NOW WHERE WAS I…
I had all day to get ready as I wasn’t meeting Josh till after tea, I had a bath, washed my hair and put on brand new stockings in preparation for the big date. I caught the 67 bus from Boggart Hill to Leeds City Bus station. All excited and a little nervous I crossed the road to the Wakefield bus station. Waiting patiently was Josh all scrubbed up in a suit. I hardly recognised him as I’d only seen him in his boiler suit at work. Boy, he sure scrubbed up well!
I awkwardly walked over to him and he gave me a hug. The bus arrived and we went up the stairs to the top deck so we could see out. Josh told me we were going to the Mecca in Wakefield. I loved dancing so was very pleased about that.
So while we’re sat on the bus heading for Wakefield and the Mecca, I’ll keep you occupied with a few tales about boys.
We were about fourteen and very grown up or so we thought. Christine, Lana my cousin, Carol, Christine’s sister, myself and few other girls from school used to go down to to Dib Lane to Giovanni’s coffee bar. It was so cool for its time. We would sit in the booths and play records on the jukebox while drinking coca cola which we had just discovered. A gang of biker boys frequented Giovanni’s and we loved the sound of the engines revving up outside. We flirted with them when they came in for frothy coffee which to them was a grown up thing to do though they were only about sixteen or seventeen themselves.
Anyway we all became friends and they would take us on the bikes to the Milky bar in Sherburn-in-Elmet where all the bikers gathered. I loved to ride pillion on the bikes with the wind in my hair. Sadly the milky bar was pulled down and all the bikers now go to Squires pub.
One Saturday Id just finished work at the market stall and was on my way home. I walked down the side of the market to the bus station and who should be there but my cousin Susan Ewart. She also went to Braim Wood school and was in the same year as me but not the same form. She was talking to a lad on a – OMG – a “Harley Davidson”. Wow, Id never seen a Harley before so I stopped and joined in the chatter.
Susan introduced me to the lad and he took me for a spin round the block. As we were all going to the Seacroft Youth club mid week, I invited him to tag along and couldn’t wait to see how jealous the girls would be to see our new friend with a HARLEY.
So Wednesday night we duly arrived at the Club. He turned up and took off his crash helmet. Susan and I looked at one another in dismay. He looked just like Alfred E Neuman from the front cover of the MAD comic.
The girls would laugh at us for sure. Thinking quickly I told him to put the helmet back on. I told him it made him look cool. He obliged and danced all evening with it on. When it was time to go home we all piled outside to see the Harley and listen to it revving. He offered me a lift home but I declined and that was that. I never saw him again but was told later he was loaded and that his mam and dad owned a big garage in Otley.
I was 12 when my stepfather Joe moved into our home. It turned out he was the real father of my sister Jane who was eight by then but I didn’t know it at the time. My dad had brought her up as his own till he left. Joe was a nice guy and turned out to be the best parent I had out of the three of them. He was, in fact, my best friend and I loved him dearly.
Joe would take us over to his mum’s on Scott Hall Road on Sundays. He would go for a drink to the Scott Hall pub with his brother Martin while Jane and I would stay with Grandma Sweeney who looked like granny Clampett from the Beverly Hillbillies TV series. She was a homely little lady and half Italian. Her maiden name was Faccioni and I was told that her father invented raspberry vinegar for ice creams. Joe got the royalties for it till he died. Grandma Sweeney cooked a goose or a duck every sunday for dinner. She was a brilliant cook and we loved her dinners. But as I was prone to bronchial choughs she would rub the duck grease on my chest and it stunk.
Joe’s sister, Auntie Rosie, lived round the corner. She had two boys – Paul who was the same age as me and Graham who was a a few years younger. I always got on with boys, being a tomboy as my mother said, and we became good pals. I would go over most weekends and we’d ride on the racing bike. Next door to Auntie Rosie lived the Plunketts who had loads of kids. One was called ‘Little’ Johnny because he was small for his years. He was a year older than me and loved racing bikes. He had a corker,
so I started going on rides with him and his mate Johnny Mitchell who lived in Quarry hill Flats. His gran lived in the Scot Halls so he was over weekends too. I think Johnny Plunkett would have liked more than just bike rides but I was only 12 and far to young for that kind of thing.
A Few doors down from our house in Barncroft Drive lived the Whittakers. The youngest boy Robert and I got married when we were about six using a brass curtain ring and a lace curtain but it didnt last long.
Susan, his older sister, married us.She was a good friend too so that was fine.
When I was fourteen, Fred, at sixteen, the eldest brother became a close friend. We were both into Bob Dylan. Fred looked just like him, whiskers and all. Fred introduced me to folk music. We would go to the the Adelphi pub in town to the folk nights. Teenagers were allowed in as they didnt serve alcohol during the folk nights. I must admit I fancied Fred a bit but he was only interested in the music. I dont know what happened to him but did hear that he died young of cancer.
Bit further down the street lived the Frears. I was particularly friendly with Lawrence who was a gentle kind boy. He offered to marry me when I was abandoned and pregnant at seventeen. I think Lawrence was gay and although I loved him as a friend thats all it was.
Anyway the bus has arrived now in Wakefield. Me and Josh had a kiss and a cuddle on the way. We got off the bus a little more acquainted than when we got onit! We walked across to the Mecca and went inside.
What happens next… well don’t miss the next episode Part Four to find out.
Memoirs of a Tecnograni 