In an effort to publish something that has nothing to do with the Fecker I went into my back log and found this in draft. It comes from The Family History so it is quite possible it has already appeared. For that I apologise and for those for whom it is new I will explain that Harry was my stepfather, Mick my elder brother and Fairy my grandmother, mother's mother.
I think it only fair that I should make an effort to flesh out the character of my stepfather Harry . I have called him evil and malign and he was, but I did not know that at the time as I was too young to put a name to evil, except in the context of sin as it had been drummed into me by the nuns. To lie was sinful; to steal something or to cheat was also sinful, to kiss my brother in the street was a sin as was running, dancing or singing, leaving food on my plate, vomiting, forgetting my place and having a sinful mother. What I did know was that he was cruel and had hate in his heart. He never, in all the years I lived under his roof, hit me and only once did he raise his hand to me [that was the day he knew he had lost the battle] He had been married before and had a child named Tony and this child had died a terrible death in a scalding accident. Perhaps he had once been a normal happy-go-lucky man, but by the time he met mother he was the man he would be for the next 40 odd years. He determined to have another child and had chosen mum as the perfect candidate. He wooed her wisely, taking his time to gain her confidence but she was adamant, she did not love him and never could, she told him. One night he took her home, she was crying because another man had taken the test and failed. A few G&T’s and my ever fertile mother was hooked.
I think it only fair that I should make an effort to flesh out the character of my stepfather Harry . I have called him evil and malign and he was, but I did not know that at the time as I was too young to put a name to evil, except in the context of sin as it had been drummed into me by the nuns. To lie was sinful; to steal something or to cheat was also sinful, to kiss my brother in the street was a sin as was running, dancing or singing, leaving food on my plate, vomiting, forgetting my place and having a sinful mother. What I did know was that he was cruel and had hate in his heart. He never, in all the years I lived under his roof, hit me and only once did he raise his hand to me [that was the day he knew he had lost the battle] He had been married before and had a child named Tony and this child had died a terrible death in a scalding accident. Perhaps he had once been a normal happy-go-lucky man, but by the time he met mother he was the man he would be for the next 40 odd years. He determined to have another child and had chosen mum as the perfect candidate. He wooed her wisely, taking his time to gain her confidence but she was adamant, she did not love him and never could, she told him. One night he took her home, she was crying because another man had taken the test and failed. A few G&T’s and my ever fertile mother was hooked.
They married eventually and my brother Tony was born and during these events Mick and I were sent to stay with Fairy.
My Grandmother, Lillian did not have a happy life; a fact that was reflected in her disposition which was sour, and in her features, which were pinched and bitter, And I often wondered why someone who was so obviously unhappy, should choose to answer to the nickname, Fairy. On the death of her husband, she had a succession of ‘boyfriends’. One I remember in particular was Alphonse. He was a small man, almost a caricature of our image of a Frenchman, lacking only the striped jersey and a string of onions. Alphonse was a dapper dresser, always wearing a pin striped suit and a waistcoat with a gold watch and chain draped across his front, a camel overcoat and a homburg hat. He had a jolly smile that stretched his pencil thin moustache across his shiny red cheeks.
Poor Alphonse was unceremoniously dumped from Fairy’s bed and turned out of the house when Mick and I arrived for an unscheduled stay during one of mother’s crises. They met up later at the local pub and Mick and I spied on them through the glass patterned door with Ind Coop & Alsop etched into it. He passed us lemonade and crisps and winked hugely.
Granny Young believed strongly in the old adages that children should be seen and not heard, should speak only when spoken to, that the Devil made work for idle hands, and that cleanliness was next to godliness [at least where it concerned her old solid fuel, built into the wall, black, cast iron range] We were roused at daybreak, breakfasted on bread and dripping and then had to perform our chores. Mick had to clean all the shoes, clear out the clinkers from the stove and chop wood. I had to make the beds, sweep the two bedrooms and down the stairs [all with a dustpan and brush] and then blacken the hated stove. I used a boot brush to put on the black polish and then had to buff it all over with another brush. I was ten at the time and Mick twelve.[so this must have been at the time of Tony’s birth] I have no recollection of school then, but as Granny had to go to work we were obliged to find something to occupy the hours until she returned. We would go down the road and visit with great granny Gregory sometimes. Just a short visit because she was very old by then and slept a great deal. She lived in a small room that smelled of talcum powder and lavender water, in the house belonging to Aunt Rose who was married to granny Young’s brother, Teddy. I believe Teddy was quite successful at whatever he did, because we seldom saw him out of his working clothes of suit and black overcoat. He too wore a Homburg hat and was very tall and serious. He had a large car that we were forbidden to touch.[Perhaps he was an undertaker] Great granny looked rather like the old Queen Victoria
I remember Granny Young mostly for her unkindness; she took food meant for us and cooked it for herself and Alphonse while we were made to eat Tripe Ugh! - And for her uncompromising meanness of spirit. She never had a good word to say for our mother, whom we adored in the way that only innocent children can love their mother; never missing a chance to denigrate her for her glamour and joi de vivre. Only in the evening, when-having taken out the flat metal curlers that had been hidden all day under a scarf tied into a turban - she would comb out her dark hair and twist the curls around her finger, powder her face and cover her thin lips with a dark red lipstick. Then her small bright eyes would twinkle and she would be off to the Pub with Mick and me trailing behind. Whatever the weather we were made to stand on the narrow pavement against the wall and wait for her. Customers would come and go and each time the door opened we would be assailed by the smells of beer, cigarettes and humanity. If, as was sometimes the case, she exited the worse for wear, we would each take a side and half carry her home. No matter how blathered she had been the night before, when we were called out of bed in the morning she would be there, hair tightly curled, turban on her head and her pinafore tightly tied around her, ready for the day ahead.
