Short Of Breath In Blackpool & More

SHORT OF BREATH IN BLACKPOOL

It was summertime once again. The school holidays had already started. Six lovely, long, carefree weeks away from the prison camp know to me as  

STONES SCHOOL.

The family plan this year was to go to Blackpool for a fortnights’ holiday. Two weeks at the seaside. I can’t wait! A spending money scheme had been devised for me and mi sisters so we would have a few bob of our own to spend on whatever we liked. (That did not include fags!)

For months now, me and mi two sisters had been doing odd jobs around the house and sometimes running errands for the neighbors. This scheme produced a meager amount of money each time but over the months it slowly built up into a reasonable amount. Our pocket money at 6d a week helped to boost our finances.

When the final day arrived we had accumulated about 25/-shillings each for the fourteen day holiday. For myself, Sheila and Sandra, we were rich behind imagination. A Bed and Breakfast place had been booked weeks in advance, as that time of the year was very busy. Two rooms had been booked. One room was for me and Sheila. The second one was for mi mum, dad and Sandra who would have her bed over in a separate corner of the room. 

New clothes had been bought, then stashed away soo we couldn’t wear them. A new pair of sandals each and new socks were standard procedure for holidays. 

We paid one of the neighbors, who had a car, to take the family and two big suitcases down to Sowerby Bridge station where we would catch the train to Blackpool. The last thing to go in the car was mi trumpet case which had to ride on mi knee ‘cause the car boot was packed. There was not much room in the old car but who cared! We were off to Blackpool. When we arrived at Sowerby Bridge Station, we all piled out and unloaded the car. Mi dad went to ticket window to show our ticket, then we could go through metal gates onto station.

Mi dad fount out that the Blackpool train was pulling in on the other side platforms so we had to lug all our bags down this underground tunnel, make a shop right and up two flight of steps. Traveling by train in the 1950s’ was a great experience indeed. In those days the trains were all steam. Coal was used to produce the steam so each steam engine had its own coal supply in the coal truck, right behind the engine.

At holiday times, the platforms were always crowded with children, mainly boys who were out on a Train-Spotting experience expedition. Books with engine names and numbers could be bought so when one spotted a beautiful old stream train, like theFlying Scotsman, it was underlined in the book and when it where it was spotted was written along side.

The train to Blackpool pulled into our station right on time. The big green engine blew its whistle and let out a great big puff of steam. Now the holiday spirit was in bull bloom as we looked up and down the station for our carriage. Ours was one of the last carriages so we had to lump our bags way down the end of the station.

My sister Sandra was worrying, out loud ,that the train would set off before we all got on board. Once the suitcases were aboard and stashed, we made our way to our numbered, reserved seats.

POO WOO! The old train gave a deafening blast from its whistle. The carriages gave a big jerk. A loud hissing sound came out of the engine and we were off! Eleven months and two weeks of waiting had finally arrived. 

As soon as we were comfortable and the coats had been stacked on the overhead luggage racks, mi mum got the sandwiches and Yorkshire tea out. Ham and tomato sandwiches with a large family bottle of dandelion and burdock was the mornings breakfast, topped off with a packet of Smiths Crisps.

After breakfast was over mi and mi sisters played Happy Families cards, I Spy or just watched the beautiful scenery whizz past our carriage windows. 

Through the Yorkshire villages we sped, the train only stopping at designated stations. The Blackpool Flyer was well on its way! 

The excitement was overwhelming. We bounced around in our seats, much to the dismay of mum who, by this time, had just about had enough. She said,

“ Enough!”

“Mum?”, I sez. “How can you have had enough when we’ve only just started?”

“Don’t be cheeky Richard!”, came the reply, “Or we’ll all bloody go back home!”

‘Idle threats’, I thought. ‘Number one, she can’t stop the train and Number two, they’d already paid for the digs in advance, so the cards were stacked in my favor, fun and games were on the top of the menu!

Charging up and down the carriages, hanging our heads out the window and generally making a loud racket, that’s what  we called fun and to top it all off we were rich! We had 25/- each in our pockets.

Our train finally pulled into Blackpool Station. Mi mum woke mi dad up who’d gone to sleep most a way, after reading two morning papers and drinking tow large pots of tea.

“Come on George, wake up! We’re here!”

Mi dad pushed his trilby back off his eyes as he reached up to luggage rack to pull down the two large suitcases. The hinges and snaps were the expandable type. They were expanded to their full capacity and straining to stay closed. A couple of ex-army straps had been tied around the cases cases to ensure the unthinkable would not happen while we were carrying them.

“What the  bloody hell have you got in these suitcases wench. Are you sure you couldn’t get anything else in ‘em?”, sez mi dad.

“I only brought what we needed for two weeks. Besides there’s no clothes washing facilities at the digs.”, sez mi mum.

“A man will do himself a’ injury lumping these bloody suitcases around. Those kids of yours have got far too many clothes. They’re too bloody well-looked after“, he sez.

“Come on George! Stop bloody grueling. We’re on holidays now and we’re here to have a good time.”

“Good times mi arse. How the hell can a man have a good time with three kids and a nagging wife, that’s what I’d like to know.”

Just outside the train station we caught the bus which would take us to our new digs for fourteen full days. At last we arrived at the Bed & Breakfast place which stood on a terraced row, surrounded by lots of other guest houses. We all trooped up the concrete stairs. 

Mi mum pushed the little white door bell. The door was opened by a big, stout lady with glasses, dyed blonde hair and three chins. Behind her stood her husband who was dressed  in a maroon cardigan, white shirt and floral Dickie bow. He wore glasses and had a bald head.

“Oh, you must be mister and missus Swindells and family.”, she sez. “We’ve been expecting you all morning. Pick up those bags Jack and take ‘em upstairs. Come with me dearies and I’ll show you your rooms.”

Jack did as he was told like. Like a good boy, he picked up the two huge cases and struggled up the stairs behind us all.

“My name’s Ida.”, the landlady said as she opened the doors to our bedrooms. “I trust these rooms will be all right for you and you’ll have a comfortable, enjoyable stay with us. Put those suitcases down over there, in the corner Jack.”

“Yes dear.”, sez Jack,

“I’ll let you settle in now and if there’s anything you want just give us a shout and Jack will get it for you.”, she sez.

Mine and Sheilas’ room was at the back of the guest house. The window looked out over the back yards of the rows and rows of terraced Bed and Breakfast places.

Mi mum, dad and Sandras’ room was twice as big. The window looked out onto the front main street.

“This room has a better view than mine and Richards!”, sez mi sister Sheila. “Why can’t I sleep in here, instead of Sandra?”

“Because you can’t.”, sez mi mum. “Never bloody satisfied are you? You’re just like ya’ brother. Now’ts ever good enough for you!”

Later on, I made mi sister Sheila aware of the fact we could sneak out of a night without anyone knowing ‘cause we had a room to ourselves. This perked her up a bit. We also had a TV in our room so as soon as mi mum and dad had gone to bed we could turn it on softly and watch whatever we liked, right up till closing time. Soon as she realized this, she had no problem with the room what-so-ever.  

The view out of mi mum and dads’ room was a good pastime. We’d sit on the window ledge and watch all the holiday makers walking down the front promenade. Sometimes, we’d yell out to some of them who, in turn, would look up at the window and wave to us.

After we’d settled into our rooms, we went outside for a walk down the promenade. This is what me and mi sisters had been waiting for, somewhere to blow our 25 bob.

A highly audible list of the things we were going to buy with our money was talked about as we passed some of the shops.

“You’re not rushing in and spending all your money at one.”, sez mi mum. “Let’s take a bit of time to look around so we know our way about the place.”

We came to an abrupt halt outside the Penny Arcade.

“Let’s go in here mum and try our luck on the one-armed bandits.”,I sez.

“All right then.”, she sez. “And mind you don’t put too much money in them ‘cause when it’s gone it’l do no good when you come crying to me, you’ve lost all ya’ money in those machines1”

As we walked around the arcade, I spotted the change man who was walking around the machines with his hand in his change bag rattling a bag full of copper coins.

I walked  up to him and said, “give me six pennies and twelve half-pennies please.”

The change man was around 25 years old. He wore jeans, a T-shirt and he had a tattoo on each arm. Over his T-shirt he wore a white jacket with the name of the arcade, across the top pocket. He had a gold ring in his ear and a Tony Curtis hair-style which was all the fashion in those days. Hanging out of his mouth was a fag with a long, bent ash just about to fall off at any time. He was an expert at counting out the coins. His  hands moved so fast when he counted that I checked mi change three times to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake, then handed him mi shiny one shilling piece.

The first machine I played was a one-armed bandit. I put a half-penny win the lost and pulled the handle. Apple, pear. cherry. the wheels clicked into place. I waited but now’t came out. After putting in three more half-pennies, I decided the machine was a dud and moved around the arcade, looking for a better prospect.

The arcade was alive with the sounds of clicking money, the banging of handles and the rattling of machine wheels as they spun around in endless succession.

I found a machine with pictures of American Movie Stars on it. It was an eight-sided machine with large photos that lit up each time a penny was put in the slot and pushed ‘HOME’. Lots of people were playing this machine so I stood in line and waited for a spare place to come available. The lights on the machine would come on and a sign would say ‘PLAY NOW!’ Everyone, including myself put their pennies in the slide and pushed the money into the machine. Round and round went the lights, then they stopped on a movie star or singers photo and blink on and off. The light stopped at my photo. Ava Gardner had just won me three pence. The pennies pumped out into a small tray under the coin slot. I counted my money out and I still had mi full twelve pence left.

I moved round the other side of the machine and waited for the ‘PLAY NOW’ sign. Pushing another penny in the slot, I waited for the machine to stop. This time it stopped on Connie Frances. Another three pence pumped out of the machine. Three pence in front now, I moved around to another photo. Round and round went the lights. When it stopped this time no money pumped out, which meant Gregory Peck had lost me one of my pennies.

I decided to move on to a machine mi sisters’ were playing. On this machine, I put a penny in the slot and pushed it in. A create lowered a four-fingered metal ‘grabber’ down over a pile of boxes. The metal fingers closed and the crane wound up the gadget which looked like a four-fingered hand. As it came up all the prizes fell out of the gaps in the fingers!

‘What a bloody twist!’, I thought.  Mi sister pushed a penny in and the crane went down and then grabbed a box. It moved across, then opened its’ fingers, dropping a fairly large, oblong box down a chute.

“I’ve got something!”, sez mi sister. When she opened it there was a cheap plastic miniature toy inside. She read the name under the cheap toy,

MADE IN HONG KONG.

“What a load of rubbish”, she said, and gave it to mi sister Sandra who thought is was great!

“Come on.”, sez mi mum. “Let’s go and have a look around some other places.”

“Have you lost all ya’ money yet?”, sez mi dad.

“No! I made a penny.”, I sez.

“I’y, but next time ya play you’ll lose it. Ya not meant to win money in these places or them buggers would go broke and they’re not that stupid. Horse- racing is the only way to go if ya’ follow the form. At least you’ve got a chance. In these places you haven’t got a hope in hell of winning!”, he sez.

“Come on George, let’s go and play a game of bingo.”, sez mi mum. So, we all piled into a Bingo Parlor. 

“Come on Ladies and Gentlemen, sit down and try ya’ luck. There’s a couple of lucky seats on this side.”, says the Bingo Caller to mi mum and dad.  

“Take ya’ seats folks and we’ll be off in a couple of shakes of a donkeys tail! We’re just waiting for a couple more players and were off! Lots of prizes for you to win so just cast ya’ mince pies over our great selection. All right folks, let’s go. Eyes down for your first number. It’s on the green line. Two little ducks, number 22. On the red line, Kellys’ eye, number 1! On the red line again, legs 11. On the blue line, anyway up 6 and 9 – 69!”

“Bingo!”, mi mum was smiling from ear to ear. She’d won a game! 

“Good for you love.”, said the bingo caller. “The lovely lady over her called ‘bingo’! Choose a prize from the bottom row or get a voucher towards something on the higher rows.”, sez the caller.

Mi mum was god at bingo. She won all sorts of prizes, even mi dad won a game. I sez to him, “This is better than horse-racing dad. It’s not boring and ya’ won a prize! 

“I’y, it’s not as bad as those one-armed bandits.”, he sez. “Bit it’s not as good as mi horse-racing.”

this is how we spent our days for two weeks. Sometimes we’d by stick of Blackpool Rock, then sit on the beach eating it and building sand castles with our bucket and spades. When we got sick of that we’d go for a ride on the donkeys. That cost 6d a ride and was a lot of fun. Over a period of two weeks we each had our favorite donkey we’d ride.

One day, I saw a plastic kite in a shop window. I decided to buy it. The kite was the box type. The shopkeeper assured me it would fly. If not, I could return it later that day.

My first experience with kites had not been a good one, to say the least, sos I was somewhat dubious about this new one flying. The kite came with plenty of string wound up on a wooden handle. The shopkeeper said, “Just throw it up into the wind and start running.”

As it turned out, the shopkeeper was not wrong. Soon as I got on the beach, I tossed it in the air and away it went. It soared as high as the string would allow it to go.

Under normal circumstances I wasn’t allowed to go too far away from mi mum and dad, in case I got lost, she said. But it was probably so she could keep an eye on me.

One day, I said to her, “You can ale=ways see where I am ‘cause no one else has a kite my colors. She agreed to let me run all over the beach.

After a couple of hours of running around, I had a great idea! I’ll stick the handle of the kite into the sand and go for a swim on mi own. 

I’d noticed a part of the beach where the daily boat trips set off from. The water would be deep enough for me to swim in. I’d already taken a lot of swimming lessons from Mrs. Bogg at Sowerby Bridge Baths so I had a fair idea of what to do.

Stones School had a program where they took all the kids to the baths once a week over the summer months. I was getting good at diving and could swim one-and-a-half breadths of the old swimming pool. 

Mi mum had already told the three of us, “Don’t go into the water unless I’m watching you. You never know what might happen.”

Sticking the kite handle into the sand was a good idea as she’d think I was still hanging onto the end of it. ‘What a good brainwave!’, I thought, as I headed for the water.

It was high tide. The water would be deep enough and I could dive over the waves. ‘That would be great fun’, I thought.

Even on a hot day, the water at Blackpool would not be considered warm. I dipped mi toe in first, just to see what it was like. the water was freezing cold but I decided to brave it anyway.

Soon as I got up to mi knees, I sat down in the water real quick so as to get used to it. When I stood up fast, the weight of the water almost pulled mi wooly swimming trunks down. So, I decided to go a bit deeper.

Lunging out into the water, I started to splash around. That’s what I called swimming!  The people getting into the day boats were busying themselves trying not to get too wet climbing over the side into the boats.

Every time I tried to swim, a big wave would come rolling in and wash me back up onto the sand. I started to get sick of this so I walked a bit further out into the water this time. I could see a big wave rolling in. I thought I’d jump in when it got to where I was standing. As the wave reached me, I pushed up with my feet and went right over the top of the wave.

‘What fun!’, I thought, as I jumped over each wave. ‘I’m getting good at this! The next time a wave comes, I’ll dive over the top of it and test mi swimming skills out!’

Over the top of the next big wave I dived and started to do mi breast stroke. I was doing really well until I noticed how far from the sand I was. Plus the fact I’d just swallowed half of Blackpools’ salty ocean in one big gulp!

‘I’ll just put mi feet down and take a rest while I could up some of this water.’ I thought. When I straightened mi legs and felt for the bottom, it was nowhere to be found. As I was feeling around with mi toes pointing straight out, I began to sink under the water. Down I went, swallowing a large mouthful of water again. 

I was still coughing from the first mouthful so this next one didn’t help matters. When I finally came up for air, I was in a full state of panic. 

A couple of feet away from me was the front of the twenty-foot day boat. I tried to shout out to someone, on the boat, for help. When I opened my mouth, nothing came out except a panic stricken, gagging sound.

Everything went into slow-motion and I started to sink again. I tried to swim but nothing happened. As I was sinking and the water was going over my nose, I could see people in the boat laughing and joking as the boat bobbed around in the waves. Sinking slowly under the water again, I thought ‘This is it! This is where I drowned and no one can see me!’ The panic was now horrendous. Everything froze, except my arms which were flailing all over the place and doing no good at all. I’d swallowed so much saltwater, by now, that my ears were ringing with bells and my head was filled with a kind of dizzy feeling!

‘You’re a goner!’, a voice in my head said as I was still underwater. ‘Remember the movie when the little girl went under for the third time? Well, after the third time you won’t come up again! You’ll just slowly sink to the bottom ‘cause you’ll be full of water.! You’ll be dead from drowning!’

Words are to enough to explain how I felt! The panic had set in so bad now that I knew myself there was no hope left for me at all!

Finally, my head broke the surface of the water again and between choking and full-blown panic plus a wave  that went over my head, I was now on my way down for the third and final time!

Strange thoughts were flashing though my head. My whole life (all nine years of it) flashed through in an instant. I felt sorry for all the times I’d given cheek to mi mum and dad and the way I’d teased mi sisters. The chicken, with the arrow still through its head..Every experience I’d had, up to this point, flashed through in a split second. How could nine years of living and all those experiences fit so easily into a fractured moment?

At that point, I prayed to God to be saved! I promised to do anything he asked of me.

As my eyes sank to the water level again, I noticed a Teddy Boy right up the front of the boat. He was about two feet away from me. My mouth was now under water! I couldn’t scream or shout for help, by this time!

At the very last moment, just before my eyes went under, the young Teddy Boy, turned his head in my direction and saw me going down into the water. As our eyes met I flashed him a psychic message, 

PLEASE HELP ME!

The next thing I remember was a hand grabbed my hair and was pulling me up towards the surface. The Teddy Boy hauled me out of the water and over the side, into the boat!

He bent me double and half of Blackpools’ ocean flew out of me. Then I heard him say, in a Geordie accent, 

“Are you all right son?”

As soon as I could talk, I said,

“Thanks Mister, thanks Mister!” I must have said Thanks Mister twenty times. The Teddy Boy said,

“Where’s your mum then?”

“She’s over there on the sand, somewhere.”

“Shall I take you to find her? You don’t look real well to me.”

“No, thank you Mister. I’ll be alright in a minute. Besides, if she finds out I’ve been in the water and nearly drowned, she’ll throw a right fit!”

I was still coughing up seawater when I left the day boat. As I jumped off back of he’s boat and onto the sand, I turned around and looked at the man. I waved both mi arms and yelled out as loud as I could,

“THANKS MISTER!”

He flashed me a big smile and waved a hand to me. 

Running towards where I’d left mi kite, I kept turning and waving to the boat as it was riding the waves, out into the ocean. I waved to the man until he could no longer see me. I grabbed mi kite and ran back to where mi mum was sitting.

“How did you get those bloody trunks wet?”, she said.

“A big wave splashed me as I was running along the waterside.”

“I don’t want you going near that water on your own, Richard. A boy drowned here last week. A big wave swept him out to sea and no-one saw it happen!”

“Where’s mi dad?”

“Where do think he is? He went for a pee two hours ago and hasn’t got back yet! I’ll give him a piece of my mind when he does get back. We’re supposed be on holidays, not boozing it up in the pubs.”

For the rest of the day, I felt quite content to build some sandcastles. The very same sandcastles that had looked so stupid and boring to me, a couple of hours ago, now took on a different dimension.

TALENT CONTEST ON BLACKPOOL PIER

The Landlady, Ida, said to mi mum.

“That lad of yours is really good on the Trumpet. I heard him playing this morning. You ought to take him to Blackpool Pier , they’re having a talent contest there all this week. If he gets into the finals there’a a prize of two pounds for the winner.”

That day, after dinner, we all went down to the pier. The contest was due to start at two O’clock that afternoon. Mi mum found out where to enter mi name , then we all went into this open air area that had seats set up around a stage. 

I was due to go on after a young boy who was going to play the guitar. When the young boy who was around my age, got up on stage the MC told him to state his name and what song he was going to play. After he gave his name he said, “This song is called ‘IT TAKES A WORRIED MAN.’ With that, he struck up a series of Skiffle chords and sang his song. While he was singing, he had his legs bobbing in and out like Elvis Presley. This made the audience laugh and have a good time.

Next was my turn. ‘Mi name’s Richard Swindells and I’m from Parrok Nook. I’m going to play ‘Oh My Papa’ by Eddie Calvert.’  As soon as the first note cleared the bell of mi trumpet the laughing stopped. The place was totally silent as the fat, round notes danced on the ocean breeze. After I finished there was still a silence hanging over the audience. Then, all of a sudden, people got up to their feet , stood up and clapped loud and long.  It was a good feeling although I was very shy and just stood there like a statue.

I won that round which put me in the semi-finals. When my turn came up again, I said the same thing. “Mi name’s Richard Swindells and I’m gonna’ play ‘Cherry Pink.’  People loved this song too so I went into the finals. The last song I played was LITTLE SERENADE by Eddie Calvert. This song brought the house down, as it was on the current Hit Parade.

“And the winner is, with 10 out of 10, Richard Swindells who played LITTLE SERENADE!” The whole place got to their feet and gave me a thunderous  round of applause. Plus, the MC handed me 2 -one pound notes. 

Shy or not, I had a great time and felt really good about winning the talent contest.

When I got off the stage and went over to mi mum and dad, I said,

“I won the contest and now I’m 2-pound richer!”

Mi mum said, “I’m very happy for you and  I’m also very for all of us ‘cause now we have an extra 2 quid to spend on our holidays!”

My face dropped a bit as I haded the two quid over but I didn’t mind really because that was the first time ever I’d been able to contribute to the family income.

Mi dad sez, “You made more money in 5 minutes than I make in two days! I should stop working and send you out into street with that trumpet I bought ya! All that money lad, I’ll be able to have an extra pint tonight.” 

“You can have one on me dad. You can buy mi mum a Shandy too! Seeing as she’s not driving anymore!”, I sez.

“You watch your tongue lad,” she sez. “I would have been all right driving if ya dad and Jimmy hadn’t have nattered so much in the car. The trouble was I couldn’t concentrate!”

This gave  mi dad a good laugh on the way home to our digs.

MEETING ONE OF THE LOCAL BOYS

(WE’RE STILL IN BLACKPOOL)

Towards the end of our stay in Blackpool, I met one of the local boys who lived on street just around the corner from our digs. He was around my age (7 years), maybe a little older. I seem to remember having a lot of fun with him for a few days. He showed me a lot of different places in Blackpool. For example, Back street corner store where we could buy loose cigarettes for a couple of pence each. 

Because he’d lived in Blackpool his whole life, he wasn’t interested ingoing to the Penny Arcades. He’d learned, early on in life, what mi dad said,

“Those places are not geared up for you to win ,otherwise they’d go broke fast!”

Joey was a good friend, for the short time I knew him, but he had a big ‘trouble streak’ in him. Not the harmless trouble I used to get into but the type of trouble that spelled POLICE!

He’d tell me stories of the times he’d hang around with some of his street friends, then late at night break into sweet shops, cigarette shops, toy shops etc. Any short of shop that kept what him and his friends thought they needed. 

He’d been caught by the police, many times before, and was now on a 3-year probation period. 

I had no idea of what he was talking about so it was fun for him telling me his ‘desperado’ stories. I enjoyed listening to him but it was not within my reality to go on one of his night outings.

One day, we were roaming around the back streets of Blackpool, when I discovered I needed a pee, very badly! Joey shoed me were the was an old public toilet on this street corner. Across from the street corer was an old pub. From the outside it linked like a dump! the paint was peeling away from the window frames and the windows themselves were filthy dirty. I’d noticed earlier a stream of old boozers that used the place like home.

I didn’t have much time to contemplate the scene beyond that as I was busting for a pee.

“I’ll wait out here for ya.”, sez Joey. “I’m gonna’ cadge a ciggie from one of those drunks!”

I rushed into the old public toilet, undoing me fly as best I could form the crossed-leg position. I had not yet learned about going to the toilet before going out in a city.

On the moors, in Yorkshire, it was a simple matter of peeing wherever one stood as there were no spectators to watch. The outside of the public toilet was as bad-looking as the pub was, from the outside. Besides the fact that it stunk from stale urine. (Well, I won’t go into those grizzly details for right now!)

Whilst I was standing at the broken-tiled trough an old drunk came walking up behind me to use the trough. I instinctively turned and saw him, then totally ignored him. He walked up to the next trough and stood right next to me and started to peer over my right-hand shoulder trying to see mi willie! I was not used to using these sorts of facilities in the first place. Besides the fact, he was standing too close to me. Had he have turned his body a fraction, he would have splashed mi new sandals! (The thought of that freaked me out!) The drunk then proceeded to talk to me, asking me all sorts of intimate question. By this time, I realized he was an old pufta. The fact he was trying to pick me up frightened me and angered me at the same time. After he’d  finished peeing, he started to wander around the old public toilet room. He was checking the toilet doors to see if anyone was using them! After a while he must have decided to go into one. 

I made out I was leaving and watched from the doorway. He went into the toilet room but didn’t lock the door properly. I could hear him messing about, trying to get his pants down.  I waited a while longer. all of a sudden I heard him groan with satisfaction as he obviously sat down on the seat, quite heavily.

The timing was perfect. I sneaked across the room and stood in front of the toilet door. Then, I lifted me right leg and kicked the door in as hard as I could. The door flew inwards about 18 inches then stopped abruptly agains his head. I heard a deep moan as the door connected. Then there was a large crashing sound as he fell forward off the pot and crashed in a heap on the floor. I saw part of his shoe from under the small gap in the toilet door. 

Then, a voice said, ‘Now you’ve done it! You’ve really done it now. He’s dead and you’ve killed him!’ That really scared me so I ran out of the toilets up the stairs and into the warm sunlit street.

“Have a fag.”, Joey sez. “I just cadged ‘em off this old geezer over the road there. I old him I’d kick his arse if he didn’t give ‘em to mi!”

I was scared and shaking now as I lit the Willie Woodbine up. 

“What’s the matter with you?”, sez Joey.

I told him the whole story. After I’d finished he roared with laughter at what I’d described.

“It’s not funny!”, I sez. “Maybe I killed him when I kicked the door in!”

“Maybe you did.”, sez Joey. “But who cares anyway. It’s what the old pufta  deserved, trying to pick up young boys in public toilets! There’s a lot of  puftas in this area ya know so you’ve got to be careful these days!”

I never mentioned this little episode to mi mum or dad but for the next couple of days I read the local newspaper to if anyone had been found dead in a public toilet.

I didn’t really start to relax about what had happened until we were one the train going back home to my loving Yorkshire Moors. As far as I was concerned Blackpool was alright but compared to the Moors, you can have it!

On the train home, looking out at the train window as it sped away from Blackpool into the green countryside, I thought to myself, ‘Well, all in all it wasn’t a bad holiday. I won a couple of quid on mi trumpet. I nearly drowned misen, I almost ended up getting screwed by a puta and to top it all off, I’m flat broke again. Ah well, that’s life, I suppose.

This is an introduction to the Mercurial World of Guru Om. He will fascinate your mind and bring you to understandings that you may have never even imagined.

Source: http://themercurialworld.blogspot.com/2022/02/short-of-breath-in-blackpool-more.html