Hello folks I know the pages are quiet at the mo but again I really need help and I have no one else to turn to. I have written the second chapter of my book The Simple Summer of 76 and I am hoping that some will take the time to help a fellow writer. I don't want praise I want solid honest feedback. I know its a big ask but I don't have any other subjective resources. So I would be made up if anyone can help me.
Teddy
Chapter Two
As I walked into the living room the first thing that I couldn't help but notice was that my mum had put up the homemade party banner over the fireplace. The second and almost instant thing I also noticed was that my mum had mopped the floor and put the Pink Echo down for people to walk on.
Now this may not seem much to an outsider but in our house. it was a declaration of war. This was because the Pink Echo which came out late on a Saturday night carried match reports and football results and my dad read it from back to front, often annoyingly blowing the pages to separate them.
However, the rule was well known and simple, if he was out, then it was supposed to go under the cushion of his chair with all the other newspapers for safe keeping. So, to see it purposely spread out, wet and unread on the floor to be trod on, I knew that my dad was in serious trouble.
To add insult to sweaty injury, the banner was made out of one of the cotton sheets that we happily used before we went all nylon. The writing itself had been done by my dad using my mum's best jumbo bingo marker and had clearly been gone over several times in order to make the writing look bigger.
The banner read:
Congrattulations
Nel + Ted 40 Years Wed
Despite the fact that the spelling mistakes were clearly evident, my mum had to go with it because my dad had used up all the other sheets on 'Dummy Runs.
After his first three attempts at trying to draw an ampersand between 'Nel & Ted', he had given up after everyone had said to him that they looked more like a pound sign. In the end he just drew a plus. But even that became a problem after my mum said that the cross looked more like a crucifix and had added sarcastically, that she was throwing a party, not organising double funeral. After which My dad had said to me "No such luck" out of earshot of my mum of course.
But as the last sheet had been used up and despite the misspelling the banner had to stand. This was because the only other decorations that we had was balloons. But they had withered on the vine due to being blown up two days too early by Our Raymond, so that he could use the rest for water balloons. One of which he had dropped on the Postman's head, which resulted in my mother calling the wet and angry postman 'A big girl' for daring to complain about one of her kids.
So, after literally reading the room, I had two choices. Firstly, I could inquire as to why my dad's Pink Echo was on the floor and in doing so run the risk of getting half his woes. Or I could compliment her on how good the banner looked and doing so possibly earn a bacon butty. Obviously, I plumped for the latter, but my diplomatic skills were wasted as my mother was in the foulest mood I have ever seen, and I've seen a fair few.
Having allegedly popped into the pub on his way home from work just to borrow the glasses for the party. My dad had apparently 'Bumped into' Uncle Frank' who had insisted that they have a drink together. Basically, my dad knew that by claiming Uncle Frank was the instigator that my mum wouldn't have him dragged home. This fortuitist encounter had been relayed to my mum by a kid who had been paid 10p to carry the message and also pass on the keys to the bread van in case my dad was tempted to drive home.
My dad never normally had the works van over the weekend, but his supervisor, 'Tony the Lonely' had let him keep it in order to help move the chairs and stuff for the party. After he got his two quid backhander that was. The van also came with an added warning to keep it low in case one of the managers who lived locally spotted it out and about. So, with the van left standing out in the open for all the world to see on the Eagle car park. My dad and Uncle Frank had staggered home. And their timing couldn't have been worse.
Having finally sat down with a cup of tea my mum was halfway through a Hammer House of Horror when the two of them had 'Fell In'. My dad started the ball rolling by claiming he had seen the film loads of times and then started telling my mum what was going to happen next. Meanwhile my Uncle Frank had sat right next to her drunkenly telling her how much he loved and had missed her. In the end she left them to it and had gone to bed. This would transpire to be a massive mistake.
For a start they had taken the anniversary cake, trifles, cheesecake, jellies and chickens out of the fridge and replaced them with four large cans of Party 7 beer. Then they had moved onto the chickens leaving one maimed and legless. What's more their pathetic attempt at putting the foil back to cover their tracks had only added insult to injury. As you could almost sense the drunken winks and shushing that had gone on between the two them as they did it.
The same fate had clearly befallen a pyramid of salmon paste butties that had also been raided and again the foil had been put back so badly that the surviving sarnies now all had curly corners. And in the ultimate blunder they had left the Anniversary cake on the edge of the kitchen work top so when my mum got up the first thing that she saw was Our Raymond;s dog licking the icing.
For his part Our Raymond had been camped out in our back garden in blanket tents with his mates since school had broken up. And thanks to being able to forge my dad's signature to perfection he was also allowed to mind the school rabbits during the holidays. So, with the rabbits now running free to dig holes all over the garden and with the blanket tents and the scars from the campfires my dad claimed that the back garden looked more like the Somme.
So after my mum had launched the dog out the back door with extreme prejudice, leaving it free to chase the rabbits around the tents. She had then set about doing her best to wipe the cake down and on coyly showing me her efforts. I did my best to convince her it was fine now that the dog hairs and slobber had been wiped off. In reality what I really wanted to say was that it looked like a birthday cake for Frankenstein, but I sensed that wouldn't go down too well.
Then there was the case of the five lemonade bottles. They had been bought off the lemonade man two days earlier expressly for the party. So, after discovering them laying empty and abandoned behind the couch in the living room, my mother was convinced that the drunken duo were behind that as well. Fortunately, I was in the position to clear their names having witnessed Our Raymond and his gang drinking it like Romans during one of the rare outings from their tents.
To deflect from my dad even further, I added that Our Raymond had dared Little Terry Jones to drink a full bottle of Dandelion & Burdock in one go, and he did. But then he had gone all funny and had fell to the kitchen floor clutching his stomach. On hearing that my mother had blessed herself, more I suspect in the hope that Out Raymond hadn't finally killed someone.
Thankfully I was able to reassure her that everything was ok, because after panicking Our Raymond and his gang had, had the good sense to wheel him home to his mother on a homemade go cart. When his mother had seen the state he was in, she had run around her house like a mad woman looking for her headscarf and coat to so she could rush him to the hospital.
As she did so Little Terry had burped and farted at the same time and was fine. So, she hit him out of sheer relief, and sent him to bed. She had also warned him about playing with Our Raymond in the future and my mother didn't like hearing that bit at all. The thing with my mum is that she won't have one wrong word said about 'Our Raymond' which is more than I can say for the rest of the street.
Anyway, back to the damage caused by the drunken duo. Having been following all radio announcements and watching the news like a hawk. My mother was well aware that the water was to be turned off at midnight due to the drought. That being the case she had filled every pot and pan for drinking water and for cooking. She also had the foresight to fill the bathtub in order to have water to clean the house with before the party.
And in their closing drunken caper ahead of falling dead drunk into their beds, my dad had dared Uncle Frank to sit the bath fully dressed. To which he had allegedly replied. "No problem once you're swam in New York's East River you can handle anything." The upshot being that my mother had been forced to mop the floors with water from the pans.
To add to her growing problems, she was also worried that the bag of prawns she had bought especially for that party as they were now smelling very suspicious, and she didn't have any water to spare water in order to "Rinse them good". For my part I was openly wary, informing my mum that when I was in school, the Home Economics teacher Mrs Woods said that as a rule of thumb always ditch bad smelling seafood.
My mothers snap reply to this sage advice had been "It's easy for her to say that as the silly cow never had to fork out 58p at Fine Fare for them!" So, after openly whistling at the hefty price, I was forced to agree with her. But I also made a mental note to keep away from the prawns as well as the cake.
Now with most of the problems being down to my dad and Uncle Franks at this point I was starting to wonder why it was me that was called down first. But this was soon cleared up after I was informed in no uncertain terms that I had to go to the shop to purchase replacement party stuff. This was a massive blow as the only shop open on a Sunday was 'Robbing Arse Allen's' which was widely regarded by every reluctant kid shopper as being 'Miles Away'.
Nevertheless, I knew by my mother's tone that I was going come hell or high water. So, I leaned into the idea and said that I would do it if I got one of the two remaining legs off the unmaimed chicken. This was a big leap as although I was sixteen, I still technically only qualified for 'Kid Food' at parties which was basically fish paste butties as chicken was seen as being for the adults only. To my amazement my mum agreed right away without an argument.
So, after rubbing my hands together with glee I happily sat across the table as she made out her shopping list. As she wrote down what was needed, she had added caution to every item. For a start there was the boiled ham, she wanted a quarter pound, so she told me to keep my eye on Mr Allen as he was known for putting his thumb on the scales. The same applied to the bread, as he was widely known for selling it stale. And of course, I had to take a bag with me as he charged 2p for empty boxes
.
So, with the list in hand all I had to do was find a bag, which wasn't as easy as it sounded. For a start I couldn't take my mums in case anyone saw me. No lad I know has ever lived down being caught taking their mum's bag to the shops. The only other ones in the house was my Gola Bag, but that had my gardening gear in. The other was the Chelsea Girl plastic bag with a draw string that was used to store socks in. This and that hung off my mum and dad's wardrobe door, but I was wary of going into their bedroom as I would probably get a shoe thrown at my head by my hungover dad.
This problem was resolved after my mother had shouted up the stairs "Joe McGuffy, get down here right now!" I could imagine the terror in my dad's face as he lay there gradually remembering what he had done. No doubt he would blame Frank who still had some credit left but that was wearing thin. and with good cause.
When he had first come back, Uncle Frank had enthralled my mum by telling her things like the time he served Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor drinks onboard ship. Apparently, Richard Burton had ordered a scotch on the rocks, while Elizabeth Taylor had asked for a Cizzano Bianco. On, hearing this my mother had mused that Lizzy mustn't be a big drinker. But due to his antics becoming more and more annoying, you could see in my mums, face that he was also now heading toward very thin ice.
As I got ready to go to the shops, I passed my dad who was walking gingerly down the stairs, and he had inquired in a very low but worried tone "How bad is it son?" So as not to be overheard by my bat eared mother and in doing so being seen as a colluder. I simply drew my finger across my throat, and he had winced at the sight of it.
Give him his due my dad had at least tried to go on the defensive by asking in outrage why his Pink Echo was on the floor? But that didn't work as my mother shouted from the kitchen 'Get out here and look what you've done" Mercifully my dad gained a small degree of respite due to my Uncle Frank following him down to see "What all the hollering was about".
The fact that Uncle Frank was wearing what could only be describe as amazingly tight and tiny swimming trunks, didn't help at all. On seeing the way that he was dressed my mother had told him to "Get back up upstairs and put something decent on, all your insides are hanging out. I'm not having that in a house full of kids" And despite his defence that the trunks were what everyone in California was wearing, he was still sent back up to get changed.
Then as my mother turned her wrath onto my dad, I decided now was the best time to go Robbing Arse Allens and earn that chicken leg.
