London 1960

Washed and scrubbed we go to church.
The priest blesses us in Latin and we
rhyme off our automatic replies.
I do not understand what it means
but I know it must be good; serious too.
“Don’t look behind you”;
“Don’t pick your nose”;
“Don’t talk”; don’t, don’t, don’t.
There are do's as well but I don’t remember them.
It’s hard to remember everything.
God, I’m only seven years old you know.
“Let us call to mind our sins”
I hate this bit; I can never remember any.
“We ask God to forgive us the sins we will
commit in the future”.
Every week we ask this, and then we come here
next week and ask him to forgive last weeks’.
This sinning is complicated.

After ‘Mass’ dad drives us to the pub.
Mum and I sit at the table outside.
Dad goes in and comes back with a ‘Babysham’
for mum, a Coke and a packet of crisps for me.
I open the crisps and search the contents for the
little blue salt bag. I open it and pour it onto the crisps.
It is damp and sticks in one spot so, I pinch the top of
the crisps packet and shake vigorously. Still the salt stays mainly
on the top and the crisps become bland and tasteless
near the bottom. The coke is fizzy and makes me burp.
I excuse myself and mum smiles; “good boy”.
Dad returns with a pint of beer, I don’t know how
he drinks it. I tried a taste once and it was Yuk.
At one of the other tables, Mary, from my class
in school, waves at me; I pretend not to see her;
I hate girls! I wonder if that is a sin.
Dad says that one day; I will like them a lot.
Hmm, I suppose he thinks I will like beer too.

Dad buys me the ‘Victor’ and ‘Hotspur’ in the
Paper shop on the way home and gets a ‘Sunday Mirror’
for himself. He would buy me anything to read! But he prefers
books. “Those comics are a waste of time”, he claims.
But I’ve seen him reading them sometimes,
so they can’t be that bad really.
I change out of my good clothes and go into the Sitting room.
Jimmy Clithero is on the ‘Wireless’.
We had been discussing my latest ‘Just William’ book.
I slipped the name of the next one into the conversation hopefully.
Then ‘Jimmy’ came on, paused my plea.
Mum came in with tea and biscuits;
“Dinner will be about an hour”, she informs us.
Dad pulls the big sash window down tight
The noise from the traffic is abated a little.
Dad guffawed! “That Clithero is an idiot”, he smiles.
Mum looks at him, like she does me, when I walk in with
muddy boots on. “But the nice kind” dad quickly adds.