Written by Inchcock
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Sunday, 18 September 2011

image for A True Diary of Woe - Part Five Rations carrier for the great escape!

A story of one man's utter failure, depression, frustration, and poverty, starting in August 1947

Chapter Eleven: A Penny for the Pain


Dad, being Dad, he spent nothing if it could be avoided, he even used to pull my teeth with his cobbling pliers.. lifting me in the sink to catch the blood, gritting his teeth, taking a mega-firm grip, and yanking out the offending tooth (and often the wrong one), he'd rinse out my mouth, and… and for anyone who knew him might find this hard to believe, he's give me a 'penny for the pain'.

Chapter Twelve: Mother Returns, I do a Bunk!


When dear mater returned to the fold, gloom returned, and I was most despondent and sorrowful. So much so, that on the first night she returned, I decided to run away!

Not exactly the best planned escape you've will have ever heard of.

I took a bag of crisps and a bottle of 'pop' in a Marsden's carrier bag, and legged it out of the back door while Mother and Father were in the front room arguing as usual.

The time, being around 2030hrs. I had no idea where I was going, but seem to remember having set out with great determination that I was never going to return to the violence and anger at home again.

I ended up walking down Wilford Road to Castle Boulevard from Trent Bridge, and turned onto Abbey Bridge, which was where the fear and realisation of my situation suddenly gripped me, that I was not sure why or where I was!

I changed my mind, and started to walk back to No. 4 Brookfield Place (my home), as I turned into Wilford Street, and it began to get dark, I started to panic, and began running.

That was when a black Triumph Standard car pulled up besides me, and a man shouted something I couldn't hear properly, and got the energy through fright, to run even faster… I turned down Traffic Street, and could hear the car following as it revved and suddenly the brakes squealed!

I shot up an entry, only to find it was a dead end, as I realised this, I felt myself being lifted into the air by a chap, and carried back out of the entry, then being slapped up against the wall by the very tall man… who said in a dominating, intimidating gruff voice, "Furse's had been robbed earlier tonight, what have you got in that carrier bag!"

It gleaned as another man joined him from the car, that they were bobbies.

I came clean, and told them I'd run away from home, but had got scared and was on my way back home, told him my address, and (as was the case in them days) he said he knew Harry (my Dad), and would take me home to prove if I was lying or not.

By now it must have been getting on for midnight.

They threw me in the back of the car, and we drove home, to find the neighbours curtains twitched, and lights coming on in the Terrace.

One police officer rattled on the door, it took a while to wake mummy and daddy up, but it seemed the rest of the occupants of the Terrace had turned out to find out what was happening!

The door opened, before anyone appeared I knew it was mother, as I saw the cigarette smoke curling around the doorframe... it appears that no one had missed me anyway!

Mummy in her own caring way belted me around the head with her slipper for getting the police involved, and then it was upstairs where I found Daddy peeling his belt from around his trousers on the chair… a couple of good clouts around the legs, preceded a good four more on the bottom.

That night I went to bed in pain and even more confused than before!

More to follow

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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