The next day it was raining heavily.
‘What rotten weather!’ Billy said aloud to himself. ‘What a rotten day! And what a rotten life!’
He went downstairs and was surprised to find the house deserted. Everyone had gone to work, but Mam was usually there when he appeared for breakfast.
‘Strange! I wonder where she’s got to?’
He looked at the old clock on the mantelpiece and was taken aback to see it was ten o’clock, for he didn’t normally sleep as late as that. He made himself a small pot of tea, and hacked into the loaf, producing a lumpy slice of bread over which he spread first a thick layer of margarine, then a liberal coating of raspberry jam.
‘You always make a big mess o’ the loaf when you cut into it,’ Mam had said. ‘And you can have either maggy- ellen or jam, but not both.’
Today, the way he was feeling, he didn’t care. As he bit into his thick jam butty, he wondered what he and Henry could do with themselves on such a wet day.
The front door opened suddenly and in strode Mam.
‘Right,’ she said decisively. ‘Get your best clothes on. We’re going to town. As for the college - it’s on again! I’ll
show your father what’s what and who’s who.’
‘But where did you get the money from? Twenty-five quid!’
‘Never you mind about that. I’ve just been talking to that Mrs Priestley, her-across-the-road, and she says you don’t need half of them things on that list. For a start, there’s no cricket until next summer; so that lot can wait. I won’t have no son of mine losing his chance to make summat of himself just for a few quid. Hurry up and get changed. We’re off to King Street.’
Billy ran upstairs to change into his Whit Friday clothes for the trip to the tailor’s.
Where had she got the money?
Then it struck him like a bolt out of the blue. When he’d looked up at the old clock on the mantelpiece that morning, he’d felt somehow that something wasn’t quite right, something was missing, but he couldn’t quite place it. Now he knew! The family heirloom! Grandma’s shipshaped teapot! It was gone!
He went downstairs.
‘What’s happened to the teapot?’ he asked.
‘Gone to uncle’s for safe-keeping.’
‘Which uncle? Uncle John or Uncle Eddy?’
‘Your Uncle Abie.’
That day in Wippell’s of King Street, Mam spent £12 on equipping Billy with gym shorts and singlet, grey woollen stockings with blue turnovers, grey worsted shorts, two white poplin shirts, a silk blue-and-gold tie, a royal-blue blazer with the gold school crest on the breast pocket, and a matching cap with a metal badge just above the peak.
Billy gazed at himself in the full-length mirror and saw a strange, snooty-looking kid looking back at him.
‘Is that really me?’ he asked.
There were tears in the corners of Mam’s eyes as she gazed at him proudly and said:
‘It’s you all right, our kid. And you really have joined the toffs! We’ll show ’em.’
Next port of call was Timpson’s shoe shop for new black, low quarter shoes - none of your boots this time - a pair of white galoshes and, strangest purchase of all as far as Billy was concerned, a pair of hard-toed football boots.
‘While we’re out getting fitted up and kitted out,’ Mam said, ‘we’ve got one last place to visit.’
Billy wondered what and where it could be, since they seemed to have everything. When they went into Cheetham Town Hall, he was even more puzzled. Then he saw the notice on the door:
OFFICIAL DEPOT FOR ISSUE OF GAS MASKS
Billy and his mam were given various gas masks to try on, but they found it impossible to refrain from laughing as the celluloid visor and the metal snout gave them an inhuman look.
‘You look like a Martian, Mam.’
‘And how do you know what a Martian looks like, since you’ve never seen one? Anyway, you look like a Pig-’
The masks gave off a nauseating smell of rubber, and testing them by placing a card over the snout and then sucking in steamed up the visor and almost suffocated them.
‘I think I’d rather be poisoned by the gas,’ Mam said.
Toddlers were also being fitted out, with Mickey Mouse-type masks, whilst very young babies were being placed in huge black rubber contraptions which looked
like divers’ helmets and which terrified the lives out of the poor little things.
‘There’s nowt funny about this exercise,’ said an official. ‘Please sign for your mask and then read the notice on the wall. If there is a war, you must carry your gas mask everywhere with you.’
They did as they were told and started to read the notice:
POISON GAS:
If poison gas has been used , you will be warned by means of hand rattles. If you hear hand rattles do not leave your shelter until the poison gas has been cleared away. Hand bells will tell you when there is no longer any danger from poison gas.
‘It’s beginning to sound serious,’ said Mam.
The school uniform and the other items were put away to await the fateful day when Billy would go to his new school. Meanwhile, he and Henry returned to their sailing pursuits and street games. Their latest craze was jumping down the stone steps in front of the house. Billy held the record of five, but Henry was always threatening to take it away from him by attempting six. That Sunday morning, Henry decided to have a go, and taking a deep breath he said:
‘I’ll do it. I’ll do it. I’m not scared.’
‘Go on then, let’s see you. You keep saying you’ll do it.’ Henry jumped. It was a mistake. He landed badly and bashed his forehead against the concrete gate post, and when he saw the blood, he let out a yell that could be heard several streets away.
‘I’m bleeding to death,’ he bawled, and ran inside to get help.
★ ★ ★
Billy rushed into his own house to tell Mam of Henry’s mishap.
‘Mam! Mam! Henery’s cut his head open and . .
But he got no further, for his dad landed him a clout across the head and shouted:
‘Be quiet, you daft little bugger!’
The family was gathered round, looking at the wireless set and listening to some miserable fella saying:
‘. . .no such undertaking has been received and that consequently this country is at war with Germany. This is a sad day for all of us, and to none is it sadder than to me. Everything that I have worked for, everything that I have hoped for, everything that I have believed in during my public life has crashed into ruins.’
‘He’s not the only one it’s a sad day for,’ said Billy. ‘Henery’s just crashed into ruins as well by jumping down the steps.’
And everyone seemed to find it funny. Poor Henry!