"Lucky" Little Strikes Out

Toni Richards

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK Limited
• Date de parution: 28 mai 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783330461
• Langue: English

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Title Page
“LUCKY” LITTLE STRIKES OUT!
by
Toni Richards



Publisher Information
Published in 2013 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
The right of Toni Richards to be identified as the Authors of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998
Copyright © 2013 Toni Richards
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.



Chapter One
Wednesday, 15 th June, 1994
I double checked that the gate, leading from the back garden of the property, was securely fastened, then headed westward along the track on the northern edge of Rombalds Moor. There was no point living in a property surrounded by a high stone wall, topped with barbed wire, if you were to leave the gates wide open. As usual, with a walk of this kind, I let my legs take me where they wanted to wander, then let my thoughts wander along with them.
It was early evening and the longest day was only a week away. Most of Britain had been blessed with almost a fortnight of hot, sunny weather. The cynics had claimed it would not last. Their claim to this statement was that it would soon be Wimbledon fortnight, and it always rained before, during and after. They were being proved right. A depression had appeared in the Atlantic. Rain was already falling in the south west and Wales. While the good weather prevailed, I had used every opportunity to take advantage of the conditions. Born and bred in an industrial area of Leeds, above the Aire valley in Yorkshire, I had spent much of my youth being taken round the Yorkshire Dales by my friend William's 'Uncle' Seth, and grown to appreciate the freedom of the open countryside.
William and I were good friends for two reasons. Our shared Christian name, and having the same initials. He was William John Longman and I was William James Little. Seth was not his real uncle, just an old bachelor who had known the family for many years. He had offered to give William a real treat for his eighth birthday, which was on the afternoon of Thursday of the first week of the school summer holidays. With four other classmates, Dave Powell, Kenny Child, Steve Gray and Terry Burton we piled into Seth's car. It was one of those cars which had a bench seat at the front. The two of us, who he re-Christened Billy and Willie for the purposes of identification, were in the front; the others in the back. In those days nobody worried about safety belts.
The furthest any of us had travelled was the few miles into either Leeds or Bradford. None of our families could afford holidays, so this was going to be a 'Big Adventure'. Before setting out, Seth gave a sweet to each of us. The sweets were gobstoppers - those mouth filling, round, boiled sweets that changed colour as they were sucked. Seth told us that he needed absolute silence while he drove, as he needed to concentrate and not be distracted by noisy chatter. We all sat and sucked and stared out of the windows. Very soon we were in unfamiliar territory as we headed north along the Leeds ring road, then west along the A65 towards our final destination of Ilkley, eventually pulling into a parking space below the Cow and Calf rocks.
More modern authoritarians would be horrified at the thought of one person, and an elderly one at that, allowing six high-spirited seven and eight year olds the freedom to race through bracken taller than they were, and to climb, or scramble, over rocks. Those people have forgotten they were young once. Seth hadn't. We were in seventh heaven, or its earthly equivalent. The only restriction he placed on us was to stay close together. Even so, games such as Hide and Seek or plain old-fashioned Cowboys and Indians were enjoyed by all. A few scrapes were suffered but no major calamities. By four o'clock we were exhausted and climbed tiredly into the car. We were not aware that the day out was not yet finished.
Seth had taken the opportunity to have a walk on the moor, always keeping a close eye on us. After all, he was taking on a lot of responsibility. On the return journey he told us the names of the places we were passing through and as he passed through the traffic lights at Menston he told us we would be making a stop at White Cross. He pulled into a car park and someone in the back said in a loud voice, “We're at Harry Ramsden's.”
“Who's that,” someone else replied.
“Only the most famous fish and chip shop in the world,” was the answer. “Are we going in here?” he added.
“We certainly are,” replied Seth. “Everybody out, but go and wash your hands and faces first. I don't think they will mind a dozen dirty knees.”
It took us some time before we could be given a table for seven but, eventually, we sat down; all of us looking around in awe. It was a rare occasion that any of us had been to an eating place. They were usually the sort of places called 'greasy spoons'. What we were looking at was 'posh'. Someone had to say something - I think it was Steve.
“This is a real tablecloth,” he said, looking down. “We only use ours at Christmas, or if we have visitors. Who are all these women walking around wearing the same clothes?”
“They are waitresses who will come and ask us what we want to eat,” answered Seth.
Before we had time to add any further comment, one of the waitresses came to our table.
“Hello, luv,” she said to Seth. “Are you ready to order?”
“Aye, lass,” he replied. “Cod and chips all round - and not the children's portions either. These lads have worked up a man's appetite. Pot of tea with mine, but fizzy drinks for the lads. Bring a mixture - they can sort it out for themselves.”
When she had gone Terry asked “Do you know her? She called you 'luv'. My mam only calls people 'luv' if she's known them a long time.”
Seth laughed. “Nay, lad. All the waitresses here call the customers 'luv'. I reckon it saves having to find out their names. And it's a lot more friendly than calling customers 'Sir' or 'Madam'.
The food and drinks came quickly and we all set to demolishing this splendid meal. Seth mustn't have been too hungry because he only ate his fish, but we helped him clear his plate of chips. Then it was time to go home.
Seth hadn't finished with us yet. We had to sing all the way home.
“What better way to start our sing-song than 'Ilkla Moor Baht 'At', he said.
“We don't know the words,” we said, together.
“I do,” replied Seth, “you'll soon pick up the chorus.”
We did. We had time for a dozen verses of 'One Man Went to Mow' before we arrived home.
“Thanks Uncle Seth,” said William, acting as spokesperson, “that's the best birthday I've ever had.”
We all agreed with him and Seth said it had been a pleasure taking us and watching us enjoy ourselves.
Every Thursday during the school holidays he took William and myself to another part of the Yorkshire Dales. The main consideration was that there should be rocks, or similar opportunities for climbing. We visited Malham Cove, climbing up the path to the top; Brimham Rocks, where we marvelled at the fantastic shapes created by weather conditions; and three of Yorkshire's many abbeys - Kirkstall, Bolton and Fountains.
At the end of the school holidays he said he would take us to many more places in the future, but only if we wanted him to. We both agreed that this was a great idea and, while we remained at primary school, that was how we spent much of our Easter and summer holidays, and many weekends as well.
In our last term at primary school, during a casual game of football, I suffered serious damage to my knee. It was two weeks before I was due to sit an entrance examination, to attend the local grammar school. I was expected to pass. I was still in hospital on that date and missed out.
Once I was reasonably mobile Seth asked me if I wanted to resume our walks. He said he would select walks that would be easy on my knee, and it would help to get me fit again. I agreed to this, but it seemed to me that William was not happy that I had apparently adopted his 'Uncle Seth'.
When we moved on to secondary school, William found other interests, in which I could not, or was not inclined, at first, to be interested. Seth continued to take me round the Yorkshire Dales, as often as I was able to go.
* * *
If anyone had told me, in those halcyon childhood days, that I would live in Ilkley, in a large house on the edge of the Moor, I would have told him not to be so daft. To a child born of working class parents, it was a crazy idea. To many people it would be incredible that I had been living in those conditions for the past eighteen months, but if they knew the circumstances, they would not be envious, and may even be sympathetic. I did not own it, and was only there as a consequence of a marriage I had neither sought nor enjoyed.
There were too many conditions and restrictions attached to the marriage. I am not referring to the vows which, in my wife's view, were mere inconveniences to her continuing lifestyle. To many people it might have been advantageous to be employed, at an exorbitant salary, by my father-in-law, but it was nothing more than a means to support the financial extravagances of his daughter.
Little wonder that I sought to get away from both the house and my working conditions as often as possible. I still could not escape fully. The household, for the first five months, comprised my wife i