‘Hiya Billy,’ said Vinny when Billy called at the Buckleys’ ground-floor flat. T knew you’d come round to our way of thinking in the end. Come in a minute, will ya, and I’ll be ready in two ticks. Then we’ll go and get Mick.’
Billy went inside and was nearly bowled over by the stench of stale sweat and urine, which he traced to the steaming, wet nappies draped all round the fireguard. A snotty-nosed, bare-bottomed toddler sucking on a dummy gazed at Billy curiously and then greeted him by throwing a small metal toy at him, which fortunately missed the mark. Vinny’s mother, a hundred per cent sourpuss, was breast-feeding a mewling, puking infant. She looked up from the baby to Billy but did not acknowledge his presence with even so much as a nod or a grimace. With practised ease, she switched the baby over to her other pendulous breast.
Tf you’re going out with that bleeding Mick Scully again,’ she squawked, ‘don’t go getting into bleeding trouble with the rozzers again. We’ve got enough on our bleeding plates with your father in Strangeways without you joining him.’
‘Awright! Awright! Stop bleeding going on at me,’
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answered Vinny. ‘Come on, Billy, let’s get out o’ this bleeding hole.’
When they were outside, he said ‘Bleeding old cow! She’s alius going on at me.’
‘I didn’t know your father was in Strangeways, Vinny.’
‘Oh, him! The old man! He’s in and out o’ clink all the time. Got done this time for house-breaking. He’s that well known in Strangeways, they invite him to the staff dances. What about you, Billy? Are y’off school today?’
‘Yeah - I decided to take the day off; I’m sick to death of all that Latin, French, geometry and all that crap. I’m gonna start enjoying meself.’
‘That’s the idea. We’ll show you how it’s done. Just stick with us and you’ll be awright. Let’s go and get Mick. He’s a right card, is Mick. Doesn’t give a bugger for no one.’
It took Mick all of five seconds to make up his mind when they called.
‘I’ll get me coat,’ he said. ‘Right, let’s go. First off - we need some fags.’
‘I’ve no money on me,’ said Vinny.
‘Neither have I,’ said Billy.
‘Who said anything about money? Did you hear me mention money?’ said Mick. ‘Come with me.’
He led them to a car park outside a large biscuit factory.
‘If you want the very best fags, always try the good cars first.’
He went along the row of cars, trying the door handles.
‘Locked! Locked! Locked! Not locked!’
He opened the door of the Daimler and there, in the leather pocket in the door, spotted three twenty-packets of Player’s Please!.
‘We’re in luck,’ he said. ‘And so early in the day! Must be Billy here - he’s a lucky charm. Right, lads, cop for these!’
He threw each of them a packet of cigarettes, then took out of his pocket a brand-new Ronson and lit everyone’s fag.
‘See this,’ he said, indicating the lighter. ‘Got this on me last house-breaking job. Somebody carelessly left it out for me.’
Puffing arrogantly on their cigs, the three renegades walked up Hazelbottom Road, looking for fresh adventure and fresh quarry.
‘This is more like it,’ said Billy. ‘Much better than wasting me bleeding time learning a lot of French irregular verbs.’
‘I should bleeding well think so,’ said Vinny. ‘No one ever got rich reading a book.’
They came to a row of shops.
‘OK,’ said Mick. ‘We’re going into that toffee shop to see what we can knock off. Right, Billy. You watch me and Vinny - two master craftsmen at work.’
They entered the shop and a middle-aged lady came through a door at the back, ready to serve them.
‘Good morning, lads,’ she said. ‘What can I get you?’
‘Could I have a quarter of them boiled sweets on the top shelf?’ said Vinny.
She climbed up her little step-ladder and turned her back for a moment, and in that instant Mick Scully helped himself to a big handful of Caley’s Double Six.
‘Which ones?’ asked the lady naively.
‘No, not them,’ said Vinny. ‘I mean the humbugs in the jar next to them.’
The lady turned to get the jar down and Mick moved to take his second handful - this time Mars Bars.
The shopkeeper weighed and bagged the humbugs.
‘That’ll be threepence,’ she said.
‘Oh, heck,’ said Vinny, feeling in his pockets. ‘I’ve left
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me sweet coupons on the table at home. Just save them humbugs for me, missus, and I’ll be back in a minute.’
Outside the shop, Mick took out his spoils.
‘Let’s see,’ he said. ‘Four bars of Caley’s, five Mars. Not bad, eh, Billy. And all free!’
‘Bloody fantastic!’ said Billy.
‘But wait,’ said Vinny. ‘You were so busy watching Mick at work, you didn’t see me grab these.’
Vinny produced three packets of sherbet, two bags of Pontefract cakes, and three Cadbury’s Milk. Billy began to feel that he had found his true calling - a life of crime with all its attendant excitement and thrills, not to mention the haul.
After eating all their loot, they developed a monumental thirst.
‘S’not so easy to swipe bottles o’ pop; they’re too big and bulky,’ said Mick. ‘It’s best to get a drink at the fountain in the park.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Vinny, ‘as long as you don’t use that cup on a chain. You never know who’s been using that.’
After quenching their thirst, they made their way to the pitch’n’ putt course which, at that time of the day and year, was deserted and unattended.
‘Fancy a round of golf, old chaps?’ asked Mick, indicating the locked hut.
‘Why not, old boy?’ replied Vinny.
Mick picked up a largish stone from a nearby rockery and tapped it gently on the window of the hut, breaking the pane. Another small tap and he began removing slivers of glass until he was able to put his hand in and open the catch. After that, it was an easy job to get inside, and Mick began handing golf irons and balls through the open window.
The trio processed through the park, whacking golf
balls for all they were worth across the spacious lawns, until they were out into Delauneys Road, where they continued their madcap game. They chortled in delight and triumph with every successful stroke until Billy hit a glorious drive straight into someone’s front window, showering glass on the poor, unsuspecting occupants.
An irate householder appeared, shaking his fist.
‘You stupid lot o’ bastards, you. I’m gonna set the bloody police on you. You should be locked up, the bloody lot o’ you.’
‘Run! Run like hell, Billy!’ Mick shouted. ‘Or you’ve had it.’
They ran like the wind until they arrived, panting breathlessly, at Woodlands Road, where they chucked the golf gear over a hedge.
‘So far today,’ said Mick, ‘we’ve had fags, chocolates and a game o’ golf. But what we need is money.’
‘So what do we do?’ asked Billy.
‘We do a house, that’s what we do,’ he answered. ‘Are y’on, Vinny?’
‘On,’ he said.
‘This is the plan,’ said Mick. ‘Can you whistle, Billy?’
‘Yeah, I think so,’ he replied, giving a demonstration.
‘That’s bleeding smashing,’ said Mick. ‘As good as A1 Jolson. You can be the dog-out while me and Vinny do that house over there. If you see anyone coming, do your Jolson bit and give us time to make our getaway. Got it?’
‘Got it.’
The two youths went across the road and rang the door bell several times. There was no answer and so, using a small brick, Mick broke a pane of the leaded-light window in the corner of the door, reached in, turned the Yale lock and within a minute they were inside. Aware of his responsibility, Billy kept vigil, looking alertly up and
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down the road, but there seemed to be no one about. Five minutes later, the two were out again.
‘Eight quid,’ said Mick. ‘Left in a box on the dressing table. Daft buggers they are, leaving money about.’
‘Told you it was easy,’ said Vinny. ‘Money for jam.’
‘Right, Billy. That’s two quid for you for dogging-out, and three for me and Vinny for doing the job. Fair enough?’
‘Fair enough!’ said Billy, thinking it really was the easiest money he’d ever earned.
‘I think I’ll call it a day,’ said Mick. ‘Not a bad haul, eh, lads?’
‘Fancy going to the pictures tonight, anyone?’ asked Vinny.
‘Not me,’ said Mick. ‘I’m doing another job later with my older brother. We’re gonna do a warehouse and we’ve even got a van to carry the stuff.’
‘Understood, Mick,’ said Vinny. ‘What about you, Billy, fancy the pictures?’
‘Yeah, why not?’ said Billy.
When he got home that night. Mam said:
‘Have a good day at school, son?’
‘Not bad. I learned a lot. One day I’m gonna be rich and play golf, you’ll see.’
‘What next, I wonder? They’re learning you some funny things at that school of yours.’
‘I’m going to the pictures tonight,’ he announced suddenly.
‘No homework, then?’
‘Not tonight,’ he lied.
At six o’clock he called for Vinny again. There was the same smell of sweat and urine, but now there had been added the smell of baked beans, which made the stink even more obnoxious.
They decided on the Temple picture house., which was showing a Boris Karloff horror. They paid for their tickets, swaggered down the aisle and pushed their way along the row to two vacant seats, treading on toes and a six-inch layer of monkey-nut shells. They slouched back in their seats, put their feet on the seats in front, lit up their fags and were ready to make nuisances of themselves. Their chance soon came.
In one of the shorts, the Mills Brothers were crooning something about dry bones and how they connected.
‘Rag bone connected to you,’ Billy shouted out in the same rhythm.
This witticism seemed to cause amusement to most of the cinema except the usher, who Came rushing down the aisle.
‘Any more of that and you’re out,’ he said, flashing his torch at them.
‘You wanna fumigate this bleeding place,’ Vinny called out to him. ‘The bugs are taking it over. I came in here with a pullover and I’m going out with a jumper.’
During the big picture, the hero said to his girl: ‘I love you darling but I have only one worry.’
‘Me glass eye might fall out,’ shouted Billy.
Later the handsome hero was saying: ‘There is only one thing I desire in life.’
‘Ten Woodbines and a box of matches,’ Vinny yelled.
‘But that’s two things!’ Billy called out.
‘That’s it,’ shouted the usher. ‘You two, out! And don’t bloody well come back!’
They found themselves on Cheetham Hill Road.
‘It’s only nine o’clock,’ said Vinny. ‘Let’s go to Lorenzelli’s Milk Bar and see if we can pick up a coupla birds.’
Lorenzelli’s was crowded that night.
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‘Two hot Vimtos!’ Vinny ordered.
They took their drinks and sat down next to two girls, about fifteen years old, one blonde and one brunette - both of whom were chewing gum and wearing long, dangling ear-rings. Vinny looked them up and down.
‘Wharra you lookin’ at?’ Blondie said. ‘Whadda you want - a photograph or summat?’
‘Wouldn’t mind a bit o’ summat if you’ve got any to spare,’ said Vinny. ‘Anyroad, evening, girls, nice weather for this time o’ the year.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Blondie. ‘He’ll be asking if we come here often next.’
‘Well, do you?’ asked Billy mischievously.
‘Do we wha’?’ asked the brunette, who was the less pretty of the two.
‘Come here often,’ he replied.
‘Depends what you mean by often,’ she retorted.
It looked as if the conversation might continue on this semantic level for some time, but Vinny changed its direction.
‘Wanna fag?’ he said, offering his packet of twenty Players.
‘Don’t mind if we do,’ they both said with alacrity, removing the chewing gum and sticking it under the table.
‘I say, we are posh, smoking Players. Me and Doris can only ever afford Woodbines.’
‘What do you both do, then?’
‘We both work at Woolworth’s. She’s Toys and I’m Toffees. She’s Doris and I’m Elsie.’
‘Billy and Vinny,’ said Vinny. ‘Pleased to meet you. And if ever I wanna buy summat under a tanner, I’ll know where to come.’
The chatting-up process continued on this level until ten thirty, when the milk bar closed.
‘We’ll see you both home,’ said Vinny.
‘You don’t half fancy your chances, don’t you?’ said Elsie. ‘All right, then. Wait outside and me and Doris’ll just go to the toilet.’
Whilst they were waiting outside, Vinny said:
‘Elsie’s mine and Doris is yours. See, I think this Elsie fancies me.’
‘Thanks, Vinny,’ said Billy. ‘So I get the ugly one.’
‘You know what they say about not looking at the mantelpiece.’
The two girls reappeared and Vinny said:
‘I don’t know what it is you girls do in the toilet but you both look smashing. Fancy a walk in Manley Park or wha’?’
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Doris, linking her arm into Billy’s.
They found their way to Manley Park shed and the four of them sat there smoking Players, blowing the smoke across the glowing cigarette ends.
‘Whadda you say we stay out all night?’ suggested Vinny.
‘Pm game if you are, Doris,’ said Elsie.
‘Awright, then,’ said Doris. ‘It’ll be a bit of a laugh. But what about work tomorrow, Elsie?’
‘Oh, bugger work,’ she said. ‘I’m fed up with the bloody job anyway. Let the supervisor try serving just for a change.’
So it was decided. But no one, except Billy, noticed that Billy hadn’t been consulted. It looked as if he were outvoted anyway.
Vinny moved with Elsie to a dark corner of the shed, and Billy could hear lots of furtive fumblings, which lasted the whole night with murmurs of, ‘No, don’t, Vinny. Don’t do that. I don’t allow it on the first date.’ Then, ‘Ah, Vinny, that’s better.’
As for Billy and Doris, they sat most of the night smoking Billy’s fags.
‘You can put your hand here,’ she said, placing his hand on her breast. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Thanks very much,’ he said.
He remained in that position for most of the night, his right hand round her shoulder and his left hand on her breast over her dress. He could feel nothing but a hard lump and the unyielding material of a strongly built brassiere. He was tempted to go further but didn’t because it was much too cold, the wooden seats were too hard and uncomfortable, and besides, he didn’t fancy her. He would have preferred the blonde and he was annoyed that Vinny had simply assumed that he could automatically have the prettier girl.
They watched the dawn come up, and feeling utterly washed out, grubby and dishevelled, they parted company.
‘Billy,’ said Doris, ‘I think you’re a real gentleman. Anyone else would have tried it on, but I liked the way you kept your hands to yourself. I don’t believe two people should go too far on their first date, do you?’
‘Dead right, Doris,’ Billy said. ‘That’s the way I feel.’
‘Or, in your case, Billy, didn’t feel. Anyroad,’ she said, ‘I hope we see each other again in Lorenzelli’s.’
‘Hope so, Doris.’
On the walk back home, Billy said:
‘Eh, Vinny, I’ve found out two things about girls tonight. First, why do you think they wear brassieres?’
‘To stop their tits from falling down, I suppose.’
‘That’s one reason. The other is to give ’em a suit of armour so a lad can’t get his hand in there. You’d have needed an acetylene lamp to get into that Doris’s bra.’
‘What’s the other thing you found out?’
‘The less you want them, the more they want you. And
the more you want them, the less they want you.’
‘That gives us a problem, then,’ said Vinny. ‘It means we can only ever have it off with the girls we don’t want it with.’
‘That’s right. So if we don’t want it with ’em, we won’t have it with ’em.’
‘You’ve got me bleeding beat there, Billy. All this bleeding education stuff is over my head. I just hope that you’re wrong.’
They got back to Gardenia Court at six o’clock in the morning, and Armageddon in the shape of his dad was waiting for Billy.
‘Where the bleeding hell do you think you’ve been all night?’ he bawled as Billy opened the front door.
‘Just sitting in a park shed with Vinny Buckley,’ he mumbled.
‘You stupid bleeding get,’ he said, striking Billy across the head with each word. ‘Do you know we’ve had the police out looking for you? Do you know I’ve lost a day’s work today because of you?’
‘We haven’t done any harm,’ stuttered Billy.
‘Haven’t done any harm! Haven’t done any harm! I told you to keep away from that bleeding Buckley family. They’re bloody riff-raff and they’ll take you down with ’em. After we’ve encouraged you to go to college to make summat of yourself, you want to end up with that bleeding lot who’ll have you in Strangeways afore you know where you are. You’ve worried your mother out of her mind all night. Haven’t we had enough trouble, being bombed out and losing our Jim, without you going off the rails and all? Anyroad, you come with me.’
He took Billy by the scruff of the neck and forced him down to the Buckley flat, where he banged noisily on the door.
Vinny opened the door.
‘What the bloody hell. .. !’
Before he had finished his sentence, Billy’s dad had grabbed him by the shoulders.
‘If ever I see you near my son again, I’ll belt the bleeding living daylights out o’ you. I’ll bleeding swing for you, d’you hear?’
‘Yeah, Mr Hopkins. But we haven’t done nowt wrong.’
‘Whether y’ave or y’aven’t, I don’t care. Just keep away. And as for you, our Billy, get up to bed afore I really lose my temper.’
A week later, Mick Scully was arrested with his brother for burglary and sent to Borstal for five years. One month after that, Vinny Buckley was caught house-breaking and sentenced to three years in the same institution.
Dad’s punishment was bad enough, but Mam’s was infinitely worse. For a whole week, Billy got the fish-eye treatment and his mother became stony-faced whenever he tried to speak to her. For a whole week she froze him out with that glassy-eyed stare of hers, and if she spoke to him at all, it was in monosyllables.
‘I’m very sorry about last week, Mam,’ he said.
‘Oh, aye,’ she said, not taking her eyes off the potatoes she was peeling.
‘I didn’t mean any harm and it won’t happen again.’
‘So you say,’ she said, slicing up the potatoes for chips.
‘A funny thing happened today at school, Mam.’
‘Oh, aye,’ she said, without looking up from the stove.
‘During the PT lesson, a lad threw a fit.’
‘Oh, aye,’ she said, all her attention on the chips.
‘He was foaming at the mouth and talking a funny language.’
‘I dare say,’ she said, concentrating hard on the frying pan.
‘The teacher had to hold his tongue down with a ruler.’
‘Oh, aye,’ she said, moving the chips around the pan.
‘Then they sent for the ambulance and he was taken away to Prestwich Asylum.’
‘Oh, aye,’ she replied, focusing on the loaf of bread she was cutting up.
By the end of the week, Billy was almost climbing up the wall to get her attention.
‘If I stand on my head and sing “I’m an Old Cow- Hand” will you forgive me and talk to me?’
She almost smiled.
‘Come on, Mam, give us a smile. It won’t happen again. Honestly. I promise. I’ve been in Coventry for a week and I can’t stand any more.’
‘Oh, very well, you daft little bugger. Come here.’
She gave him a big hug.
‘Just make sure you behave yourself in future. Anyroad, what happened to that lad they took to Prestwich Asylum?’
‘Oh, him. They found he was all right in the end, after his mam started talking to him again.’
‘I’m not kidding, our Billy, you are a daft bugger. Sometimes, I think you should be in a bloody asylum.’
‘As long as you don’t freeze me out like that again, I’ll be all right.’
‘What you need is an interest apart from all that studying you do at that school. Where were you in class last time?’
‘Eighth, Mam. And that’s without killing meself. If I really got my head down, I could be in the first five.’
‘I’ll have to see if your father can get you some more fish from the market. Talking of your father, why don’t you go and give him a helping hand sometime? He’d like that, and maybe you and him can get back on friendly terms again.’
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★ ★ ★
The following Saturday, Billy was up at three o’clock in the morning to go and help his dad in Smithfield Market. He dressed quickly and Dad made a quick brew before they set off.
‘I don’t know how you do this every morning, Dad,’ Billy said. ‘I feel as if I’ve just gone to bed.’
‘You get used to it. Anyroad, come on, we can’t sit here all day. We’ve got work to do. And remember there’s no buses at this time in the morning.’
They strode swiftly the four miles to Smithfield Market - Billy hardly able to keep up with Dad’s rapid stride. They arrived at four o’clock, and even at that early hour the market was already a hive of noisy, bustling, chaotic activity as the giant lorries discharged their loads of fruit and vegetables brought in from every corner of England.
Dad unlocked his cart and pushed it to his normal pitch in the centre of the market, where he sat on it waiting for custom. He hadn’t long to wait.
Ely Entwistle, Choice Fruiterer and Greengrocer of Bury, approached him.
‘How do, Tommy. Can you pick up me order for me?’
‘How do, Ely. Aye, go on then. What is it?’ asked Dad.
‘Six cod at Holbrook’s, ten taters, five cabbage, four caulies at Deakin’s, eight apples at Smith’s, seven strawberries at Keegan’s, nine plums at Blundell’s. Awreet?’
‘That’s a seven-an’-a-tanner job, Ely. Leave it to me,’ replied Dad. Billy noticed that he wrote nothing down.
Like Stanley Matthews streaking down the wing, Tommy dodged and weaved his way through several bottlenecks of vehicles, whose drivers hooted and swore at one another in frustration.
Within an hour, Dad had loaded up all the orders and, with the strength of a donkey, pulled the heavily weighted
cart along the cobbled market road.
‘Push, Billy! Push!’ he called to Billy at the back of the cart.
A few minutes later they found Ely’s lorry parked on the edge of the market.
‘You’re a bloody good worker,Tommy,’ said Ely. ‘Here’s ten bob. S’worth every penny. Will y’have a few things to tek home?’
‘Aye, ta,’ said Dad, helping himself to some fish and a selection of fruit and veg which he put into a canvas shopping bag hanging on the back of the cart.
‘See you on Monday then. Tommy,’ shouted Ely.
Billy and his dad then returned to his pitch to await further customers. They worked in this way all that Saturday morning - hard and fast - until eleven o’clock, when at last the pace began to slow down and the market became relatively quiet, by which time Billy was dropping with exhaustion.
‘Here y’are, Billy, here’s half a crown for you. You’ve earned it. You go on home and take these few things to your mother. I’ll go and have a quick one or two in the Hare and Hounds afore I finish.’
‘I never knew until now how hard your work was, Dad.’
‘It gets easy when you’ve been at it for over forty years.’
Billy caught the 62 bus and made his weary way back home, carrying the canvas bag laden with fish, fruit and vegetables. As he walked through the door, he sang:
‘Show me the way to go home, I’m tired and I wanna go to bed.’
He collapsed on to his bed and was asleep in ten seconds.
★ ★ ★
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Shortly after that, following his mam’s suggestion about taking up an interest, Billy decided to go for piano lessons. In fact he had taught himself to play by ear - mostly out of tune - on his sister Pauline’s upright, driving the young Keenan family out of their minds in the process. His favourite piece was a distorted, discordant rendering of Rachmaninov’s Prelude, complete with melodramatic commentary about a man buried alive in his coffin - which sent delicious shivers of horror down the spines of his two young nephews, Oliver and Danny.
‘Now he’s banging on the lid of the coffin.
Now he’s squirming , trying to get out.
Now he’s yelling for someone to help him.
Now he’s weeping quietly - almost given up.
Now he’s getting weaker.
Now he’s given up hope.
Now he’s dead.’
‘You could get a job in a pub playing that,’ said Pauline.
‘He’d soon empty it,’ said Steve. ‘They could use him at closing time instead of calling “Time, gentlemen, please.” Just get him to play that piece and he’d clear the pub in thirty seconds flat.’
Billy thought it was time he learned to play properly, and it was with this in mind that he knocked on the door of Miss Lois de Lacy, LRAM.
‘Do you give piano lessons?’
‘I do, but I usually take on toddlers - just starting. How old are you?’ said Miss de Lacy.
‘I’m nearly fifteen but I’d like to start from the very beginning.’
‘Very well, then. But I warn you. I’m more accustomed to teaching five-year-olds.’
At the first lesson. Miss de Lacy, all lace and dangly bits of jewellery, announced brightly:
‘This is a piano!’
Acting the fool, Billy deliberately approached the sideboard.
‘What - this?’ he asked.
Miss de Lacy didn’t blink or smile, thinking perhaps that she’d taken on a moron.
‘No, this,’ she replied, pointing to the piano.
‘Got it!’
‘These are the low notes,’ she said, playing a bass chord. ‘They sound like big bad bears, don’t they?’
‘And these are the high notes,’ she said, playing a rippling arpeggio at the top of the keyboard. ‘They are like little fairies tripping through the forest.’
‘Got it.’
At the end of this introductory lesson he was given his first pieces of homework to practise. The first item required the playing of crotchets on one note - middle C - to the words of a song entitled ‘Crunchy Flakes’.
‘Crunchy flakes! Crunchy flakes /’ he sang. 'Give you all - that it takes!'
He played this over and over again as Miss de Lacy had instructed until he could execute it perfectly. Whilst he was practising and singing thus, Pauline decided quite suddenly and without any warning or explanation to take the children for a walk. When she returned, Billy had progressed to his second piece - a much more challenging number, entitled ‘The Woodchuck’. The performance of this composition demanded singing and accompanying himself on two notes - middle C and G.
'If a woodchuck could chuck wood ,’ he trilled and played. 'How much wood would he chuck?'
‘If there’s any chucking to be done,’ said Pauline,
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interrupting him, ‘I suggest you chuck up learning to play the piano before you drive us all bonkers.’
‘I can take a hint,’ said Billy. ‘But I like music, and as you know, we’re not allowed to play musical instruments in the flats. If you’d let me practise here I wouldn’t mind taking up the trombone or a trumpet, or maybe drums.’
‘No, no,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Try something a bit quieter, like soft-shoe dancing. Wait a minute, I’ve got it! Ballroom dancing! That’s it!’
And that was how Billy got himself into the world of Victor Sylvester and Harrigan’s Dance Academy on Queen’s Road.