A short story by my grandfather Bill Forster about my great grandfather Joseph AlbertMy dad could not read or write, whether he ever went to school I do not know. He could, however, tell you of the trees, the Ash, the Sycamore and the Oak. Walking with him, he could point out the ways of the animals and the birds.
He kept Flemish Giants, a breed of rabbits, large with big ears. One day he told me to clean them out, and put fresh ferns for their bedding. Not knowing, I put two bucks together while I cleaned the other out. In a moment, they were fighting like mad. I had to shout for dad. He parted them, somehow, receiving deep cuts on his knuckles. I was in the doghouse for days, after this; never put two bucks together. I had learned one lesson.
Weeks later, there was joy and excitement in the house. He was taking two 'Giants' to the Cock Loft in Hanley, where there was the Annual Show. At the last moment, he agreed to take me with him, my heart was full: he had forgiven me.
I hung around, looking at the banty hebs, the litters of pups and of course the rabbits. Dad would not move from his beloved pets. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the white-coated judges moving slowly towards our pen. Would they ever come to ours? Dad sent me back to see how the others had fared. I was away for a while, and when I came back, I saw the look of joy on his face. We had got a red - and a blue that was an amazing first and third prize.
We took the prizes home with excitement. They were two pipes, one a splendid Meersham in a plush case, and another smaller one called Captain Black. He gave me the Captain Black, knowing that Ives smoking fags. That event lasted long in our memories, bringing it, in the talk, over and over again.
I have told you of old Yellow Eyes, the cat who destroyed one of my dad's best litters, and the way I killed it. As I grow older, I realise what a cruel world it is, one species living off the other.
Every few weeks, when he could afford it, he would go on a drinking spree. Mother made sure that his suit was out of the pawnshop. The fuss and bother accompanied these outings were astounding. She had to tie his cravat over his stiff collar, wipe his ears with a damp cloth, while I polished his box hat and boots. Then with the Holly stick in his hand, he would brave the world.
At that time, I was the eldest at home. Alice and Marg. had gone working in 'Service at a Hotel in Birmingham, so mother wisely went to bed early, leaving me to face father when he got home.
In the early days of these escapades, I was very nervous, not knowing how to act when he came in drunk. "Where's thee mother" he would roar, knowing very well where she was. Then going to the back kitchen he would wash himself, and stretching before the fire, order me to pull his boots off. Then the tales began, of long ago, when he was a youth, and looking at me with bleary eyes, daring me not to listen.
They were meandering home one night, he went on, five or six of them, when a stream of ashes covered them. In the dim light of the moon, they saw the high hedge and clouds of this dust streaming over it. Being half sozzled, they ran until they were panting for breath. Then easing up, and glancing back, they saw in the moonlight, this donkey with no head. It was kicking and squealing, sending clouds of ashes all around. If they had run before, they easily doubled their pace, scarves and caps flying in their rush.
They reached the house of Sam Symons, who was reading in front of an oil lamp, before the windows. The iron railings in the forecourt rattled as they stumbled in, crying, sobbing, for Sam to let them in. They tried to explain, sobbing, weeping, telling Sam of the donkey with no head. He laughed, then drew the curtains across. To his horror, and shock, there it was, pacing up end down the railings, kicking and squealing . He drew back, "My God.' how awful" They all looked askance at him, because he could read and write, and was known for his intellect, in lots of ways.
They lay in all corners of the room, as close to each other as possible. Some of them dozed fitfully, until slowly they saw the clouds getting lighter. Feeling that he must do something, Sam rose to his feet, paused, then drew back the curtains. It had vanished – then turning to the others, said in a stern voice, "Come on lads, get off home". Bleary eyed they looked, rolled over and one by one they slunk out. Whatever tale they told their parents I do not know, but it was an ill-omen of bad things to come - they knew.
Later, Sam went out in the back, and saw that his dim-witted brother had cut his throat in the pig sty. One of the pigs was licking the blood from the poor fellow's chest. Ill-omens were rife in those days, and who could deny this.
Another night, he told me, he was fighting in Knutton fields, what about he wouldn't say, but I knew they would fight at the slightest insult. There was no wireless or television, gramophones were just coming out, and they were very rare at that time. Boys wore short trousers until they were fifteen, hanging on to their boyhood until the very last. You never saw a man wheeling a pram, that was a woman's job. They worked, turned their money over to the wife, and expected her to do marvellous things with it. Some were good and understanding like dad, but others kept the money in their pockets, rattling it in the Ale Houses, then give a pittance to their wives, on Monday.
Oh. yes, he was fighting a big bruiser in fields back of Knutton. Dad was being beaten, and he knew it. The bruiser, at the last gasp, rushed in. Dad shot his knee in the other's groin, following up with a right upper-cut. It was all over, they had to turn his face over from the long grass, else he would have choked. "I had to do it Bill" dad said, "The only time in my life".
He looked at me, knowing he had fought unfairly. "Never mind" I said, that is all I could say.
He was engaged in building a big fowl cote, and every now and then he would buy a bacon box from the Co-op for five shillings. These boxes were 6’ x 3’ x 2’ wonderful value for the money. He would take pains in taking them to pieces, saving each nail like any miser. In the hot sun this timber would stink to high heaven, and mother would call to him to shift it.
Another habit he had, was to cut open and flatten large empty corned beef tins. These served as tiles for the roof of the hen-house. He was always up to something, banging, tinkering, thumping, at some idea all the time.
On Saturday, at tea time, a knock came at the door. We looked. "Oh. Its that chap after that rabbit" he said, "I’ve told him time and time again that I've none to spare. Anyway, I'll fix him". Then, walking to the back, he grabbed the cat from next door, and put it in a large hessian bag. The stranger was waiting patiently. "Theer thee at, theey't lucky, now rush off and ketch thee train".
Later we heard about the fiasco on the train to Leycett. The carriage was crowded with shoppers, and the man must peep at his 'rabbit'. As soon as the cat saw a glimmer of light it shot out. Squealing and snarling then clambering over the luggage rack. Bundles of cat droppings all over the place rolling down, women sobbing with fright, until someone opened the window and the poor animal went. That was the story we were told, but dad said, that was how to kill two birds with one stone - because if dad had a dislike, it was cats - especially the one from next door.
We crouched in the rushes, it was not yet light. I wondered at getting out of a warm bed, but I had longed to be with dad on his bird catching morning. He had told me of the thrill of catching the wild linnets, the bull finches and others. He made his own bird lime, a sticky substance, which he daubed on the rush leaves around a certain spot. Then with the breeder bird in the cage, covered with a cloth, ready for the dawn, we crouched. I was frozen, my feet were like ice, and I was glad to notice the first glimmer of morning across the mill pool.
The fields and the trees came into view, and I could see they were white over with frost.
A "Shush' from where dad crouched, and he whipped the cover off the caged breeder bird. She ruffled her feathers, then began a tiny chirp, getting stronger as moments went by. They came over to the feeding grounds, ready for their early breakfast. I tried to count, but there were too many. The caged bird was chirping stronger now, and the wild ones, circling round trying to settle. Something was wrong and frightening them, dad tried to figure it out.
We caught three that morning, and to his disgust, they were only sparrows.
We gathered ourselves together and trudged off home to an early breakfast. He gave me a long look - I'm sure he thought it was my fault.
Mother used to go to the pictures every Wednesday, and she would recount to us the exploits of Fu Man Choo and Eddie Polo. Dad was entranced, his old eyes twinkling with interest. We used to sneak off, but they would still be there, one listening, the other delighted for someone to hear her tale.
I was growing, and getting more confidence, and waiting up for dad after his monthly drinking spree did not worry me at all. He came stumbling in. "Where's thee mother?" he bawled, "Gone to bed dad" I replied, "Then pull my shoes off".
The ritual wash, and supper, then his last pipe of tobacco, when there was a 'thump' under the window, and running footsteps, away, and away. He opened the door, and dragged in a bag with six rabbits in it. He just had time to hide them in the hen-house, when there was a knock on the door. Seeing our light, the only one in the lane, Bobby Bennet was asking if we had seen or heard anybody. Old 'drip nose' the gamekeeper was behind him. "We were just off to bed" dad replied, and "No, we have seen nobody'. "What about you, lad, have you seen anybody?". I shook my head, for I hadn't seen anybody.
They went, and both of us climbed the stairs to bed. The upshot of this was - the poachers called next day for the six rabbits. Dad said there were only four, they said there were six. Dad said there were four, and here they are, "tak 'em or leave 'em". We had rabbit pie, rabbit stew, for the next few days. I was sitting up as usual, waiting for him, when I heard a groan at the front gate. Rushing out to find dad leaning against the wall, "Bill, help me in lad." Looking at him, I saw his face streaked with blood, some of it dripping on his collar.
Helping him to strip and clean himself, he grew calmer, and making to pull his boots off, he shrugged "Leave 'em Bill." It must have been after midnight by now, when he 'rose, and pulling on a clean shirt, then his coat and cap, made to go out. "Wherever are you going dad?" I cried, for I could see a funny look in his eyes. I followed him down the lane and up to Farmers Bank, to Abbey Street. He thumped on the door, shouting "Harriet, Harriet, send George down he’s wanted."
Doors creaked, and muffled footsteps were heard, and George appeared, holding a candle above his head. "Whatever's up" he had time to say, when dad leaned forward and smashed his fist in the man's face. It was an awful blow, sending George flat on his back. The last look I had of him, was one arm resting between the mangle and the dolley tub.
We turned and made our way home. I wondered at this, because dad didn't say much, but it seems that these two were old enemies. They would not forgive and forget these feuds going year after year even to their children's' children. Only when they were too old to fight, they would get together and yarn about it.
I have seen them walking down the lanes, slowly, steadily, because some could not get their breath, ending up coughing and spitting phlem onto the grass verge, an old dog following them faithfully. They knew the mushroom fields and the place where they could lift a "chonnock" - a swede turnip - from the edge of a farmer's field. They had been providers all their lives, and their poachers pockets were always full of contraband.
He lay on the sofa, his old eyes were staring in the distance. I knew he was dying, and noticed how small he looked then; as he clasped his hand in mine, he muttered
"Look after thee mother, Bill."
