(A short autobiographical memoir)
The temperatures on Boxing Day, 1962, were well below zero as flakes of snow began their silent descent. Although I didn’t know it at the time, that winter would be forever known as the big freeze. Within days blizzards created huge snowdrifts paralysing life in Britain for the next three months with temperatures plummeting to -22 degrees.
Standing at the bus stop in Durham, I couldn’t stop my knees rapping in time to my teeth. As melted flakes ran from my flooded eyes onto my crimson nose, I remembered a daytrip to see Coco the Clown at Spanish City. Standing behind me, Angela held both sides of my duffle coat together where buttons were missing, as the Cathedral bells summed the faithful, laden with gifts for the less fortunate. Although I looked like a deserving recipient, what couldn’t be seen in the pocket of my coat was a very protective protruding middle finger. Religion hadn’t been my saviour. Having yoyoed through eight failed placements in my seven short years, I’d already acquiesced this was probably number nine.
When the bus for Consett pulled in, my eyes widened in fear as my heart began pumping like a marathon runner. Spinning around to Angela I buried my face into the belly of her coat, climbing clumsily onto her boots with my frozen feet,
‘Am not gannin’ there. That’s where they took me last time, then sent me back telling Auntie I was a wrong-un’.
The same thing had happened to Bobby. We’d both been given promises of hot suppers and warm beds, just like our classmates in their parallel universe; the other world. Yet we’d both ended up with nasties; out to make a buck. But Bobby got lucky. At sixteen, he legged it and never came back. I still miss him.
Slipping her warm hands into my balaclava, she cupped my icy cheeks.
‘Don’t worry pet, that’s not our bus and you’re not going there’.
Wrapping her arms tightly around my back, sandwiching me from the biting draught, she lifted me up-and-down on her feet, as though playing a pedal organ.
‘Remember that woman who took you out for the day?’ she said.
‘Aye, I liked her, but only ‘cause she liked me’, I replied.
‘Her name’s Katy, married to Billy, and they are your new foster parents!’
‘What if… he doesn’t like me?’, I quivered.
‘Billy’s a miner and has to go to work’ she smiled, ‘but I’m sure he will’.
As the Consett bus left, the Stanley bus pulled in and we boarded. Looking out of the window I was ambivalent. I hadn’t met Billy; and whenever I thought about that, my stomach lurched.
All along the streets of Stanley, Christmas lights flickered in the windows of the two-up two-downs. In a tiny kitchen Bella and Katie sat drinking tea, warming themselves by the coal fire; a freshly baked corned beef pie sat on the range. Both in their forties, Bella had three children but Katie had been unable to conceive.
‘He’ll be here soon Bella, and am really nervous’, said Katy.
‘Wey diven’t be Katie, you’ll be a lovely mam; I should know I’ve got three bairns’ Bella replied, unaware of how patronising she sounded.
‘I know you’ve got three Bella, ah diven’t need remindin!’, snapped Katie, out of character.
‘I’m sorry Katie, I didn’t mean to preach’, said Bella, hugging her, ‘I just want you to feel confident and happy; you’ve waited all your married life for this moment’.
‘I didn’t intend to snap Bella, but sometimes you can speak without thinking’, Katy apologised, ‘I’ve only met the bairn twice and he’s never even met wor Billy yet; and you know how funny he can be’.
The sudden knock on the door tightened the sisters’ embrace into a cling. At a second, louder knock Bella slowly eased her grasp and took Katie’s hands,
‘Katy, you look lovely, the house is homely and warm, and you’ve got a gorgeous corned beef pie waiting; now go and greet your lad’.
Swallowing slowly, Katy straightened her pinny and tidied her hair.
When the door opened, it was like a portal to the other world. The smell of fresh pastry hit my nostrils like a boxer’s glove as it wafted around the silhouette of two people welcoming us inside. Still holding my dufflecoat closed, Angela smiled and said,
‘Hello Katie, I’m afraid we’re a bit wet. Say hello pet’.
‘Aw never mind that, hinny’, Katy interrupted, ‘Howay in from the cold’.
‘My he’s a wiry bugger’ said Bella, ‘he’s ganna need some plumpin’ oot’, as Katy nudged her in the ribs.
‘Where’s Billy?…and who’s that?’ I asked cautiously, looking at Bella.
‘Billy’s not home yet, he’s on afters, ‘said Katie, ruffling my basin-cut, ‘and she’s your Aunty Bella, she’s me sister’.
The warmth and crackle from the fire felt and sounded like my body and soul were being marinated with feelings of comfort and safety I’d never known. Catching sight of Katie cutting up the pie, I salivated as she passed us both a plate.
‘I thought you’d be hungry before bedtime hinny…’, said Katie, ‘…and you’ve still got another bus trip home Angela’.
Sinking my teeth into the pie, my eyes closed and teeth clamped shut with a smile as my tongue detected it wasn’t boiled onions again. Savouring every morsel, I paused swallowing to prolong the joy,
‘Am not gannin’ to bed ‘til I’ve met Billy’ I said, displaying to all and sundry the contents of my mouth.
‘Don’t talk with your mouth full pet’ said Angela.
Nodding compliantly, I slowly took a second, larger bite, buttoned my lips and rotated my tongue around the pie, manoeuvring it into every crevice of my mouth. Suddenly, just as I was about to swallow, the back door flew open and a huge, yeti-like, snow-covered figure filled the doorway.
‘Hello Billy, said Angela ‘I’ve brought the bairn’
Billy glanced at me, grunted, then sat down to take his boots off as I swallowed what felt like a boulder.
‘Looks like the snow’s getting heavy so I’d better be going’, Angela continued, ‘thanks for the pie Katie, it was lovely’.
‘Hang on Angela; I’ll walk out with you’ said Bella. ‘Katy, I’ll pop round tomorrow with the kids so the bairn can meet his cousins’.
As the door closed Katie motioned to me,
‘Howay hinny, I’ll take you up to bed’
‘If he doesn’t like me I’m doing a ‘Bobby’, I whispered.
‘He does!,’ Katy laughed, ‘He grunted!’.
Upstairs two bedrooms were separated by a pee bucket on the landing,
‘Just in case you need to go in the night’, said Katie.
Nailing me to the mattress with umpteen blankets and a candlewick bedspread, she slid a brick wrapped in a tea-towel into the bed,
‘I’ve warmed it up on the range to keep your feet warm’ she said, ruffling my basincut again, ‘Sleep well hinny’.
Lying in bed, looking out of the window at the snowburst, I practiced grunting, as I drifted off to sleep; just in case this was the other world.
The silence in the morning was eerie. It was the first time ever I hadn’t woken up in a pissy-wet bed full of stinky, noisy bodies. Slipping out of bed, I crawled to the window. As my eyes widened in wonder, cracking the encrusted duck meat, I was greeted by, what looked like, a massive cloud that had descended from the heavens, stretching from the horizon to my windowsill. It was like I’d gone to sleep on one planet and woken up on another, though my enchantment was short-lived; interrupted suddenly by a loud grunt from downstairs,
‘HOWAY THOO!, am ganna need a hand!’.
Accustomed to being summoned, I immediately assumed ‘thoo’ was me. I’d been called worse but at least being a ‘thoo’ acknowledged I even existed.
‘Comin’! I called back, quickly wrestling into my clothes, ballet dancing around the pee bucket, then skipping down the stairs where Katy was waiting holding my wellies.
‘He needs help to clear the snow from the backyard; we cannet get to the nettie or the coal hoose till it’s gone’, she said, opening the back door to what looked like another door, only white.
‘Right!’ Billy grunted, leaning on a shovel, ‘When ah fill a bucket, tek it thro the kitchen, oot the front door, into the garden and empty it. Then come back and tek another one’.
‘Aye, I can dee that’ I said eagerly, pulling on my wellies.
‘I’ll put the kettle on then come and help’, Katie whispered, ‘I’ll bring the buckets to the front door’.
Although the front garden had been spared snowdrifts I quickly realised the snow was deeper than the tops of my wellies. Traipsing back-and-forth in the cold, humping what felt like buckets of nails, it wasn’t long before a glacial chill penetrated every bone in my body. When the kettle finally whistled even my chilblanes rejoiced, although unnervingly the joy was brief as a familiar loud grunt from the backyard filled me with guilt.
‘Am not havin’ mine till am finished!!’.
Passing me a warm mug Katie whispered,
‘Pay no heed to him, he’s a piece-worker, used to being paid by the bucket’
‘I still diven’t think he likes me’.
‘It’s not that’ she chuckled, ‘pitmen aren’t talkers, they’re just grunters; emotionally constipated’.
Stifling our snortles, another grunt came, as if on cue,
‘Never mind jokin’ aboot, there’s two more buckets waiting, then there’ll be one more after that!’.
Hurriedly grabbing a bucket each we sniggered all the way up the path and back to find the last bucket full; of coal.
‘Well done son’ grunted Billy, ruffling my basin-cut.
‘Thanks dad’, I grunted, beaming, at no longer being a ‘thoo’.
‘I think you’ve cured his constipation’, Katy whispered, laughing.
My old world had become the other world.
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