Wardy The Kid From The Rough End Of The Street

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CHAPTER 15

The Final Nail in the Coffin

I suppose it could be said that Fred?s fight with dad was the final nail in the family business coffin, but it wasn?t. There was a couple more to come before the lid was well and truly nailed down.

Dad continued with the business; he even managed to pass his driving test. It?s funny now, when I think about it, but he arranged for the test in the afternoon, this gave him time to have a couple of pints. He always said he was a better driver pissed then sober and he was. Typical of dad, he passed his test when pissed, and being pissed and in a generous mood he gave the driving examiner a five-pound tip. Unbelievable but true, only my old dad could do that.

As the months went by, dad spent more and more time spending and drinking and less time working and earning. He was becoming depressed and felt the world was caving in on him. However, somewhere amongst his depression and all the shit that was coming his way; dad came to his senses and decided that enough was enough. He packed up drinking and made one last effort to put the business back on its feet. By now, and being no money to pay them, all of his employees had gone, and most of his big customers had deserted him. But there were still some small loyal customers who continued to give him work. It was with these customers that he was going to rebuild the business and make everyone proud of him.

True to his word, dad kept off the beer and worked hard, bringing home a small but sufficient wage to keep us going. I was proud of him and would help out at weekends and school holidays. After a couple of months things were beginning to look up and work started to come in regularly once again. I hoped that this was going to be a new beginning, but like most hopes in life they rarely come true.

Dad was working on a small job redecorating the house of a reasonably wealthy, although eccentric, lady in Peckham. The lady wanted her house decorated from top to bottom, but didn?t want any furniture moved, dad had to decorate around it.

He was preparing the lounge for redecoration and needed to burn off some old paint around the bay window. Using a blow torch he carefully heated and scraped off the paint. Unluckily for dad the flame from the torch caught the curtains and they immediately burst into flames. He hurriedly tried to pull the curtains from the curtain track. In doing so, the curtains, now well alight, fell and wrapped around his arms. Dad tried to free himself but not before he was badly burnt. In her wisdom and obvious lack of first-aid knowledge, the owner of the house cracked a couple of eggs on the burns and rubbed them in. Apparently she thought this would cool the burns. Unfortunately for the dad the eggs had the opposite effect, increasing the burning whilst turning into instant omelettes.

An ambulance was called and dad was rushed to hospital. He returned home days later with both arms bandaged from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers. Dad?s arms were in bandages for several weeks, he couldn?t even hold his dick for a pee. I would watch him sitting in the kitchen chair struggling to hold on to his cigarette and having to have mum feed him; it was heartbreaking. I somehow knew this was the end, that this time he was truly F###ed. What use is a builder without hands?

Dad had been at home for several weeks, his burns taking a long time to heal. He was sitting in the kitchen one night talking to mum about their ever-increasing money problems when the phone rang. It was his brother Ron. Ron had heard through the grapevine that he was in trouble. He said the family had had a discussion and wanted to help. Ron asked dad to write down exactly what he owed, how much he owed the bank and how much he needed to see him through until he was fit to go back to work. He told dad that there was no need to worry and the family would get him back on his feet. At the end of the conversation dad looked full of the joys of spring. I can remember him saying that he knew his brothers and sisters wouldn?t let him down. Dad was very tearful. That night we all went to bed a lot happier.

The next day mum and dad sat in the kitchen working out exactly what their financial situation was. They had it all written out on paper in neat little columns, right down to the last penny. When they finished dad got on the phone to Ron and gave him the figures. Ron said to leave it with him and he would get back soon. About three weeks went by and there was no word from Ron. Dad was getting frustrated and gave him a call. There was a discussion for a couple of minutes and dad put the phone down slowly. He looked choked; there were tears in his eyes. ?What?s wrong? said mum ?They are not going to help? He said in a trembling voice ?Ron said it was best we sorted our own problems out?

Finally the last nail had been struck and the coffin lid was now down good and proper.

Eventually, after being off work and at home for months, the bills couldn?t be paid. Dad?s so-called pub friends had gone, his family had let him down and he was broke. The bailiffs were called in. Dad, suddenly, almost overnight, became a smelly old man with no hope and no will to live. If he wasn?t in bed he was sitting in the armchair wearing a dirty vest with tea stains down the front. He was unshaven, unwashed, his fingers were yellow with nicotine stains, his eyes were dead and his face expressionless; he was knackered and all those hangers-on, his good old pub mates, were nowhere to be seen, not one of them!

Despite everything, dad refused to go bankrupt and promised to pay all his debts no matter how long it took. He was taken to court by the tax man and by the bank. He owed thousands, but promised to pay a set amount each month. He was a proud man with proud words, but that was about it. From then on it was up to mum to earn enough to pay the monthly amount set by the courts.

Mum got herself a job, working at County Hall in the city of London as a cleaner. She started work at 6am, catching a bus at 5am, working through until 11am, and then catching a bus home at 11.30am. At 12.30pm she started on her second job, working in a baker?s shop, at the corner of Fellbrigg and North Cross Road, finishing at 6pm. By 6.30 she was at home cooking the tea. She kept this up for years and years until all the debts were paid. As for dad, he eventually got himself a job and carried on doing what he had always done: spending most of his earnings in the pub.

Now I ask you, was dads pride worth the pain my mum went through working all those hours to pay his debts? He must have thought so and I suppose she must have too. But why? Was it that mum?s love for dad was second to none, or was her pride even greater than his? No, I think the answer was her determination to hold together what family she had left. This was far greater than any pride or love for my dad. I will never know the true answer but she proved to have more guts and determination then most of us could ever dream of, certainly more than dad.

During all of these bad times there were terrible episodes: endless arguments, depression, threats of suicide, and bailiffs at the door. My whole life and all that surrounded me was full of hopelessness and misery. Dad was a walking dead man, mum was almost dead on her feet

from working, and my bother and sister had gone. I was now alone trying to work out in my

little head why things were this way. I remember spending endless nights in my bedroom, hiding under the covers while mum and dad argued, and it was always the same argument, money and drink.

It?s silly I know, but for some reason every night I would pray that mum would live until she was one hundred and eleven years old and my dad until he was one hundred and eight. Somewhere in my little mind I wanted mum to have a couple of years without dad, without the arguments and some happiness. Why I chose such an old age I don?t know.

There was one time when I was so concerned about the arguments and the continuous tears falling from mum?s face that I asked her if she wanted me to kill dad. She looked shocked, put her arms round me and told me not to be silly. She said that dad loved us both very much, that he didn?t mean to be horrible and that things would soon get better. I don?t know to this day if I could have killed my dad. I like to think that I wouldn?t, but at the time I just may have.

CHAPTER 16

Christmas Without The Turkey

As a child Christmas was one of the greatest days of the year. I can remember days before Christmas all the kids in the street would go down to Lues the butchers, on the corner of Crystal Palace and Whateley Road, and look through the window at the turkeys hanging up on a rail. The turkeys would be labeled with the name of the customer who had ordered them. We would argue as to who had the biggest turkey On Christmas day there would be presents, lots of food and drink, and everyone, no matter how much they had to drink, was happy.

Right from when I was able to walk I went to the pub with my dad and brother on Christmas morning. From about the age of seven, dad would buy me a pint of mild and give me a Tom Thumb cigar. I would sit in the corner of the pub like a little old man. Even better, I would be allowed to play a game of darts. At home, at the Christmas dinner table, I was given a glass of champagne and a bottle of pale ale. As a treat, dad always bought me a bottle of Greens ginger wine, which I would drink during the evening. Yes, along with all the others,

I got pissed to or so I thought.

Despite all the treats, the best treat of all was Christmas lunch around the table. Dad would sit at the top of the table and always had a turkey leg; my brother would have the other leg. Mum would have a wing, Margaret would have a wing and I had breast meat. Why was it that way? I don?t know, it just was, but that?s what Christmas was all about, silly traditions. We would tell jokes, pull crackers and eventually dad would start to sing. It would be the same old songs every year but I loved them.

In contrast, on the first Christmas following the collapse of the business, there was no money for the usual turkey and Christmas treats, and the family had gone, there was just mum, dad and me, not even my big sister June or her husband John paid us a visit, nobody wanted to know. On our table we had sausages, mashed potatoes and a jug of water. It was the worst Christmas ever. We sat at the dinner table eating our so-called Christmas dinner in silence; it?s funny how you can hear silence. Mum and dad?s faces were solemn and dad didn?t even bother to wash or change on this special day. He sat there in a dirty pair of trousers with piss stains down the front of his leg and a tea-stained vest. His hair had now turned completely white from worry and his face had suddenly turned from that of a middle- aged man to an old man. As for mum, she had a look of sadness on her face, it was drawn, and she knew that this was it for a long time to come. I sat looking at them wishing once again that things could be different. Why couldn?t we be happy? Why couldn?t we just be like other people? Why did dad f### everything up by drinking and playing the big man? Why did he burn his hands? Why did my brother run away and why couldn?t dad?s family help? There were so many questions inside my head and so few answers. I have always tried to see the funny side of things in life, no matter how bad they are, but I can?t find anything funny about that day.

Final Chapters this Sunday 21/02/21 at 3pm

Have a lovely weekend

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CHAPTER 17

Finding the Rent Money

Just as I thought that it couldn?t get worse, it did. It was a Saturday afternoon. Dad was in bed and mum was sitting in the kitchen, crying - ?What?s wrong, mum?? ?Nothing, it?s just me being silly,? She dried her eyes but still the tears came. I knew this was serious and continued to question her. Finally, having no one to talk to she broke down totally and talked to me like I was an adult.

We lived in a rented house as did everyone in our street. She had managed to pay the court bills, but was behind with the rent and if she couldn?t find the money by Monday we were going to be evicted. Eviction was a lot easier in the 50?s. Dad had switched himself off to all this and spent most of his time in bed trying to avoid the troubles. I don?t know if I was frightened by what she said, but I did know that I wasn?t going to let my mum sit there and cry and I wasn?t going to let our house be taken away ??How much do we owe?? I asked. ?Lots,? she replied. ?How much is lots?? ?Twenty pounds.? She broke down again, holding her hands to her face. She was trembling. I walked up the passage trying to think of a way of making twenty pounds before Monday. Hedge cutting wouldn?t earn me that much, there was no snow to clear and there was no mint in the garden to sell to the neighbours. I don?t know where good ideas come from but on this occasion an idea just popped into my head from nowhere: I would sell my train set!

Without telling mum I went to the cupboard under the stairs and gathered my train set together. Also in the cupboard was a baby?s pram left there by my sister Margaret when she left home for good. It was in good condition with hardly a mark on it. I put the train set, with all the bits and pieces, in the pram and headed towards the local second-hand shop. The shop was in North Cross Road near the pub on the corner of Crystal Palace Road; I think the pub is still there today. The owner of the shop was known for his meanness; it was going to be a hard job doing a deal with him.

As I pushed the pram down the road I was rehearsing my sales pitch. This was going to be the most important sale of my life. I couldn?t let myself fail. I reached the shop and stood outside for a while to build up my confidence, I took a few deep breaths and pushed open the door sharply and went in. An old-fashioned bell rang over the top of the door. I stood silent,waiting for the owner to appear. As I stood there I looked around to see what he had for sale and the prices he was selling things for; I was trying to judge the price I might get for the train set - ?F### it,? I thought, ?I?m not leaving until I get that rent money.? After a couple of minutes the owner of the shop appeared from the back. He was a frightening-looking man with greasy black hair and staring eyes- ?What do you want?? He said. I think, momentarily, I was on the brink of shitting myself, but my mission was too important to fail? I want to sell my train set,? I said nervously ?Let?s have a look at it.? I pushed the pram forward for him to see He picked his way through the train set picking up the odd piece to examine its condition

?Who?s train set is it? Have you pinched it?? He said ?No, it?s mine and I want to sell it. ?What about your mum and dad? Do they know about this?? ?Yes, I can get a note from them if you want.? He looked me right in the eye almost like he was staring into my mind -?No, I believe ya. How much do you want for it?? I used the same answer I used as a young adult when being asked by a prospective employer how much I expected to earn: ?As much as possible,? I replied. ?I?ll give ya ten pound. Take it or leave it.? He turned away and walked towards the counter. ?Twenty pounds,? I said. He turned and again stared at me. There was a moment of silence - ?Twelve quid, and that?s it.? I had to think fast, but this time I turned the tables. Staring at him with a look of determination I said -?Twenty pounds and I throw in the pram.? ?F###,? I thought to myself, ?It?s Margaret?s pram. She won?t be pleased.? A smile came on his face and I heard the words -?You?ll got a deal Son.? He brushed my head with his hand, reached into his pocket and gave me twenty pounds. I had done it, I had got that f###ing rent money

I ran out of the shop and home as fast as my feet would carry me. I literally crashed through the front door and ran down the passage to the kitchen. Mum looked up at me from the chair where she was still sitting. ?I?ve got the rent money Mum, there?s no need to worry now.? ?What do you mean you?ve got the rent money?? I pulled the twenty pounds from my pocket and placed it on her lap. The look on her face was one of disbelief as tears fell from her eyes ?Where did you get this from?? ?I sold my train set, Mum.? She reached out her arms and pulled me tight to he body. Her voice trembled. ?You?re a good boy, a good boy,? she said. The tears were still falling from her eyes, but these tears were now tears of happiness and not tears of despair. She held me close for a while and things were good, her pain had gone and I felt safe in my home once again. I thought it best not to tell her about Margret?s pram until another time.

CHAPTER 18

The Final Chapter

For a long time after the collapse of dad?s business things were pretty crap. No new clothes, basic food to eat and, on many occasion, holes in the soles of my shoes when going to school; but somehow we managed. How we managed I don?t know. I think when something terrible happens, life takes on a whole new meaning and you just dig in and ride the storm for as long as it takes. At the time I thought that life was shit and I hated what was happening to me and my mum and dad. Looking back it was just an experience I went through, but an experience that taught me a lot about life and people, but most importantly it taught me to be strong, the importance of family life and the values that go with it.

I think the finish of the family business spelt the finish of my old dad. He was always a drinker and he was always a spender, but he always had some go inside him; there was always something there that said, ?Maybe tomorrow thing will get better.? With the end of the business that little something disappeared. He managed after a time to face up to reality and to once again look people in the eye, but his spirit was dead and his dreams had disappeared for ever.

He continued to enjoy his pint and his fags and he continued to have terrible arguments with mum over the silliest of things and occasionally throwing his dinner at the wall. Meanwhile mum continued to pay the debts and keep us afloat and took very little for herself. Funny thing is, beneath all the shit and all the heart ache, they continued to love each other and stayed together for the rest of their days. They don?t make them like that anymore.

It was now 1960, a new decade had arrived and somehow things felt different. I was starting a new school next year, ?Thomas Calton? in Peckham. I was going to make sure I did well; I was going to make sure I was top of my class, got a good education and eventually a good job to make mum and dad proud. After all no school could be worse than Heber Road - Could it?

Acknowledgements

In our younger years, things from the past seem so distant, but as you grow older distance seems to have no meaning and everything that you remember happening in past years, seems to have happened only yesterday.

I have spent many an hour telling my children about my memories. They always seemed to enjoy my stories and never indicated that I was becoming a bore. A few years ago, two of my daughters, Kelly and Tina, asked me to put pen to paper and write all these stories down. Their reason, ?When I?m dead they won?t remember them?. I don?t know if the thoughts of being dead are a good reason for writing a book, but it gave me food for thought.

I have, for a long time, tried to trace the origins of my mother?s father, who was killed in the First World War. I have no photos of him and no knowledge of the type of person he was. It was this that made me think that a book about my childhood would be interesting not only to my children but to my grandchildren and their children long after I have departed this world. So, in that context, Kelly and Tina were right.

It?s strange, but before writing this book I had never really analysed my childhood; as far as I was concerned it was normal. However, putting pen to paper has made me realise that my childhood was probably very different from the norm. I didn?t know it at the time but it was a great adventure, full of happenings, disaster, laughter, sadness and excitement. There were many times when I wished for a different mum and dad, a nice house, good clothes and holidays by the seaside. Now, in my later years and having written this book, I realise that I had the best childhood and the best mum and dad in the world. They made my life colourful, taught me how to survive and gave me a reason for wanting a better life. Without them I would have never of known what life was like at the bottom of the pile and probably wouldn?t appreciate what I have today

Thanks, Mum and Dad ? I will never forget you and all that you done for me xx

Thankyou everyone for reading my stories and I hope it brought a little happiness into your lives during these troubled times.

?Wardy The Kid From The Rough End Of The Street? is an available published book written by Eric J Ward.

[Alexthecamel]

Thanks so much Wardy! I?ve really enjoyed reading your memoirs.

[BrandNewGuy]

Many thanks for these posts, Wardy. A very vivid and honest look at a bygone age. Great stuff!

[MrsR]

Thank you Wardy. Please share a few more stories With us. Perhaps from your secondary school experiences. X

[peckman]

same here Wardy. I really enjoyed reading your stories. Funny how things of moved in a relatively short space of time. Even thinking of my childhood in the 70s and 80s - i imagine 'kids of today' couldn't believe it - what do you mean people used to smoke on buses?!! etc

[sally buying]

Wardy did you ever get to go to the pawnshop on Monday for money for the week and back on a Friday to get the best bib & Tucker out for the weekend.

Can remember going with my grandparents. Wonderful memories that make you appreciate what you have now.

Enjoyed the read.

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Watch this space ;->