another autobiographical episode. Rob has taken his new family to his home in Salford, a bleak industrial City next to Manchester, North West England. Rob's promises of a better life turn out to be false. This is Part 1 of 2 ... please try to read part 2 tomorrow to get the full flavour of this period of my life. ........................... BUCKLES AND BOWS: PART 1 It was a sad little boy who sat head tucked into the rim of his roll-necked sweater like a threatened turtle, and waited. Sad, and lonely and frightened and angry. This was a joyless and cruel place his stepfather had brought him to - a withered grey wilderness of grim cramped streets. He remembered bitterly the glowing stories Rob had told when he was courting his mam. How great it would be in Manchester - the shops, the trams, the big eight-roomed house he owned, the choice of schools and, oh yes, the ever so friendly people. 'Oh yes, they were ever so friendly', thought the boy. His new school was a special kind of unrelenting hell. It was the last playtime on Friday, and Ganner and his mates would want their customary entertainment, to last them over the weekend. The hated chant would be first: 'Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief, Taffy came to my house and stole a leg of beef, I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was in bed, So I up'd with the pee-pot and hit in on the head.' Then would come the lying accusation that he had insulted someone, then the inevitable fight. 'This time I WON'T cry,' thought the boy, determinedly, 'even though it's not fair, not fair, not bloody, bloody fair.' For all his bravado, the boy still remained quietly and well out of sight behind the steep and solid schoolhouse steps. 'Safe, but for how long?' he thought. He could certainly hear chants, but - sweet relief - not boys' voices. It was the girls, with the skipping-rope: ”First I do the two-step Then I do the kicks, Next I do the hoochie-cooch And then I do the splits Last I do the turn-round Me sister told me how The girls show their knickers And the boys say Wow!” The boys joined in gleefully on the word 'Wow', Ganner's loud braying voice to the fore. 'I'll bet bloody Ganner's leering at Brenda,' thought the boy, peering out from his hiding-place round the corner of the schoolyard steps. He was right, Ganner, his two cronies, Houghie and 'Froggy' Lewis, were at the front of a ragged semi-circle of equally ragged boys ranged around the girls' skipping area. The rope was tied to the railings around the boiler-room stairwell, and Brenda was expertly turning the rope: ”...and in jumped June...” continued the girls. June Savage, a dumpy coarse-featured raw boned and gawky girl, ducked clumsily beneath the swinging rope and began her turn, her hair flopping up and down in time with the ponderous clump of her hand-me-down boy's boots. Instantly, a malicious laugh exploded from Ganner, loudly taken up in chorus by most of the boys and even accompanied by smothered sniggers from some of the girls. The boy stepped cautiously out from behind the stone steps, warily watching. "Jesus wept, will you look at her hair! Couldn't your mam get a basin big enough? Did she have to use the piss-pot? Bet she didn't bother to empty it first, way you stink." Before Ganner had finished, June, distracted, had tripped on the rope and ended up a sobbing bundle up against the railings. Froggy hopped over, justifying his nickname, and bent over poor June. He snatched at the back of her hair and exultantly held up a piece of plum-coloured braid, very obviously taken from the edging of a lampshade. Meanwhile, feeling intense pity for poor June, the boy edged slowly towards the railings. "Hey, Ganner, look at this, it's a bleeding crown. She thinks she's a bleeding princess or something." Froggy skipped manically from one foot to the other seeking approval, as always, from Ganner. "Nah," replied Ganner, "Nah, she wants to be chose Queen of the May, ugly bugger thinks it'll make her better looking ... now, give us that!" He held his hand out for the braid. Brenda tried to intercept, but not quickly enough because Ganner shot his hand straight up, the braid well out of reach. “Give it back, you stupid twerp. Can't you see she's upset?" demanded Brenda vainly, jumping up again and again in an attempt to snatch the prize from a grinning, pirouetting Ganner who finally flicked the braid high in the air. It was caught skilfully by Houghie and then passed with much hilarity from boy to boy with furious girls trying so hard at each pass to grab and hold. And then the boy had it. June's braid, there in his hands. He didn't want it, and would have avoided it if he could. But there it was. A tattered nondescript rag of cloth in his hand, and pathetic, pitiful June curled up and sobbing wretchedly just a step or two away. June looked hopefully up at the boy, but on seeing the indecision, then fears in him the hope leached slowly away. Every child was now completely focussed on the boy wondering what he would do ... and he did the last thing most of them expected. June flinched as the boy leant towards her: “Here's your ribbon, June,” he said very softly, “it does suit your hair.” He proffered the braid, but Brenda intercepted it and turned her back to the group. You could tell where she put the braid by the way her dress was rucked tightly up against the back of her legs. The boy smiled broadly - what a great idea, not even Ganner would try to take it from there! That smile was certainly not a good idea as the boy found out when Ganner's scar-hardened knee whipped up and crashed into his unprepared thigh. The pain was excruciating and the boy grunted then lurched and fell into the still crouching June, who renewed her howling. ”Stop skriking, you mard little bugger,” yelled Ganner at June, “You make me sick ... but now you've got Sir Galerad here, so shut it!” The boy stood, tottering, and glared at Ganner. “No,” he said, “You shut it. You've got a big gob and a big head and ...” “Oh, please, please stop it,' hiccupped June, “I've had enough, enough...” Her voice pitched suddenly higher, “oh...o...o ...oh” The familiar acrid smell was first, then, as silence fell on the group, the faint hissing sound and finally the wisps of pungent steam rising from the steadily growing pool of urine between June's bent legs. Ganner whooped maliciously, “Eh, look ... she's pissed herself!” He prodded the boy, “Your girlfriend's a pissy-arse! Do you love her, eh? We'll have to call you June Savage, won't we lads?” He glared confidently round the assembled boys, who assented with a mixture of nods and grunts. Froggy started the chorus; “Ju - une Savage, Ju - une Savage,” and the rest of the boys joined in, some reluctantly, most with enthusiasm. The boy's head dropped, suddenly defeated, aware that they had yet another stick to beat him with. “Ju - une Savage, Ju - une Savage,” the chant repeated time and time again, now at full volume, echoed round the playground and round the dizzy misery of the boy's head. The bell rang. Just once, so they all knew it was 'Weary' Wilkes at the top of the steps. Not a sound was heard, not a movement made. Weary's eyes made a swift circuit of the playground, missing nothing. His scan ceased at June, and his nose twitched with undisguised disgust. He signalled to Brenda - Miss Reliable - and told her to bring Miss Petty 'to deal with this mess.' His glance flicked to the boy and Ganner and back again. “I don't suppose, Gansler, that you could by any chance shed some light on this debacle?” he asked with heavy sarcasm, “or why our Welsh friend appears to be somewhat discomforted?” “Sorry, sir, whatcha mean?” Ganner meekly replied. Weary simply sighed expansively and told the assembled company to line up 'without a sound, mind!' The children trudged silently towards the bottom of the steps, moving aside to allow a sobbing June and a solicitous Miss Petty to pass in front. Ganner stuck out a sneaky foot, and the boy sprawled. But not sneaky enough, for Weary's voice boomed out, “Couldn't resist a last dig, could you? You can spend the first lesson behind the blackboard to think about the little conversation we will have after school.” Ganner blanched and mumbled, “Yes, sir!” because he knew as well as everyone else that the conversation would be with Percy Wader, Weary's thin whippy cane which was concealed up his right-hand jacket sleeve. Weary could make the cane slide down the sleeve and into his hand ready for action with the practiced ease of a western gunslinger. And he certainly made that cane sing along with his victims. ”Right, forward,” ordered Weary and the children marched up the steps and into the sparsely furnished classroom, which was dominated by the single new item : a swivel blackboard. This was Weary's pride and joy, polished and washed with great ceremony morning and afternoon. To be chosen as Weary's board monitor was a great honour - or so Weary thought. He crooked his finger at Ganner and indicated that he was to take his place behind the board. “And don't lean, you're not there for your pleasure, you're there to contemplate your fate.” To the rest of the class, “Sit.” The children sat as quietly as possible - not a good time to disturb Weary - as Miss Petty returned with a swollen-faced June. Much to his embarrassment, she turned and smiled weakly at the boy as she took her seat in front of him. Weary announced that Miss Petty would be taking the Art Class that afternoon [she was an emergency teacher there to fill the gaps left by teachers killed in the War]. The class visibly relaxed, but sat up sharply when Weary advised Miss Petty to 'watch this lot, and report any stupid behaviour to me.' “Keep a special eye on the lout behind the board,” he added, and left the room. Paper and pencils were distributed wordlessly by the monitors, and the children waited, arms folded, until Miss Petty had finished writing on the board. “As you can see,” she pointed out, “The subject today is "My Favourite Animal" - any questions?” “Can we draw any animal?” asked Brenda, and the boy was struck by the similarity between Brenda and the pretty young teacher, both wavy blonde and grey-blue eyed. “Yes, but I want you to draw it as realistically as you can. I want to feel I could stroke it.” A muffled laugh came from behind the board. Ganner had a very smutty mind. “Silence!” shouted Miss Petty as sternly as she could. Ganner stopped, but from the shifting position of his feet it was clear that little of his time was spent in contemplation of any sort. The children bent to their task, and not a sound could be heard. Miss Petty patrolled the room, stopping to whisper advice or encouragement from time to time. She lingered a little longer at the boy's desk and said, “That's coming along rather well. We'll all have a look later.” The boy, encrimsoned, wished she would forget. June turned - again - and smiled, but so did Brenda so that was some compensation. The boy had drawn a cow, because cows had been one of his earliest playthings and he loved their gentle forgiving nature and big soulful eyes. Later, Miss Petty returned, took the boy’s picture, and held it up before the class. “What animal is this?” she asked, “It shouldn't be hard because it's very beautifully drawn...” Froggy's hand shot up, “Miss, it's a bull!” he exclaimed without waiting to be asked. Miss Petty turned to the boy, “Is he right?” Froggy's smug expression faded when the boy said “No, it's a cow, you can tell by the udders!” Froggy angrily retorted, “But it's got horns. Only bulls have horns ...Teacher's pet!” “Oh, no,” said Miss Petty deliberately misunderstanding, “I wouldn't want a cow as a pet, any more than I would a frog!” The room erupted with laughter, quickly quelled by Miss Petty, and even Ganner peeped round the edge of the board, obviously miffed because he'd missed something. Miss Petty turned back to the board to write explanatory notes about cattle and the room returned to silence. Drawn by this Ganner dropped to his knees and peeked out from beneath the swivel board. There were some quiet giggles as he pulled faces at his friends which increased in volume as he turned his head to look up Miss Petty's skirt. He smothered a grin and disappeared again. Miss Petty, puzzled, asked the class, “What's the matter?” But no one spoke, so she turned back again. Ganner was obviously up to something behind the board, and Miss Petty, to give him a little shock, swivelled the blackboard towards her. There, on the back side of the board, as clear as day in Ganner's immature script, but upside-down, were the words: "miss pety wares pink nikkers". Miss Petty gave a shriek of horror and flipped the board to its prior position. She anxiously scanned the faces, and it was obvious from the appalled expressions on half the faces that at least some of the children had read what the horrid child had scrawled. She wailed, “Oh, no!” and sank into the teacher's chair in tears. Brenda, ever sensible, said, “I'll get Mr Wilkes,” and rushed from the room. The class was stunned - they'd never seen a teacher cry or even imagined that they could. Ganner fidgeted from one foot to the other unsure whether to stay or try to run home. The arrival of Weary settled the issue. He stalked to the front of the class, barked “Reading books!” - an order which restored some sort of normality and which was obeyed at once, and then, with a tenderness which no-one suspected in him, escorted Miss Petty gently by the elbow to the classroom door. “Take some tea, my dear, in my study and then an early finish might not come amiss, eh?” Miss Petty gave a brief grateful nod and left the room. The instant the door closed Weary strode towards Ganner. “Heads down, silent reading,” he snapped without taking his eyes off a terrified Ganner. All heads went down, sure enough, but all eyes remained firmly fixed on the unfolding drama. Weary swung Ganner round to face the board, grabbed him by his prominent ears and dragged his face this way and that across the offending words. “Thank you so much for cleaning the board, boy,” he snarled, “we will discuss the contents of your epistle after school.” He turned to the class, all eyes dropped to books immediately. “Earnshaw,” he said, “I do believe you live next door to this ... creature ..” he indicated Ganner. “Er .. yes, sir?” the child replied. “Well, then, you will oblige me by inviting Mrs Gansler to collect this person from school. I have a matter or two to for discussion.” “Yes, sir, I will, sir” “Good,” finished Weary. The boy, in the meantime, had begun to harbour hopes of a safe and unmolested passage home with Ganner's imminent detention. These hopes lessened considerably when he noticed the look which passed between Ganner and Houghie and the sinister nod towards the boy. 'Nothing else for it,' he thought, 'I'll just have to leg it as fast as I can,' and began to plot the best route. The 'home bell' rang stridently. The children packed away quietly and then stood in silence whilst Weary intoned the home-time prayer, and left the room silently. As soon as he reached the door the boy broke into a run, followed shortly by clattering footsteps and the expected chorus of 'Ju-une Savage' repeated, repeated, repeated. The boy rounded the bend in the road in good time, and was just able to reach the safe haven of the derelict graveyard before the others could see where he had gone. He ran towards the north-east corner where a broken crypt of the bomb-damaged cemetery would be his hidey-hole. All the others were terrified of this place. Although the remains were said to have been moved following the off-target bombing [the mill next door was the correct one] none of the children were convinced, and most declared it haunted. Most importantly it was the last place they thought he would go. The boy sank to his knees exhausted, and then gradually subsided onto his back and looked with relief towards the blessed bully-free clouds. He could still hear the chorus but it was increasingly more distant and less certain. He hummed to himself his mother's favourite song, 'Calon Lan', and decided to wait until the cotton mill hooter sounded. He could walk home with Auntie Florrie, who was on the day shift. He hoped his mam was better today, and he hoped Rob wasn't drunk. He hoped that Granny B might be nice to him, and then remembered his real Gran in Abercynon. He thought and he cried softly for his real home and his real friends and for a lovely life which had gone forever.