A childhood memoir of life before polio, and immediately after, and my magical childhood adventures in and out of a wheelchair
Kevin and The Giant Jellyfish and Assorted Incidents
"Don't look in his eyes," I counselled, "You can fight just as well as he can. Don't let him get to you." I knew that my younger brother Kevin had quite a temper on him and could handle himself well in a fight. His opponent was Chris Bailey (he of Bouncerfame a few chapters back). When Chris lost his temper his eyes bulged and he flushed red. When Kevin lost his temper he would literally jump at quarry with no warning, having first built up a head of steam, then give a flurry of blows. But Chris Bailey was his nemesis.
Chris was a fearsome sight, eyes bulging and shaking with uncontrollable rage. The very sight of him in this condition made Kevin back away. "Listen to me, Kev. Stay calm, don't look in his eyes and you can beat him," I said from the safe confines of my wheelchair, "he's a bully, that's all, just a bully." Kev, it seemed, had done something to upset Chris, made him lose face in front of his mates or something and Chris was gunning for him. They planned to meet by the grass slope at the last Big Bingo, as we called it, by Lane End.
At last the time came for the fight. Chris swaggered over to confront Kevin. Kev, without losing any time, charged at Chris, head down. He butted him in the chest. Chris went over. This was Kev's chance to finish it. But he respectfully held back. This was his mistake; this made Chris psychotic with rage. The eyes bulged and that familiar red came to his face. Chris was now dangerous, very dangerous.
He came at Kevin roaring like a bull, fists flaying the air. Kev dodged him and got him in a head-lock. Chris was now screaming his face contorted with anger. If Kev had let him go he would have received the beating of his life. Why? Although Kev had now got hold of Chris in a strong headlock the fear was beginning to show on his face. "You've got him, you've got him now!" I urged. "Don't let him go whatever you do." "But if I do let him go he'll beat me up!" "Not if you ignore the sound he's making. Give him a punch in the face with your free hand," I said. "That'll quieten him down."
Chris Bailey, Berry (also known as Barry) and Kevin. After THAT fight! All pals again.
Kev duly punched him in the face. "That's not fair," protested a half strangled Chris. "That's what you'd do to me," replied Kev and gave him another punch in the face. This time he quietened down. Kev let him go. They scuffled a bit more but Chris had had enough. As he left he aimed a punch at me. I swerved out of the way, grabbed his arm and got him in a half nelson. It was like a scene out of a movie. "That's not fair," he said again. "You shoutin' instructions to 'im, it's not bleedin' fair." I let him go with a push.
Believe it or not, Kev and Chris soon made up. Even though Kev had beaten Chris fair and square (with some encouragement from me), Chris was somebody that you didn't need as an enemy.
Us kids, all except me of course – though I used to in my pre-polio days - used to run and leap off the Jetty, their arms tight around their knees, curled up like a ball, and into the water with a huge BOOSH! Crowds would gather to watch. I was usually down in the water to begin with. They would leap in tight formation, one after the other: Kev, Chris, Berry and Raymond Russell, son of the infamous Mr Russell. Boosh! Boosh! Boosh! Boosh!
That day there was an awful lot of jellyfish about. You'd begin to swim and then touch one of the wretched things and rapidly swim out of its path.
It was too late for Kevin though; he had already launched himself into the air when I spotted it and shouted a warning. An absolutely HUMUNGEOUS jellyfish was just beneath him, all tentacles and oozing a horrible yellow pus-like liquid. Kevin landed right on top of it. For a few seconds all was well. Then Kevin let out a scream. The jellyfish had stung him from head to foot and he was going absolutely mad with pain. He leapt from the water and sprinted over the road to our restaurant and to Mum and Dad. They covered him all over with calamine lotion and took him to the doctors where he was an injection for the pain.
ALMOST A YEAR TO THE DAY I was sitting on the steps that went down to the water when I spotted an even bigger Jellyfish. Again I was too late. My cries of "Jellyfish!" were given when Kev had already launched himself. He again landed squarely on top of the beast. There was a few seconds pause before he screamed with pain and again rushed over the road.
During my wheelchair days at Wigmore we acquired an air pistol, which was swapped for a model boat. Grandma, during her shopping trips to Chatham, bought a packet of lead pellets thinking that an innocent target, like an old tin can, was what we had in mind. The pistol was all chromium and shiny, and you had to push the barrel in to pump up the air pressure, insert a pellet, aim and pull the trigger. We got tired of tin cans and I resorted to shooting out the only light bulb just outside our bungalow that illuminated Grain Road where we lived for the summer holidays with our grandparents. Grandma and granddad never found out that it was I that plunged that part of the road into darkness!
Grain Road was a bumpy track. No vehicle could get up any speed along Grain Road. So, thinking that Kevin was aiming the air pistol at a tree opposite our bungalow, and seeing a van bumping very slowly along in the distance, we didn't think it strange that Kevin was taking such a long time with his aim. But as the van slowly approached our bungalow we began to worry a little. For Kevin waited until the van was level with his line of fire and fired through the open window…at the driver!
Fortunately he missed. The driver immediately stopped the van uttering oaths: “Fucking ‘ell, you nearly bleedin’ hit me, you little bastard!” oaths that should never have assaulted our delicate ears. He got out of his van and charged up the path to where my grandmother was preparing lunch. Raised voices were heard to come from the kitchen. Suddenly a red-faced man was seen to leave the presence of my grandma, who followed him outside. The man glared at us children, got in his van, and continued his slow, rickety way up Grain Road.
My grandmother also glared at us. Only Grandma's glare was fiercer and more penetrating than ever was that poor, hapless van driver. She threatened us with "Wait till your grandfather gets home". She tore the gun out of my little brother's hand and it was never seen again. The threat of my granddad's wrath sent shivers down our spines. For this reason and this reason alone we were REALLY afraid. Granddad's wrath was legendary!
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