading around Rita, he said later.
It was a lovely day for a cart race, with a gentle breeze to keep us cool as we rumbled down the hill at great speed. If we went too quickly down the second hill we would end up in the river. One of the girls from the school at Brampton had paid a halfpenny at Bob Bell’s shop for a yellow balloon. She tied it to a branch of one of the fir trees on the top of the hill where the race began.
“OK, go-carters, get ready to rumble.” she shouted. Then she burst the balloon with a pin, and down I rumbled, giving a quick glance back to Rita with utter pride. The front wheels bounced across the clumpy earth as I lay rigid, head held high, now and then taking a quick glance over to the others. I could hear Tonka barking in the background as he was being held by one of the girls.
“I have to win, I have to win,” I kept saying to myself. “I have to win for my dad, Mum, Tonka and, above all, Rita.”
Bang! The front wheels hit an earth clump. I was finished. I rolled down the rest of the hill, over and over, and ended up with my go-cart on top of me and a red face. Standing up eventually, I looked towards the top of the hill as I brushed myself down. Rita was nowhere to be seen. I was gutted.
Chapter 12 - First Sighting of the Shape
“Talking about an old saying, Boxer,” I said as we sat on our log back at the kiln.
He had his back to me as he replied. Still stroking Tonka, he half looked around.
“What’s that, then, mate?”
“Wherever the stack falls, the last brick to touch the ground shall be lucky to the person who holds it.”
Boxer turned round to face me.
“What sort of luck, mate?”
“Well,” I said with enthusiasm, “if you look carefully tomorrow at the crowd coming in to see the stack fall, you will see many of them carrying a spade.”
“Whatever for?” he said with a curious look on his ragged face.
“Well, everyone will be looking for the last brick to fall because of the Roman gold coins they are hoping to find. In the old days they bricked up things in walls to frighten away evil spirits, and there’s a rumour that Roman coins were bricked up inside the chimney stack.”
“Gold! Gold!” he said excitedly. “Where’s the gold?”
“If anyone finds the Roman gold tomorrow they’ll be rich for life.”
“Gawd, man, let’s get looking,” he said, already making tracks towards the mill. “Come on,” he shouted waving his arms with Tonka running after him, barking mad.
“They won’t blow the stack till tomorrow,” I replied as I stood up and put my hands on my hips, laughing at how keen he had suddenly become. By now I was feeling a bit sore around the bum with sitting on the log. “Yes, somebody found a sackful of gold when the last stack fell. It was right where the last brick lay. It will be a sight, Boxer. That old stack, 100 feet high, is to be blown up. All the people will be rushing around on this common, shouting, screaming, arguing and fighting, all ready to kill each other.”
“A sad sight, Matty, I must say,” Boxer replied mournfully, “everyone so desperate!”
“Hang on, Boxer. Just two minutes ago you were ready to kill for gold coins.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Matty, ready to kill. Where do you think the Devil Jack comes from, Matty?”
“Well, I was across the backwater with Peter Harris one day. It was very early. It was before going to school. We were looking for mushrooms to sell to Bob Bells - they flourish around the old pillbox in the middle of the common - but it didn’t matter what time Pete and me arrived; someone had always been there first to pick them all.”
“Thieving pigs!” said Boxer with a disgruntled face.
“There was talk around the village that the mushrooms were being eaten by an escaped prisoner named the Devil Jack. The prison he escaped from is only a stone’s throw from where Oliver Cromwell was born, you know, Boxer. The prison stands on top of the hill - a spooky place, I can tell you. Some grown-ups have seen the top half of the prison in the clouds on a bad day, the prisoners up in the clouds too - the murderers, that is. I know that’s true because I was there when the grown-ups said it, Boxer.”
Pete always shuddered with the cold in the early mornings, and as we made our way towards the pillbox there was a heavy mist that morning and we couldn’t see far ahead. Suddenly we both stopped and stared at the pillbox. Smoke was billowing out of the opening.
We hid behind the willow tree and saw a shape which resembled nothing we had seen before. It came out of the doorway of the pillbox and made towards Farmer Gilks’ field. The shape, we found out later, was the Devil Jack. He disappeared into the mist without a trace. We went to investigate and found something still smouldering in the middle of the pillbox. When we looked more closely we could see it was the remains of mushrooms. So the mystery was solved. The Devil Jack had escaped from the old county gaol in Huntingdon, and he had been living off half-cooked mushrooms. The scaffold where he was due to be hanged for murdering his unfaithful wife was already set up, but they still hadn’t recaptured him. Long ago, prisoners in the old castle were tortured and beaten to death as they cried out for mercy. That was in the fourteen hundreds. Some say the ground is cursed around that area. We had thought the curse took Jimmy Brown, but Jimmy turned out to be OK, that’s for sure.
“They still haven’t caught the Devil Jack,” I told Boxer, “but old Mr Ford the landlord of The Woolpack across the river dead opposite Diggers Quicksand thought he saw him trying to get into a boat. When he went to see what was going on, he found the boat empty and no sign of the Devil Jack. Perhaps he’d been swallowed up by the quicksand
.”
“He’s scary, that’s for sure, Matty.”
“Let me tell you about Mr Ford, Boxer. He was a tall man and his wife of many years is very short. They had been in The Woolpack public house many years. It wasn’t long ago that a terrible thing happened to them both.”
“You’re putting the frighteners on me, Matty.” Boxer shivered. “Real frighteners!”
“They were both fast asleep in the upstairs above the pub when there was a terrific explosion. A lorry had come over the old Norman bridge too fast and it crashed straight into the wall of the pub.”
“Bleedin’ hell, Matty! Whatever happened to them?”
“Mrs Ford was still in her bed in her nightgown, but they never found Mr Ford. Some say the Devil Jack took him. I feel very bad on the subject of Mr Ford, I can say, Boxer. In fact, sometimes I wish I could go back in time and put things right on the subject of my white mice too.”
“What happened to your white mice, then, Matty?”
“It was a few weeks before Mr and Mrs Ford had all their problems. I keep white mice in the attic - in fact, there’s lots of my friends who keep them. I only keep four mice - two boy and two girl mice. Well, in the roof of our house there is space for mice to crawl right along all of the terraced houses. One day, my mice decided to go for a walk. When they returned they had lots of little babies with them - brown ones, black ones, brown-and-white ones, black-and-white ones ... There were hundreds.”