A Cockney's Journey (35 page)

    In between getting ready for our second season and trying to come to terms with the boys growing up so fast, we now needed a bigger house. I met Mr. Bradford, who was a property developer based in South London. He employed my services, doing repair work on his rented properties. However, unbeknown to me, the guy was priming me up for his own gain. Every Friday for six months, my dosh was in my hands by five o’clock, without fail. Then, out of the blue, he asked me to increase my work force and take on house conversions in and around London. He had three properties that needed converting into flats. I jumped at the chance, thinking this was my big break! I advertised in the local rag for more staff and asked Al if he would do the plastering for me, which he agreed to do. Mr. Bradford informed me that he would pay wages and material costs every month, so like a mug I went to see my bank manager and showed him the drawings and plans of the three conversions.
    After explaining how much I needed every week to pay wages and materials, he agreed to open a business account for me, allowing me to draw up to £10,000 per month. I then opened two accounts with local builders’ merchants. For the next five months, everything went according to plan; all three jobs were on schedule and within budget. The next phase was the most expensive and my budget was being stretched to its limit through ordering kitchens, boilers, bathroom suites, toilets and radiators. Halfway through the sixth month, my finances were in serious jeopardy; owing thousands, not only to the bank but also the builders’ merchants. So I borrowed more money from the bank so I could pay the wages. The rest I just fobbed off till the end of the month.
    Unfortunately, the end of the month never came, Mr. Bradford had vanished into thin air, and my calls were not answered. All three jobs were practically finished and I was in serious trouble, being hounded day and night by creditors. The three properties stood empty for months after. I continued my search for Mr. Bradford, but to no avail. His house was up for sale and nobody knew of his whereabouts. Then suddenly all the properties had tenants! After extensive questioning, I found out they paid their rent to the woman who was Mr. Bradford’s solicitor. After more enquires, I found out that all the houses were in somebody else’s name and Mr. Bradford had no connections, legally, with the properties. Yet again, I had paid the price for trying to better myself. I lost my bank account and was declared bankrupt.
    On a brighter note, Eltham United were on a massive, upward curve and won their division with ease yet again, being promoted to the Senior Section due to the team reaching the semi-final of the cup, only to be beaten 2-1 in extra-time by a Premiership team. Daniel now played up front with Cookie and Antonio in a 4-3-3 formation, which proved so deadly during our senior campaign that Eltham United stayed in the senior section for two seasons, before winning promotion to the Premier Division. My son Stephen made the right-back position solely his. Steve was a natural and played with so much vigour and passion, it was unbelievable. I used to compare him to David Bardsley of QPR: exceptional talent! To make my vision on winning the Premier Division happen, I knew I had to strengthen the side to have any chance whatsoever. So I set out my stall and poached players during the closed season; much to the annoyance of certain clubs in the league.
    Meanwhile, away from football, Sue was determined to move to a bigger house and had her mind set on moving to Grove Park. She’d seen a house that she reckoned would suit us all down to the ground. The gaff needed shitloads of work done to it, and I mean shitloads! Being polo-mint and out of work, I decided to flog my van and buy a cheap white Ford Sierra so I could earn a living as a mini-cab driver. I did shifts from six in the morning till six or seven in the evening; coming home completely knackered from hours of hassle and bloody traffic jams. Eight months I stood that, eight bloody months…then finally I got yet another break.
    Friday night it was, and I’d just picked up my final customer of the day. On my way to his destination he asked me how long I’d been cabbing. After briefly explaining my situation, he informed me he was looking for a multi-trade with carpenter experience. He handed me his business card he asked me to ring him on Monday morning at 8 o’clock, guaranteeing me a start for his construction company based in Blackheath.
    Anyway, it wasn’t long before I gave up mini-cabbing, sold the car and bought another van to go back on the tools. Thank God! For the next year all I did was first-fix on several extensions in and around Greenwich and Blackheath. First-fix is a term used for installing roof trusses, joists, studwork and floorboard. The dosh was good and the guys I worked with were cool. Meanwhile, the team started training at Christ the King College, using their gym during the week. Daniel was working for an estate agent in Forest Hill. I think after working with me in the building game, Dan found it hard to adjust to sitting on his arse all day. Eventually, he would leave and end up a very good painter and decorator, working with Steve who, in turn proved mustard at hanging wallpaper. I recall one club presentation night in Badgers. Bloody hell, what a night! Not that I can remember anything that went on. I’ll cut this short; basically I got pissed and stoned by eight o’clock and made myself look a complete prat. How it happened was simply like this: I stood on the door with four of my players from six till eight. All we did was drink brandy and smoke wacky baccy. Well, I recall dancing with a right horny bird that Dan invited from his office. She was all over me like a rash, whispering in my ears what she would like to do to me, blah blah blah. Being stoned, I was oblivious of anyone else. As we danced, I put my hands on both her hips and started rubbing up and down. Her flimsy dress started rising up and revealed her stockings and suspenders. Red rag to a bull, or what? Well, apparently we both ended up on the pool table, only to be saved from sheer disaster by Antonio, who dragged us apart laughing, trying to defuse the situation. All this was in front of Sue and the boys
and
my in-laws! Bloody hell, I cringe now when I recall that night. As you can imagine, I got slaughtered for weeks after. Sue reckoned that the girl’s arse resembled a badly-packed parachute and was extremely ugly and that if I was sober, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near her, not even with a barge pole! So she forgave me and laughed, well I think she forgave me. I’m not so sure now, though.
    One of the most harrowing and horrific incidents, I’ve had to deal with, happened one night while the team were training in the gym. Gary Ware had recently joined the club and brought along a young fella called Simon to train with the lads. What happened that night would undoubtedly have a profound effect on my beliefs, and on the rest of my life. Unbeknown to me Simon, while he was training, had a large amount of chewing gum in his mouth. Simon was running about, getting involved in everything and his enthusiasm and fitness brought a smile to my face. Suddenly, out the blue he dropped to the floor wriggling about gasping for air. I ran across the gym and put Simon in the recovery position, watching in horror as the colour drained from his face. My heart was thumping, my mind in turmoil. I checked his pulse and his breathing and it was then that I realised Simon had stopped breathing and had passed out. I flipped him over on his back and started to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I screamed out for Antonio and demanded that he massaged his chest in between my attempt to get Simon breathing.
    While this was going on, a few of the lads ran and phoned for an ambulance. I carried on giving Simon mouth-to-mouth resuscitation for twenty odd minutes. I knew in my heart the poor soul had died, but I refused to give in. The taste of bile filled my mouth, making me feel nauseated, but still I would not stop. In my mind I asked God to spare him, but he never listened. At the time I didn’t understand why but today I do. It was Simon’s destiny; even though the body dies, we should not forget where we come from. To live is only for the pleasure of the soul. To die marks an end, and a new beginning. The universe has total control over all that dwell on Earth, everything that is born will die. Even though we don’t get to choose how or when we will depart this mortal life, we can only choose how we are going to live, now. From the smallest to the largest, God will decide when our time has come. This cycle will never ever change, it’s universal law this, I know now, but then I wasn’t sure. Simon was pronounced dead on arrival and my heart and thoughts go out to his family sincerely. After Simon’s death at the tender age of sixteen, my attitude towards everything and everyone changed dramatically, causing myself untold problems. What I needed was a kick up the arse. Thankfully, I got one a few years later, but unfortunately the kick I got was more devastating than I could ever imagine it to be.
    Several months later, we moved to Grove Park. The house itself was big enough for our growing family; however, the amount of work required was phenomenal. I would work all day and then work until midnight on the house. There were no doors, no kitchen, walls knocked down, no decent toilet facilities and endless plastering. The garden was a barren wasteland with not a plant nor blade of grass to be seen; even the wildlife avoided the garden. Bloody hell, what a task I had on my hands. Every room was a total disgrace and a bloody nightmare. It took me years to bring the house somewhere near respectable; the only reason I even contemplated doing the gaff up was solely for my family. Edward was now growing into a fantastic boy; my little Pike, I used to call him, after Pike in
Dad’s Army
. Everything I did and everywhere I went, my lovely little Pike was by my side. Edward would run onto the pitch alongside me, carrying the magic bucket and sponge during all the club’s matches.
    During this period, Sue’s father died suddenly. It came as quite a shock and Sue obviously took it badly. I wasn’t sure if I should add this sad time into my book, but I had to, because something really bizarre and wonderful happened, in my opinion, anyhow.
    After visiting Bill in the Chapel of Rest, Sue and I returned home, feeling extremely sad. That night I had a dream or a visit, probably more like a visit, from Bill telling me he was fine. He moaned that there were no fags and coffee where he was, but nonetheless he was OK. Why he chose me, I haven’t a clue. We weren’t even that close. I must admit that Bill was an extremely nice guy and a complete family man. When things were financially tight, he would say to me, “long as you got fags and coffee and a bit of grub you’ll survive”. Very humble man and even though I never showed it, I really did rate him as a human being. Anyway, Sue decided on one more visit to the Chapel of Rest before the funeral. I asked her to buy two roses before she went to the Chapel: one from us and one from her mum.
    “Put both the roses inside his coffin, so he’ll now it’s from us,” I urged her.
    The day of the funeral was a very sad occasion; all Sue’s family and friends had tears flowing down their cheeks. The flowers and sprays were beautiful, filling the air with many different fragrances. On arriving at the crematorium, I became aware of two guys who were standing like statues opposite the concrete stairs, the both of them motionless and expressionless. I noticed they both had their hands cupped together and, to my utmost shock and disbelief, they held a red rose each. As we emerged from the car, my eyes scanned the pair of them from head-to-toe. I stood at least ten feet from where they stood. I knew who they were and I also knew that I mustn’t ask who they were or even speak to them. Inside, my heart told me why they were here and nobody, and I mean nobody, should question their right to be at Bill’s funeral.
    Now I will describe what my eyes saw; the two guys were dressed in long, fawn-coloured trench coats. One guy was black, the other white and both had piercing blue eyes. Their skin was perfect and not a blemish or even a spot occupied their faces. Their hair was cropped and there was no sign whatsoever that either of them had ever shaved. Their skin told me that they had never been exposed to the elements on Earth. I looked at both their hands as they held the roses; their finger nails immaculate. The most amazing thing that struck me was their coats, not a crease or wrinkle could be seen. My initial thought was they must have just appeared from thin air. There’s no way that the pair of them travelled by train, car or bus to the cemetery. If they did, my eyes would have found the evidence.
    During the service, I glanced around, looking for the pair of them but they were nowhere to be seen. As we walked out of the crematorium, I noticed they had gone. All the cars then left and our car was the last to leave. We drove down to the gates and pulled away down the street. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of both of them standing in the same position under the archway. This time the roses had gone. I blinked and looked again, noticing they were gone! At least four of us saw them, but nobody else did. They were without doubt ‘angels’, sent to see Bill off.
    A year after Bill’s death, I started to take Daniel and Stephen to work with me and over the next couple of years they ended up quality decorators. My marriage was now seriously on the rocks; the grief returned with constant arguing and bickering. My days as a family man were numbered. However, before that fate would deal me several killer blows which would ultimately take away everything I had ever loved and cared about (except Pike). My arrogant and bigheaded attitude would finally seal my fate. I vividly recall one spring morning repairing a newsagent’s roof. In the middle of applying a cement fillet around the chimneystack, it started raining so I climbed down the ladder and entered the shop to get shelter from the downpour. Well, what happened next defies belief. Standing talking to the newsagent was this guy wearing a turban with some sort of jewel pinned to his forehead. He turned round and gazed at me, raising his arms in my direction. What followed was totally bizarre; he looked shocked to see me, like he knew me.
    “Hello, how are you getting on?” he asked.
    “Fine thanks, could do without the bloody rain,” I said, wondering why his arms were raised.
    “This is Gupta, Eddie. He’s visiting London from Bombay,” the newsagent informed me, smiling.