Mick

Arthur Newby

Description

Michael Philip Holmes was born on the 16th September 1949 in the small community of Hillbank down in the south east corner of the Irish Republic, just outside Waterford. He was the 5th generation descended from Romany Gypsy ancestors. It was a small community. Everyone knew everyone. Gossip was always the diet of the women of the community. Young Michael, and his sister Rosie, were always together. They had this odd habit of sitting on the pavement and staring hard at passers-by then suddenly giggling to themselves, hugging each other. It was something that people passing them always felt a bit uncomfortable about, as the young children's eyes followed them.As the young couple got a little older their staring at people became more intensive, much to the irritation of people who became the object of their scrutiny. People were becoming convinced they were what they called "Fey", and were "With the little people", but feared they were with "The bad ones". People were convinced the two were able to read their minds. This came to a head one day when they caused a violent feud between two families through something the pair revealed.The two became outcasts in the community, as did their parents. No one wanted anything to do with them. Sadly Rosie died at the age of 13, leaving Michael lost and alone at the age of 15. At the age of 19 Michael left the community with what savings he had, and decided to leave the country altogether.He ended up in the south of England where he found a job on a farm. He was so unused to farm work that the farmer eventually sacked him. His money ran out and he found himself on the road. He had a bad time trying to survive until he fell in with two men who called themselves "Gentlemen of the Road".They said they were Robbie and Tim. Michael just said he was Michael. They immediately called him "Mick", a name which followed him the rest of his life. Through these two new friends he discovered a group of men and a woman who lived on the open road. They all became close friends, looking after each other and sharing everything until one day circumstances forced them on their own separate ways. Life took a major change of direction for Mick.This story goes on to relate the ups and downs and highs and lows of his life through happy times and bad times. Throughout he always wanted to be honest and reliable, a characteristic which was to bring him both good times and not so good times, even to a close shave with untimely death.

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 décembre 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781838597924
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2019 Arthur Newby

The moral right of the author has been asserted.


Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.


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ISBN: 978 1838597 924


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Cover image from https://unsplash.com
Photographer: Albert Dera
https://unsplash.com/@albertdera
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
TO CONCLUDE
MICK
HIS STORY
Michael Philip Holmes was born on the 16th September 1949 in the small community of Hillbank down in the south east corner of the Irish Republic, just outside Waterford. He was the 5th generation descended from Romany Gypsy ancestors.
It was a small community. Everyone knew everyone. Gossip was always the diet of the women of the community. Young Michael, and his elder sister Rosie, were always together. They had this odd habit of sitting on the pavement and staring hard at passers-by then suddenly giggling to themselves, hugging each other. It was something that people passing them always felt a bit uncomfortable about, as the young children’s eyes followed them.
As the young couple got a little older their staring at people became more intensive, much to the irritation of people who became the object of their scrutiny. People were becoming convinced they were what they called “Fey”, and were “With the little people”, but feared they were with “The bad ones”.
It all came to a head one day when the young pair went to a neighbour’s house. They asked for the father of the house. They told him what the man next door to them thought about his thirteen year old daughter. They did it purely for mischief, not realising just what effect it would have. The father did no more than storm around and had an awful row with the neighbour, ending in a fist fight. That was the start of a terrible feud between the two families, which extended to other members of both families.
The two became outcasts in the community, as did their parents. No one wanted anything to do with them. Sadly Rosie died at the age of 13, leaving Michael lost and alone at the age of 15. At the age of 19 Michael left the community with what savings he had, and decided to leave the country altogether.
He ended up in the south of England where he found a job on a farm. He was so unused to farm work that the farmer eventually sacked him. His money ran out and he found himself on the road. He had a bad time trying to survive until he fell in with two men who called themselves “Gentlemen of the Road”.
They said they were Robbie and Tim. Michael just said he was Michael. They immediately called him “Mick”, a name which followed him the rest of his life.
This story goes on to relate the ups and downs and highs and lows of his life through happy times and bad times. Throughout he always wanted to be honest and reliable, a characteristic which was to bring him both good times and not so good times, even to a close shave with untimely death.
Thank you for reading this book.
Hope you like it.

THE AUTHOR IS
ARTHUR NEWBY

A 91 YEAR OLD PENSIONER WHO’S BRAIN
IS STILL FITTER THAN HIS LEGS.

LIVERPOOL
MAY 2019
CHAPTER ONE
Mick carefully opened one eye, and pushed back the woolly cap from over his eyes. Looking up, he saw a policeman looking down at him.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, giving Mick another tap on his arm with the toe of his boot. ‘You shouldn’t be sleeping in the park.’
‘Sorry, Constable Spiers, but I wasn’t sleeping here – honest. I came here last night to wait for the eclipse of the sun. It should’ve been around two in the morning but I must have missed it.’
‘The eclipse is not until next week,’ replied the constable.
‘Then I have got a long wait, haven’t I? Must get some food and drink in.’
‘You’re not waiting here then, so pick your stuff up and go and find somewhere else. And another thing. How did you know my name?’
‘You just told me, Constable.’
‘I didn’t say anything. I’ll ask again. How did you know my name?’
Mick realised he had been too smart in reading the policeman’s mind and had to think fast for an answer. ‘I saw you the other day with your sergeant on the high street. I heard him call you by name and I remembered it was you.’
‘I thought for a daft moment that you had read my mind. Stupid of me. You still need to go and find somewhere else to see the eclipse before I arrest you for loitering.’
‘Going, Constable. Just give me ten minutes to wake up – OK?’
‘OK. Ten minutes and I will be back.’
‘Thank you, sir. Have a nice day.’
As the constable walked away Mick closed his eyes and had ten minutes’ nap, relying on the policeman not being back for quite a while.
It was another fifty minutes before Mick woke up to find warm sunshine on his face. Better get up and away before the bobby comes back , he thought. Don’t want to be arrested on such a nice day .
Collecting his possessions together, he rose and, tidying his overcoat and brushing off grass clippings, he had a good look round and then turned to make for the hole in the fence where he had gained access. Nice of old Jerry to tell me about it , he mused as he climbed through, turned left and walked along the road out of town.
As he walked he watched the passing traffic. People going to work and pedestrians rushing here and there, brushing past him and giving him a glance as they rushed by. Mick smiled to himself as he watched the hectic life rushing about him. After about an hour he came to the suburbs of the town and spotted a bench just inside the green open space on his left. He turned and sat down for a rest.
Mick had always determined that he would not turn into a tramp. He had a decent shirt on, with spare ones in his backpack, along with spare socks and underwear. The jacket and trousers he had bought in a charity shop for just £9. The overcoat was also bought in a charity shop, as were his shoes.
To the passing crowd he was obviously what he called himself, ‘a man of the road’, but his appearance never offended anyone. He had always tried to earn enough to use a laundrette, knowing there would be one within a couple of days’ walking. As to keeping clean he knew of quite a few ‘ways and means’ he had learned over the years. Being lunchtime he knew he needed to earn some money to buy his meals for the rest of the day. He just had the price of a pint in his pocket so he got up and made for a pub he had spotted along the road.
Watching the people going in and out of the pub he felt they would be suitable customers for his ‘party trick’, so he strolled over and went in. It was a small pub in which most customers would know each other. He noticed there were a few children sitting with adults on the window seats. Nodding to the nearest customers he approached the bar.
‘Afternoon, miss. May I have a pint of your best, please.’
‘Have you got money to pay for it?’
‘I have, miss,’ he replied, putting his money down on the bar. Taking a free stool he sat by the bar, sipped his drink and eyed the customers. It took him about five minutes to pick his victims.
Before he could make an approach, he asked the barmaid if he could play a little harmless game with the customers to give them some entertainment and earn himself a few bob.
‘What’s the game then?’ she asked, curious.
‘I bet them I can tell them what job they do, or what their name is, by asking a few harmless questions. If I get it right they reward me as they think fit. If I get it wrong that person takes what I have already collected.’
‘Seems harmless enough,’ said the barmaid. ‘I’ll just ask my dad. He owns the pub.’
Turning to her dad, who was at the end of the bar, she spoke to him, pointing at Mick. He looked at Mick and nodded his head.
‘Dad says OK. But first you have to find what his name is, so he knows you are not a con man.’
Mick nodded his head and walked along to the end of the bar where ‘Dad’ was. He started asking him a few innocent-sounding questions and after a pause in which he stared intently at ‘Dad’ he declared, ‘Your name is Philip James Howard. I know it is Howard because your name is on the board outside. Am I right?’
‘Yes, you are right. How did you guess that?’
‘It’s all in your answers to my questions. It’s all to do with knowing what questions to ask, depending on the subject.’
‘You’re good. What’s your name then? … Without any questions.’
‘My