Barefoot and Lost (39 page)

     ‘But I’m not sure I want to, not in front of all those people.’

     ‘Of course you do, anyway you have no choice, you have to go and earn your free tickets,
Phillip
you will learn there is nothing free in this world, now, let us dress you in the right period.’

     ‘But
Florence
, why do I have to do it?’

     ‘Because the bloody kid that does the juggling has broken his arm buggering about, and none of the other kids can juggle, skipping is the next best thing so, come on trouper, get out there and save the day.’

     Waiting in the wings is frightening, my stomach is churning, then a shout goes up and the others rush onto the stage shouting and laughing, I hesitate, a voice behind me says,  

     ‘Go on son, knock em dead, break a leg.’ What a stupid thing to say but I start to skip and find I’m in the spot light, the other kids are clapping in time to my rope, the girl on the bale holds out her hand, I sit beside her, she eases me around until I’m looking into the audience, I can’t believe it, I’ve been on stage in front of all those people. The curtain closes, everyone quietly tip toes off the stage.

     ‘Bloody brilliant Phillip, you were great, you know you are going to have to do it again tonight, probably until we close on the fourth, I’ll have to see if I can get you a card.’

     At the end of the panto I run back on stage with the other kids, and stand there while the audience claps, until the curtain closes for the last time. I like
it;
I can’t wait until I can do it again.

     ‘
Phillip
, where have you been, I was getting worried about you.’

     ‘I’ve been on stage that was me skipping.’

     ‘Well I never, are you sure it was you.’ I don’t know how to answer that but I know what
Connie
means, I’m not sure myself.

     After doing the same thing every night, and sometimes twice when there was a matinee, in total fourteen times, I’m sick of it. My first reaction to the stage was excitement, I wanted to be an actor, but now I’ve changed my mind. To keep repeating the same thing every day is boring, I think I will stick to my ambition to be a journalist.

     I have written to
Rachel
, I didn’t know what to say but I told her about the panto and me being in it. I told her about my bike; I then changed my mind it would not be fair to tell her how lucky I am, because she may not have had anything at all for Christmas. I printed my address very clearly, just in case she wanted to reply, and signed it, Love from
Phillip
Snell
.

I’ve used the envelope that Constable Harper gave me, it looked more official, I wrote above the address To RACHEL from
St
Gabriel
’s, Pen Dalton near Tonbridge
Kent
. 

    
In the six weeks
I have been back with
June
I have only been swimming maybe eight times. At first there was no one to take
me;
Pop
managed a couple of times. I’ve been to the club every Thursday but Len doesn’t seem interested in me anymore. When we first met again he said, ‘We seek him here, we seek him there, how long you staying this time Scarlet?’ I didn’t know what he meant but Pop told me he was referring to the Scarlet Pimpernel. He has a new pupil now, a girl called
Pamela
, she is about fifteen and does backstroke, and she is very fast. I have tried but can’t seem to get back to
where I was and have never even come
close to my record time. Captain says just keep training and it will come back but, with no one to coach me except for Thursday nights, it is never going to happen.  

     We start back to school on Monday and I have persuaded
June
to let me ride my bike. I have spent the twelve and six I had left on front and back lights for my bike, but if I had known I was getting paid for my performance on stage I would have bought a dynamo which fits on the front wheel, they are really good, lighting front and back lights and you never have to change
the
batteries; I couldn’t believe it when Florence gave me a pay packet with three pound ten shillings in it, that is five shillings a performance. 

     Maybe being an actor is not so bad after all, I don’t know what I will buy. Reg says that I should open a savings accoun
t at the Post O
ffice, and save a shilling out of my pocket money each week. He made me do a sum, to work out how much I would have by next Christmas, it took me a while, but I reckon I would have two pound ten shillings, added to what I have, that would be six pounds plus interest.

    
Florence
and the company have packed and gone to
Eastbourne
, the house is quiet again.
I asked Reg could I move back downstairs, but he seems to think that he has another booking, this time an orchestra; he said it depends on him winning the contract for accommodation from the White Rock Pavilion. I hope he does, it would be nice to
have the house all happy again, even though my room is like an icebox.

    
January, February, and March have passed, we had snow in February; I fell off my bike on the ice on West Hill and cut my leg badly. The rest of the class has caught up with me and I find at times I am struggling, especially in maths.
Michael
and I are still friends, but our friendship is not like it was with
Michael
Samuels
. We never argued, but
Michael
Stanton
and I always seem to be falling out, he is so bossy and I won’t be bossed around.

    One weekend I was to stay at his house but we never got past four o clock on Saturday, we had a big row about nothing and I came home. I think I may have been in the wrong, but my pride wouldn’t let me go back so I spent a rotten weekend with just me and Jet; how stupid is that?

     It is Easter this weekend, we break up tomorrow until Monday,
the
fourteenth. I thought I would be on my own again as Mi
chael was going to be near his D
ad this time, in Som
erset at Yeovil, but his D
ad has been posted somewhere on an aircraft carrier.
Michael
is not very pleased but I am delighted, we have decided to go on some long bike rides.

  ‘Hello
Phil
there is something on the dresser for you.’ It has rained all the way home from school; in fact it has rained nearly all day. We weren’t able to go out for our break this afternoon, I am cold and soaked, and my trousers are sticking to my legs.

     ‘What is it, I’m not hungry, and I’m going to get my wet clothes off first.’

     ‘Please yourself, and don’t just drop them on the floor, hang them on the clothes horse to dry.’ After changing, and hanging the wet clothes as
June
asked, I’m looking for my sandwich.

     ‘Where is that sandwich, it’s not on the dresser?’

     ‘Who said anything about a sandwich, if you want one get it yourself, I’m talking about a letter.’

     ‘A letter where?’ Right in front of me, perched against a tea pot, in full view is a letter addressed to
Master
Phillip
Snell
. I turn it over in my hand almost frightened to open it in case it is not from
Rachel
. I don’t think I have ever had a letter addressed to me it seems a shame to spoil it.

     I have seen Reg open them with a knife, which he keeps on the desk he calls his office, picking up the knife.
June
asks,

     ‘Well, who is it from?’

    ‘I don’t know, I haven’t opened it yet.’

    ‘Well you will never find out if you don’t, does it smell of perfume.’ I put it to my nose and sniff

    ‘No, it doesn’t smell at all.’

    ‘Then it is probably not from your girlfriend.’ Realizing that
June
is teasing me I feel like a fool as my ears start to burn. Inside is one sheet of paper from an exercise book written i
n very neat small hand writing.                                                                 

                                                                                                 
Dr Barnardos Home

                                                                                                 Lilleshall

                                                                                                  Nr Newport

                                                                                                  
Shropshire

Dear
Phil

Thank you for your letter, how clever of you
,
not knowing my name is Canning
,
to address it like that
;
it has taken a long time to get to me
because I have moved to a new place, a great big country house called Lilleshall in
Shropshire
but as you can
see, it
did.

Very pleased you are happy in
Hastings
;
fancy you being on the stage, I would have liked to see that. This place is better than St Gab
’s
,
we get more food and are better dre
ssed, we have lots of
games,
and I am learning to cook. I have a very nice house mother, I am very happy here.
Mir has been fostered to a vicar and his wife in Dover
,
she has written once to say they are very nice and she is happy
but misses me,
Toby has been
fostered but I don’t know where, somewhere in London I think.

Now we have found each other can we keep in touch
?
I would like that.

Your friend
,

Love
Rachel
x

     ‘
Is it from
Rachel
?’

     ‘Yes, she is still at Barnardos would you like to read it?’

     ‘If you would like me to,’
June
takes it and reads. ‘She is a very nice girl
Phil
, and a bit lonely I would say, so you must keep in touch.’

     ‘I will, now I know her full name I’m going to write every week.’

     ‘Where is Reg I would like him to see it.’

     ‘He is lying down, said he didn’t feel too grand so I told him to go and have a kip, will you help me I don’t want to disturb him?’

     ‘What do you want me to do?’

     ‘Would you peel potatoes until
Connie
gets here? She has taken
Alan
to the Doctor, there always seems to be something wrong with that boy.’

     Staying with us are twenty four members of the cast from the Opera Company that are performing The Pirates of Penzance. Once again we have free tickets and I am really looking forward to going on the Friday after Easter. I had intended to write to Rachel but the weather over Easter has been terrible, I haven’t been out, apart from taking Jet for walks, I have nothing to write about so I am waiting
until
after the Opera, then I will have something to say. I can’t go to
Michael
’s as his Gran and Grandad are visiting.

      I am helping
June
; Reg still is not feeling the best but won’t go to the doctor. I’m reading The Talisman again and enjoying it much better this time because I don’t have to fit it into other things, like I did at St. S’s, I can read as long as I want.

    
On Thursday, i
f the rain stops, Michael and I
are going to ride to Winchelsea, w
hich is about 10 miles each way. W
e are going to take a sandwich with us and buy a drink, it should be fun.

     Tuesday the sun is shining, spring has arrived. I’m walking with Jet; we have just passed through the gates that aren’t there, into Alexandra Park.
When I fi
rst came here with Michael Samuels he told me
th
ey had been removed and
smelted down
to make steel
just like railings an
d gates from all over England
to make
bombs and
thing
s
for the war effort
, I didn’t know whether to believe him or not but when I asked Pop he told me it was true and very sad as they were beautiful gates he then showed me a picture of them and said he hoped they would be replaced when things got back to normal
, I hope so too.

     A
notice
on one of the pillars says,
dogs are not allowed, but I’m sure, if I keep Jet on the lead, nobody will complain, and if they do I’ll plead ignorant. I wonder if dogs without owners, and not on a lead, stop and read the sign.

     The daffodils are in full bloom, the grass is wet, there is a smell of freshness, one or two trees have flowers,
it is beautiful. I’m enjoying
t
he walk
and so is Jet, that is, until I hear a shout, ‘Oy, what do you think you’re doing, dogs aren’t allowed in here.’ Acting very innocent, I turn to see a man in uniform, he is not a policeman but his uniform is similar, but instead of a helmet he is wearing a peaked cap.

     ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I was walking by and saw the lovely flowers and only came in to have a look, I’m sorry I’ll go back out.’

     ‘Going back out is the only truthful thing you have said, so be quick about it.’ Instead of cutting across the grass the way we came, we follow the tarmac path, by the time we get out we must have walked a good half mile amongst the flowers, I really enjoyed it.

     With my sandwich in my pocket, I’m waiting for
Michael
at the junction of
Old London Road
and Fairlight road. We agreed to meet at half nine it is now twenty to ten and he is still not here, I am about to head off to his house, to see where he has got to when I see him charging down the road, ‘Sorry I’m late, mum wanted me to make sure I had money for the telephone, so I can ring her when we get there, and again, just before we leave.’

     ‘That’s a good idea; do you think she would ring
June
and tell her, so she won’t worry?’

     ‘I suppose so, I’ll ask her.’

     Progress is slow,
Michael
has to walk up the steep hills, my bike is fitted with
Sturmey
Archer
three speed gears, I am able to ride up the hills and keep leaving him behind. We have already had a big row but I understand how he must feel, so now I am walking with him.

     Michael keeps going, o
n about his Dad, ‘My Dad does this, my Dad does that, my Dad says this,
and my Dad says that.’ He is obviously proud of his D
ad, I can’t talk about mine so I have to just listen to him going on, I don’t like to say shut up talk about something else in case I upset him. I can feel the anger in me bubbling as I fight to keep it in, I think this is why we argue so much because, when he does say something I can give an opinion on, I always seem to take the opposite view, just to be awkward.

     The long drag up to the White Hart pub has taken ages. To regain our breath we are seated on a wooden bench, facing the road. Before us is the steep, dow
n hill run into Guestling Green.
A
lady is watering the flowers in a window box, we both feel as though we shouldn’t be sitting here, I say, ‘Good morning.’

     ‘Good morning, have you come up from Guestling, or on your way down?’

     ‘On our way down, we have come from
Hastings
just having a ride to Winchelsea.’

     ‘So you have that to do, sooner you than me, you’d better drop in for a pint on the way back, to refresh yourselves.’

     ‘Yes we will; do you think we could have a drink of water now please?’

     ‘Seeing as we aren’t open yet, and I can’t serve a beer, I think I could just manage a glass of water. Come inside and have a glass of Adams Ale.’ We follow her inside, so this is what the inside of a pub looks like, sort of cosy and friendly. She fills two glasses from the tap,
Michael
asks,

     ‘Why did you call water,
Adams
ale?’

     ‘Well I dunno, I suppose when he was around there was nothing else to drink, beer hadn’t been invented; come on outside with those, children aren’t allowed in the bar, when you’ve finished your drink leave the glasses on the window sill.’

‘Thank you; see you this afternoon for that pint.’

‘Yeah
right; mind that
hill;
don’t go breaking your necks.’

     Wow, we are flat out down the hill, we must b
e doing a hundred miles an hour. There is a tractor in front, f
lying past it the driver blows his horn; I daren’t look behind to see what he is blowing at, with fear of falling off. With the excitement of our downhill run behind us we now have the flat road through Guestling Green and Icklesham before we climb
the short hill into Winchelsea, where we will pass
through one of the old ruined gates that were part of the town walls in medieval times.