A Game of nogger.
The game of footy was really getting a bit rough and boots were flying in from all quarters. Kenny Ratcliffe had the ball until Billy Taylor tackled him. Kenny shot up in the air and landed on his arse on the cinders that made up the playing area.
“That wus a bliddy foul” shouted Ken, but he had already been forgotten as Billy took aim and blasted the ball between the coats that served as goalposts by Cooke’s garage in the backs.
“Thirtane bliddy thray” shouted Billy as he wheeled away with his arms up in the air. Immediately, he was mobbed by the Top Backs gang. Looks of despair were clearly visible on the faces of the Station road crew as they realised they were just not good enough against the mighty Top Backers. Geoff Burton, who was acting as goalie, shot off to get the ball. It had gone into Station Road and was now rolling downhill and well past McGregor’s shop. The two teams sat down. The ball would reach Fred Sollomon’s paper shop right down by the school before Geoff could get it and bring it back so the game could start again.
They were all there. Every lad from the Top Backs, Rabbit Row and Hunny’s backs were huffing and puffing. The game had been going on for more than an hour, which was strange because by now, usually, somebody would have come out to put a stop to the game. Most of the oldies in the backs were ok. There were two troublemakers. Old Mrs Birks who was as fat as a pig and had legs like an elephant and Mr. Pigstock who was always putting a knife through every ball he could if it went over his garden.
Everybody was quiet except for their heavy breathing. They were all knackered as they squatted against the garage doors and the garden walls. It was drizzling lightly and steam was rising from the lads.
Whoosh……a bucket of water came over the top of the privet hedge opposite the garage and landed over half a dozen of the lads. Spluttering and cursing, the lads leapt to their feet.
Mrs Elephant Legs waddled back down the blue brick yard to her house with a smirk on her ugly fat face.
“Right, yer f*****g b*****d, yer’ve ‘ad it nar!” This was Mick Lee at his most eloquent. Mick was soaked from head to foot. He had caught the bulk of the drenching. Water dripped from his snotty nose and his torn short grey trousers were clinging to him. He picked up a ducker and threw it over the privet hedge. It must have landed on the outhouse tiles because you could hear the crash and clatter as it bounced from the roof into the yard. But it had not landed directly in the yard because there was a sickening thud before it did.
Mrs Elephant legs let out an almighty ruckus and all hell let loose. Her gate banged and everybody scarpered. Lads shot up every nook and cranny in the backs. When the old biddy reached the gate to the backs, nobody was in sight. She stood there looking up and down the backs. The lump on her head was beginning to swell and her hair looked lopsided. “Just wait ‘til our Georgie gets home you lot” she yelled knowing full well that the lads were somewhere around, “ He’ll break your bliddy necks fer that. I’ll find out who threw that brick and your dad will tan your arse ‘til its red raw you buggers”.
It was just at this point that Geoff Burton rounded the corner at the top of the backs. Mrs Elephant Legs saw him and sidled back in her gateway out of sight. Geoff was perplexed. He looked down the backs and saw that it was deserted. Knowing something was up, but not sure what exactly, he slowly walked down the backs. Holding the nogger ball in his hands, he got level with Mrs EL’s gate when a big rawboned hand came out and grabbed him by the collar.
“Gotcha, yer bugger….now lets see what yer’ve got to say!”
Geoff was only a slight lad, no further through than a pencil and less than five feet tall at ten years of age. Mrs EL had no problem dragging him up the backs to Tunnicliffe’s bakery where her son George worked. Her big thick legs stamped furiously as she half carried him and half dragged him protesting meekly that he was innocent. They reached the bakery and poor Geoff was dragged up the alley to the back door of the bakery. She banged on the door making sure not to lessen her grip on Geoff. The door opened and there stood George.
“Look what this bugger’s done at me” screamed the old witch and showed George the lump which was now as big as a pomegranite.
George wasted no time. He grabbed Geoff by his shirt with his left hand and whacked him across the face with his right hand. Slap, slap, slap he went and poor Geoff’s face kept turning one way and then the other as the blows landed. Geoff was in tears. Whack, whack, whack it went on until Geoff was becoming dizzy. Then, just as the whacking stopped, George dragged him down the path and threw him into the backs.
“If I catch you around here again you little b*****d, you’ll finish up in hospital.”
Geoff dragged himself off down Rabbit Row and towards his home, crying like a baby as he did. He got halfway down when the ball hit him on the back of the head and sent him sprawling.
“And take that bliddy thing wi’yer while yer at eet!” shouted George as he ushered his mother into the bakery.
Down the backs, faces peered from around every nook and cranny. When they felt a bit less afraid, they ventured out and made their way to join Geoff on his way to his home. He was helped along by the gang and ushered to his house where he sat in the yard crying. He couldn’t go in because his mother was at work and she wouldn’t be home until tea-time.
It was still dark as George the Bread walked out to his van in the early hours of the morning. He opened the back doors and began to load his van with trays of bread and cakes. He was whistling away as happy as a sandboy. He finished loading and went and fetched his coat. He went to the cab door and turned the handle. It felt sticky. He withdrew his hand and smelled it. “Jeezus” he yelled” you bliddy b******s. His hand was covered in shite. Not dog shite, human shite. He was fuming. He stormed off to clean himself up. When he returned, he inspected his van. Both rear tyres were flat. Again he cursed and he set about trying to sort them out. He tried to pump them up but it was soon obvious to him that they were punctured. He only had one spare tyre so he put that on. He then had to strip the other tyre and repair the hole that was in the inner tube. Time was getting on. He finished the repair and replaced the wheel. He checked the other tyres to make sure they were ok. They were.
He got in his van and started it up. It started! He was surprised. He engaged first gear and turned into the backs.
Both front wheels fell off.
The backs were quiet for a week.