Chapter One – Morning dew
John grabbed his coat, which he had used it for extra layers last night in his efforts for sleep and warmth. He put his last energy bar in the coats frayed pocket and stepped outside his place he called home.
The weather was subdued, almost cloying, thick with morning dew and the smell of a smoldering fire somewhere in the vicinity added to the soup like conditions.
He lit his last cigarette as he trudged off towards the town about a mile away. The buses were not running at this time of morning and that was fine by John, he had the pavements and all their secrets to himself.
He discovered the source of the acrid smell, it was the remains of what looked like a 1970’s style settee smoldering away on the wasteland normally inhabited by the weeds and shopping trolleys.
How many times had he made this journey over the years? ,must be too many, therefore it was best contemplated in trainers ,shoes and boots that he had gone through, nowadays he acquired his footwear from the charity shops in town . ‘Foot the bill’ was a special outlet in one of the better run establishments. John made this trip virtually every day and used it to plan what to do with his time ,he usually had £5 spending money ,he budgeted very very carefully.
He always remembered what his grandad told him .
“Always have some coins on you boy, you bever know when you might find a bargain or 2”,grandad nearly always mentioned this usually when he gave the boy a little bit of pocket money.
“Save some for a rainy day and the heavens will open up for you ” he added .
J knew his first stop would be the run down Cafe of the people on lilac Street, there he could get numerous cups of warm tea or coffee on the refill basis .
The proprietor was always happy to see J early in the mornings
“Come on in J “,Mr P muttered, set them tables and chairs up and I will throw in a round of bacon sarnies”.
J didn’t need much prompting and did the business with the furniture.
The coffee was welcoming as usual it cost him 50 p for a many cups as he felt he wanted, with the sandwiches and reading of the very early editions of the newspapers, dropped off by Paper boy Alf ,this was indeed a good place to plan , think and of course stay warm.
Chapter Two – The Spit
J enjoyed the space and relative quiet of the Pay as you feel Cafe ,it gave him time to read the papers especially the racing section.
He made it a self-imposed manifesto to pick 6 horses each day ,certainly weekdays.
He studied the form generally whilst on his second and third cup of coffee, it got his old grey matter working.
He thanked Mr P and promised to call back later in the afternoon, closing time sometimes offered up a decent take away for supper.
The weather had improved a little ,J decided to take a slightly different route this morning .
Hook a right and spend a little time in his old play den area behind the hospital premises.(the Spit)
He and the gang had spent many hours there back in the day, boys stuff mainly, coming home with scabby and cut knees was the least worry.
A few people were now out and about adding an ambient buzz to the otherwise uneventful proceedings of the morning.
The old bench was still intact behind the imposing beech trees which populated a huge range of the woods and parks in the old market town; John always had called home.
The energy bar was a nice little treat as he pondered over all the times and friendships created in this special place.
Fights, stolen kisses, stories of faraway towns, football magazines and alcoholic in their initial innocent formats.
Where are they all now he wondered? Married, moved away, working, passed away even; as he allowed himself a mighty sigh.
Better get going he thought, things to do and not many people to see.
Chapter Three – Chit and Chat
J entered the popular betting shop which he had frequented for over 30 long years.
‘Good morning, John ‘came the familiar greeting from Joanne the newest recruit behind the Perspex glass; a sign of the times!
‘Hi’ he replied as he wrote out his 6 selections, today was Windsor evening meeting and Sandown. He had visited today course’s many time over the years ,the lads used to get a coach fill it up with beers and hope and off they went ,the good days.
The bet cost £1 .70 p which he paid to Joanne with a friendly smile, she seemed a nice young lady, he wondered why she was working in this establishment where there was a lot of abuse swearing and hard luck stories. Beats the gig economy John thought to himself.
See you tomorrow ‘ he offered with a wry smile.
J had £2.80 p left of his self-styled daily spending quota. Decisions had to be made, either of to the Salvation Army Church in the town square, where he could get another nice little meal (early brunch) or The Vine Inn where he could get a pint for £1-50 sit in compost corner and waste away some time with the old timers , the ones that were unlucky to still be alive.
He decided against both at this stage it was only 10-30am.
Onwards towards the river and allotments and see how things were in that part of town.
Chapter Four – Green fingers
The weather had improved by the time J ambled down the west side of town past the old boat house (more memories ) and on towards the allotments.
J used to help out with the back breaking work needed to upkeep a sound patch of land many years ago.
It was just the way he remembered it ,still a broken lock and many familiar old faces, pottering around the plots.
‘Hi J ‘ ,came a gruff old voice from behind the old apple tree on plot 7.
‘Hello Pete, how’s it growing ‘J replied in his best farmer boys accent.
‘Fine, fine me old China ‘came a heartily reply.
It turned out to be a good decision popping down to this great old haunt.
‘Pecking order Pete’ as he was affectionately known gave J two full bags of harvest, a packet of cigarettes and offered him some pocket money work. ‘Aha … the good old barter system’, John smiled inwardly.
Best of all he insisted they meet up Friday evening at the Sound-0 pub across the road.
There was going to be a few of the old gang coming ,and the possible reunion of the Iced Screams was apparently on the cards.
‘See you Friday J, don’t be late and bring some of the old photos with you, back when the band had plenty of hair ‘quipped Pete.
‘No probs boss’ J answered with a salute and a bite into a juicy looking apple.
It was now past midday, the world was his oyster ,what next ?
Well he decided he didn’t need the market today for a few scraps, Pete had given him at least a week’s supply of fruit and veg.
No it was off to the library for a bit a warmth (generally empty) , research and reflection before hitting the Pay as you feel Cafe on the way home.
Chapter Five – Good Night!
J awoke from his self-inflicted stupor with a blinding headache and arid throat. The night before had been a roaring nostalgia fest..
Pete had indeed gathered all the old faces together at the Sound-0 pub.
There was all the fire in the belly from Belchy, Karl, Tebbit, Joy and Pete himself ,to keep the old cobwebs and flames, alive and relevant and vaguely romantic.
J struggled out of his rumpled bedsheets ,noting he was still fully dresses ,shoes as well. He staggered over to his coat which had been abandoned on floor near the front door, which he noted was open ajar.
J needed a cigarette to get him coughing nicely, he reached in the pocket of his battered Crombie, no cigarettes, to compensate there was a half-eaten takeaway, a kebab? In the outer pocket courtesy of Schmutzigers night food, the brown paper bag had given way to grease, pungent onions and possibly brown sauce.
‘OH what have I been up to, my head is screaming ‘J muttered to the overturned and non-responsive armchair.
‘So much for being sensible and prudent ‘he continued in a self-mocking laugh. Too much time on his hands.
The fanciful ideas of The Iced Screams reforming and playing the local circuit again was dowsed in the 8th round of tequilas, as J admitted he could not remember the anarchistic lyrics anymore.
‘Saturday morning’ he muttered to himself as he fired the remaining dregs of mouthwash around his sensitive mouth ,teeth and the rest.
J looked at the old clock on his scruffy kitchen wall and gasped .
It was telling him it was11-20 am ,half the day nearly gone!.
Too late for the good old pay as you feel cafe ,and the papers and a nice few coffees, and no way was he going to the allotments (Pete could do it all himself).
He found yesterday’s crumpled betting slip in his kebab tinged jeans pocket, and as luck had it a decent looking five pound note.
J felt slightly better at these meagre findings .
His hangover induced plans were laid out for the day, betting shop(some winnings maybe?),then as fitting his sombre mood a trip to the
Graveyard, where there was plenty of reflection and grieving to be done.
Chapter Six – Sombre times
J found himself in the local graveyard. This is where he did a lot of thinking and reminiscing of the years gone by. The weather was dull and overcast, Slate grey and even the birds seemed to be absent.
There were a few visitors scattered around the vast area on the North side of town. J usually paid his respects to 3 or 4 graves on his monthly visits.
The flowers had withered on the first grave he attended, the headstone was at a strange angle, wind, weather, Graveyard staff ,vandals?
He knelt down in front of the dual purpose grave and said his prayers, for this was the one that he had visited the most, since childhood in fact.
His nan and grandad had been the oldest couple that he knew ,and therefore he and his brothers gave them the utmost respect .
In living and in death they were the backbone of the family.
J shed a tear or was it the cold wind ripping through him ?
The second grave he paid attention to was further down the path, more recent than the first grave .
Here were the remains of his mother and father, taken when J was just 16 years of age .How he hated vehicles, cars, buses, trains, all of them dangerous overrated and killers of innocent humans, he shed several more tears ,no wind at play for this moment.
J had to go even further up the slop to find the most recent grave, that of a women who would be the same age as he is now had she still been alive, but alas no ..terminal illnesses take no prisoners and have no consideration of love ,affection, but good at tearing out the soul of the most resilient of creatures.
J said another prayer (a more personal one).
the poet Margaret Bleasdale came to mind as he gathered his thoughts.
‘Lay there not my blot in history
Your presence is ever present
Indelible vivid a reminder
You have to suffer for the past.’
That was enough the first verse summed it all up ,life goes on ,you think you understand the meaning, have faith in people then they die, and you must live your life as a lie.
It was past 3 pm when J left the Graveyard, time was lost and replaced by the biting wind again. With his 5 pound in his pocket and a few crumpled betting slips he headed into the sanctuary of the tired old town, to gather his shredded thoughts together once again.
By the time he reached the magic pie shop and its throng of customers, he was hungry and realised his hangover was a thing of the past.
Chapter Seven – Day Tripper
J had not taken the 63-bus route in over 10 years; he was horrified when the less than polite driver asked him for £3.50 for the return ticket. That’s inflation for you !!
Still he had a bit of luck with his daily bet a few days before and begrudgingly handed over a nice crumpled five-pound note.
The driver returned the compliment and gave him 15 ten pence pieces in change; typical.
J sat down at the back of the bus on the left-hand side, so he could capture some photos from his surprisingly decent digital camera which must be as old as his last journey to Toebury the place where he had gone to school and other exciting ventures were had.
The bus filled up a little bit over the next several stops, J was sure he recognized some of the characters hidden under hats ,scarves and outdated overcoats.
The snaps kept coming ,he could always edit or delete them later, this was his big day out ,a piece of his life was somewhere in the images captured from the back of the urine stenching seats of the good old number 63.
There was still the broken down outhouses and wrecked camper vans and general ram shackled mess at the Forbert’s old place ,J used to go there after school with the rebellious eldest brother of the family ,where they used the chop wood for the families wood stove ,they used to compete against each other to see who could impress MR F with their mountains of fire wood.
MR F would laugh and tell them to get on with it if they wanted supper ,watch the revolutionary Beta Max video recorder (with the latest American blockbuster movie),and if they behaved a lovely pint of homemade scrumpy cider.
Next up was the Garden center captured some pictures as the bus let off some of the passengers, Including the chap he recognized.
Of course it was MR EGERTON who was the proprietor of the worn out old garden center, the place never look very inviting back then ,now it looked even more drab, how did he keep it going for the last 30 odd years, anyway MR E was captured for prosperity in a nice few shots of the now busy camera.
3 stops later J got off the smelly 63 and breathed in a whole lifetime of memories…….
To be continued…
Notes:
‘The Open Team Talk’ sessions gilded the subject matters for each chapter which tries to capture the essence of civilization of HP11 postcode and beyond.
