Gordon had three aunts living in Edward Street and half a dozen second-cousins. Margaret had a sister, with her three youngsters, in Lodge Street, not far away. But none of their immediate neighbours were young. This was more of a problem for Margaret than Gordon who had his mates at work.
Margaret came from a very large family and had been used to a noisy house filled with her brothers and sisters. Now, she felt isolated from them and quite lonely. She had plenty to do, looking after the house and the two children, but missed compatible adult company during the day. There were plenty of kids at the far end of the street but most of them looked a bit rough to her. Anyway, Michael was still too young to be allowed to play outside.
One June afternoon, Baby Gwyn was very fractious. Michael's noisy, pretend games were getting on Margaret's nerves. If she put the pram outside in the yard, Next-door would complain about the baby's wailing and Margaret's neglect. She could not put the pram out the front because the pavement was narrow and people would not be able to get past easily.
She was fed up -- stuck inside, with nothing much to do and no one to talk with.
She'd finished her work for the day. She went upstairs and changed into a light, print frock and took her stockings off. Her legs were mottled with scorch marks because she spent so much time sitting close to the fire.
The night before, Gordon had said to her, "For heaven's sake Margaret, do you have to sit in front of the fire, like that? It's summer isn't it? You can't be feeling cold."
But she always did feel cold in the damp house. It was chilly away from the fire. She was only really warm when she was working.
"Well," she thought, "perhaps fresh air will do them good. A bit of sunburn and the brown scorch marks might start to blend with the rest of my skin."
She dressed Michael in a pair of shorts and put his jersey in the pram, in case it turned cold. Under his jersey, she placed her purse. Gwyn was still crying as she laid her in the pram.
Margaret hoped that she would go off to sleep as they walked.
"It'll be nice in the park. I've some stale bread. We'll feed the ducks on the pond." Michael hoped the taking of her purse with them meant she was going to buy some ice-cream or pop when they got there.
They'd only gone as far as the corner of the street when they met one of the great-aunts, who had been up-town shopping. Michael was fed-up because they stopped while she made a fuss of Gwyn. Ignored, he stood there like a prune, all fidgetty, but he daren't protest or misbehave or draw attention to himself, in case his mother decided to take him back home, to sort him out. So he decided to endure Eva's and Margaret's chat without making a commotion.
"Eee! Margaret, isn't she coming on well. Ooo! She looks s right little picture!"
Gwyn stopped crying, and gurgled, when the great-aunt bent over the pram and tickled her. The fussing went on-and-on but at last, Eva went on her way home and they were released to continue their walk.
"Blooming baby!" thought Michael, "Always spoiling things!"
It was really hard going, pushing the pram up Moor Lane, underneath the mill's gantry, over the canal bridge, along St. Peter's Road. It was even steeper and harder going up East Road, past the Grammar School and on, ever higher, past the old Workhouse and school playing-fields, until they finally arrived at an entrance to Williamson's Park.
"I was a good help, wasn't I Mam?" asked Michael, referring to his pushing on the handle of the pram part of the way there.
"Yes, love, you were," his mother responded, wiping the sweat from her forehead. They sat and rested for a few minutes on a seat next to the gatehouse. Gwyn was fast asleep.
"Can I go exploring?" asked Michael, still bursting with energy, although his legs had ached a bit during the climb.
"Yes, but don't go far, I don't want you to be lost."
It was a marvellous park, one of the lino kings' , the Williamsons', many gifts to their home town which, the cynical said, had helped buy the younger one a peerage from his friend, Prime Minister Lloyd George.
The Park was laid out on the instructions of James Williamson (senior), on the site of an old quarry. Local legend had it, that it was done with the cheap labour of his own employees. They'd toiled for a few pence an hour, men laid off from his linoleum works, when trade was slack. It was his son who had carried out major improvements and made it a fine attraction.
James Williamson (junior) was said, at one time, to be the richest man in the world. No-one, well hardly anyone, could argue that at least part of his fortune, earned off the backs of his neighbours, had been spent wisely and for the benefit of Lancaster.
There was a long, shallow pool with a fountain and a lovely foot- bridge. There was a huge palm house, an observatory, an interesting temple-folly, a bandstand for Sunday afternoon concerts and paths which wound up and down and round all of the Park.
There were lovely views over Lancaster and far beyond, to the new ever-extending suburban estates You could see all of the way to Morecambe, across the Bay to the hazy Pennines. From the top of the structure, you could, on a clear day, discern the Isle of Man and Blackpool Tower.
Disgruntled by his unpopularity in his home town, James Williamson left Lancaster in 1911 and moved to a new home at Lytham St Anne's. If he ever visited the Park, and climbed to the top of his wife's memorial, he must have felt that much of it was his kingdom that he saw below him and stretched away to the horizon.
There were benches to sit on, lawns, grass to lie on, semi-wild places and hidden groves favoured by courting couples.
There was also a place, beneath the monument and near the bandstand, where they sold refreshments.
After Margaret had had her rest, Michael returned from his exploring. They pushed the pram together round a pathway and came to rest again on a seat near the ice-cream stall. The bench-seat was in the blazing sun but Margaret could stand the heat. She put a white sun-hat on Michael's head.
"We don't want you having sunstroke, do we?" she said to him as she reached for her purse, without waking Gwyn.
"What are you having, an ice-cream or some sweets?"
"Can I have a bottle of pop Mam?"
"Yes, love, and I'll have one too." She found a sixpence from her purse and gave it to him, to go and buy their drinks. He liked the responsibility.
"Don't forget the change and don't drop anything!" she urged as he went. The baby was awake now and whimpering. She lifted Gwyn from the pram to nurse her for a while.
When Michael returned from the queue, Margaret was talking to a woman sitting next to her. There was another pram. The stranger had her baby on her lap and there was a boy, of Michael's age alongside her.
The boy was taller and thinner than Michael. He had auburn hair and a few freckles. He had a coloured, beach-ball under one arm.
"I blew it up myself," said the boy, standing-up, as Michael approached.
"Well most of it," he added, looking at his mother for verification. His mother did not look back at him. She was too busy talking with Margaret, swapping baby stories.
The boy looked at Michael and Michael looked at the boy. Kids are like dogs. A quick mutual appraisal and then the two boys smiled at each other..
The tall boy ran onto the grass and threw the ball into the air. He tried to kick it but he wasn't any good at that. Michael was watching him. Then the boy asked him, "Want to play?"
Michael hesitated but his mother broke off from her conversation, briefly, to urge him, "Go on Michael. Go on!"
Michael put his bottle of pop down and went to join the boy. They played for ages, following the bouncy ball all over the flat grass. Then they left the ball with their mothers and went up the slope and climbed some of the steps of the monument and played hide-and-seek round it.
Before they went back to their mothers, the tall boy showed Michael how to lie down and then roll sideways all the way down the slope to the level grass. It was fun. Michael wanted to keep on doing it but it was time to go The babies needed changing and feeding.
"Blooming baby!" said Michael.
"Blooming baby!" said the tall boy.
Then they both laughed.
"Michael, say thank-you to Rob, for letting you play with his ball!"
"Thank-you, Rob!"
The boys waved to each other when they parted. Michael hoped that he'd meet Rob again.
Little did he know, but it was the beginning of a lifelong friendship.
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