Whiter than white or the colour of…..
By Bobby Milne
Michael White who was also known as Michael Shite lived around the corner from me. We lived in a Navy estate not through our choosing but from our father’s choice of calling. We were fatherless for up to six months of the year.
We were 8 and he was the boy I loved to beat up because he was such a white. He could more than handle himself but he never beat me. If I still had my now retro shoes you would see his ketchup on them. But sadly those days are gone now.
This is just one of the things I miss from my youth. Not Mr Shite, but the pointless fights that happened for no particular reason.
Now that I have been a daddy for four years, I sometimes wonder what the fuck my mother was thinking of when she let me run out the door at dawn. I did not arrive back home till my stomach started to rumble for more sustenance other than sweets. I do seem to be putting my generation on a higher pedestal but were we not so much lovelier back in the day?
I like to think so because we were freer. Another factor is that there is nowhere to play anymore. Today’s new housing estates are built within a baw* hairs gap from one another, with every mm maximized for profit. Back in the day (or where I used to live anyway) we had a bit of a green patch big enough to put two jackets down and kick a ball about in. A massive field used to grow corn or hay and the ‘woods’ were our playground.
The ‘woods’ were the most fun simply because it had a number of valuable uses. We used to get lost in the woods for hours and hours finding sticks that resembled swords and guns playing at soldiers but none of us ever got stabbed or shot. We used to use our superior knowledge of the ‘woods’ to hide from the police when we were fugitives from the law.
One particular memory I have was when the farmer shot at us for practically destroying his crop of hay in the field (we were just rolling down the hill and the hay got in the way) Naturally the cops were called so we hid in the woods with mud on our faces camouflaged and invisible, they had no chance of capturing us but since they knew who we were, our mothers were called.
Probably the most important use for the ‘woods’ was the backdrop for my first liaison with a girl, mind it was just a kiss on the lips but I was only 8 and time would be on my side. Her name was Laura Boult. I remember being very shy and nothing much has changed there. We went far enough away so that nobody would catch us, so civilisation was gone. We kissed behind the remains of a massive tree which had fallen down many moons ago. It must have only lasted for a second or two but it was exciting, it was our first proper kiss. We did not last as boyfriend girlfriend much longer. Things were easier to deal with back then. Good times were had.
Some childhood memories stay with you through life and some fade away in the summer rain. These are just a few of the ones I can remember in no particular order. Would it be good to go back knowing what I do today?
R.A.M