Chapter 71: Like The Back Of His Hand

They'd had no lodgers for a couple of months, during early 1944. Margaret was managing for money quite well because she was being paid for cleaning at two more houses both within easy walking distance of home. When a second wave of evacuees arrived, this time from London, to escape the attacks by the V1 and V2 rockets, nicknamed "doodlebugs", she felt obliged to take one of the children because she had spare space.

"I haven't much spare time though," she told Sheila.
"You're a glutton for punishment," her friend told her.

His name was Wilf Cringle. Everybody agreed that he was a grand lad. He became one of the family in no time at all.

He was a street-wise, Walworth boy. He was in his last year at school, nearly fourteen years old. He was confident, brash, quick-witted and intelligent. He was popular with boys and girls, especially with girls. He had lots of girl friends.

He was the ideal big-brother as far as Michael was concerned, the one he'd always wanted. He showed Michael how to do all sorts of tricks on his bicycle, how to climb trees and swing over railings. He let Michael tag onto a gang which he led.

At first, Rob was not included and sneered at Michael, for doing everything Wilf told him.

"You're even starting to talk like him. You'll end up a Cockney, if you're not careful! Just because he's older than us, you think he knows everything don't you?"

"No," said Michael defensively. Rob felt that his influence with his group was being undermined.

Margaret trusted Wilf implicitly. He was the apple of her eye. He was polite, considerate and helpful in the house. He was always cheerful and would ask if there was anything he could do for her. He didn't wait to be asked, he offered to go on errands to the shops, locally, or in Lancaster.

He played with Gwyn and she adored him. That made Michael feel jealous. He couldn't make up his mind, whether he was jealous of Wilf with Gwyn or Gwyn with Wilf.

"Can you untie this knot for me Wilf?"
"Give them here then!" Wilf sorted the knots in her skipping ropes for her.
"Will you have a game of Snap with me Wilf?"
"Yes Gwyn. You have most of the cards to start with." He let her win sometimes without her realising it."

He even played hop-scotch with her. Michael had never done that because Rob said it was a girl's game. Wilf was confident, already, about his masculinity.

Wilf was the great deceiver. A real con man, he made Michael seem like an amateur! Margaret thought that he was a good influence, a role-model for Michael. Providing he was going with Wilf, Michael was allowed outside to play a lot more often.

Margaret had it wrong! Wilf took Michael further away from home than the field nearby. Out of sight from Authority, the local kids mingled with the Londoners and often misbehaved badly. A favourite meeting-place was the Padfields.

"Can I come with you Wilf?" Michael would ask. The answer was usually a quick, "Yes!", unless Wilf was meeting a girl.

The Padfields was an area of rough grass, common land, much of it on a slope. On one side, it was bordered by a fence and the main London to Glasgow railway line was on the other side. Barley Cop Lane was on another, as were some of Thompson's fields, with Powder House Lane beyond. Watery Lane and Whernside Road were on the other sides.

On the top of the fields, there was a wide, murky duck pond, with an overhanging tree. Near the back gardens of Whernside Road were some old sheds where a surly-looking, unshaven, burly small-holder lurked. His nickname was 'Tosser'.

Everybody kept well away from him. His bad-temper was legendary. It was rumoured that he had some sovereignty over the Padfields and would wield a big stick at anyone who ventured near his tumbledown kingdom.

A favourite destination for local kids was the Padfields' Shell Hole. Rumour had it it that when White Lund exploded, in 1917, a huge shell had landed near the top of the Padfields and made the huge crater, which had never been filled in. In the winter, after snow, hordes of kids would head for it. They would drag their sledges, most of them home-made, after them and join the queue, further up the slope. Mr Howson had made the boys a couple of wooden sleds. They had smooth, metal runners.

The idea was to push your sledge ahead of you, fling yourself onto it, head towards the hole, accelerate down into it, come up the other side and provided you had enough momentum, you would then take-off, sail through the air, land, and go at speed, all the way down the hill to the bottom field.

Thompson's farm gate was left open. The best sledgers aimed for that and went a long way through the gap and into the meadow. Only 'softies' and cowards put a back foot down to slow their sledge before taking off through the air. If you did, watchers like Rob, would shout, "Cowardly! Cowardly custard!" at you, and keep on calling you that for the rest of the day. The choice was to risk either insults or injury.

It was Wilf's idea about how to make good use of the Shell Hole, when there was no snow. "We'll need your bike," he told Michael.

Michael fetched his bike from the garden shed and wheeled it alongside Wilf. He and Wilf strode out to the Padfields. They sat on the grass, waiting for the others to come. Wilf lit a Woodbine.

"Want a puff?" he asked Michael.

Michael tried it and hated it. The smoke got in his eyes, up his nose and choked his throat. He could not stop coughing. Wilf laughed. "It only needs practice," he said. "Have another go!"

Michael declined. When Rob arrived, he accepted the cigarette when it was offered and had several more afterwards without any problems. Playing the big man, he then said, loftily, to Wilf, "Not bad! I prefer Senior Service."

Wilf laughed again and said, "You're a right one aren't you?"

It was after that, that he let Rob go around with his gang.

Presently, there were a dozen of the London lads, and three local girls, congregated near the Shell Hole. Between them, they had half a dozen bikes. Wilf explained what it was all about.

"What we're going to do is start up by the railway fence. We pedal down to here." He indicated the lip of the crater. "Then you take your feet off the pedals. You don't touch them again. You go down the hole, come up the other side, fly through the air, land and go off down the field. No touching of pedals! The one who goes the furthest gets the money. Right, a shilling each please!"

To show them how it was done, Wilf went first. He used Michael's bike, without asking him.

After he'd sailed through the air, he made a perfect landing.

"Douglas Bader!" he shouted. His legs were well clear of the pedals. "Look! No legs!"

He free-wheeled down the hill and nearly reached Thompson's gate before he had to dismount or over-balance.

He was the pathfinder and nobody did as well as he did.

Michael and Rob hadn't had a go. Rob hadn't brought his bike. "Here," ordered Wilf, pushing the bike back to Michael, "you have a go, Mike!"

Michael didn't want to, but before he lost face, by refusing, Rob said, "I will. Let me!" He came fast towards the hole, pedalling as hard as he could and went down into the crater. Right at the bottom, he skidded sideways and fell off. He'd hurt himself. One of his knees and his nose was bleeding.

"Flip me!" said Wilf, who'd scrambled down the hole to Rob. "Are you all right mate?"

Rob recovered quickly. He had not shed any tears. Wilf picked up Michael's bicycle. It was smashed up. He couldn't wheel it home because the handle-bars were all twisted and the back wheel was badly buckled. Three spokes were broken. It had been his treasured possession, something that had cost more than his Mam and Dad could afford. How could it have happened? It was terrible from every point of view.

"What am I going to tell me Mam?" moaned Michael as they walked back home. Wilf had to balance the bike on its front wheel to make it go.

"We'll tell her, you swerved to miss a cat, fell off and a car went over it," said Wilf. "Leave it to me! You'll see. She'll believe me."

She did. Her only worry was for Michael. "Are you sure you're not hurt anywhere? You've been lucky. You might have been run over. It's a good job Wilf was with you and got you and the bike home safely."

Wilf smiled one of his winning smiles at Michael's Mam. "That's all right Mrs Watson. I like looking after him," he said, winking slyly at Michael.

Michael felt worse for the lies. He knew that he had lost something of value, let his mother and father down and deceived them into believing he was innocent. It wasn't fair. For a change, he knew that the injustice was not against him but something he had doled out to someone else. He should have taken care of something which had cost dear in the providing for him.

Before his arrival in Lancaster, back in London, Wilf had been a junior member of a street gang, based around the Elephant and Castle. Their rivals in the neighbourhood had been a Kenington mob. Some members of both gangs had been evacuated to Lancaster. There'd been trouble at Skerton School, which they all attended. One morning, Jack Matthews had sorted them all out on the playground, after fighting broke out. "Don't you know there's a war on without you lot trying to start another?"

The two leaders, of whom Wilf was one, had secretly arranged to meet that evening to settle matters. Both sides had gathered reinforcements from amongst the locals. Michael was one such. There could easily have been serious consequences to what occurred. Before they set out, Wilf came into Michael's bedroom. He showed him a knife.

"It's a good, sharp chive," he said. "Swapped it for some fags at school today. Just in time for tonight. Hurry up! Put your old shoes on. The grass will be wet and muddy. We're going to have a gang fight!"
"What?"
"You heard! Hurry up!"
"What shall I tell Mam?"
"Leave that to me. We're going to play football. Right?"
"Right!"

They picked up stones, as they went to what was going to be a battlefield, and filled their pockets with them. There were loads on Watery Lane because surface was hard-core. On the way, several other lads joined them. The feeling of excitement grew as the small group joined a crowd, near the duck pond, well away from any houses. Wilf's gang had a high ground advantage over the other lot who had met there. They'd arrived via Hareruns and Barley Cop Lane.

They faced each other, about thirty yards apart. There was much shouting and cat-calling. Individuals were identified and made the targets for specific insults, a few quite witty, others crude and most obscene.

Stones were thrown by opponents from each group. Most fell short or hit no-one. One young local boy received a quarter of a brick on the top of his head. He departed the battlefield, a friend's arm around his shoulders and headed for home, bawling his head off.

Wilf was recognised and singled out for some nasty remarks. He responded with a challenge to Alfie Gass, the leader of the other side. Both lads emerged from amongst their respective band of followers and met in no man's land, They had knives in their hands and began to circle each other menacingly.

Encouraged by the two mobs, they plucked up courage to try harder to cut and slash their opponent. Eventually, Wilf succeeded. Alfie's face was bleeding and a button came off his shirt. It could have been worse! It was a bit like a traditional duel of the past; once blood had been spilled the contest was over.

Nobody had really expected it to get as serious as it did. The sight of Alfie's blood did not stir the boys to a frenzy. Instead, it had a calming effect. Alfie staggered back to his supporters and Wilf wiped his blade on the grass and then raised his arms to the sky in triumph. There was a cheer from his side and some back-slapping of Wilf when he rejoined the others.

Basically that was the ending of the Great Padfields Battle. The boys slowly dispersed into the dusk. The event seemed to have settled the ill-feeling. But Michael always worried when he made his way to his Nan's on Sundays with his sister. What if the boys who had been on the other side that night recognised him as he went through the Hareruns estate? He was sure that he would be set upon and beaten up. Thankfully, it never happened but the possibility preyed on his mind for ages.

His damaged bicycle was also very much on his mind until good luck came his way. Brian Howson was good with his hands. He felt sorry for Michael and offered to repair the cycle that had been damaged in the Shell Hole. Michael was round at their house and Paul had asked him to go for a bike ride. Brian heard Michael's story about nearly being run over and said, "Don't worry! Fetch it here tomorrow after school. I'll fix it for you over the weekend."

He was glad to be of assistance to his old friend's lad. He did a good job on it and Michael thanked him profusely. Wilf was pleased too because he had missed using the cycle as much as Michael. "Tell you what," he said to Michael, "you go on your roller-skates, I'll use your bike and we'll round-up some of the lads. I've heard about something interesting that's going on tonight." Michael was not best pleased to be relinquishing his precious bicycle so soon. He no longer felt that Wilf had a safe pair of hands. But the older boy still had total sway over him and he agreed to his request without any argument.

Some on bikes and others on roller-skates crossed the estate and came out on Morecambe Road. They went as far as Ovangle Road, turned left, and joined lots of other kids who were leaning over the railway bridge there.

"What's happening?" Michael asked.
"Come and have a look!" said Wilf.

There was a train coming. You could hear it in the distance. Michael leaned over the parapet. Down below, there was a boy near the railway line doing something.
"What's happening?" Michael asked.
"He's putting a penny on the rail," Wilf replied.

The train came and went, leaving smoke-and-steam wafting up-and-over the bridge. It made Michael cough.

The boy came up from the railway cutting, climbed over the fence and showed his squashed penny to the admiring crowd.

"That's nothing!" said Alfie Gass. "Anybody can do that! Watch this!" He vaulted over the fence and went down to the railway. He stood between the lines. He put his arms up above his head, and called, "I am the champion. Just call me the Lone Ranger lads!"

He danced and pranced down there. Michael wondered what he was going to do. Presently, there was the sound of a train coming from the opposite direction.

Alfie lay down flat, exactly midway between the two rails. They all looked down at him. It was a stupid and dangerous thing to do. He laughed back but kept his head down.

"He's bloody daft! You wouldn't get me doing that!" exclaimed Wilf, watching his rival, with sheer disbelief.

Alfie did not move and the train came nearer. It wasn't going all that fast because it was a goods train pulling a lot of wagons. Alfie disappeared from sight. The engine went over him, then the tender. Wagon after wagon came from under the bridge and rumbled over him. Finally, the guard's van passed.

Alfie was safe! He stood up smiling, untouched. They all cheered. Then someone shouted, "Scarper! There's a copper coming."

"Quick! Let's go!"

Wilf mounted the bike and Michael skated after him. They speeded towards Snatchems. They did not look back, to where Alfie had been caught and was being questioned by the local bobby. "I wasn't doing nuffink. Honest! I was trying to get my ball back!"

The policeman belted him one round the earhole and told him to behave himself in future. "If you don't, I'll hear about it and I'll be after you my lad. You won't get off lightly next time. Bloody Londoners. You're nothing but trouble!"

Wilf and Michael were following a road which went through the swampy area of Snatchems. On their left, was the river with Williamson's factory and tall chimneys belching smoke into the atmosphere. The boys stopped because there was a road forking sharply backwards to the left. There was was no signpost because it had been taken down, like all of the others in the country, so that spies or invaders wouldn't know where they were.

"Barmy idea!" Gordon had said.

"That's where my Dad works," Michael told Wilf, pointing across the river. "He'll be going back there after the war. My Uncle Frank works there as well." He paused before offering an opinion. " I think we should go left here. It should take us back to where we want to be."

Wilf ignored this. He was gazing across the Corporation Dump, to a building that looked like an aeroplane hangar. It stood out clearly because it was painted crimson. "What's over there?"

Michael followed Wilf's gaze and replied, "Paul's dad says it's a dummy aerodrome. It's a decoy for enemy planes to drop their bombs on."

"I thought that this was a safe area."
"It's only a rumour. Nobody really knows what goes on there. Somebody else said there's secret work going on and soldiers with rifles guarding it. But that's only a rumour as well."
"Do you think we could find something good amongst all that rubbish?" Wilf suggested, they go and look amongst the mountains of ashes and waste materials.


Michael didn't fancy it. It was very smelly. Mam always warned him, "Keep away from germs!" In his imagination, he thought of germs as small Germans.He said, "I think we ought to go back home. If that road doesn't lead us there, we're going to be late."

Wilf acquiesced. The road was twisty, but after they'd been under a railway bridge, they came out at Scale Hall Corner. Michael had often wondered where that road led to when he'd seen its entrance from the bus. Now, he knew. He was getting to know everywhere around the district like the back of his hand.

Sometimes on his skates, sometimes on his bike, sometimes on foot, always with a friend or a group, Michael expanded his boundaries. He walked along the canal banks, with Rob all the way to Hest Bank on the coast. They walked along the coastal road and cut through Bare village, Torrisholme, Cross Hill and so back home. It was miles but his legs were getting stronger. He was always out and about whenever he had the chance. All the physical activity made him fit for anything.

One day, they saw a horse on the canal tow path. It was pulling a barge piled up with coal. A young lad was walking with the horse. There was a little shelter, near the stern of the barge. A man sat right at the back holding the tiller. He was steering the barge. He had a clay pipe in his mouth. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. He had a coloured kerchief round his neck. He had a long black beard and sunburned arms. He waved the pipe at them and called across the narrow waterway, "Lovely evening lads. Found any tiddlers yet?"

"Not yet, Mister," Michael shouted back, looking up from where he was lying on his stomach, dipping a jam jar into the calm water. The canal wound its way through Lancaster then through lush countryside. It didn't look as though it was man-made; it was in a natural setting, like any lovely river.

There were fields with cows on the other side. The hedges at the side of the tow path had brambles, with ripening blackberries. Beyond, were meadows where all kinds of beautiful wild flowers grew. Butterflies flitted here and there, not just cabbage whites, but all sorts of colours.

The sun was still high during wartime's long double summer evenings and it endowed nature with magical touches, flecks of sunlight contrasting with bluey shadows. A taste of honey in winter would remind Michael of the wonderful scents, which filled the air and attracted bees there that summer. The war seemed a long way away.

The ripples from the passing of the barge disturbed the thousands of black and grey tiddlers, which swam near the overhanging grass of the banking, and they all disappeared.

The horse plodded on. The barge moved smoothly and serenely over the flat water. Michael waved to the bargee. Paul and Rob waved too. "Ta-ra! Mister!" they called.

The man waved his pipe again, this time in farewell.

That autumn, the family took jam jars and went picking blackberries wherever rumours told them they might be found. They ate so many the children had stomach ache. "Serves you right! You'll have no sympathy from me. I warned you!" said Mam. "I was going to make a nice pie but you haven't left enough for me!"

Michael knew where all the ginnels, lokes and shortcuts were in-and-around the city and town. He knew it was quicker to cut across the fairground, go behind the Winter Gardens, by-pass the Royalty Theatre and nip down Cheapside rather than crowded Euston Road, when he was hurrying for a bus to carry him back from Morecambe.

He knew that the quickest way, walking from Lancaster to his home, was by skirting the castle, going down Vicarage Lane, then along the quay and past his old school, St. Mary's. There was Khyber Pass, which was a short-cut from Carlisle Bridge to Rob's. He could avoid Edenvale Crescent on his way to his Nan's and go via a footpath at the side of the railway. 

Michael enjoyed rare wins and frequent disappointments in the Amusement Arcades, at Morecambe, and spent precious pennies on the rides on the the Whip, Bumper Cars and the Cyclone.

Some Saturday afternoons, Michael was spoiled for choice. He could go for a bike ride with his mates, on a Nature Walk with Miss Carter, go tracking with Akella and the Cubs or enjoy an adventure walk with the Curate. Hills, sea-shore, river, canal, lanes and promenade all beckoned. In all seasons, there was much to be done. Whenever possible, he was out and about, something urgent within him, telling him to make the best of everything, while he could. He was never bored, always restless for the next good adventure in familiar or new places. He made the most of the unexpected and exploited pleasure from many situations.

If it rained, he pestered Margaret, for money, to go to the cinema. "You'll end up with square eyes!" she'd say, reminding him that he'd already been to the Odeon in the morning.

"But it's a good one Mam. All the lads have seen it. It's Roy Rogers and his horse. Please Mam!"
"Only if Wilf takes you!"
"Will you Wilf? Please!"

Wilf usually took a girl out on Saturday afternoons but he agreed, reluctantly, to take Michael too.

As soon as they were out of the house he'd say to him, "You're not sitting with me. I'm going on the back row with June."

Michael didn't care. He loved going to the pictures. He did not mind sitting on his own.

He didn't like the Bug Hut much, the cinema at the bottom of Church Street. It was only tuppence for admission but that was its only advantage. The customers were mainly rough kids. Occasionally, rats scuttled about round your feet. Some of the kids gained entry by bartering six jam jars, none of them chipped.

Before the film started, you only got one and some trailers, a man came round with a spray, and squirted disinfectant over the audience. All the kids booed when he appeared again during the interval and did the same.

"Look out! Here comes Stinker!" Rob would say, if he was with Michael. Michael preferred the smell of the disinfectant to the other sweaty, damp and dog shit stinks which circulated in there. The films were old and the apparatus for showing liable to break down. It was cold and draughty in the building. It was a mystery where Wilf got all his money from but he took his girl friend Julia upstairs, into darkness and comparative solitude, at a cost of seven whole pence.

Michael liked the County Cinema, which was next door to Doctor Ruxton's old house, in Dalton Square. Originally, the building had been a Roman Catholic church; then a music hall, called the Hippodrome. They showed Warner Brothers films, some musicals and thrillers with stars, like James Cagney. Michael was too young to see some of the 'A' films but Wilf knew the girl in the ticket-office and he used to sneak him in.

On another side of Dalton Square, at right angles to the Ashton Hall, was The Palace. This was a classy joint, second only in opulence to the new Odeon. They had technicolour films there like Meet Me In St. Louis, with Judy Garland. The only snag was at the interval when a huge cinema organ was played. It was very loud. Michael hated the sound of it but it was very popular with most people. There would be popular songs like, 'I'll Be seeing You', 'Wish Me Luck', 'Roll Out The Barrel' and 'There'll Be Blue Birds Over'.

The trouble, for Michael, was that the man's rendition was nothing like the originals, which he'd heard on John's gramophone.

"I can play better than him," Michael told Paul, remembering the time when he used to bash the old harmonium, in his bedroom, at Edward Street.
"Dream on!" replied Paul.

When they went to the Palladium, in Market Street, he often went in without paying. Wilf would buy a ticket and take a seat near the emergency exit, which opened into an alleyway, leading into Lancaster market, where Michael lurked. Wilf would leave his seat and pretend to head for the toilet, which was off the passage, leading to the exit.

He would tap on the door and, if the way was clear, Michael would tap back. Wilf would open the door and Michael would dart in. They would go to their seats separately. After a few minutes, waiting to see if they were being watched by Authority, they would find seats together. Wilf would say, "Now you can afford an ice-cream in the interval." The Palladium was a long, narrow, cinema with no balcony. It was quite comfortable and warm. Michael liked British films and the Palladium used to show the ones made by Gainsborough and Ealing studios.

The Grand Theatre, another old music hall, in Leonardgate, was closed during the war. There was another place, near the Alexandra Hotel, which also showed films, but Michael never went there.

Wilf's favourite was the Palladium at Morecambe. This had an advertisement on the promenade, above an arcade, which led directly to the entrance to the cinema. Why Wilf liked it, was because it had double seats for lovers. These were set in an elevated position, to one side of the other seats and staggered so the curious found it difficult to see what was going on between the likes of Wilf and June.

The Whitehall Cinema, on the prom, showed mainly RKO films. Michael only chose to go there if he visited his Cousin Peter and if Peter wanted to see a Howard Hughes film.

The Tower, at Morecambe, right up the east end of the prom, near Poulton, was a really pleasant venue. There was a big cinema, with shops outside, and a ballroom attached. Doors opened from the ballaroom onto gardens where perspiring dancers could go for a breath of fresh air. They showed technicolour films by Walt Disney and some British ones by J.Arthur Rank. There was a short-cut to the Tower, from Euston Road Bus Station, across Morecambe Market and Poulton Square.Shrimp fishermen and their families lived nearby.

Paul had an aunty who lived there. Sometimes, after the flicks, they'd go and see her. Her hands were all deep creases, broken nails and arthritic. She had a long, black dress, like Aunt Elsie's, and grey hair, in a bun. She had a young girl's sparkling, brown eyes. She had a lovely smile and was always pleased to see the boys. She exuded goodwill.

If Paul's uncle came in, he would have a thick blue jersey on during all seasons. He wore a flat cap at a jaunty angle. Because he took his long waders off before he came into the house, Michael only ever saw him in his stocking feet. An unlit fag-end was stuck in the corner of his mouth but he was able to talk quite freely without removing it. Before they left, he'd select two tubs of shrimps-in-butter with seasoning. He brought them from the cool outhouse and offered them to the boys. "Here you are my lads. Fit for a king! He enjoys them. So they should do you some good!" The boys had eaten the last one before they arrived back at the bus station.

There was the Alhambra Theatre and the Palace Cinema but Michael knew nothing about their films. Peter never took him to see anything there.

Morecambe Odeon showed the same films as the Odeon at Lancaster. He hardly ever went there, because it was threepence return by bus, and he could walk to Lancaster for nothing; or catch a bus for a penny each way. There was no point in wasting money!