Novel. 1.

      Chapter 1

Piano Lessons

Where are we?

The city is Birmingham and the time would be in the 1950s, or thereabouts, when two Irish boys met each other once a week. One of them was a year or two older than the other, and when they met the elder would bully the younger.

They didn't know each other's name, but there was a look about them, that they could see, which was Irish. Two Irish accents had disappeared, after they started school, and metamorphosed into the guttural sound of a Brummy accent; Brummy being the sobriquet for Birmingham. Some say the Birmingham name was originally something like Brumagem, but it wasn't; the original place was called Beormingahâm.

Try saying that, after a few pints.

That name, Beormingahâm, with the little accent over the 'a,' was the furthest thing from the mind of the two little Irish boys, for they would meet, every week, in the parlour of their piano teacher.

The elder had the first lesson, and when the lesson had finished and the teacher went out, the big fella would jump on the little fella as he came in. He would, without any further ado, jump and wrassle him to the ground. Then, with one arm around his neck, he would squash the little fella in the face.

Not a word was spoken till the piano teacher came back.

As they got up he would thump the little fella in the back.

Then with a look that said 'don't say a word or I'll wait for you outside' he would smile at the piano teacher.

The teacher's speciality was 'The Teddy Bears' Picnic' which he would play to the new kids when they were introduced by their parents.

He had hooked fingers with long nails, and as he played you could hear the clickety click of his nails on the keys. He delighted in playing it and his sister, who's duty it was to open the street door to let the kids in, would delight in hearing it, as if for the first time, even though she must have heard it hundreds of times. 

“Oh that's lovely, Leonard” she would say, and usually the new boy would give a clap; and so would the lone parent, who was usually the mammy.

The piano teacher would pick up a little stick, rather like a knitting needle, and would say “when you play the music, I use this to point to the notes; not to hit your knuckles when you make a mistake. So don't be frightened.”

As the years moved on, the mammy would become 'mom' and only called the mammy in the confines of their homes.

The big boy, the elder of the two, would arrive in a car, which would be waiting outside for the lesson to finish and when the little boy arrived he would see the car, which meant he was getting a thump in a few minutes..

In the car would be his mother, usually smoking a cigarette, for it was of the time when everybody smoked.

Everybody means, those that smoked, smoked and they were in the majority; in fact at the age of sixteen, fathers would give their sons their first cigarette, and the boys would cough and splutter, nearly bringing their ring up, till they relaxed and took another drag.

The fathers could tell if their offspring had been smoking on the sly if they didn't cough, but it was too late for any chastisement, as the deed had been done.

Smoking on the sly was very fashionable with kids at school and it would take place in the lavatories, which were in the playground. The boys' lavatory would usually have an open roof so from outside the smoke would rise to the heavens – and all that from one cigarette which the kids would pass around like a joint. Coughs and noise would emanate and maybe the teachers would see the smoke, but maybe too, they were in the staff room smoking their own cigarettes.

The King, around this time, had died of something caused by smoking, and his doctor had advised that he should smoke menthol cigarettes – to clear the lungs – poor fella, getting iffy advice!

In the feature film, Alfie, which came many years later, there is a line from the likely lad, who said he always started the day with a cigarette to clear his lungs. Alfie'was years later, so the King's advice took a long time to disappear.

When the big kid came out from his lesson, he would get into the car and it would be like be like a foggy day in London Town.

On every street sign in Birmingham, there was a number as in all major cities, which was the district number, and the number of the neighbourhood of the piano teacher was Birmingham 12; the bully lived in Birmingham 13, which was a bit more of a leafy suburb, and his mother would stand at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes, wearing her high heeled shoes.

There was that little bit of a difference in class conscious Britain, where people living on the end of a row of terraced houses would look down on their neighbours considereing them inferior and unimportant.

Not that Birmingham 12 was without their salubrious large Victorian houses, as there was a row close to where the little fella lived, but he had never been in any of them.

It was the days of skiffle with home made double basses, made with a tea chest, a broom stick and string; they worked too.

The little fella didn't want to learn to play the piano, as he wanted a guitar so he could form a skiffle group.

As he was passing the posh Victorian houses one day, a school teacher, whom the little fella would speak to, on occasion - nothing more than a hello - saw him and said “hello, Finbar, and how are you?”

Oh yes, his name was Finbar; the fair one.

“I'm fine.” he said.

“Looks like you're off to your piano lessons?”

She could see his little music case.

“Yes.”

“Are you enjoying them – do you like the piano?”

“It's all right but my hands are not big enough.”

“Too small for the octave?”

“Yes” he said “I want to form a skiffle group.”

“Oh?” she said “that's interesting. How are you getting on with that?”

“I haven't started properly – I'm saving for a guitar.”

“Look” she said, and took her purse from her hand bag.

“Will this help?”

She waved half-a-crown in front of Finbar's face.

He looked at it. It kind of shone against her black woollen gloves.

“Would you like that?' she said.

“Oh – I don't think so.” said Finbar.

Of course he did; he was only being good mannered.

“Okay” said the school teacher, and put the half-a-crown back into her purse.

:Enjoy your piano lesson – and don't forget – your hands will get bigger.”

With that she walked away.

Finbar looked after her, as she walked off. 

He knew she was a school teacher, but didn't know the school where she worked.

Finbar's school was a mixed infants to juniors school, for children up to the age of eleven. He or she could attend if they were due to reach the age of five during the coming term. They would stay till the age of seven then transfer into the junior school, where there would be for four years, each streamed into three: one two and three or 'A' 'B' and 'C.'

From the very first day at school, Finbar screamed and kicked as soon as he was taken there. His first teacher was Miss Jones, who picked him up and carried him in, as he kicked and screamed all the way.

This upset his mother, Carmel, as she heard his screams fade into the distance, and the quieter they became the bigger were the tears in her eyes.

This happened for the first few days, then she asked her only friend, Phyllis, who came from Limerick, to take him.

For some reason he didn't mind 'Aunty' Phyllis, leaving him off at school, although it wasn't the easiest to part him from his mother. The tears were not so bleating as time went on.

Even though he hated school, Finbar got used to it. He learned to read as quickly as the other children and his first teacher was very fond of him even though he had kicked and screamed on the first few days.

The second year was not so good. He didn't like that teacher at all because of the way she treated him.

One time at school she was giving him a reading lesson and his desk was right at the front; she was sitting at the other side of it.

The archetype school mistress with hair tied tight in a bun; Miss Coates.

He really wanted a wee but she wouldn't let him go: “You should have gone at play time” she said.

“Idid go.”

“No you didn't; now read.”

There were little drops of wee falling down Finbar's leg and the more he read the wetter his underwear became.

“You can go” she said “but you'll stay in at lunch time till you've read the page.”

They were due to go to lunch at midday and it was eleven forty five; oh how could he hold it that long, but the alternative was staying in at lunch time when he wanted to go home.

He carried on reading. He would read a bit, pee a bit, and again, read some more and drip drip drip – oh dear. He'd look at Miss Coates and the old sadist would enjoy seeing him sweat and strain - did she think he was pretending?

Eventually the bell went and they broke for lunch; he ran to the loo and emptied his bladder standing there like a locomotive getting rid of steam.

When he got home his mother noticed the wet underpants so he told her what had happened.

After he got changed she accompanied Finbar back to school, went up to the teacher; “I need to see you outside” she said.

“Outside?”

“Yes. I'm not embarrassing my son in front of the class, So come with me” said his mother.

They walked outside and Finbar took his seat in the classroom.

“What do you think of these?” said his mother, waving the wet underpants under her nose.

The teacher looked at them.

“That's no way to send a child home” she said.

Miss Coates was lost for words.

“That will not happen again”

“Yes.” said Miss Coates.

“Did you hear me?”

Miss Coates nodded.

“Well heed me!”

“Heed?”

“Yes, heed: it's a transitive verb, if you did but know it.”

Miss Coates was shocked and impressed by the fluidity and poise of this posh Dublin accent and didn't know what to say.

“That will NOT happen again.”

She said that last bit quietly and clearly.

Then she turned on her heel and left Miss Coates standing there.

Chapter 2

School and The Life Boys 

https://storytelleronamazon.blogspot.com/2024/03/novel-2.html