I Think I'm OK Read online

  I was going to tell the others it was every man for himself once we reached the bottom of Water End. I didn’t want to go through the same fiasco as the last time but I felt as though I should take Tony with me. I may have been right or it may have been through some vainly misguided belief in my own ability but I thought he had more chance of getting away if he stuck with this idiot rather than the other three idiots. That plan was taken out of my hands as police cars, with tyres screeching, seemed to appear from every direction. The staff member had obviously woken up and found his keys missing.

  I wish I had been a fly on the wall. I bet he was running around like a headless chicken. I have this vision of him doing an impression of a Vicar of Dibley character. He wakes up to see the keys missing, “No no no no.” Then finds the empty beds, “No no no.” Then finds he can’t get to the office because I relocked all the doors behind us, “No no no.”

  Isn’t pay back a bitch?

  I shouted at Tony to follow me and ran as fast as I could towards a housing estate. I had not been running long when I opened the six foot gate of somebody’s back garden and looked behind me for Tony, he was nowhere to be seen. I stepped into the garden and stood with my back to the gate trying to gather my thoughts as well as my breath. As I looked up to the clear night sky, the words “Oh fuck,” just trickled involuntarily from my mouth. In the distance I could hear the revving of engines, the slamming of car doors and raised voices which I assumed were those of the police. In the cold stillness of the night every noise seemed to be amplified.

  I was so busy trying to get my head together that it was a minute or so before I noticed a push bike propped up against the garden fence. Draped over the bike was a black Donkey jacket. I quickly put the Donkey jacket on and whilst checking the pockets I found a woollen hat, I put the hat on as well. I stood holding the handle of the gate for a while before taking in a huge gulp of air and pushing the bike out onto the road. Figuring that the police would be chasing anyone running away from them I decided to push my luck; I cycled straight back in the direction I had just come from.

  Bugger me it worked.

  I went past two police cars and at least four officers, one of which asked me if I had seen any kids running about. Making my voice as deep as I could I said, “No mate,” and continued cycling. Once out of sight of any of the coppers I cycled like a bloody maniac until I thought it safe to slow down.

  I had found the sign for Leeds and had been cycling in the right direction for about ten minutes occasionally seeing the odd Police car, none of which took a blind bit of notice of me. Then the back tyre of the bike developed a puncture. I had a quick look around me and seeing nobody picked the bike up and threw it over a wall to my left. I was a little pissed off when the tyre popped but my mood soon changed when I looked over the wall. At the bottom of a grassy bank was a railway line, in one leap I was over the wall and sliding down the bank.

  It was still dark, though down on the rail track it seemed even darker. I began to slowly walk along the track taking one sleeper at a time, cautiously, until my eyes had become accustomed to the dark. Before long I was jogging away, a smile on my face, not knowing what the next hour, day, or week would bring and not caring in the slightest.

  I had no idea of the time but after a couple of hours jogging, singing to myself and avoiding the occasional train , I could see the sky getting lighter so I needed to find somewhere to get my head down. Now when I say I was singing, I mean when it seemed safe to do so I would belt it out at the top of my voice. I’m no good at singing but when you are on your own, who cares?

  I liked to sing songs that fit the rhythm of my steps which also seemed to make the journey go quicker. It didn’t, I was aware of that, it just appeared so. My favourites were Resurrection Shuffle by Ashton Gardner and Dyke, Tap Turns on the Water by CCS and Cuz I luv you by Slade. It’s a good job nobody did see me, not just because I could’ve been caught but also I must have looked like a right nutter jogging along, singing out loud and occasionally stopping to do the actions to the songs.

  Whilst I’m on the subject, most of the songs I remember bring a smile to my face, yet even now there is one song I have difficulty in listening to without getting a little upset, ‘Make The World Go Away’ by Jim Reeves. I wish I hadn’t mentioned it now; it’s put me on a bit of a downer.

  I came across a rail worker’s shed; a brick built flat roofed building with one door and one window. There was no need to break in as the door was unlocked. I had no intention of sleeping in there but I couldn’t pass up the chance to have a look in and see if there was anything that could be of use to me. There wasn’t much, it didn’t look as though anyone had been there for quite a while. Though I did find a half full box of matches, an old blanket that was filthy and smelled of oil and some small pieces of string.

  Tying all the bits of string together I made two lengths. I shoved the matches in my pocket, made a couple of loops with the string in order to carry the rolled up blanket on my back like a rucksack and then hopped back onto the railway lines. It was another half hour or so before I saw a small piece of woodland and decided that would be the place for me to get some kip.

  The sun was rising and the birds were singing. That early morning smell you get when the sun starts to make the dew evaporate was filling the air. I was so happy I think I laughed out loud. I gathered armful after armful of grass and leaves and piled them up under a coniferous tree, the ones which have low lying branches, I then covered the leaves with the smelly blanket. Lying down with the donkey jacket over my upper body I fell fast asleep with a smile on my face.

  It was mid-afternoon before I awoke from a good kip, the type which leaves you feeling refreshed, you don’t spend another half an hour trying to fully wake up. That could have been thanks to the fresh air or it could have been thanks to the lack of Librium, that stuff tended to put you in a world of your own. In a way I wished it hadn’t been so good, I could then have gone back to sleep and passed away a little more of the day. As it was I just had to sit about and wait for night to fall, but I didn’t really mind. An afternoon and evening of lazing about in the open countryside can never be described as a waste of time no matter what time of year, well not by me anyway.

  I had been feeling hungry most of the afternoon but by around four or five in the evening I was bloody famished. Famished or not I wasn’t going to go back onto the rail tracks until darkness came, I could then look for somewhere to nick something to eat. I also made a mental note to look out for some washing being hung out to dry. The smell of the oily blanket was starting to make me feel sick and even though I had left it under the tree the stench had stuck to my clothes.

  Eventually, my good friend the darkness turned up and I made rapid progress, by the early hours reaching Tadcaster. Without a watch I had to estimate the time based on things like whether or not the pubs were open, how many people were about, the amount of traffic, that sort of thing. I guess it was around three in the morning when I found myself garden hopping looking for some clothes that would fit me. If you lived in Tadcaster around that time and you got up one morning to find your washing line short of a couple of pairs of trousers, a shirt, some socks and a pillow case, I apologise.

  The opportunity to get something to eat didn’t present itself until just before dawn. I was back on the line and could see a small railway station way ahead so, as I always did, I made my way off the line and walked on the road around the station before returning to the tracks further down the road. The station was in a tiny village and luckily for me the local milkman had already made his early morning deliveries. Bread, butter, milk and orange juice isn’t exactly a Full English but it hit the spot.

  I drank as much of the milk as I could and just a little of the orange juice as I walked, before dumping the bottles and stealing a couple more that I put unopened into my pillowcase, OK somebody else’s pillowcase, along with the bread and butter. Before much longer I was looking for, and found, a place to make my bed. />
  I awoke much earlier than I wanted to that day, around noon, and though the place I chose to sleep was safe enough for that purpose it was not a good place to be making a small fire.

  That part of Yorkshire is very flat so you can see for miles over all the fields, which also means you too can be seen for miles. I spent a good while walking alongside dry stone walls going from field to field in order to reach a small copse I had seen. It was worth every step; a small stream ran alongside the copse so I stripped off and had a bloody good wash before changing my clothes. I built a small fire and did myself some toast, it was delicious. The milk and orange juice I wedged into the stream to keep cool.

  The rest of the day was spent sitting with my back against a tree, taking in the view with the late winter sun on my face and occasionally swigging the orange juice. Somewhere between nine and ten pm I was once again trotting along the rail track.

  Chapter 9

  ‘Der der der der dum, der der der der dum, der der der der dum dum, dum dum dum, der der der der dum.’

  That was the intro to Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl, and it was in tune by the way.

  So there I was jogging away singing ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ at the top of my voice. Then I saw a light to the left of the track, it was about half a mile or so ahead of me so Brown Eyed Girl was put on hold.

  As I slowly made my way toward the light it became apparent that the light was attached to a house, it was a small but bright light which hung over the front door. The house looked like the typical sort a child would draw, front door in the middle and two downstairs windows either side of it with two bedroom windows above them. I eventually drew level with the house and could see it had a couple of out buildings to the rear in a small courtyard. It was roughly five hundred yards or so away from the rail track and in the moonlight it looked wonderful. I remember it clearly because ever since, it has been my dream to live somewhere just like that, apart from perhaps the proximity of the railway line. I have never managed to achieve it and I doubt I ever will, but you should never piss on anyone’s dreams especially not your own.

  I stood quietly for a good while looking for any signs of life and particularly for a dog. I could see neither. A dirt track, which ran parallel to the railway line, led up to the house and as I looked back I could see that it passed under the rail track via a tiny bridge then carried on up to a main road. I hadn’t even noticed I had crossed it.

  I was in two minds as to whether or not I should chance my arm and see if there was anything worth nicking in the out buildings. I knew I wasn’t more than a few hours away from Leeds by now so I sat for a good length of time trying to make my mind up and doing my best to whistle in as high a pitch as I could to see if a dog would bark. I think I managed to get quite a high pitch but I was whistling that quietly for fear of waking someone up that I doubt if a dog had been sat on my lap it would have heard it. I eventually came to the conclusion that it would be foolish to risk going down to check out the outbuildings, only an idiot would chance it, especially as I was this close to Leeds.

  I was an idiot.

  It took me longer than I had expected to walk stealthily off the railway lines, up the dirt track and into the courtyard getting ready at the first bark to get my arse out of there. There was no barking, there was no sign of anyone being there. All the curtains, upstairs and down, front and back were not drawn. For some reason I forgot about the out buildings and tried the handle on the back door, it opened as quietly as you like and I crept in. I thought, ‘When I live somewhere like this, the doors are locked, I’m having two big fuck off dogs and a shotgun.’ Then it occurred to me that the owner of this house may well have a shotgun, I so needed a pee.

  Quietly and tidily I searched through the kitchen draws and cupboards. I didn’t find anything of value but I did nick a bit of cold meat from the fridge which I started munching on before dropping the remainder of it into the pillowcase. After searching the kitchen I slowly crept down a short hallway, at the end of which, was the large front door.

  The top eighteen inches of the door was a semi-circle of stained glass and looked to me like an opened silk fan as the light from outside shone through it. A door to my right led into a large living room. I could make out two very large leather settees and two armchairs. A large farmhouse dresser almost covered the one wall and I began rooting through the drawers of that. Again there wasn’t a great deal that was of any use to me, I did get a handful of loose change which I put in my pocket but nothing else took my eye.

  (I’m feeling pretty ashamed of myself at the moment, I’m making it sound like I’m going bloody shopping.)

  I left the living room and crossed the hall into what I found to be a dining room, then my heart rate doubled and my arse tightened that much it must have looked like a rabbit’s nose. Through the window I saw the headlights of a car coming down the dirt track. I dashed back into the kitchen and stood by the back door. I was hoping that whoever was turning up would come through the front so I could slip quietly out into the yard and leg it, no such luck. I saw the headlights illuminate the courtyard so I ran to the front door, it was locked and there was no key in it. I dashed into the living room and jumped over the back of one of the leather settees. There wasn’t much room between the settee and the wall as I lay there on my side, willing myself to calm my breathing down, telling myself not to cough, sneeze, fart or even move. What happened next is etched on my memory and will stay with me till the day I die.

  I heard a man and a woman enter the kitchen; I knew they were male and female because of the noises they were making. She was giggling and making little high pitched squeals and he was doing that gruff, “Ooo come here,” nonsense. Then the light of the living room came on.

  I don’t know if they took a flying leap at the settee but it certainly felt like it to me as my body was squashed between the settee and the wall. Then the giggling and grunting stopped and the room went quiet, I thought for a second that I hadn’t been tidy enough and they had realised someone had been in their home, then I heard the sounds of kissing, you know that sloppy sound when folks are getting carried away. The next thing I know a mass of blonde hair flopped over the settee. As I looked up I saw the fingers of a woman’s hands either side of the hair gripping the top of the settee as if she was trying not to fall off. It reminded me of the ‘Kilroy was here’ drawing with the woman’s hair as the nose. I mouthed to myself, ‘For fucks’ sake,’ but to be honest if I had said it aloud they probably wouldn’t have heard it.

  Remembering at the time I was still only fourteen, this woman started making noises that I had never heard before, she started shouting things I had never heard before and to my shame, I was getting a twinge. Let’s face it, at fourteen a bloody good sneeze or a bumpy bus ride is all it takes to give a young lad a stiffy so it’s hardly surprising that what I could hear was having an effect. For some reason, with the way the woman’s hands and hair were positioned, it didn’t immediately dawn on me the position they were in, it took me a short while and then I cottoned on.

  ‘Ah, back scuttle.’

  I’m assuming that what old dirty girl was saying had the same effect on her fella because all of a sudden he started going at it like a frigging train. Any movement I had in my trousers soon disappeared as my head was getting bashed between the settee and the wall at half a second intervals. Then it was over as quickly and the same as it had begun. The pressure on my head lifted as they both left the settee and I heard the woman run into the hallway and up the stairs doing the giggling and squeaking thing again with Casey Jones chasing after her with the obligatory, ‘‘Ooo come here.”

  I didn’t hesitate in crawling from behind the settee. It wasn’t until I was almost out of the living room door that I saw through the corner of my eye the couples clothing spread over the floor. I went back and picked up the man’s trousers then rummaged through his pockets. Another handful of change and some crumpled up notes were quickly stuffed in my pocket. I then found his wall
et, I looked to see if it had money in and it had, though it wasn’t until I was back on the railway tracks and a good two miles away that I stopped to count it. The best part of twenty pounds is nothing today but back then? It was a big chunk of money, especially to a kid.

  It was around seven thirty in the morning when I was standing in a queue at a bus stop. With money in my pocket I had decided to take the risk and finish my journey to Bradford in comfort. I must have stuck out like a sore thumb amongst half a dozen adults heading off for work. Luckily for me I was in Yorkshire, a nod and a quick, “Morning,” constitutes a conversation.

  As I looked older than my years and had the good manners to speak to them, who I was and what I was doing was now none of their concern. There is a Yorkshire saying that starts with, ‘See all, hear all, say now’t.’ You would be amazed by how many of my fellow ‘Tykes’ live by that motto. Mind you, I do have a few family members that live by the next line of the motto, ‘Eat all, drink all, pay now’t.’

  The bus ride into Leeds was uneventful as was the journey into Bradford, apart from the odd comment about my attire from a few school kids. I decided, discretion being the better part of valour, to keep my trap shut. I did however take note of their comments and once we reached Bradford I made a bee line for Kirkgate Market to buy some decent clothing. My next stop was Forster square. I have no idea what it’s like now as I haven’t been in that part of Bradford for about thirty years, but back then there was a large underpass which held male and female public conveniences. For a few bob you could get a ‘Wash and brush up,’ soap, towel, toothbrush, toothpaste etc.

  I walked in looking like a badly dressed wound then came out half an hour later in new clothes, clean, tidy and looking as shiny as a freshly smacked arse.