Novel 5.

Chapter Five

Loneliness.

At the bottom of their fairly long garden, was a wall. This was the rear, or the side, if you want to be pedantic, of some kind of office building and showroom, and if they came out of Finbar's garden gate and turned right, passed the other three houses, in the group of cottages, they would reach the lane which led to the street.

They called that 'the lane' and Finbar always thought that he was the little boy who lived down the lane, as in the nursery rhyme 'Ba Ba Black Sheep. ' . . . three bags full: one for the master, one for the dame and one for the little boy who lives down the lane.'

All his life he would identify with that little boy; the little boy who lived down the lane.

At the top of the little lane, the main road, led south to the left, and right to almost the centre of Birmingham - a mile and a half away.

The cottages were, obviously, workmen cottages: in the nineteenth century, this area was farm land. Either that or something to do with the railway, although the company who owned the showroom, also owned the four cottages.

Every week, Finbar would be entrusted to deliver the eight shillings, and eleven pence (8/11d) rent at the front office.

The opening of the lane was wide enough for a motor car and at the end of the lane, passed Finbar's house on the way back, behind a fence, was a railway line and an embankment up to it.

Finbar didn't know where the train led to but it went into Moore Street Station, in the city centre, to accommodate trains from London Marylebone.

When the family moved there, first, they had to get used to the noise of the trains passing, and in the summer times the embankment would, invariably, catch fire, as the steam trains passed, so the fire brigade had to arrive down the lane and douse the fire.

When Finbar was off school, weekends and bank holidays, he would play in the garden by himself. Once in a while he would venture up the lane to the street: to the right, the big Victorian houses, where the school teacher lived, and to the left the way to school.

He lived a little more than a mile from his school, which was for the Infants and Juniors, who were due to leave at the age of eleven and go to the senior school till they left school altogether at fifteen.

Then off to the scrap heap of a factory, a building site or the army. Anybody born before around 1938 would have to serve two years, at least, in either the army, navy or air force.

It was too far for any of his friends at school to come to see him so nobody would come to play.

The nearest child who lived fairly close by, which was half way up his lane, and that was the rear of a posh shoe shop which fronted on the main road was a girl who went to a private school, somewhere, and she didn't play with him very often.

He would stand at the end of the garden, pathetically looking back over the gate, and his parents would see him standing there, not knowing what to do.

Once in a while they would take him for a long walk to Cannon Hill Park, which had beautiful gardens, and other times they went to another park which was mostly asphalt and a hard tarmac surface.

There was a display there, for a while, maybe a post war tour from the government, of a jet aircraft, with some tanks, and his parents took him to that. He loved sitting in the cockpit of the jet fighter and he also sat in the tank, which impressed him enormously.

But most of the time it was in the garden by himself.

They rented a television set, which was common practice in those days, from a shop at the end of Balsall Heath Road, which was opposite the main road where they lived. It broke down sometimes and the owner of the shop would come and fix it for them.

They didn't have a television in time for the coronation of The Queen, but they saw that at the cinema, in fact that was where they would see the news and also sporting event highlights which was usually football and boxing.

Back down the lane, if he turned left outside of the garden gate, it would lead to the lavatories. On the left of those was a wash room where previous residents would communally do their laundry.

None of the current crop bothered with it, if it indeed worked, but in any case the other three cottages were occupied by very old people.

There was another door, which faced the lane and that was to a small storage space. On that door was a little sign 'Sheriff's Office; Finbar Callahan – oh yes, that was his last name.

Finbar had nailed that notice on the door; it was the outside of his wooden pencil case which he had used and written the copy in crayon. That was when he played cowboys; by himself.

Sometimes, after paying the rent, he would stay outside and sit on a very low window ledge and watch the world go by.

In those days, that part of his world attracted a lot of West Indians, mainly Jamaicans, and he loved to see the men walking in their double breasted suits - especially the powdered blue ones – and they usually had fairly tight bottoms to the trousers which would balloon out slightly as they walked; and could they walk.

Across the street was a pub, which his dad frequented at weekends and that was on the corner of Balsall Heath Road.

To the left, the other side of the showroom, was another bigger pub which was next to an opening to the rear of the shops beyond.

All shops and businesses, a doctor's surgery a little shop and then a Protestant church.

He knew that doctor's surgery as his mother knew the 'live in' caretaker who was a sixty year old woman from Limerick, Ireland.

All shops and businesses; not a child in sight.

Almost opposite the little window ledge, where he was sitting, was Vincent Street, and on Saturdays and Sundays, he would take Vincent Street to Saint George's Church for the convent on Saturdays and Mass on Sundays.

In the first shop doorway, he had seen something that he would remember for the rest of his life: an advertising card which read 'Room to let: No Blacks, no Irish and no Dogs.

Chapter Six.

The Liberties.