THAT WAS THE FRIENDSHIP WE HAD BACK THEN

THAT WAS THE FRIENDSHIP WE HAD BACK THEN

For Gary

Around forty-eight years ago when I lived above my dad’s shoe repair shop at 116 Bradford road; I met a lad called Gary (I omit his surname purposely). Gary was the same age as me; in fact, he was exactly two weeks younger. He lived across the road at 5 Charnley walk with his mum Anne, his dad Harry, and his three sisters, Martina, Jackie, and Mary. We soon formed a friendship that I believed neither time nor distance could intrude upon. We were mates, and that was a big word for both of us. Not because we were four or five and maybe couldn’t spell it, but because it meant we had a bond, a friendship we knew would last. We never once fought or fell out; we’d probably disagree on things and then laugh off our disagreements within minutes. Because that was the friendship we had back then.

If I remember right, I was seven, maybe eight years old when my dad gave up the shoe shop and we all moved to Miles Platting, all nine of us (my youngest sister Jayne hadn’t been born then). That put a strain on our friendship because we were so young and the mile we moved was, to both of us, a fair old distance. A few weeks later I remember playing out at the back of our new house one Saturday morning and seeing a familiar shape in the distance. I had to look twice to be sure, but it was him, Gary. Somehow his mum had trusted him to make the treacherous journey, and there he was. It might sound silly to some of you, but we actually threw our arms around one another like brothers who hadn’t seen each other for years. But like I said, that was the friendship we had back then.

I can’t remember exactly when it happened, but I think it was when we were about eleven. Gary’s dad was a self-employed painter/decorator and, I can only assume, had stashed a bit of money aside because they actually bought their own house. The address was 32 Byron avenue, a semi-detached right at the bottom end of a cul-de-sac. The house was great, four bedrooms, I think, but the best bit was that one of those bedrooms was Gary’s, which meant on some weekends I could stay over. The only drawback was the location of his new house, Droylsden, and that was four miles away. So again we didn’t see each other for a few weeks until my dad, or Gary’s dad (I can’t remember which) drove me there. Later visits were done via a two-bus bus ride that took sometimes an hour. And when my mam or dad didn’t have the bus fare to give me, I’d walk it, there and back. Because that was the friendship we had back then.

On the weekends that I did stay over, we’d go to a place where a building had been demolished but the eight-foot wall surrounding it remained. Two lads, one eight foot wall, piss easy. The walled area was about half a football pitch big, and we owned it, it was ours. So much so we felt we had to name it, so we called it “Our Land”. We’d be there from dawn till dusk, making bows and arrows from tree branches and playing cowboys and Indians until it went dark. I’d kill him, then tig him back to life, then he’d kill me and reciprocate the gesture. Because that was the friendship we had back then.

A few years later, Gary's parents did the ultimate abomination and moved again, even further away. And now I think about it, were trying to tell me something? Because this time a bus ride just wouldn’t cut it. I asked the driver but he said the ‘53’ didn’t go to Australia. We both had phones, only landlines of course, but calling Australia wasn’t cheap, so our friendship died a death. It wasn’t time that did it; it was distance that twisted that particular knife.

I haven’t been in touch with Gary for something like forty years but I always thought of him and still do, and I always said, “Happy birthday, Gary” whenever the 3rd of July came around. I have, in recent years, attempted to contact him through his family, but was told they’d had a falling out and no longer spoke to each other.

I recently discovered, via a phone call, that Gary has a grandchild on the way, I think due in April. I applaud him with gusto for that. I don’t know how many grandchildren he has, or if this one will be his first. I do know, however, that this one will be his last, because I also discovered during that same phone call that Gary now has terminal cancer, and will not get to see that grandchild.

During the latter quarter of the last century I lost the best friend I ever had. This century I’m going to lose him for a second time. And if Gary and I were still seven years old, we’d both agree how that just wasn’t fair. Because that was the friendship we had back then.

My throat has cramped now, and my eyes have blurred, but I couldn’t let him go without expressing those words. Time’s the healer, but is it truly our friend, or was it the distance that separated us, and brought this era to its end?