Happy as Larry. (Inspiration Point)

"Happy as Larry," it was a phrase that described him perfectly, and as far as I could make out everyone and everything he was connected to. Certainly I never saw him in a bad mood or even unhappy. It was his phrase, he used it whenever you spoke to him almost like a reflex action. And he did seem to be happier than most people you'll meet, the reason? Simple! he didn't give a sod for anyone or anything. So whenever you met him and said. "Hi Lennie how's it going? " you would inevitably get the reply "Fine, Happy as Larry," accompanied by a wide grin.

I got involved with him by accident really. He walked into the pub one Friday night and asked if he could sign on as a player for the pub football team, The Victoria Casuals. He didn't know anyone there but that didn't seem to bother him. He didn't look that impressive, about eighteen years old, five foot eight, slim build and a sort of wiry look that suggested he would fall over if pushed too hard. His grin as he asked though was infectious and we found ourselves saying. "We need some new players so, yeah, you can turn out for the second team tomorrow, Hackney Marshes 3'oclock kick off OK?" It turned out to be more than an OK signing...he was brilliant. Inside left, quick, clever and confident, the ball seemed to stick to his feet, we won four nothing and he made three of the goals.

The following week he played in the first team and that's where I began to get involved with him. I was the club's first team centre forward and soon realised that he was a remarkable player. The ball just seemed to arrive on my correct foot at the right speed and weight in exactly the right position to score...and I did, twice before half time. Both goals down to him! As far as I was concerned he was a perfect partner and I could see my own performances were about to improve to a level I had only dreamed about.

It was in the second half of that first match that I got my first sight of his darker side. He decided to tease the life out their centre half, he whipped the ball off his feet easily, waited for him to catch up with him then beat him again, he then nutmegged him twice, all the time with that grin on his face. He was really enjoying his opponent's discomfort. I could see what was going to happen but before I could stop it he was flat on his back and the opposing centre half was now grinning all over his face. Not for long though, a bit later he accidentally ran into my elbow and broke his nose. Had to leave the pitch and go to the Hackney Hospital for attention! It was an accident...honestly! it was! The ref agreed, he ran into me. We won three nil and our new player latched onto me as some sort of saviour, invited himself to join us that evening at the Town Hall dance. That was the beginning of a series of problems created for the rest of us by his "Sod 'em all" attitude.

We quickly discovered that in addition to his undoubted skill as a footballer he was also very attractive to women. Why? I couldn't tell you. There didn't seem to be anything special about him, but then I'm not a woman so what do I know? Could have been his blue eyes or that cocky grin, maybe it was just one of those unexplained oddities that you come up against now and then. It wasn't even as if he could dance, he just stood there moving his feet occasionally from one point to another with his partner gyrating around him, convinced that she was the centre of attention and cutting an impressive figure on the dance floor. Why didn't he learn to dance properly? He said he didn't need to. Girls loved to show how well they could dance and it amused him to be a part of their display and in any case no one ever noticed if the bloke could dance or not. He never went home alone. No wonder he was always as "Happy as Larry".

His big drawback was his knack of attracting trouble. He of course made sure that he didn't have to sort it out or even become involved in any way. Oh no! by the time matters reached crisis point he was always somewhere else. More and more it fell to me to calm things down and keep the peace. There were a few occasions when the peace couldn't be kept….fortunately we were big enough to be able to take care of ourselves but he would be well away by then. He always assured us that he had had words with whoever he had upset and that with differences now resolved, they, like him, were again as "As happy as Larry"...that bloody silly phrase again!

He rapidly built a reputation as a liability to have with us when we went out on Saturday nights to the various dance halls. My bar bills grew at an alarming rate too, he had a generous streak when it came to buying a round of drinks, he would stand all his mates a drink and stick it on my bill, assuring Henry the barman that I had Okayed it. It eventually reached a point where irate blokes would come to me and tell me that. "You really have got to do something about that cocky little sod." Me? What could I do? He wasn't any relation of mine I didn't know him any better than anyone else. Even so I said I'd have a word with him. I did and it was a total waste of time! "You worry too much." I was told. Too right I did where he was concerned. But he did seem to improve a bit for while. Not quite so outrageous or obvious with his flirting with the other blokes birds, and things calmed down for a while.

Then it all started up again. This time it was at The Royal in Tottenham. Now The Royal was a dancehall you didn't go to unless you went mob handed. Especially if you came from outside the area, and we did so we made a point of turning the visit into a sort of team outing. Despite the fact that was situated right opposite a police station there was often serious trouble there on Saturday nights. So, why go there? Because Ted Heath and his Band frequently played there and so did other big bands of the era. The girls all wanted to go there to see Dennis Lotis and Dickie Valentine and the blokes all wanted to ogle Lita Rosa. It was usually a great evening…and it would have been this time too if Lennie had behaved himself.

It was to be a 'slow one', that meant you could get close to your girlfriend in the half-light of the dance hall and....and....well you know, you must have danced those sort of dances. Lennie had seen a particularly attractive girl on the opposite side of the hall and sauntered, he never rushed anywhere, over to her. Lifting her hand from the table where she had just placed her drink he said. "Come on darlin' let's show 'em how it's done." He must surely have seen the guy sitting next to her? He gave no sign that he had and the girl smiling broadly, stood up accepting his invitation to dance. As they made to leave the table the guy suddenly came to life. "Oi," he said plaintively "What about me? She's wiv me y' know." Lennie leaned forward and tapped him gently on the cheek. "Don't worry sunshine," he said "I'll bring her back in one piece and then I'll dance with you if you like!" For a moment it seemed that the bloke was going to have a fit. He went red in the face, leaped to his feet and tried to grab Lennie's arm. Lennie wriggled free and with that grin still on his face advised the outraged escort to go over to the bar and, "Have a quick drink with me mates"...and pointed to us. By the time the poor bloke had weighed up his chances of making any impression on our group Lennie and the girl had vanished into the melee on the dance floor. But it was clearly time to leave.

Fortunately the best of the big band had come and gone, the singers wouldn't be performing again that evening so with the best behind us we quietly left and made our way to the pie shop in Hackney where we met every Saturday night after the dance. Lennie? I don't know what happened to him he vanished with the girl, like he always did.

It was the billiards hall next. Only a few days later. One of those snooker halls that used to be above all the branches of Burton's the Tailors. Beautiful green tables brilliantly lit by the shaded lights above, dark shadow all around and throughout the room...silence. We were all quietly enjoying a game of snooker and minding our own business, as it was best to do in those places. Lennie strolled in and made for the table on which I was playing Ernie Jackson. On his way he clumsily knocked against one of the other players and ruined the shot he was about finish the game with. "Watch where you're going, you dozy git!" roared the frustrated player. "You've completely buggered up my game." Lennie, instead of apologising profusely, after all it was his fault, did what he always did. Gave a cocky grin and told the bloke he shouldn't have stuck his arse out so far from the table, then people wouldn't bash into it! The look Lennie gave the offending arse indicated that he thought it was too big anyway. That was too much. The bloke grabbed hold of him and put the snooker cue under his nose. "I've a bleedin' good mind to shove this right up your nose," he said...I believed him! He looked every bit as though he could and would do just that. Lennie though, chirpy as ever, asked him if that would be before or after his mate over there (Pointing at me) had shoved it up his arse. The manager seeing things getting a bit dodgy moved to avert a very nasty situation and together with his two heavies, kept there for just such a purpose, escorted us all out of the hall and onto the street. It was quite a while before we went back to that particular snooker hall.

The following Friday evening as they called out the teams for Saturday's games, Lennie was missing. No reason for not being there, no note to say he was sick or unfit as anyone else would have reported. Nothing! We didn't see him again for about four weeks. Then he strolled into the pub on a Friday night and told us he had signed apprenticeship papers with Queens Park Rangers and wouldn't be able to play for us any more. He did play for them though and for a number of other teams too over a period of time. Didn't seem to stay long at any of them, there were rumours in the press of involvement with other players wives, gambling, fracas in night clubs, all the sort of things we would have expected to hear about him. Nothing ever proved of course but...it wouldn't have bothered him anyway, he would just have grinned and told you that he was still as "Happy as Larry"...and you would have believed him!

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