On Tuesday 7 August 1945, the Allies vaporised the city of Hiroshima, a town of twelve square miles on the Japanese main island of Honshu, killing more than seventy thousand people. Mr Churchill said, ‘By God’s mercy, British and American science outpaced all German efforts. The possession of these powers by the Germans at any time might have altered the result of the war and profound anxiety was felt by those who were informed.’
In Sunlight House, young people from the various offices, not fully understanding the gravity and horror of the event, walked about pulling their eyes into oriental slits and saying, ‘Please, Mr Truman, you no droppee bomb on Hiroshima, please. We have great honour to surrender, please.’
‘Here,’ Mam said when Billy got home that night, ‘isn’t this the day that memory man in Blackpool said the world would end? Well, it hasn’t. So he owes me a bob.’
‘Maybe it’s ended for him,’ said Billy. ‘Anyroad, you’d have a bit of a job finding him now.’
‘I suppose I would,’ she said. ‘Oh, and by the way, there’s an official-looking letter up there behind the tea-
caddy from that there college in London.’
‘Why didn’t you say so?’
Impatiently he tore open the envelope.
‘I’ll bet it’s from the principal, Michael Roberts, offering me a place.’
‘Come on then, read it out,’ she said.
‘Dear Mr Hopkins,’ he read. ‘We regret to inform you that, following your recent interview, we are unable to offer you a place at the college for the coming year. We are aware that this must be a disappointment for you but you will realise that we have received more applications than we have places. We have therefore had to restrict our selection this year to those candidates with HSC.
You may wish to submit a fresh application for our intake in 1946. Yours sincerely, Michael Roberts.’
Billy’s face fell. Bewildered, he continued staring at the letter in disbelief and dismay, and he could taste the bile rising in his throat.
‘That’s a bombshell. Mam,’ he said thickly. ‘I don’t understand it - the interview went so well.’
‘P’raps it wasn’t meant to be,’ she said. ‘Anyroad, it’s not the end of the world.’
‘In my case,’ he said in a broken voice, ‘it is. That memory man was right after all.’
‘Come on, cheer up, our kid. It’s not as bad as that - you’ve still got your health and strength.’
‘You don’t understand, Mam. That application was my last hope. Now I have nothing ahead of me but that soul- destroying job in the Inland Revenue. I can see my future rising up in front of me like a solid brick wall.’
‘You can alius climb over a brick wall, son,’ she said,
OUR BUD
‘and see what’s on the other side. One day you’ll meet a nice girl and settle down. You’ll see.’
‘What a rotten hand fate has dealt me, Mam. Born in the slums of Collyhurst, bombed out of Honeypot Street back into the slums - to this dump which is even worse than the Dwellings. I tried to be a writer on a newspaper and ended up as a toe rag. Now what have I got to look forward to? I’m chained like a slave in a civil-service galley. I give up.’
He went into the bedroom and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. All his friends from school would be going off to college in September. He could hear Robin Gabrielson’s voice in his head.
‘ The smokers’ club in London - the bright lights , the theatres , the cinemas , the West End! London , open up dem golden gates , ’cos here we come!’
The sun began to set, the light to fade, and soon he was in the darkness. Still he continued to stare - his mind numbed at the thought of his prospects and the life before him.
His mam tapped gently on the door.
‘Come on, our Billy. Don’t just lie there moping. Come and have a bit o’ tea.’
With heaviness of heart, he got up from the bed and went into the living room.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, ‘you used to be happy dancing. Why don’t you go back to Harrigan’s and find that lovely girl you was going out with? What was her name?’
‘Adele. But I gave up Harrigan’s after I broke up with her.’
‘Well, you can’t just lie there being miserable.’
‘All right, Mam. You may be right. I’ve got to try and cheer myself up. I used to feel on top of the world when
I was out dancing with her. I’ll walk over and see her. I’ll try to make it up with her. Maybe she’ll have me back.’
He washed, spruced himself up, put on a clean white shirt and a smart tie, and began to feel a little better. He walked the short distance to Adele’s home and rang the doorbell.
It was a good five minutes before she came to the door. She was wearing a silk dressing gown but she looked as beautiful as ever.
‘Hello, Adele. Thought I’d just call and see how things were with you.’
She stared past him.
‘What do you want, Billy? I’m pretty busy at the moment.’
‘I had a piece of rotten news today and I wondered if you felt like going out dancing.’
‘You must be joking after the things you said to me last time. Get lost, Billy. Go and find yourself a nice Catholic girl to bear you a dozen kids.’
A voice from over Adele’s shoulder called:
‘Who is it, Adele? Tell whoever it is to bugger off. We’re busy.’
Duggie Diggle appeared, fastening his shirt buttons.
‘It’s OK, Maximilian,’ she said. ‘It’s only an old flame, but he’s just going.’
‘Oh, it’s you, Billy,’ he said. ‘Too bad, old son. Adele’s partnering me now. You blew your chance with her.’
‘Hello, Duggie,’ Billy said. ‘Maximilian. That’s a nice name. I didn’t know you and Adele had got together.’
‘That’s one way of putting it, I suppose,’ he leered.
‘Sorry to have disturbed you, Adele,’ Billy said. ‘Parents at the Queen’s Park Hipp, I suppose. I hope Maximilian there remembered to bring a torch.’
‘Look, Billy, just piss off,’ she hissed.
Billy walked back home, hands in pocket, shoulders slumped.
‘Well, did you see her? 5 Mam asked. ‘Did you fix up to go dancing with her?’
‘Just leave me alone, Mam,’ he said, and went back into the bedroom, where he lay, hands behind his head, staring at nothing.
The next day, he went into work as usual. Cliff Fernley took one look at his face.
‘What in God’s name has got into you? You look like a Scotsman who’s lost a pound and found a tanner. In fact, come to think of it, you’re getting to look more like Albert Fiddler every day.’
‘Sorry, Cliff. I heard that I failed to get into college and I don’t want to talk to anyone today. I need time to get over it. Best thing is to leave me alone.’
‘OK, Hoppy. If that’s what you want.’
There were to be no jokes, no pranks, no laughs that day. Simply the solid, hard grind of civil-service routine. A little later that morning, Albert Fiddler came up to Billy’s desk.
‘You look as if you got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, Hopkins.’
‘Yes, Mr Fiddler.’
‘Anyway, I’ve got a change of job for you. You’re supposed to be good at maths. Here’s the invoice book of a taxpayer we suspect of cheating. The itemised details on each foolscap page have not yet been added up. That’s a job for you, Hopkins.’
‘I only learned to do quadratics and Euclidian geometry.’
‘Look, just get on with it, and less of your lip.’
His spirits drooping, Billy added up page after page of
bills for over three hours that morning. By dinner-time, he had completed the task and went off alone for his midday meal at Joe’s Chop House. On his way back, he stopped for a little while at Lower Mosley Street bus station and watched the great luxury coaches leaving for their long-distance destinations - London, Penzance, Glasgow, Edinburgh. Well, he could watch but he wouldn’t be going anywhere this year further than Gardenia Court and Sunlight House.
Still dejected, he returned at one o’clock to find Fiddler waiting for him with a scowl that spelled trouble.
‘You’re supposed to be the whizz-kid at maths! Those invoices you added up this morning! Every bloody one of ’em is wrong.’
‘Sorry, Mr Fiddler. I’ve got things on my mind.’
‘You might well say sorry. What bloody fools we tax officers would have looked if we’d accepted your figures when we’re supposed to be investigating a tax-dodger. It’s about bloody time you started to get your mind on your job, or push off and find another.’
Billy’s lips turned pale and stiff.
‘Yes, Mr Fiddler. Sorry, Mr Fiddler,’ he said in a dull voice.
That night he got home from work at the usual time, had his meal in silence, and went to lie on the bed to continue his contemplation of his old friend - the ceiling. He had been there for over an hour when he heard a stir and the sound of voices outside the bedroom door.
‘Where is he?’ he heard Steve Keenan say.
‘He’s in there, Steve,’ Mam said. ‘Just lying there. I’m worried about him.’
Steve tapped gently on the door.
‘Billy, do you mind if I come in for a minute?’ he said.
‘OK. The door’s not locked.’
‘What’s all this I hear about you getting a letter from the college and then going into the slough of despond?’
‘I had all my hopes pinned on going to college, Steve, and now. . . well. . . I’ve just given up.’
‘Given up! You must be crazy!’ he said. ‘Did you ever read that speech Churchill gave to the boys of Harrow School?’
‘Can’t say that I did, Steve.’
‘I can still remember some of it,’ he said. ‘I was so impressed. “Never give in! Never give in! Never, never, never! In nothing - great or small, large or petty. Never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield!” ’
‘How does that apply to my case, Steve?’
‘I’ll show you how it applies! Give me that letter from the college and we’ll appeal. Never give in, Billy! Never give in!’
True to his word, Steve composed and typed a letter to the principal purporting to come from Billy’s dad.
Dear Sir,
A few weeks ago, you were kind enough to grant my son, William Hopkins, an interview for a place at your college for the coming academic year, commencing September 1945. We were most disappointed in the family to learn that you were unable to offer him a place because of lack of an HSC qualification.
May we appeal to you, sir, to reconsider his case? In 1944 he passed the School Certificate in all nine subjects and was the only student in his college to do so. During the last year, as an alternative to staying on at school for a further
year, he decided to gain experience in journalism and the civil service. He worked at the Manchester Guardian where he gained valuable understanding of the workings of a modern newspaper. Today he is employed in a busy office of the Inland Revenue.
We feel, sir, that his year in the world of commerce amply compensates for the year he missed in the sixth form, since it has given him a background knowledge which should prove of inestimable value to a prospective teacher.
We trust you will give this appeal your earnest consideration.
Yours sincerely,
Thomas Hopkins.
‘Well, if that doesn’t do the trick,’ said Steve, ‘nothing will. That’s all I’ve got to say.’
It was a memorable, never-to-be-forgotten Saturday morning when Billy picked up the early-morning post and opened up the letter from the college.
‘I’M IN! I’M IN!’ he called at the top of his voice. ‘Mam! Mam! I’m in! I’m in! The college has reconsidered my position. I’m in heaven!’
He pulled her away from the toast she was buttering and waltzed round the flat with her, singing ‘I’m in Heaven’.
‘Mam! Mam! I’m over the moon. I must rush round and tell Steve Keenan right away,’ he called excitedly. ‘And then I’m going over to Rusholme to tell my pal, Robin Gabrielson.’
Billy found Steve and Pauline just about to go shopping with their two children when he arrived with his good news.
‘I felt in my bones,’ said Steve, happily, ‘that you would get into college. I just knew it all along. Never give in!’
‘We’ll make it a family motto,’ said Billy. ‘Steve-Pauline -1 cannot put into words how happy I feel at this moment. It’s all down to you, Steve, and your tenacity. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.’
‘Yes you can,’ said Pauline, laughing. ‘Just don’t take up piano-playing again.’
‘Come shopping with us,’ said Steve. ‘The kids would enjoy your company.’
‘Can’t,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get over to see my pal to give him the good news. He’ll be as pleased as Punch.’
‘Right you are,’ said Steve. ‘No more depressions, Billy - OK? Happy days are here again! Now you get off and see your friend.’
It was Mrs Gabrielson, Robin’s mother, who opened the door.
‘You must be Hoppy,’ she said, ‘the one our Robin did the shoe-shining with. I can recognise you from his description.’
‘Tall, dark and ugly, that’s me, Mrs Gabrielson.’
‘Not quite true,’ she said, laughing. ‘But do come in. Robin will be really glad to see you.’
‘Hoppy!’ Robin said when he saw Billy. ‘What brings you to this part of the world?’
‘Good news, Robin! I’m in. I’ve just heard from the college.’
‘That is the best news I’ve heard all year. Absolutely out of this world!’
‘I’d just about given up Robin, I tell you. It was my brother-in-law’s letter that pulled it off.’
‘This means that all the smokers’ club - one hundred per cent of us - will be going together. You know we were all very miserable when you got that awful letter from the
Billy Hopkins
college telling you there was no place for you. It wouldn’t have been the same with one of us missing.’
‘Exactly how I felt, Robin. Now it’s London, open up dem gates! Oh, Robin, Robin, I can’t describe to you my utter relief at getting out of this job in taxes - it’s been destroying me.’
‘We all sensed that in the smokers’ club, Hoppy. We could see it was getting to you. Now all our prayers have been answered.’
‘It’s like a dream come true.’
‘Do you realise, Hoppy, it’s just a fortnight before we’re on that train together?’
‘Don’t I know it! There’s an incredible amount to do between now and then. I’ve got to buy new suitcases, clothes, books, and so on and so on.’
‘Most of us have already done our shopping, and even some of our packing, would you believe it. We’re so ahead of ourselves that Titch and I have fixed up to go walking in the Peak District next week. Why not join us? It’ll be a chance to talk about our big plans for the future.’
‘Can’t, Robin, I’m afraid. I have to work at the office almost to the bitter end, as I need every penny I can lay my hands on. Which reminds me, I must get back this morning as I promised to give my dad a hand before he wraps up in the market.’
‘OK. I’ll pass on your good news to the others and we’ll see you in a fortnight at the railway station. What a day that’ll be, eh! The bright lights! The theatres! The . . .’
‘I know! I know! The cinemas! The West End!’
‘Be seeing you then, Hoppy,’ Robin called happily as Billy went down the street.
The week following his visit to Robin Gabrielson, Billy was run off his feet. There were a thousand and one
OUR KID
things to attend to in preparation for college: the purchase of books, writing materials, clothes, sports kit, toiletries and name tapes, as well as packing to be done, along with visits to the barber, the dentist and the doctor. Most of his buying expeditions had to be done in the evening after the daily grind at the Inland Revenue office. It was after one of these purchasing sessions that he arrived home, happily exhausted, and collapsed in an easy chair. Mam was cooking the evening meal, and as usual. Dad was busy devouring the Manchester Evening News.
‘Only a week left, Mam. I’ve just about completed all my shopping and I’m packed and ready to go. I’m looking forward to saying goodbye to that office. If I ever see another con-card or another file, I shall throw up.’
‘Here, Billy,’ said Dad, ‘what’s the name of that pal of yours - the one you’re going to college with . . . Robin something or other?’
‘Robin Gabrielson? What about him?’
‘There’s summat here in the paper about him. You’d better sit down afore you read it.’
Billy had a sudden premonition of disaster. His stomach turned over and a shiver went down his spine. ‘Let me see that,’ he cried.
MISSED HIS FOOTING WHEN CLIMBING
DOWNFALL
Student’s forty-foot death fall on Kinder.
When climbing the Kinder downfall, Kinderscout, Derbyshire, with a friend, Robin Gabrielson, seventeen-and-a-half-year-old student of Rusholme, Manchester, missed his footing and fell to the rocks forty feet below. He was taken to Stockport Infirmary where he died last night.
His friend, Richard Smalley of Fallowfield, said
that Gabrielson was about twelve feet above him. Smalley shouted to Gabrielson: ‘I can’t climb any higher here, I will try to work my way round.’
A moment later he heard a scream and his friend’s body fell past him on to the rocks. Smalley wrapped Gabrielson in his coat and left him in a sheltered spot while he went for help.
With a gamekeeper, whom he met on the moors, he summoned assistance but it was six hours before the ambulance could reach Gabrielson. On arrival at the infirmary, he was found suffering from injuries to the back of the head and internal injuries.
Gabrielson had recently won a place at a teachers’ training college in Chelsea, London, and was due to begin in a week’s time.
Billy’s mind went numb and a freezing sensation enveloped his whole body. There was a tight pain in his throat and his heart pounded against his ribs. He stared, speechless, shaking his head at the newspaper, entreating it to say it wasn’t true. He put his head down on the table but the tears would not come. He could not take in what he had read. It must be some other Gabrielson, some other Smalley - not his friends, surely. They were all going to college together in a few days’ time. They had their train tickets and were all packed and ready to go. The room went cold, a violent trembling racked him, and he crossed his arms and wrapped them round his chest as if trying to ward off the cold.
His mother felt his pain. She put her arms around him to try to comfort him and stop the shivering.
‘Don’t take on so, our Billy,’ she said. ‘It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.’
‘Another disaster, Mam. Will they never end? He was my best friend. We were going to college together on Sunday.’
‘I know. I know,’ she said. ‘But it’s God’s will.’
‘Don’t talk to me about God, Mam. He’s no friend of mine. He’s my enemy. He’s gone too far this time. He has done nothing but rain death and destruction down on my head. This is the last straw. Now I just want to be left alone.’
Once more he went to his bed, this time covering himself with a blanket in an attempt to get warm and stop the shaking. He gazed up at that grey ceiling he had come to know so well. In the semi-darkness, he could see Robin, and hear his voice. As he recalled images of his dear friend, his eyes grew wet and the tears flowed endlessly down his face.
He was awakened from his mournful meditation by a gentle knocking at the door.
‘Billy, son, don’t just lie there. Come out now. There’s another little item about your pal y’ought to see.’
He got up and went into the living room.
‘This is it, on page eight,’ Mam said, handing him the paper.
GABRIELSON - On 10 September 1945, result of an accident, Robin James, aged seventeen (requiescat in pace), dearly loved son of Joseph Paul and Catherine. Deceased will be taken into St Joseph’s, Longsight, on Thursday. Requiem Mass Friday, 10 a.m. Interment Southern Cemetery. No flowers by request.
‘I’ll go to the funeral on Friday, Mam, but right now I think I’ll go for a walk. Maybe call on Pauline and Steve.’
‘Will you be all right, son? Do you want me to come with you? You’re not going to do nowt silly, are you?’
‘No, Mam. Don’t worry. I’d rather walk alone to think - that’s all. I shan’t be late.’
The evening was damp and wet. A raw fog had descended and it was nearly dark. The streets were deserted and quiet. Billy stumbled on, unconscious of the drizzle, head down, shoulders hunched. As he passed St Anne’s Church, he suddenly became aware of the rosary beads round his neck. The beads his mother had given him for luck in the dancing competition, and the very same beads awarded to him by Sister Helen in another age when, as a stupid, innocent child, he had taken in all their stories and their lies about a merciful God. An involuntary shudder convulsed him, and with a great cry of despair, he wrenched the beads from his neck and hurled them into the rain.
‘Take them, God, if there is a God,’ he cried. ‘I’m finished with you and all those tales of your goodness and mercy. Where were you when Teddy White was drowned in the Cut? When Henry Sykes was blown to bits by that German bomb? When Jim’s lifeboat was lost? When Robin Gabrielson fell on the rocks? A saviour they call you^ but you’re nothing but a fraud. You do nothing but destroy those I love.’
He had reached Pauline’s house. He rang the bell. It was Steve who opened the door. No words were needed. One look at Billy’s strained, tearful face told all - that some dreadful misfortune had befallen him.
‘Billy! For God’s sake, come in.’
‘Billy, you look awful,’ said Pauline. ‘Let me make you a cup of tea.’
‘I’ve just heard of the death of my best friend,’ he said. ‘We were going to college together. Now I’m not sure any
more that I want to go. Fact is - I’m not sure about anything any more.’
‘But that’s terrible, terrible,’ said Steve. ‘Tell us in God’s name what happened.’
‘I’ll tell you what happened, Steve, but not in God’s name. I no longer trust or believe in Him. It was He who allowed my closest pal to be killed falling from those rocks.’
‘What a tragedy! We’re so sorry to hear about it, Billy. And now you’re wondering about your own future and whether you should go to college without your friend. And you’ve lost your faith in God as well. All hope’s gone, eh?’
‘That’s right, Steve. Robin Gabrielson’s gone, and with him all hope. As far as I can see, life’s just one big lottery and without meaning. The universe is just a series of pointless accidents. “A chequer-board of nights and days! Where Destiny with men for pieces plays. I One thing is certain , and the rest is lies/The flower that once hath blown forever dies .” ’
‘You are in a bad way, Billy,’ said Steve, ‘if you think that there is no point or purpose to the universe. Only God knows why we and the universe exist. You seem to think that the death of your friend was pointless and meaningless.’
‘Well, wasn’t it?’ said Billy.
‘If I remember correctly, Billy,’ said Pauline, ‘it was through this pal, Robin, that you got the idea of going to college in the first place.’
‘That’s right, Pauline. It was because of a letter that he wrote to me. We had such big plans for the future, he and I.’
‘You had your plans and the man upstairs had His. And they weren’t quite the same,’ said Steve. ‘Have you
thought that that letter from Robin may have been part of God’s plan for you? What you are suffering now, at this moment, may be God’s way of showing you the way you must go.’
‘I’ve thought about all the sufferings, all the deaths in my life and I no longer believe that there is a God.’
‘Life is not simply the pursuit of pleasure,’ Steve said. ‘Remember that bit of the prayer - “To Thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve, mourning and weeping in this vale of tears.” That’s what the world is, Billy, a vale of tears. You may not believe in God, but He believes in you. You may not be looking for Him, but He is looking for you all right.’
‘I’ve thought about God and all that and cannot accept the arguments for His existence.’
‘Well done! You’ve worked it all out by logic, eh?’ Steve said. ‘Listen, Billy. Faith in God has nothing to do with logical arguments. God is a supreme being who is beyond all reason and all knowing. You simply accept Him and there’s no way we can unravel his divine plan or the way he treats us. Faith, you will remember from your catechism, is a gift and not something you arrive at by intellectual arguments.’
‘Have you never doubted, Steve?’
‘Of course I have. We all have. There is a prayer we used to say, “Oh God, I believe in you. Please help me overcome my unbelief.” ’
‘Right at this minute, Steve, I feel that He has deserted me, and I am alone.’
‘Don’t you remember that story?’ he said. ‘How a man thought God had deserted him when he noticed only one set of prints on the sand at the very time when he was at his lowest. You will recall that there was only one set because at the most difficult time of his life, the Lord had
carried him. And God will help you through this rough patch, Billy. Trust Him.’
‘How do we know that? It doesn’t seem that way at the moment.’
‘Look, I don’t want to go all heavy on you, but let me remind you of that passage in St Matthew. “ Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. ” ’
Billy walked home heavily that night in sombre, pensive mood. Steve had given him much to think about.
St Joseph’s Church was packed that Friday morning for Robin’s Requiem. Everyone who’d ever known Robin seemed to be there. Billy looked round the church slowly: Robin’s grieving parents, his relatives, his teachers, his fellow-students, his neighbours filled all the benches to the very back. In the main aisle, at the front of the church, stood the oak coffin with the polished handles. From the choir loft a small group of Damian brothers sang the plain-chant Mass. Solemn-faced, the members of the smokers’ club sat together towards the front of the nave.
Billy could not take his eyes off the coffin. Inside that box lay his closest friend, fast asleep in a dream from which he would never awaken. His eyes closed never to open again. His lips sealed never to speak or smile again. Past all help or need of it.
‘Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord,’ intoned the priest.
‘And let perpetual light shine upon him,’ answered the congregation.
‘May he rest in peace. Amen,’ said the priest.
After the Introit, Robin’s father began the first of the readings in a quiet, melancholy manner, and it seemed to Billy, as he listened, that the words were being directed specifically at him.
‘Death is nothing at all ... I have only slipped away into the next room . . . ’
Mr Gabrielson’s voice faltered; he paused and swallowed hard. For a moment it looked as if he might break down. He took a deep breath and in a low, grief-stricken tone continued:
‘ What is death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval', somewhere very near, just around the corner . . . All is well.'
For a minute or two there was a solemn stillness - not a sound in the church except for subdued sobbing, and the blowing of noses, amongst that anguished congregation. Then the brothers began to chant the Sequence of the Dies Irae and the Mass continued.
After the communion rite, a distraught-looking Titch went forward to give the final reading:
'Lead, kindly light amid th ’encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on, the night is dark and I am far from home, lead thou me on.
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene; one step enough for me.'
There was a catch in his voice, and Titch broke down - unable to continue. Sorrowfully, he looked appealingly towards Billy, who nodded his understanding, walked forward and took over the reading of Newman’s verses.
7 was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou
shouldst lead me on; I loved to choose And see my path; but now lead thou me on.
I loved the garish day and, spite of fears, pride ruled my will; remember not past years.
So long thy power hath blest me, sure it still Will lead me on o’er moor and fen,
O’er crag and torrent, till the night is gone.
And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.’
At the end of the Mass, the coffin was borne out by the pall-bearers, followed by a grieving procession of mourners. The smoking-club boys, who had known Robin best, stood together in a forlorn, melancholy group. Mrs Gabrielson, her eyes red with weeping, came up to them.
‘Thank you, boys, for coming, and for those beautiful readings,’ she said softly. ‘Robin so loved you all. And now he won’t be going to college with you after all. I can’t tell you how hard it is to take it all in and to accept that he is dead. Everywhere in the house are hundreds of little reminders of him - his clothes, his shoes, even his collar studs and cuff-links. And his half-packed suitcase is still in his bedroom, exactly where he left it. I haven’t had the heart to move it.’
She was about to break down, but recovered her composure.
‘Go to college,’ she said, ‘and, for the sake of his memory, do well and succeed. That’s what he would have liked. He will be with you down there in Chelsea in spirit.’
They watched the cortege proceed slowly down Plymouth Grove until it was out of sight. There was a song which went round and round in Billy’s head:
All the birds of the air Fell a-sighing and a-sobbing When they heard of the death Of poor Cock Robin.
‘When something like this happens,’ he said, offering his cigarettes round, ‘everything in one’s life falls into perspective.’
‘Too true,’ said Oscar. ‘You begin to get your priorities right. What’s important and what isn’t.’
‘We spend all our time,’ added Titch, ‘worrying about exams, about money, about sex, about career, about tomorrow.’
‘All the time taking it for granted that we’re going to have a tomorrow,’ said Oily.
‘Poor Robin has no tomorrow,’ said Nobby.
‘We’ve got to take each day as it comes,’ said Billy. ‘Act as if each day was our last.’
‘And one day,’ said Oscar, ‘we’ll be right.’
‘Robin’s mother seemed keen that we should stick to our plans, go to college without Robin and succeed for his sake,’ said Titch.
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Pottsy. ‘Academic study, as you all know, was never my strong point. I’d like to go to college with you all, but my father wants me to go into his business to learn the ins and outs of the retail trade. I’ll sure miss you lot.’
‘That goes for me too,’ said Billy. ‘I’m not sure about anything any more.’
‘Oh, surely not, Hoppy,’ said Oscar. ‘Don’t say you’re changing your mind about college.’
‘It’s enough the gang’s going without Robin, without you pulling out as well,’ said Nobby.
‘I’m having second thoughts,’ said Billy. ‘College
doesn’t have the same attractions now that Robin’s dead. He was the one who encouraged me the whole time.’
‘All the more reason you should go, surely?’ saidTitch.
‘Well, the way I see it, I did an awful lot of moaning and complaining about my job - how boring it was and all that. That doesn’t seem to matter any more. Life isn’t all that bad. I’ve got my ballroom dancing, and if I worked hard in the civil service, I could end up as a fully fledged tax officer.’
‘What about your ambitions to write and all that?’ asked Oily.
‘A pipe-dream, Oily, a pipe-dream. That’s all it was. If I went to college, I’d have to consider the tremendous expense I’d be putting my folks to. That’s apart from the fact that they would lose my weekly wage too.’
‘We hope you change your mind, Hoppy,’ said Oscar.
‘I’ve not decided yet,’ said Billy. ‘Robin’s death has got my brain in a whirl and I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. I thought I might get away this weekend, say back to Blackpool for a couple of days, walk the beach at Cleveleys where we used to play together, and think things through.’
‘But we’re supposed to leave on Sunday,’ said Titch.
‘I know! I know!’ sighed Billy. ‘I’m just confused, that’s all. Do I really want to go to college? Do I really want to be a teacher? I can’t see the point in anything any more.’
‘Well, just in case, Hoppy, here’s my hand,’ said Nobby. ‘Goodbye, and we’ll see each other when we see each other.’
‘Same goes for me,’ said Pottsy, shaking hands.
‘Cheers!’ said Oily, taking Billy’s hand. ‘But I hope to see you in a couple of days.’
‘I’m not shaking hands,’ said Oscar, ‘because I just know you’ll be going with us to London.’
‘Neither am I,’ said Titch. ‘Please, Hoppy, be sensible and make the right decision.’
Sadly they parted company at the corner of Plymouth Grove and went their different ways.
Sunday afternoon. A taxi pulled in at the Central Station approach. Billy got out with his luggage, paid the driver and struggled his way across the station concourse. He consulted the large railway timetable board.
‘Platform six,’ he said aloud.
He handed his ticket to the collector at the barrier. ‘Better hurry, mate,’ said the man. ‘That train’s due out in a few seconds.’
He hurried as best as he could with his suitcase along the platform, looking for a particular compartment.
And there they were! Heads sticking out of the windows as if it were a cattle truck - the Damian College Smokers’ Club.
‘Trust you to be late, Hoppy!’ called Oscar.
‘Come on, Hoppy!’ shouted Titch. ‘Get a move on or you’re going to miss the train!’
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