THE DAYS OF CURLY SPENCER

Prologue

Perhaps it was the absence of the normal Sounds of Night. Perhaps it was the primitive rising of hackles at the back of his neck. Whatever it was, something was wrong. Then the guns opened up.

Chapter One

A sleepy hamlet. A town in deep repose. Behind the solid black mass of Mountain a tiny spearhead of Light. Dawn was coming. Deep shadows spread; lengthened in resistance to the new light. Chaste shadows fled before the bomb bursts of sight.

In his bed the young boy hovered between asleep and awake; that magic time when time itself seemed to swallow. Time upon his watch seemed to move only half minutes when coming out of a doze seeming like hours. Sensations were at a peak. Sensuality was high. Blood flowed to erotic zone.

Throughout this time and into his warm, safe, hidey-hole there was a new sound in his world. Lyrics echoed; sounds haunted; he was carried along with a new pulse. A pulse which interjected, insisting, into all his thoughts. Rock they called it. Jungle music his parents called it. He didn't call it, it came unbidden into his thoughts now. A strange sound. " "People see us everywhere; they think you really care - - but myself I can't deceive; I know it's only make believe."

The intonation stretched. He stretched with it. B E E E--Lee-E E----Verr. A new sound quite unlike Mario Lanza or Harry Secombe or Richard Tauber or even Johnny Ray. Strange these older women; you pretend to cry and you get a thick ear; he weeps buckets and they actually drool.

Saw an American car yesterday. All pink would you believe. How does someone drive a thing that size on our roads? And the steering wheel on the wrong side. I wouldn't like to be coming the other way. It dips and wallows when you sit on the corners too. Not like a Sunbeam Talbot. Same sort of accent from the Guy; hard to understand all the words. Carol over the road can't have too much difficulty because they say she dropped her knickers for him. And " gum", why on earth do kids gather for that? His face when I refused it! Horrible stuff, sickly, and it just goes on and makes your jaw ache. Who would want to BLOW bubbles and get that revolting stuff all over their nose? Mike Williams of course.

Mike Williams is a real cadger. We didn't cure him with that Spangle sweet we kicked through all the dirt and muck in the toilets. Quick wash under the tap in the cloak-room and he ate it . Then he didn't believe us when we told him what we had done with it. Surprising it didn't get chipped or dissolved a bit! Perhaps he'll get a disease.

I bet Crad the Garth has had a ride in that American car. He gets everywhere. That time down at the river at Sandy when he had swimming trunks on. Those huge bumps, like ginormous pimples without a head to squeeze, over his knees and head. What a way to go on; thumbing lifts all day. They say he is not all there of course. Just wanders around thumbing lifts; going nowhere. The way he jumps out into the road to stop the car passing; I wonder he's not killed. Perhaps that's where the bumps came from? The time he appeared at sports day and old Potter couldn't get rid of him. The kids cheering. Potter didn't like that. Better than horse racing though.

Dog stirs and stretches on bed. Alsation and youth in one single bed doesn't really fit but it is cosy most times. Not with a flea epidemic though! You bit my dad on the bum last week. Didn't like it did he? Well you were only defending me; he shouldn't have shouted like that. It was funny though. Him shouting; you under the table getting so agitated that the table was moving up and down. Him getting red in the face, half concentrating on you barking, half shouting at me for giving Vernon a black eye. Hand raised, and then you bit him; 0ne quick dash from under the table cloth, teeth in bum, back in place growling again. And his face! What a picture. The silence whilst he came to believe it had really happened. The pain in his bum I bet. And then he somehow managed to grab you and pull you out from under the table. Dragged you outside. I thought he was going to hurt you. That is why I shot him on the bum with my air rifle. Then of course, a big chase up the stairs to get into the attic before he could catch me. Two flights of stairs, his panting loud behind me but no time to look. Up the ladder and open the trap door, into the loft and trap door slammed down on fingers. Three and a half hours before he cooled down!

Dawn insisting---- B E E E --Lee-E E ----Verr---- Dawn insisting. The castle on the hill clear in the light now. The greens a true green now. The birds have started properly; a full orchestra. Dawn insisting. So what to do with the day.? Walk down to the bridge? A Vimto in the coffee bar when it opens? Have I got threepence? Down to the river?---- B E E E--Lee-E E----Verr. Got some pop bottles I can take back for the threepence. Provided of course that my little sister hasn't found them. You really have to watch little sisters; they creep up on you unawares. You get over confident knowing they are always around somewhere and then they just appear where they are not supposed to be. "Mam; he's taking pop bottles back, can I have some to take back too?"

Dawn insisting--- out of bed. Quick resolve; leave the cloying, warm, womb-like nest; quick, before comfort dominates again. Clothes on quick; leave space around face and neck for a quick wash. "Have you washed your neck?"The water is quite cold, so no lingering.To the toilet; open the window to the garden. Back to room for air gun. Where are the pellets? Finds pellets under underpants in the draw. Out of window; dog following.

Dawn patrol. Inspection of undergrowth and neighbours property. Crouch down behind wall, put a pellet in the gun. Up above wall, take sight at green lamp in neighbour's garden festoon; crack; lamp explodes. Vacuum lamps are really effective! Down behind wall. Dog crouches too, silent in this well known prelude to shop complaints. "They keep exploding, what is the matter with them;"" They cost enough and they don't seem to last more than a few days."Sound of door opening; FOOTSTEPS upon the path. Neighbour inspects his problem festoon. This is the modern world for you; looks beautiful on the surface but underneath it just blows up on you. Sound of retreating footsteps; resigned, retreating footsteps followed by sound of door closing. Just one more; have to ration these out; mustn't be greedy. Crack; explosion. Dog too is back into the crouched position behind the wall. Time passes, but this time the neighbour's door is not opened. Resigned to fate and shoddy modern workmanship.

Time passes. Enough time. Boy moves to wall looking out over the main road. Dog mooches, then settles. Time passes in the age old rhythm; peace and quiet. The quiet is punctuated by a staccato intrusion as birdsong suddenly stops.Sound of shotgun fire. Echoes in the Valley. Puzzlement. Puzzlement turns to dawn in his mind; "That bastard who has been killing crows"Picture of strewn feathers, black bits, bits of baby bird mingled with blood and guts of mother. Horror; anger. The river is very fast flowing; buried deep where it has cut itself into the Earth over the years. Steeply sided banks populated by trees and bush; the bush interesting because inside, away from cursory glance on the outside, ran tunnels linking dens looking out upon the surrounding world. High up in the tips of those high trees, nests. Gaunt resting places silhouetted against the sky; placed in worship of a Sun God. Places of refuge; places of birth. Places of haven, in harmony with all those who lived and played in bushes and trees, upon the banks, beside the river. Now turned into sadistic game. Rifle pointed to sky; pellets blast through nest;and bits of bird, blackened feather, rain upon the Earth. "What does the set book in grammar school say? It is twice blessed? Untouched by mercy? Anger. Check the pellets, then over wall and off at a run.

Within the protecting heart of thorn bush, creeping carefully, aware of twigs and their noise if stood upon. Creeping carefully. Now down on belly, gun pushed forward, keep it out of dirt; view opening up. There he is, the bastard. Stood there with gun broken open awaiting a new cartridge. Contain the anger; sight carefully on earlobe. Crack. Leap in air, gun dropping into dirt. Hand to ear. Wildly looks about. Stay low, keep quiet, watch. Bush is perfect protection; a long way around, no way through the thorn barrier. Plenty of bolt holes, but he mustn't see and recognise. Head up. He has picked up shotgun, dusting it off. Looking at nests again.Can see the bits of black feather around him. Crack. The other ear. Gun in dust again; pain and puzzlement on face. Risk a look; disappearing back. Don't be fooled now; set in and wait; listen. Time passes. Birds sing. No twigs cracking in the bush. Down to river; stroll along bank. Sun glistens on fast moving water and shady pool. All is well in my World. Think of the time with my grandfather outside the theatre in Liverpool. He knew where Roy Rogers would come out; everyone else gathered around the main exit. Roy would have been proud of his "little partner" Did he really have Trigger One stuffed.? Weren't his eyes funny? Like oriental eyes. Was he part Indian? And those stories about trick bullets for his trick shooting? No, they can't be true. I never had time to ask him that. Nor to tell him that my grandmother and her sister had been two of Buffalo Bills Indian squaws when his circus came to Liverpool. Funny that; to think that my gran knew someone in the comic books. They make out it was an awful long time ago. Climb the tree into the Den. Good place this; you can see the whole path and no-one can see you. Why don't people ever look up?

Turned 9.00a.m. and back home. Sitting on wall looking out at the road. Long sweep of house to the left, no windows, garden to the right, path inbetween. Sound of bicycle bell; Jerry the telegram boy trying to get past. Airgun up. Bicycle wheel appears around wall and with it a very apprehensive Jerry in full uniform. Ping the bike frame and he retreats. "Don't be stupid, I've got an urgent telegram to deliver". Bike wheel appears and is duly pinged. Sounds of frustration. Long moments pass between each attempt to go past. Vain attempt on other side of road but the angle of exposure is too great and he chickens out. Better the short dash. After twenty five minutes he makes it; problem of sticky pellet in tin. Never mind there is always tomorrow and perhaps he won't moan so much at school about having to explain why it takes him so long to deliver things.

After 10 am. Time to take pop bottles in for the deposit. Good little haul. Gather them up and off to the Little Shop. Always a pleasure going to Mrs Roberts shop. She has got a genuine parrot which swears. She has always taken me in to see it, ever since I was a little one. One and four pence on the bottles. Great! Now in to see the parrot. Lift the cover. "Who's a pretty boy.?"" Not me you silly bugger."

Down at the BRIDGE. Beautiful old bridge across the river. High mountains around. In a sleepy village everyone gravitates to the bridge. This is simply because everyone going somewhere sooner or later has to walk this way. Standing on the bridge you see the world go by. It comes to you. Life in a sleepy village can be pretty boring but this beats watching paint peel off a gate or even helping it to peel sometimes. But outsiders and tourists don't realise just how boring a little village can be. Those beautiful mountains can become a trap. The very keenness and freshness of the air can be a trap. Nowhere else feels quite the same. Anyway what life there is sooner or later moves past the BRIDGE. For the wishful high flyer; the event junkie, it is the obvious place to be.---- Horror! The Village Bobby. Pinned into a recess and I didn't even hear the bugger coming up. Can't be about cigarettes. I've given them up since those five Robins bought with my church collection plate money, made me so sick. Does God get back at you like that?.---- random thoughts of the hunted caught by the hunter---- "Aha! I was looking for you. Saves me a walk up to your house. Have you been down on the river bank with your air gun again?". When do you mean?." This morning---- Well you probably haven't, but if you see the bugger there again shoot him again for me." Exit policeman, smiling benevolently at all and occasionally touching his helmet in generous salute. All is well in my World. Near squeak!

One and tuppence and a quarter of sugared almonds. Bound to attract attention. Mike Williams! Mr Radar himself. Famous for pioneering the semi- crew cut and for cadging. Guilt! It might have given him some weird disease that sweet. Conscience! Alright I'll buy you a Vimto in the coffee bar.

In the coffee bar a Liverpudlian with a guitar elegantly held in place on his back. Scouse tourists quite a common sight but the guitar is unusual. Buy a Vimto and a grapefruit for Mike Williams. Jukebox sounds better but different. Not the jukebox; Liverpudlian with guitar. "People see us everywhere. They think you really care. But myself I can't deceive. I know it's only make believe."

CHAPTER 2

Europe's largest industrial estate. A metropolis that never sleeps. Over the estate hangs a cloud of assorted flavours. Here the sweet, sickly, cloying smell of bubble gum; here the deeper rounder taste of chocolate; here the carried droplets of engine oil. Above the haze a tiny spearhead of Light. Dawn was coming. Deep shadows spread; sinking in resistance to the new light. And there it is; Europe's first and biggest industrial estate. Shops of plenty; overflowing with goods of every description. Companies feeding upon each other; space suit manufacturer, instant potato, racing car; central heating meets prospective moon buggy and all fed by chocolate bar. America meets Europe. Europe is Britain. Britain is still Empire.

In his bed the youth hovered between sleep and awake; that magic time when time itself seemed to swallow. Time upon his watch seemed to move only half minutes when coming out of a doze seeming like hours. Sensations were at a peak. Sensuality was high. Blood flowed to erotic zone.

Throughout this time and into his warm, safe, hidey-hole there was a new sensation in his world. Lyrics echoed; Sounds haunted; he was carried along with a new pulse. A pulse which interjected, insisting, into all his thoughts." I want to be your lover; your friend is all I stay; just half way to Paradise; so near yet so far away."

The intonation stretched. He stretched with it. "So knee-are yet so-wo far away" Two tickets for the rock show tonight at the Adelphi! Billy Fury, Terry Dene and supporting acts. Thoughts of Mary. Mary of the beautiful figure. Mary of the lovely eyes; softest lips. Mary of the passionate response. Mary---- Moonlight flashes in response to end of snooze time and the "alarm off" is passionately hit. Quick resolve; leave the cloying, warm, womb-like nest; quick, before comfort dominates again. Clothes on quick. Loosely in anticipation of shower, shave, and after shave. Good alarm that; really works. A flashing light is so much more gentle than a piercing alarm.

Bloody showers. Too cold; small adjustments; too hot; small adjustments; too cold; then perfection! Then someone turns a tap on or flushes the toilet.----Perfect now. Luxury. Revels in it. Thinks of Mary - - - Bugger!---someone has flushed the toilet. Make a dash or sweat it out? Don't be stupid! Grabs towel.

Opens bathroom window and looks out on the garden. An Albino Sparrow is by the side of the pond pecking away at bits of sliced loaf. Strange that, he thinks, but do I really believe the theory that the whitener in the bread is the cause of a white Sparrow? The birds are remarkably tame. Some even come into the house for a piece of bread; lucky we don't have a cat and that dogs are not interested in catching birds. Thoughts of fat black Spaniel lying in wait with a "Mutley" chuckle. The air is flat and he reflects again upon the difficulty in breathing here after the sweet pure air of the mountains.

Showered, shaved and towel dried. Powdered and perfumed including armpits and including naughty bits; you never know your luck! Off to shop in murder mile (he didn't know it as Murder Mile at this time; this was a phrase used by a college lecturer in marketing a few years later to illustrate the competitive nature of this particular shopping high street). Five mens suit shops next to each other and another two down the other end of the high street. To Burton's and his new friend; some embarrassment as he is measured up; ribald comments of other friends remembered. "He'll want to measure your inside leg."" Which side do you dress?" Then on to choose material from the sample books. Listen to advice; choose the expensive material because the making up cost is the same so you get a much, much better suit for the money this way. A superb charcoal cloth. A good Italian two buttons style. Red silk lining. Over sewing of lapels and pockets. Leather protectors inside the turnups. Raised side seam. Good to have a friend in the trade!

Tour of shoe shops; special offers. Select black pair of semi-Winklepickers; concession to the God of fashion without being extreme. Some of them Ali Baba would have thought extreme!--- Cuban heels to make that magic 6 ft. Off to covered market and the record stall.

The record stall lies in the far corner of the market and to get to it involves going past the pet shop. Puppies in cages; rabbits; guinea pigs and hamsters. Goldfish so numerous and so large they seemed to rival the fishmongers opposite. Memory of Morgan, bought here. Package so small; such a small ball of grey fluff that he fitted into the palm of my sister's hand. Six months later a giant with a streak like a Rhodesian rindback. Goodness knows the recipe, but all the wall corners in her house had to be steel reinforced. These he couldn't chew, but he could bend. Alsations crossed over to the other side of the street! He also bit my dad and the Liberal parliamentary candidate on the bum. (in later years it appears that the Liberal parliamentary candidate was in the fairly regular habit of dropping his trousers to prospective voters in order to show the scars---it had taken three people and a stick to de-attach the dog, but the candidate still smiled, albeit tearfully, at his prospective voters ).

Heaven in 8 foot by 10 foot. The record stall. Leafing through the L.P.'s, the relatively new 45's and the e.p.'s. Time has no meaning now. All the names. Pat Boone, Marty Robins, Everly Brothers, Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly and the Crickets, Lonnie Donegan, Cliff Richard and the Shadows, Ricky Nelson, Tommy Steele, Duane Eddy, Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, Perry Como, Johnny Mathis, Frank Sinatra, The Platters, Jack Scott, Brenda Lee, Wanda Jackson, Paul Anka, Brook Benton, Johnny Preston, Johnny Burnette,Johnny Tillotson, Eddie Cochran, Del Shannon, Bobby Vee and the Kingston Trio.----and of course Conway Twitty. These were the days when shops had a complete list of L.P.'s produced and any back number could be obtained. Heaven in 8 foot by 10 foot.

Off to tea shop with newly liberated "Moonlight" by Pat Boone. What a choice of teas. Assam, Darjeeling, Earl Grey, Lapsang Souchong. Go for the Lapsang and an apple strudel. Heaven extends its influence; good day a Saturday. And a rock concert to look forward to.

Back home to crisis. Just standing by the pond in the rear garden; minding my own business. Twenty five yards away at the bottom of the garden, an 8 ft high fence with a gate in it. Suddenly a huge bang and movement of air; the fence silhouetted in a fringe of colour and pallid smoke. Down to gate; fling it open. There in the scrubland stands a boy, I think, frozen in the act of applying a taper to the "blue touch paper". Naked; white where clothes had previously been, soot black everywhere else. 15 yards behind and crouched behind a hillock, the 11 year old grandson of the lovely old couple next door. Kid is o.k. and scrubs up reasonably well but is rather deaf. Looks a bit odd in the oversized spare clothing too. It seems that young John had read about bombs made with lavatory cleaner and had talked his friend into applying the match----whoosh----Boom----reluctant convert to a one boy nudist club. no colour prejudice though, black and white evenly distributed albeit with a heavy hand.

Reflection----Better than the sport on the TV and in glorious Technicolor too, even the black and white bits. What a fix that wrestling is! All those women, including my mum, shouting for Big Daddy and the rest; surely they can see it is all a big fix. Not like boxing. Memory----of film footage shown a few nights ago of Joe Louis, as an old man completely penniless, fighting a wrestler in what appears to be an American fashion these days. Can a boxer beat a wrestler? Pictures of this old man grabbed and arm-locked and dumped upon the floor until, in great dignity, he stood back and with measured punch literally lifted wrestler off the floor and over the ropes into the crowd; what a punch! what a boxer he must have been! memories of father describing his fights so enthusiastically. He himself had been trained as a youngster by an ex world middleweight champion. One who had fought Ted Kid Lewis and toured the United States unbeaten. In fact I met him years ago back in the station cafe in Liverpool. How many times have I told that tale to my friends, but I still feel they don't believe it. Anyway it's true; I may only have been five or six but I can still remember it. That huge man with an Irish accent using swear words at the woman behind the counter. My dad and I had just met his old friend, Frank, in the crowd outside and was buying him a cup of tea. He looked so old and frail and small even to me and he had a nasty cough. When the swear words cut through the air of disbelief, he was there so quickly. "Don't talk to a lady like that" "Who do you think you are you f****g old man"----attempt to throw a punch. Movement almost faster than the eye and the big man's feet literally leave the ground. My father said in later years that when the big man finally came around he was too embarrassed to make a complaint. I am thinking of this now because of that Joe Louis fight.

Plenty of time to get ready for Mary and the concert. Full scrub in the shower, powder and pre-shave. Shave and after shave. Pale yellow shirt with the high collar; flash grey and black tie. Charcoal suit and black patent leather shoes. Roamer wrist watch; ivory tie-pin. Hair slicked and quiffed. Teeth and tongue thoroughly brushed. Check the wallet and the driver's licence; check the tickets for the 30th time. Can you believe it, an hour and ten minutes to spare? An hour and ten minutes to avoid the dog hairs and mothers insistence on eating.

There to pick Mary up 20 minutes early. Just as well because she is there within a few seconds. the car park at the Adelphi is mad; just as well we are early. Front row seats; can't be bad! Inside there is a huge air of excitement. The noise is deafening. Time soon passes and then the curtains are drawn back. Momentary silence as air is expelled from a thousand lungs; then shrieks and cheers for the support band. Guitars strike up and the sound is immense; overwhelming. Gradually the ears adjust but the bodies still pulse to the sound wave energy levels rocking in the air.Wee Willie Harris! what a nutter! Bright shock of red hair; scruffy looking. Belting out the noise and pretending to tear his clothes off. Lewd gyrations and pelvic thrusts all at eye level from the front row. Shocked and embarrassed side glances at Mary who appears to be totally interested in the stage performance.

Thank goodness for Terry Dene. He is superb. What a talent he has got; as good as any of the Americans who dominate everything. Terry Dene does five numbers to finish off the first half of the performance, nervous when he is not singing, supremely confident when he is. The crowd is really with him. Standing applause to call him back for four curtain calls. The audience doesn't want him to go. After the interval and the ice cream, the huge sound starts again and ears have to re- adjust. Two supporting acts who are not that good and then the Top of the Bill to finish the second half of the concert. Billy Fury. Air of expectation; silence penetrated by the sound of held breath released for survival. And then he is there; garish outfit, guitar. Recognition----Ron Wycherly----Thoughts go back to that coffee bar in my home town. Mike Williams and his cadged drink; a Liverpudlian with a guitar and a lot of talent.

CHAPTER 3

Dawn over the mountains. In his warm bed the boy is wide awake. The Alsation too is apprehensive, sensing the mood. School; the holidays over; finished in one mad gallop at "fast forward" quite at contrast to the slow rollover of snapshot at the beginning of the holiday. Fifth year. Oldest of the main school; outranked only by the sixth form.

Time for reflection. The headmaster; Jones of the quick temper and flashing hands. Memory of those first days freshly arrived from junior school. The tiers of benches in the classroom; the boards behind the huge desk, raised up from floor level so that there were three steps to get to the stool behind it. And behind it Jones of the ready hands. Inevitably it happened; one boy at the first bench flicked a piece of paper. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No its Superhead! Superhead red in face, accosting young Fletch. "Did you throw that?" No answer was needed, this was just the prelude to action; hand flashed to cuff Fletch on the ear, completely ignoring young Armstrong whose head is in direct line. Except that is, young Armstrong has the sense to duck before impact and also on the back swing and also on the five or six ear cuffings that immediately follow; who is counting at this speed? perhaps young Armstrong! What an introduction to the school and headmaster. Silence reigns as headmaster carries on with religious studies. A dazed Fletch is completely ignored; outcast, to be carried out of the bullring at break time and refreshed with Tizer

Jones was a good introduction to the art teacher. He threw solid wooden blackboard erasors weighing half a pound and his aim was not always too good. When he became self- conscious of his poor aim, doubtless a conscience touched by the sight of broken innocents, he resorted to inviting the guilty one to place his or her hand upon the wooden desk top, whereupon he would sharply strike the knuckles with the wooden end of the erasor. His final punishment, upon reflection, was to require the unfortunate to draw 20 different varieties of tree. This never worried me; my father enjoyed drawing trees. Perhaps he wouldn't have if he had known they were punishment rather than set work!

The other Jones, Jacko, taught physics and he was the character of the school. Everybody liked Jacko, except perhaps for Mike Danes who seemed to be the only person in the whole world who could get on Jacko's wrong side. Jacko was a veteran of two world wars and completely laid back. Mike Danes could never quite come to terms with the fact that he was unique in this respect. If he put up his hand to answer a question Jacko would say "Put your hand down Danes and give someone else a chance". If he didn't put up his hand Jacko would say "What is the matter Danes, don't you know the answer?"This all came to fruition when a dozing Danes was accosted by Jacko with the question "What is a Tangent Galvonometer Danes" a flummoxed Danes replied out of daze, and perhaps surprised at being asked a direct question, "It speaks your weight and tells your fortune Sir". Silence. More silence. Jacko says sardonically "Get out Danes" Danes exits to wait for the headmasters patrol. Another first. Jacko had never before ejected a kid, asleep or not. The headmasters comments are not recorded but they probably involved ears.

Danes was not necessarily punished of course. Jones the headmaster was not too keen on Jones , Jacko. Rumour had it that Jacko had turned down the offered headship a number of times, including the time that Jones came. Jones was a proud man! Their relationship was not helped either by Jacko's quaint custom of throwing out the tea dregs he had brewed in the physics Lab straight out of the window regardless of who was passing. The headmaster had been the uninvited recipient on at least two occasions. Hence the joy of those kids who had physics immediately after lunch. Picture the scene; Jacko would say "Open the window lad " He would then throw out the dregs. "Close the window lad". This procedure happened with a total disregard for whoever happened to be passing or indeed whatever sounds they made as they were covered with tea drains. A similar happening occured in mid- lesson. Jacko again would say "Open the window lad" followed by a clearing of the phlegm in his throat, then spits out of window followed by "Close the window lad". No wonder his lessons were popular. Kids sat close to the front in order to be the one opening the window and seeing the result. A popular man. The physics went in to; a very successful teacher judged by results.

The music teacher and the art teacher were married. He extremely tall and gaunt and thin with a habit of poetically describing food; permanently hungry. She small and round with plain mousey hair and horn- rimmed spectacles, but the most magnificent breasts. Young boys were transfixed by these; glazed in the eye throughout the lesson which followed. Competition for the front seats was fierce. She always spotted change of seats in any rota system designed to be fairer, but she didn't always remove the new kid at the front with the glazed expression. She seemed to understand. Her control of a class was legendary.

The French teacher tried to control by very different means. She was very petty, very petite and with the most delicious accent. With the breasts of the music teacher she would have been devastating; however she was quite light in this direction. She controlled by bursting into tears, often followed by dominant male teacher or teachers invading to find the culprit. Evidence did not seem to matter; dominance dominated the menu card.

Hillier was a different kettle of fish. Young and arrogant. A young aspiring Terry Thomas caricature without the moustache. He drove an open top Sunbeam Talbot in both summer and winter, and most morning journeys to school involved him overtaking the school bus, in dramatic fashion, to the rapturous cheering of all the kids. He really fancied the French mistress! It never did him any good. Perhaps this was because of the way the boys cheered him on at all occasions. Even those times when he had thought, initially, he was alone with her. "Do you fancy him miss?". Tears.

Slasher and Worthing were two old cronies of Jacko. They had fought with him in the First World War and had been shelled together. This memory lingered on with Slasher who trembled uncontrollably on all occasions. Worthing had retired at least twice but came back in emergencies to teach mathematics. The three of them brewed tea in the physics Lab and no doubt talked over old times. This of course increased the volume of Jacko's tea dregs. Slasher was well known for asking first formers where his next class was, or where such and such room was. He had only been in the school for 40 years! Worthing drove a Bentley.

Potter and Gittings vied for the title of "most disliked" as opposed to the title "most feared" which was undisputedly held by Jones. He a crabby old bachelor in his mid-fifties, she a craggy old spinster of the same vintage. Everyone of course tried to pair them up in the vain hope of resulting mellowness. It never happened, although she did colour in his presence and become a "young thing" again. This gave us hope, akin perhaps to that felt by the occupants of the Alamo under attack from Santa Anna, but as in that case it came to nothing. Thirty years and through successive generations of school kids this attempt at match making had resulted in failure. We lived with that failure. All we could do was retaliate. Little things like tying shut the door to the geography room. Little things like bouncing his car between two trees so that he needed a three thousand point turn to get it out. Such is life.

No more time for reflection. Time to move quickly. Slide into clothes leaving middle of face empty for a quick polishing with a damp flannel. Out and onto bike. Here at school; funny how you never remember the bits inbetween. You remember getting on the bike and you remember getting off, but nothing inbetween. Into assembly. Crowds of kids blinking in the near daylight; glazed expressions on their faces; torn from a warm womb each of them. Quiet falls, the sounds of eyelids cease as the staff enter. All it needs is a bugle call and its "Entry of the Bullfighters". What a surprise! No Jones. In his place a small New Man strides firmly in. Who is this?

It soon becomes obvious that we have a new head master. Jones' ear fetish has obviously extended to the ears of higher-ups. The new headmaster, introduced by Potter as Mr Rogers, begins his inaugural speech. Turns out to be Dr Rogers not Mr Rogers; Black mark for Potter.

Suddenly Dr Rogers has grabbed everyone's attention. Funny how you know something important is coming up by the shuffling and shifting and uncomfortable postures of the staff. What is that he said? He insists that the increasing habit of boys greeting each other by grabbing their intimate parts must cease forthwith. Dangerous practice. Medical condition. Dankworth's mother has complained; he has had surgery in that area; more grabbing would be extremely serious; they could burst! Sympathetic tears streaming into the eyes of a goodly section of his audience, staff included. "You can see why he's a Dr "says an anonymous wag, to be rewarded by a glance of pure authority, searching, probing the general area without a word said. Silence reigns. "I will treat any further occurrence seriously" underlines both talk and comment but not a titter is heard.

After assembly, a performance by the"Banner Trio"; our bit of culture. This has become traditional on the first day of term. Exit the staff; enter the Banner Trio. The welcome is always hearty, a distinct preference to 20 minutes of real lessons. A sweet old lady on the violin, a middle-aged lady on the cello, a smooth-haired little man on the piano who looked as if he had just come from the Barber Shop Quartet, except that it was obviously a wig upon his head. The middle-aged lady gripped the cello tightly between her legs and this always interested the boys in the audience, but the undisputed high spot was the wig. When he bowed in response to the applause, it was always enthusiastic and the chances of the wig flying off were therefore high. The greater the applause the lower the bow! And so to music. A 10 minute piece which seemed to amplify the hard nature of the benches and towards the end the sound of squirming bums was becoming quite audible even against the music. And then blessed silence. And then on cue, rapturous applause. All stand up and a most sickly grin flows across the face of the piano player. Anticipation no doubt of the bow which he now enters into enthusiastically. Hairpiece, unfortunately, remains in place and everyone wonders what on earth is holding it there. Not chewing gum surely ? Second piece after the applause dies down. Then a repeat of the applause, now even louder than before, and the bow deeper and more vigorous in response. This time partial success as the wig lifts at one end to give a tantalising glimpse of scalp beneath and then settles back, with a small vibration, into its original pristine condition. Honour is satisfied.Someone thinks "I bet that wig could be trained to beat time on his head; then they would be a quartet". Exit the Banner Trio to rapturous applause.

The late book is kept by the prefects and at this time it is just outside the cloakroom, at the bottom of the staff room stairs, where it awaits collection by one of the teachers. It is a time honoured tradition that one of the fifth formers gets a look, according to the fifth form anyway. Two keeping guard and there it is with its lovely excuses. "Fell over cow"" Baby ate my school tie" "Cap fell into river and I had to get it out"" Goat bit me".

In the classroom waiting for Hillier. He's our form teacher and will take the register. Three of the boys are very frisky, horsing around with a girl at the front of the class, farthest away from the door. One keeps watch, two frisk. These three have always banded together to dominate others in the class. Obviously incensed by the Headmasters talk they have now obviously decided that he hasn't mentioned girls. One holds; one strokes and feels in the most intimate way. Girl squirms. Hands are now inside her clothing. She does not cry out, she just goes red in the face. Gesture from doorway, Hillier is coming. Scramble for places. Girl returns to the safety of her friends.

After registration six of us are asked to go to see the headmaster. We are made sub prefects. He tells us this is an honour. We don't have to leave the building lunchtime now but we must make sure that everyone else does. An honour! I don't think! Six against the rest. He gives each of us a little badge to be pinned upon our lapels. The badge says "sub-prefect". Oh well this will make all the difference. Headmaster steps back as if he has just dished out the Victoria Cross. He probably has, but it is in advance of the suicidal action!.

Music is the first lesson. Selected with Armstrong to go with music teacher to her local cubby-hole of a store; dark and intimate. She has selected us to help her every week to bring out the instruments. Privilege indeed! This is the stuff of dreams; very naughty dreams. After the music lesson our two resident thugs come up. "We will do this from next week" You must be joking. Threats follow. Conflict appointment is made for after school.

Quick - home for lunch. Back in half an hour in order to patrol inside the coridors. Just my luck! Here we go; the inevitable problem. A big 5S member has decided they don't have to go outside in the lunch hour. Does not respond to persuasion; instead threatens. Somehow it is possible to hold someone bigger than you by belt and collar, open a swing door and throw them out. Anyway it happened. Burly fifth former running forward, head and upper body stooped by the out of balance forces of ejection. Feet pumping like Roadrunner to keep the balance, when out from behind the blind wall walks the new headmaster. Head of boy meets stomach of head with considerable momentum and both are deposited upon the hard floor with considerable force and expelled

air. Within the glass corridor all this is a silent cameo scene. Boy gets up. Head gets up. Finger wags and face is red. Red for a long time and then boy slides off behind building. Head comes in. Considerable girding of loins. Never wanted a sub-prefects badge anyway! Head enters the previously silent world. "Spencer" Impish "yes Sir"." I know that 5S can be a real problem, but if you think about it deeply I am sure you can find an alternative and more diplomatic way to encourage them to leave the building". "YES SIR".

Back in classroom for first period. Classmate Tony says "I understand you've got a meeting with those two tonight after school". That's right. "I told them they must be stupid. I said "haven't you seen him when he loses his temper. I wouldn't like to be you"". Tony in fact had a tough reputation. Thanks Tony. The power of propaganda. They couldn't have been nicer all afternoon; looking for quiet approval; avoidance of words spoken and date decided;mutual acceptance that confrontation is cancelled ;mutual saving of face; move over Freud . The weekly date in the cubby hole protected. Dream on you naughty boy!

Meet Mike Danes at afternoon tea-break. He is now in 5S. He says "I understand you had a bit of bother lunch time". How did you know? "I heard him talking to his mates in the geography room. I was sitting behind. They said they were going to wait for you after school. I said to them "You bloody fools. Haven't you seen him fight? He's got a horrible temper. He'll murder you". I kept on right through the geography lesson, with little chuckles as well. They looked quite pale afterwards. Anyway I'll walk out with you". Thanks Mike. The power of propaganda. Nobody is waiting after school!

There is a scam on. The teachers room is up a little flight of stairs above the boys cloakroom and someone has worked out that the benches in the girl's cloakroom opposite fit perfectly across the little landing and then totally prevent the staff room door being opened. What a jape. Ten of us do it and the fit is perfect. It would even be difficult to move the heavy benches from our end now that they are in place. The whole school gathers as word spreads. At the end of teabreak small noises start. These noises gets bigger. No movement whatsoever! Faces are pressed to the small staff room window but everyone pretends they can "hear nothing". Jacko in the physics Lab wouldn't hear a bomb blast. No-one looks directly at the window. Twenty minutes pass. Worries are starting to set in. A crashing sound outside and everyone scatters. Somehow Hillier has been squeezed head first through the small window and has done a somersault to the ground. The things he will do to impress the French mistress! Still he's limping now, so everyone makes an escape to their normal classroom. Another four minutes and individual teachers appear. Not the French teacher, who is still in tears. Everyone looks surprised at the late entrance of their personal teacher. What kept you Sir? "Don't push it dear boy"

The rest of the afternoon flies by now and everything else is an anti- climax. Chitter chatter after school and some of us plan to meet in the coffee bar later. The other two dates for after-school conflicts have now dissipated. Such is life.

And so home. How does the song go? "Oh what a perfect day----The animals in the zoo----They remind me of you".

CHAPTER 4

Night came quite suddenly in the mountains. This often caught the tourist upon the mountain walk out, but "Locals" made sure they were back before sunset. In these dark nights the coffee bar was a haven of light and sound. Kids only of course; Gigli and Lanza, Mozart and Beethoven, even Johnny Ray were not played upon this jukebox. Frothy coffee, Vimto and Tizer, fizzy pops of many flavours, grapefruit, lemon, orange. Ice creams in tall glasses. A long chromed counter against the wall where you could sit on stools and look at yourself in the wall length mirror. Not just yourself, those with you and those in the rest of the coffee bar too. Small square tables, that you could sit around for private conversations, grouped about the bulk of the floor space. In one corner the huge jukebox with its selection buttons beneath. 3 pence per play, 5 play-offs for a shilling.

Records on the jukebox were all 45's of course. 78's had more or less died out, although you could still get them and some people claimed the sound they made was much better. The records had the inner piece broken out to form a larger central hole which fitted the jukebox turntable. You could buy little packs of triangular inserts to convert second hand records, used in this way, back to fit the normal record player. Watching the jukebox select a record was quite fascinating. Make your selection; insert your money; A 5; arm came out and gripped particular record by its ends, removing it from the stack. Arm moves through 90 degrees and twists record to line up with the turntable, then it moves slowly to deposit record in place and release it. Removing the record was just the reverse of this process. Somehow it never went wrong.

The familiar sounds began to play as he entered the coffee bar. "To know, know, know him is to love, love, love him. Just to see him smile, makes my life worthwhile". Carol is in and she and her giggling simpering friends are making it plain again that she fancies him. This has been going on for weeks. Giggle; giggle; giggle. This record by the Teddy Bears has become his theme tune; even male friends who wouldn't normally be caught dead singing have been heard humming it when he appears. Carol is a determined girl. It is no coincidence that the Teddy Bears were never to have another hit. Even male friends egged him on to go out with her to ease the tension. And to allow some other records to be played no doubt. Life gets very complicated when everyone's eyes are upon you. Everything has different connotations. Why is he doing that? What record is he putting on? What hidden message is there in that record? What more can she do to get through to him? What a Dodo!

"On the street where you live" by Vic Damone----" I have often walked down that street before--". Is he trying to make a date away from the prying eyes in here?"" All I have to do is dream" by the Everly Brothers----" When I want you in my arms; when I want you and all your charms; whenever I want you, all I have to do is dream."" Is this the diplomatic brush off?"" It's all in the game" by Tommy Edwards---- "Many a tear has to fall--"." It is the brush off!"" Whole Lotta Woman" by Martin Rainwater. "Perhaps not". "Great Balls of Fire" by Jerry Lee Lewis. "No comment!""One Night" by Elvis Presley----"One night with you; is all that I'm dreaming of." "Nudge, nudge. wink, wink" "Dream Lover " by Bobby Darin----" Dream lover where are you." "Over there, over there.." "Only sixteen" by Craig Douglas----" She was only sixteen, only sixteen - -""He should be so lucky" Ribald comments start to flow---- "To the Woods, to the Woods." "I'm only thirteen." "I'm not superstitious."---- "It doesn't matter anymore" by Buddy Holly. Strange that. Killed in an air crash and this is the record he has left. The Big Bopper killed too and Richie Valens. Mario Lanza and Billie Holliday are dead too. "Smoke gets in your eyes" by the Platters---- "They asked me how I knew, my true love was true. I of course replied, something here inside, cannot be denied." "Modern man, not afraid to show his feelings." Giggle. Giggle. " To know, know, know him is to love, love, love him."

There is some talk among the boys about Sputnik one and Sputnik two, with its little dog Laika, and about Explorer one and the Polaris missile which has just been launched at sea. Suez is still fresh and always a topic of conversation for our fathers. Everyone is very patriotic. The Americans are very much derided and treated as traitors for their Suez response. So much so that people actually relish the Russian success in Space. There are rumours put about, of course, that this Russian flight did not happen; all clever photography. Such is life and the ways of politicians. All except the most impressionable kids laugh at this suggestion; they are quite happy with Laika. "The Big Country", "Ben Hur", and "Rio Bravo" are the films the boys talk about; "South Pacific" is the one for the girls. Marilyn Monroe is fashionable with boys and girls. "Some Like It Hot" is the current film.

Whatever the detail of the conversations at the bar and at each of the tables, there is only one real topic of interest this night. Carol is determined. She is a whole year older than him and she knows what she wants. He is of course extremely flattered at this attention but too macho to let it show. Can't make out this would be the first real girl friend. He conceals his feelings as far as he is aware of course, Carol reads much more deeply. Still his heart is all a flutter; desire and ambition rivalling a lack of belief in his own prowess and all tied together with a great fear of rejection. Is it real? Is it a setup? Inevitably Carol succeeds and, as the crowd leave the coffee bar, somehow he and she are at the rear together; subconscious pull no doubt or could it just be female skill? Man the Hunter! What a joke!

Being, of course, a gentleman, the conversation, if that is what it is, gets around to him walking her home. And of course the night is far too young for the direct route and so the walk commences in the exact opposite direction. Down along the riverside walk, the route of lovers at every stage of their development. A special place in the night air; stars wink to each other and encourage the Moon to cast exactly the right shade of glow. The Earth too plays its part; gentle breeze and sounds of Nature provide the siren call, just as in all the centuries back to Adam and Eve. Strange that if friends walk this same route together they can manage a reasonable pace and space between them and still hear all the conversation. With boy and girl, somehow a new Earth force arises, akin to magnetism, which causes touching and closeness and the need to hold hands in an unstable world. The only way to keep a balance no doubt. But, irony, balance has gone. All he is conscious of is a touch of her hand, the touching of their shoulders, the very presence of her. Conversation as such seems quite innocuous. Banal comments assume the status of a proclamation by Einstein; delicate profiles and sweeps of hair assume the proportions of a Monroe. The world turns upon a new axis. Both find reasons to stop in this journey, quite distracted, small reasons that could be laughed at in other circumstances; but not this night. After the first two stops, each stop results in a hesitant kiss. Feelings are by now very confused. The world is a quite different place. Strange how emotional feelings swamp the material things that previously seemed important. If someone could bottle these moments they would not only make a fortune but the earth would truly revolve on a different axis and perhaps the fortune would be irrelevant? Meanwhile the kisses have become longer and the sensation of mysterious bodies pressed together in intimate embrace is magically intense. Time has stopped; all is sensation. Sensational sensation. The Moon casts a watery glow, no doubt thinking of other lovers. Stars twinkle knowingly.

Strange how the whole world seems to know these things as they happen. Innuendo everywhere. You get home;---- you look different!----- What have you been doing?---- question---- you look different---- Keep them guessing----threaten little sister with the eyes----maintain your cool at all costs---- they don't really know anything! School next morning and what are you greeted by? The Bernard Bresslaw ditty about two love birds sitting on a fence. Ridiculous isn't it? A comedian with a gruff voice makes a comic song that gets in the charts and then other comedians use it to get a laugh at your expense and make you squirm. Mimicry .. as Carol arrives in school too. We look knowingly at each other. Beautiful moments have to be paid for, but boy were they worth it.