A Cockney's Journey (4 page)

    “What the hell is this place?” Brian asked.
    “It’s some sort of sacrificial temple,” Tony guessed.
    Tommy was shaking with terror, a look of disbelief in his eyes.
    “I want to go home,” he cried.
    “Look at these bowls,” I pointed the lighter so they could see. “Dried blood with hair stuck to it and this chalice is half full with some sort of dark liquid.”
    “Sacrifices or not, we’ve got to get the fuck out of here a bit rapid, otherwise we’re going to be in deep shit,” Brian said.
    For once, I totally agreed with him. I moved towards the iron gate and my lighter started to flicker again. I knew this gate led to the cemetery via the tunnel.
    “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” I pulled the gate open and we found ourselves in some sort of tunnel, very narrow and low. Tony and I had to crook our necks so we didn’t bash our heads on the jagged ceiling. Being six foot plus had its advantages, but not now. We moved slowly and I could hear faint voices all around me. Suddenly a fierce icy cold wind penetrated my body. The hairs on my body were tingling and standing to attention and it was only then that I noticed how cold I was. I turned round to the others.
    “Did you hear and feel that?”
    They looked at me, shaking their heads and indicating that they never. My mind was doing overtime now.
That’s just how I felt when William Charles Bennett visited me.
As we ventured deeper, it occurred to me that those in the church might use this tunnel. I stopped dead in my tracks.
    “What’s wrong, Ed?” the three of them asked simultaneously.
    “I feel uneasy. Suppose they are going to use the basement tonight and can’t get down because we blocked the door?”
    “So?” Tony barked. “That’s their problem.”
    “Wrong, Tony, it’s
our
problem if they decide to use this fucking tunnel to get into the basement.”
    “Oh shit!” screamed Brian. “We’ve got to go back and remove the iron bar from the door.”
    “You must be joking,” Tommy cried, looking at Brian in amazement.
    “Yeah, and we can use the bar to break open the gates to the cemetery,” I said, all excited.
    “Come on, let’s go for it, Ed.” Brian agreed, equally excited.
    We started back up the tunnel but as we approached the gate, there was this disgusting smell that hadn’t been there earlier.
    “What on earth is that pong?” Brian whispered.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “It smells like rotten meat.”
    “Right, it only needs one of us to get the bar. You got the lighter, Ed, so you go,” pleaded Tommy.
    I looked at Brian and Tony but I could tell from their expressions that I wasn’t going to get a volunteer out of them!
    “Great,” I moaned. “Looks like I haven’t got a choice, does it?”
    I walked back through the basement and crossed the floor to the archway. As I turned and looked behind me, there was something different about the room. I couldn’t place what it was right away but then it dawned on me; there was a coffin standing upright against the wall.
Maybe we never noticed it when we came through.
I turned round and crept up the stone stairs, dismissing what I’d just seen. As I reached the top, I flipped the lid on my lighter shut.
Bloody hell, it’s dark.
I could still see a faint ray of light coming through the doorframe. I crept up to the door, shaking uncontrollably and sweating. I reached out for the iron bar and, as I put my hand around the bar, there was a faint sound coming from the other side. I pressed my ear against the door, listening. A muffled voice whispered, “It’s nearly time, tell the others.”
    I gently lifted the bar away from the door. I was absolutely petrified about making a noise. I crept back down the stone stairs to the basement vault and stood in the archway, staring at the upright coffin, my arm outstretched, shining the lighter around. I quickly moved around the marble table towards the gate with one eye on the coffin. I pulled open the gate, shining my lighter into the tunnel and the flame started to flicker again, but this time there was no draught. I moved my arm around and noticed all three of them sitting on the tunnel floor.
    “You lot all right? I got the bar.” I said, all cockily.
    “Just about,” Tony sighed in relief.
    I shoved the bar towards Brian. “Take hold of that mate, your job is to smash us out,” I said, feeling confident that Brian was up for the task. “And come and look at this,” I motioned them towards the basement room. “Did any of you see that when we came in here earlier?” I pointed towards the coffin. No, was the unanimous reply.
    “Let’s have a look, shall we?” Brian said.
    Having the bar had obviously given Brian a great deal of courage. While we stood in front of the coffin, I told them what I had heard behind the door.
    “I think we should go now,” Tommy cried.
    “Shall we open it up, Tony?” Brian asked, ignoring him.
    “Why not? There’s probably nothing in it anyway,” I said unconvincingly.
    Brian grabbed the coffin lid and pulled it off. What came next was the biggest shock I’ve ever encountered in my life. There, right in front of my very eyes and lying in an upright position, consumed with rigor mortis, was the decaying body of a man.
    “Bloody hell,” Brian gasped.
    Tommy stood there; his eyes were staring, his face contorted with fear.
    “Can’t hurt you. He’s brown bread,” Tony grinned confidently.
    I think Tony laughed out of fear. I looked the body up and down and noticed that he had pyjamas on, his top was blood-stained.
    “Put the lid back,” Tommy pleaded.
    Brian obeyed, putting the lid back in place. Tony reckoned he must have been murdered and dumped down here. I must admit, I agreed with his conclusion. “Let’s get out of here and tell the old bill,” I said.
    We walked towards the gate, noting that the horrible smell had gone.
That’s strange.
As we walked back down the tunnel, we could hear noises behind us.
    “They’re in the basement,” I whispered. “Let’s get going a bit lively.”
    After what seemed like an age, we finally came across the iron gate that led into the cemetery. I stood in front of the gate and smiled to myself, as I knew we could get out.
    “It’s just a padlock and chain,” I laughed. “Go on, Brian. Smash it off.”
    He raised the iron bar and with his full force he hit the padlock. The heavy blow smashed the padlock open and we were out.
    We moved silently and quickly, trudging across the cemetery, looking for the way out and eventually came across a clearing.
    “I don’t believe this,” I shouted. “We’ve come back to the bloody church.”
    We dived back into the bushes, peering at the gloomy sight in front of us.
    “We must have got in from over there, Tony.”
    “I’m not so sure, Ed,” he replied.
    “You mean we’ve got to get round the church to get out?” Tommy said, horrified.
    “Yeah, it looks that way,” Brian sighed.
    
This gets worse.
No torch and the lighter was no good either, as it was now far too windy.
    “Let’s lay low till morning. It can’t be long now till it’s light,” Tony suggested.
    This sounded a good idea to me, so we all plotted up in the bushes and waited for daybreak.
    I lay there, puffing my Park Drive fag. It then occurred to me that we hadn’t heard the chiming of the bell since midnight. In fact, where was the bell? It wasn’t in the church we were in. And what about those voices and the feeling of an icy presence? Well, I knew in my heart were they came from.
    “Ed, come on. Let’s go.”
    Tony was shaking my arm as I had dozed off. I opened my eyes and the early summer sun was straining through the thick woodland onto my face. I knew it was over. We never did tell the police. In fact, we told no one what happened that night, because Tony reckoned we could have been arrested for trespassing, so we kept schtum.
    It was a few months later when Tony showed me the local newspaper.
    “Read this, Ed,” he cried, stuffing the paper under my nose. I sat down and started to read a story about how police had launched a murder hunt following a call to a South London cemetery. They had uncovered a satanic group practising black magic rituals in the crypt of a derelict church inside the grounds. In the crypt police discovered the body of a middle-aged man who had been severely dismembered. Human parts had also been found in metal bowls around a marble altar and the police had also discovered two dogs with their throats cut. A shiver went down my spine; the howling noise we heard must have been the dogs being killed. I put the paper down and stared at Tony.
    “We had a lucky escape, you know.”
    “Yeah,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief…
    I’ve had a few lucky escapes in my time. Well, I used to think I was lucky, but I know different now. I went to Stamford Bridge with Brian and his elder brother David to watch my beloved Queens Park Rangers play against Chelsea. There was a very large crowd of about 38,000 and we were at the Chelsea end, or The Shed as it was called. It was only the second time I had seen Rangers since I first started to follow them; the last time was in 1967 at Wembley, with Brian and David. I was only eleven and QPR won the League Cup against West Bromwich Albion 3-2. If I had a fiver for every game I’ve seen since then, I would have a few quid in the bank now and be a lot less stressed.
    We stood on the terraces in The Shed, cheering our teams on respectively. We were about ten rows from the front and I was standing in front of the metal barriers resting my elbows on the top bar.
Weird things; all over the terraces, like small goals.
Out of the blue, Rodney Marsh scored a corker and half the stadium erupted with cheers and applause. The singing and chanting was electric; just like a tribal war song. I felt elated and started jumping up and down waving my arms. After a few seconds, however, I realised that I was the only one cheering. Not knowing the unwritten law of football proved to be a hard lesson to learn. A hand grabbed my shirt collar and tried to drag me over the barrier.
    “Fucking Rangers supporter,” he screamed. Brian’s brother, David, grabbed the guy’s hand.
    “Let him go, you prat,” he shouted. “He’s only a kid.”
    David was in his twenties and a bit of a lad; what happened next should have put me off going to football forever, but it never did. Straight from the kick off, Peter Osgood equalised and the guy let go of my shirt collar. The whole of The Shed erupted. Everyone was singing ‘Spirit in the Sky’, thousands of them; and then it happened. From the back of The Shed came a massive surge downwards; it was like a tidal wave of human bodies. I slipped and fell under the barrier. I was sitting on my backside, huddled up in a ball. I was so scared that I couldn’t move. I looked up and to my horror there were three guys and a girl pinned to the bars. I can still hear the screams to this day. Hundreds of supporters spilled onto the pitch. The referee stopped the game and all the players stood in the centre circle. There were bodies everywhere. I am still amazed that no one got killed. What astonished me even more was that, after everything settled down and a few supporters were treated for minor injuries and two were stretchered off to the hospital, the referee re-started the game. It ended in a one-all draw. Thank God for all-seater stadiums now. On reflection, I still haven’t got a clue why I slipped that afternoon. If I hadn’t, I probably would have been crushed to death. What comes to mind is karma, or my guardian angel, perhaps. They can see the whole picture.

CHAPTER THREE
    “Any post for me, Mr. Parkin?” I asked, excitedly.
    “Not today, son,” he replied.
    My excitement turned to gloom; this always happens to me.
    “Everything OK, Ed? You look miserable,” Tony asked, concerned.
    “No, not really,” I sighed. “My parents haven’t sent me any money again.”
    “Don’t worry. It’ll come tomorrow. Let’s go and play in the woods. Brian and Danny are waiting for us.”
    Half-heartedly I agreed and followed Tony out of the dormitory. As we approached the edge of the woods, Brian and Danny were gesturing us over.
    “Alright, Ed?” Danny asked while he swung to and fro inside a rubber tyre that hung on a thick rope attached to a branch at the top of the tree.
    “Yeah, I suppose so,” I sighed. Brian was sitting on the grass, legs stretched out, leaning back against the tree trunk.
    “I do like Sayers Croft; this is so cool, isn’t it Ed?” he said with a big grin on his face.
    
Glad someone’s happy.
    “Yeah, it’s OK,” I said dejectedly.
    “Where is everyone, Danny?” Tony asked.
    “They’ve all gone to the local village fete,” he told him.
    “We might as well go and check it out,” Tony suggested.
    After a few deliberations, we agreed. Most of the objections came from me. I mean, I was skint; how boring was this going to be? As we approached the village green, I noticed Stephanie standing with Prince Charming, Nigel bloody Moorcroft! I remember the day I first met Stephanie at school, my God, what a beauty. I’d been in love with her ever since.
    “Alright, you bunch of losers?” smirked Nigel.
    How I hated that guy. What the hell Steph saw in him was beyond me. We just ignored him and walked into the fete.
    There were rows upon rows of stalls; all types of bric-a-brac, food and games like a mini fairground. It actually looked fun.
    “Come on! Let’s try and beat the keeper!” Brian yelled excitedly. As we approached the stall, I noticed a board displaying that it was 1’6 a go. Tony looked at me and winked; his out-stretched hand contained a ten bob note.
    “Go on, show ’em how it’s done, Ed,” he smiled.
    “Cheers, Tony, you’re a real pal.” At the time I didn’t know it, but this was going to be the highlight of my holiday. I turned round, waving the ten bob note at the stallholder and shouted, “I’ll have a go, mate!”
    Nigel pushed his way past everyone to the front of the queue.
    “Come on, Steph. I’ll show you who’s the best at football in this school,” he boasted loudly.
    I bet the stall holder thought Christmas had come early. The battle of Oliver Goldsmith Junior School got under way. Well, two boys’ pride and passion for the same girl, at least. Although, I was not quite sure the pride and passion was reciprocated; I knew she wouldn’t look twice at me. Mind you, she did take all the presents I bought her with my dinner money every day at school.
    “Four shots ya get,” snapped the stallholder. “Beat the keeper four times and you win this great big teddy bear.”
    Nigel smiled at her and yelled out loud, as cocky as you like, so that everyone in earshot heard his boast, “Good as yours, Steph, trust me, babe.”
    
Big-headed sod.
Unfortunately for Nigel, the keeper was mustard; he saved all four shots. I was really impressed with his agility.
    “I want another go,” he grunted.
    He handed over his money and proceeded to try his luck again, bang-bang-bang, all three in the net. He stood there with his hands on his hips looking round smiling as if waiting for applause. I looked at him and thought you really are a flash bastard. He put the ball on the grass and took two steps back and pulled the trigger. What a save!! The keeper got his fingertips on the ball and pushed it onto the post.
    “Oops!” Tony said, smiling.
    “Brilliant!” everyone shouted.
    “He moved,” screamed Nigel. “He bloody moved.”
    “Next,” gestured the stall handler.
    “Go on, Ed,” Tony whispered, “now’s your chance.”
    I walked up and handed the money to the stallholder. As I waited for my change, the keeper kept looking at me as though he knew me. But I’d never seen him before in my life. He winked while grinning at me.
    “Here you are son.” The stallholder pushed the change into the palm of my hand.
    I bent down, placing the ball on the ground. I thumped the ball with extreme venom. Unfortunately, I kicked the ground and the poxy ball at the same time. To my astonishment, I sent the keeper the wrong way and the ball trickled into the net. The second and third shots found the net as well.
One shot from glory.
I was actually shaking with anticipation. Putting the ball down, I glanced up and noticed that Nigel had his arm around Steph. The look in his eyes was frightening; the hatred directed towards me was unbelievable and it made me shiver even more. I was in such a two ’n’ eight that I just spanked the ball in hope. I was convinced I’d blown it. The ball appeared to be going wide and then suddenly it swerved violently, hitting the upright and rebounding into the net. All hell broke loose; everybody started jumping on me. It was fantastic! The stallholder came over with this rather large teddy bear.
    “Well done,” he said, handing me my prize.
    Tony chuckled. “That was some fluke, that last goal!”
    “Cor blimey, you’re not wrong there, Tony,” I laughed.
    Brian and Danny came rushing over; their faces creased with laughter.
    “Top quality, Ed. Did you see old Moorcroft’s face? What a sight! I wish I had a camera,” Danny shouted.
    As we walked back to the dormitory, I was carrying my prize over my shoulders when I heard Stephanie’s voice saying, “Lovely teddy, Ed’. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see her strolling behind us, all alone.
    “I can’t see Prince Charming anywhere,” I ventured.
    “He’s sulking. I left him at the fete with his mates,” she said, disappointedly.
    “Never mind, Steph. Tomorrow is another day,” Danny beamed.
    “What you doing with the teddy?” she asked, looking straight into my eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes were so inviting. I started to melt and my mouth went bone dry. For a second, just a second, I nearly gave her the teddy, and then I snapped out of it. “Danny’s sister,” I informed her. Danny’s sister, Lyn, is wheelchair-bound and a really sweet human being.
    “Oh,” she sort of sighed, looking dejected.
    The following week flew by uneventfully and we were soon on our way home. As the coach left Sayers Croft, everyone was tired and sat in silence. I sat on the coach and, shutting my eyes, I drifted off into a deep sleep.
    When I was fourteen, I was sick and tired of never having any money to go out with my friends. My parents never gave me any pocket money; whatever I wanted, I had to get myself. This had been the case ever since I can remember. Bob a job, washing cars, you name it, I did it.
    One Saturday morning I was strolling up Talford Road, knocking on all the doors. “Bob a job,” I yelled, as the occupants opened their doors. “No thanks,” was the unanimous reply. I approached the top of Talford Road feeling rather despondent. Last door, I said to myself. I looked around and saw a large house on the other side of the street.
Looks a bit eerie.
There were large trees and bushes obscuring the front door. Approaching the house, I noticed all the walls were covered in some sort of creeping plant. Opening the gate, I walked up the path to the front door and, even though it was a sunny day, I was standing in semi-darkness. All the trees and large ferns had blocked the daylight out.
Creepy.
I noticed there was no knocker, just some round thing sticking out of the door. I grabbed it and then pulled on it. Nothing happened so I twisted it to the right. It rang twice. I let go and took four paces back. The door slowly opened with a creak.
    I sheepishly muttered, “Bob a job?”
    The door flung open and standing there, smiling, was this really sweet old lady.
    “I’ve been waiting for you, young man,” she said.
    I was taken back a bit.
Waiting for me?
    “What do you mean?” I asked.
    “It’s all right, sonny,” she said, with a smile. “I’ve been watching you knocking on the street doors and wondered if you would come to mine. I need my garden tidying up. Do you do gardens?” she asked, still smiling at me in a really friendly manner.
    “Of course I do, lady. I can turn my hand to anything within reason.” I remarked confidently.
    “Well, what’s your name?” she asked and I told her. “Well, Eddie, my name is Rose. Come in and I’ll show you the garden.”
    “OK, Rose that’s cool,” I replied. Following her into the house, there was this strange smell; not a nasty smell, in fact it was really nice and fragrant.
    As I followed Rose into the living room, the smell grew stronger and made my nostrils sting a bit. As I surveyed my surroundings, I noticed the room was full of candles and some funny oblong sort of sticks were smouldering everywhere.
    “What are those?” I enquired.
    “Incense sticks. Lovely smell, don’t you think Eddie?” she asked.
    “Yeah, not bad, not bad at all,” I said, agreeing with her. Looking around the room, I noticed that, in the corner by the French doors, there was a small, round table covered in a green cloth and two small chairs were neatly tucked under the table. Placed in the middle was a crystal ball and funny shaped cards. All the furniture in the room looked antique. The settee and armchairs were covered with multi-coloured cushions and throws. On the walls were strange-looking tribal masks. On the floor next to the open fire was a statue of a large Buddhist monk sitting with his arms crossed. The bookcase was rammed full with hundreds of books. As I looked around, I felt an inner peace settling inside. I can’t explain how great I felt just then.
What a spectacular room. I just loved it.
    “Here we are,” Rose said, pushing open the French doors. I stood in amazement; the garden was huge. She tapped me on the shoulder and said quietly: “Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to do it all in one day.”
    
Phew! Thank God for that.
I was just beginning to wonder what the hell I had let myself in for.
    “All the tools are in the shed,” she said, handing me a key.
    I grafted all afternoon, cutting hedges and grass; the sweat was dripping off my brow like water from a tap. I felt completely knackered. I was weeding the top section of the garden near the shed when I noticed a large black cat, sitting under a bush, peering at me. As I got closer, the cat started to hiss and spit at me.
    “Don’t worry about Prince,” Rose’s voice came behind me. “He doesn’t like strangers. He’ll get used to you, though.” She smiled reassuringly. “Come on inside,” she gestured, “I’ve made some tea and sandwiches. You’ve done well today, Eddie.”
    “Thank you very much, Rose,” I said, feeling proud of my achievements. I sat down, munching on Rose’s delicious salmon and cucumber sarnies.
    “We should call it a day; you look tired, Eddie,” she said, in a concerned voice. She handed me a pound note. I was gobsmacked!
    “Thanks, Rose!” I said, cheerfully.
    “You’ve earned it.”
    I’ve never known anyone who smiled so much; she really was a nice lady.
    “Are you free tomorrow, Eddie?” she asked.
    “Yeah, absolutely,” I informed her.
    “Good. I’ll see you in the morning about nine. Is that OK?”
    “That’s fine with me. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
    I left Rose’s and made my way home. The following day, I woke very early; the sun was shining through the window onto my face. How I loved the sun, and I leapt up, all excited. I couldn’t wait till nine. I got dressed and ran downstairs to the toilet.
    “Who’s up this bloody early?” came a growl from the bathroom.
    “It’s only me,” I informed my old man.
    “It’s Sunday morning,” he shouted. “What are you doing up so early?”
    I had to think calmly and quickly, knowing that the wrong answer would mean curtains for me. “Erm, I’m playing in a football tournament for the boys club.” It just came out. I tried to stop myself from mentioning the word football, but it was too late. I’d bloody gone and shot myself in the foot.
    “What have I told you about playing football, you little shit?” he screamed at me.
    The bathroom door came flying open; he stood there in his vest, half his face covered in shaving foam, waving his razor, his eyes glaring with rage.
    “Get back upstairs. You’re going nowhere,” he snarled.
    “But Dad, I promised.”
    The next thing I remember was a painful spank on the side of my face. I fell backwards, hitting my head on the door and landing on the floor. I looked up at him in terror. He stood over me and kicked my leg viciously.
    “Get up,” he shouted. “Get up or I’ll kick your fucking head in.”
    I lay their motionless, too scared to move. He pressed his foot onto my hand, squashing my fingers into the lino. I cried out in agony, begging him to stop.
    “Well, fucking get up then, you asshole,” he screamed in anger. “Get up, now!”
    I somehow raised myself up. He grabbed my ear, dragged me upstairs and opening my bedroom door, threw me in and to the floor. I was shaking like a leaf and I felt wet. He glared at me and then slammed the door shut. I lay there for quite a while sobbing. I felt disgusted with myself. I’d bloody done it again. I took my trousers and pants off and put them on the end of my bed. It was already nine o’clock and I was seriously depressed. I looked in the wardrobe mirror at my face, the bright red impression of his handprint glowing furiously. My cheekbone and my jaw were also very painful. I heard the sound of an engine starting up. I peered out of the window, watching him speed off on his moped. I quickly put on a clean pair of pants and jeans. Opening the bedroom door, I legged it down the stairs. Putting my hand on the front door handle, I was just about to leave the house.
    “Where do you think you’re going?” My mother.
    “Out,” I replied.
    “He’ll come looking for you if you’re not here when he gets back,” she informed me, reliably.
    “What time will he be back?”
    “About three for dinner.”
    “OK, I’ll be back by then,” I promised.
    I opened the front door and ran down the steps.
    “You’d better be,” she shouted after me. “Otherwise you’re for the high jump.”
    I was running like a mad dog up Talford Road.
    “Excuse me, you got the time, please?” I asked a woman as she walked towards me.
    She pointed to her watch. “Half past nine,” came her reply.