WEST ROAD ROAD... The Top End... Its a warm day early evening, I reach a lamp post half way up the road, as I pause a series of bangs and minor explosions are heard, over the brow of the hill comes a ZEPHYR 6, being bump started by a budding mechanic, Graham Chappell, barely visible in the drivers seat, a fag in his mouth, the car engine sparks into life and jumps foward leaving the two aids pushing the vehicle sprawling in the middle of the road, the hill was often used for bump starting cars and bikes but it was a bugger when they reached the bottom without successfully starting. I muse at the bike tyre that is around the lamp post, it had been there for weeks, many had tried to get it back over the top by shinning up the lampost, without success. I note that Vals love for Kev remains true, at least thats what it states on the lamp post, with a crudely drawn heart with an arrow thru it. I think the Kev in question was a lad Kevin Stone but not sure... I notice that there is a different air to the Estate on a friday, pay day for many, theres alot of activity in the bathrooms, the youth are getting ready to go dancin,drinking at the local watering holes, I can actually smell the faint fragrances that are flushed out with the bath water as it hurtles down a leaking drainpipe, splashing into a blocked drain. A tall youth in ice blue denims and black leather jacket passes me with his cuban heels, hair slicked back curly but restrained with Brylcreem, his quiff a full two inches further forward than his brow, i note the comb in his back pocket, the denims bear the tell tale sign of wear, its occupied this pocket for a good while, Eddie Elliott, Stephens older brother, there was Jack too but I knew little about him, I think their mother had her hands full, she was a gentle woman as I recall. I watch him for a little while and out it comes, he whips the comb out of his back pocket and and swiftly pulls it through his quiff and dabs it with the palm of his hand, the comb is returned to his back pocket as rapidly as it was brought out, reassured his hair is in place he sticks his hand out for the Flyer and hops on, flicking his tab into the gutter, I rush forward to rescue the fag end but the forceful flick had extinguished any hope of mine about a sneaky drag on the discarded remnant. Im tempted to play hopscotch as I pass over the number 4 on the pavement, you needed a flat stone, but there are two onlookers and this was a girls pastime, I spat my beech nut gum at the 0 IN TEN bang in the middle, i regretted this immediately, now I had nothing to chew on, before me now the road levels out, ahead a wide stretch of straight road this was the hub,this was more than a road, this was a football pitch, a cricket pitch, a mecca for skipping ropes, pitch,patch,pepper, alabalboosha an all. It was a throng of dogs, kids,mums,dads, it was also a boxing ring on occasions, it was alive, it was friday on a summers day on West Royd Road and I was part of it. Final installment tonight..lol..
Posted on: Fri, 12 Sep 2014 06:55:09 +0000
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