From that day on I’d have no talk about Lenny Macey being the best fighter in the Street. I had proof and so did the rest. Nobby Brook, though, never let up. Now my brother had sorted out Lenny Macey, I decided it was my duty to sort out Nobby Brook. As I have said, I was ten and Nobby Brook was about thirteen, although we were roughly the same size. But Nobby Brook had a temper and when he lost it he really lost it!
I can’t remember how it started, but shortly after my brother’s fight with Lenny Macey, me and Nobby Brook got into a scuffle in the street. He was stronger than me so I wasn’t gonna let the fight go on for hours. I knew I’d get beat. We were in a clinch in the middle of the road and I was going under. I reached out in desperation more than anything and my hand fell upon half a house-brick. Wallop! I hit him right on top of the head with it. He went mad and I mean mad! I was up and running and he was close behind me screamin’ with rage! I had half the length of the road to run to reach my front door. I glanced behind to see Nobby Brook grab a school railing that we’d been playing javelin throwing with. He meant business so I hoped and prayed that the ‘string’ was in the door. This string came through a hole in the front door and was attached to the lock. A quick pull and the front door was open. It was! I grabbed the string, was in like a shot and slammed the door just in time. The school railing that was meant for me ended up embedded in the front door! Thank gawd the string was in.
There was always something going on in that street. If it wasn’t a fight, (dog fights too), it was a party. Anybody who played an instrument down the street was well respected and sought after on such occasions. Mum was the best piano player down the street. If you got ‘Daisy’ to play piano at your party you knew it was gonna be a good one. In fact she was the best piano player for miles around. Everyone knew Daisy in and around Edmonton. The street was proud of her.
Music played a big part in that road. Johnny Wright (who taught me a few chords later on) played banjo. He still comes to see us now and is a good friend. There was Bob Weston over the road who played guitar, and his brother Tony. Before I started playin’ people down the street would say to me, ‘What do you play?’ I didn’t play anything! They were amazed. They knew about me Mum, Nan and Great-grandfather. ‘You ought to, then,’ they’d say. Perhaps the combination of my family’s and the street’s encouragement got me goin’. Who knows? It must have helped.
Coronation Day was a great occasion. Everybody did their bit only too willingly. A real excuse for a party! Let’s go! A stage was built outside Huffys, the local shop. A piano was got from somewhere, beer arrived like magic and away they went. Every night for a week the whole street had a great time. I enjoyed every minute of it. The grown-ups looked happy and we kids stayed up late.
‘You love music,’ Mum would say. ‘Why don’t you learn to play something?’ But life was too full up for me to take time out to sit down and learn to play an instrument. My hours and weeks and months were crowded. If I wasn’t fishing down Picketts Lock I’d be train spotting or goin’ up the Spurs with my brother, or playing football wishin’ I was as good as my brother. He played for Edmonton. Too much was goin’ on.
About that time, Great-grandfather married his sixth wife, who left him a week later. Him and his mate ‘Scally’ (they were both in their nineties) met two birds and decided they would get married. They did, and both moved up to Grimsby. A week later, Great-grandfather arrived back at 11, Harton Road with a bag of dirty washing.
‘She’s thrown me out, Daisy’ he said to Nan. Great-grandfather was back in the fold. ‘She wouldn’t wash my dirty pants,’ he said, and that was that. Scally came home shortly after. He’d got thrown out too. I remember Grandfather and Scally discussing their wives in Grandfather’s room. Both of them were stone deaf. Entertaining!
In the meantime Mum married her second husband, Larry.
I wasn’t mad on him, he didn’t fit in. He didn’t last either, and buggered off leaving Mum pregnant. ‘The only good thing he ever done,’ said Mum. She wanted a daughter and she had one. My half-sister Jean.
My Mum’s next husband was Irish John. She met him while playing at the Exhibition pub in Edmonton. I was eleven.
The upset of Mum’s last marriage had mellowed with time and contentment reigned. Life at home was good. Me, Mum, brother and sister lived upstairs. Great-grandfather in the box room, and Nan and Grandad lived downstairs. We all got on well together (after a fashion) and I was looking forward to starting my new school.
I’d scraped through the Eleven Plus and was going to Higher Grade, Edmonton. Halcyon days! But them Halcyon days were about to change, especially Sundays. Once Mum married Irish John, what used to be ‘sitting round the ol’ coal fire of a Sunday with a cup of tea, the pleasant wintery sun shining through the window and just the sound of the old clock ticking on the mantelpiece’ soon became ‘a room full of Irishmen drinking whiskey, farting, and playing poker’.
Actually John wasn’t a bad bloke really. He was as silly as arseholes when he was pissed, which was a good part of the time. I think my Mum didn’t really mind him getting pissed though, ’cos he would make her laugh. One day Mum was getting ready to go up the green, shopping.
‘Oi’ll get your fluten shopping for ye,’ says John, ‘Oi’m going up the fluten green anyway.’
We never saw him ’til next day. John’s recollection of what happened was somewhat sketchy, to say the least, but between bits pieced together from acquaintances and policemen, the story went something like this.
John got the shopping. Then decides he’ll go in the ‘Ex’ for a quick one before going home. John’s ‘quick one’ ends up being a bit longer than originally planned. Before he knows what’s happened, its two o’clock in the morning!
On the way home (he vaguely remembers this bit), he’s realised he’s left the shopping in the pub. It’s foggy and he’s pissed. It’s a long way back to the pub, but he’s been gone for over half a day and he ain’t even coming home with the shopping. Dais’ is gonna be none too pleased. But then he sees something (as though it were heaven sent!) that not only solves his problem, but will put him in Daisy’s good books for evermore.
Through the mist he sees a lorry. The back is open and inside he sees something white. It looks like something that women like to buy for their kitchens. A fridge or a washing machine. He’s dived in, nicked it and took it home on his shoulder for Dais’. He arrives home, puts it down on the door step to find his key, and then decides to have a look at what he’s nicked. It turns out to be a washing machine. They had one in the digs where he used to stay. But didn’t the big hole in the top use to have a lid on it? Where’s the lid? He’d only forgotten the lid. Dais’ will want a lid on it. He remembered seeing a round white bit in the back of that lorry. He must go back for the lid. He did. But so as not to spoil the surprise in case Daisy came out, he took the washing machine with him. An hour later he arrives back at the scene of the crime. The lorry was still there. The back was still open. The lid was still