London Blues Read online

  I think his mother and Mrs Middlemost and the school were the only people who called Tim by his real name, Eric. Nobody else ever called him that. I don’t know where it came from.

  We lived in the coastguard cottages in those days. My old man was moved out there just after the war and that’s where I grew up. I was about five then and I was twenty when we came back to Chatham.

  Tim and I were at school together. We were best friends. We spent all our time together and used to get up to all sorts of tricks. We were always getting into trouble – even with the police! We once accidentally set fire to a hayrick!

  We used to spend the summers beachcombing and playing pirates and digging up the mudflats looking for buried treasure.

  Tim was always full of ideas, not just playing around ideas but ideas for making money and he used to involve me. Like this old rag-and-bone man who came up from Strood once a month. Tim chatted him up and we used to do the collecting for him, or some of the collecting anyway. We’d earn a few shillings each month doing that. Tim was about ten at the time. Then we used to go collecting empty bottles and taking them back to the pub and getting tuppence on them. We’d also catch eels.

  In the summer we would cycle down to the beach at Lower Upnor and ogle the girls in their bathing costumes, and comb the beach for money and things people had lost. And as we were doing this you would see the old paddle steamers going up and down the river. They’ve all gone now.

  Tim and I were just beginning to discover girls when he left the Isle and went to live down in the Medway towns. I bumped into him down at the public library in Rochester a few years later. I didn’t recognise him. He came up to me and asked me what I was doing. Tim’s mum was a lovely lady. I’d see her biking into Rochester on her bicycle, one of those things you don’t see now that had a little engine mounted on the rear wheel. She was a legal secretary or something there, I believe. I don’t think we ever thought about Tim not having a father. I suppose he considered his grandad as his father.

  Tim was bright and intelligent and smart but he wasn’t cut out for school work. I think school bored him. He never paid a lot of attention, but even so, he was brighter than most of the class. This was the little school out by the church. We had this teacher, Miss Chatteris: a real dragon with horn-rimmed glasses and an enormous bosom.

  Tim was well off to leave Grain when he did. By the time you got to fifteen it was the most boring place on earth. An exciting evening was something like sitting around the radio at home, or wireless as we used to call it. Sitting around it listening to Hughie Green’s Opportunity Knocks on 208, Radio Luxembourg that is, or listening to PC49 on the Light. On really special days the old wind-up record player was dusted down and 78s of Reginald Foort or Ambrose were put on. There was one we had that I liked – the old Count Basie version of Open the Door, Richard! My favourite record as a kid.

  ‘Tomorrow is … tomorrow is … what?’

  ‘Saturday, Miss.’

  ‘I know tomorrow is Saturday, but it is a special Saturday. Does anyone know why it is special?’

  ‘It’s May Day, Miss.’

  ‘It is not May Day. May Day is at the beginning of May. Today is the 23rd of May and tomorrow is the 24th of May and tomorrow we celebrate something special. Goodsmith?’

  ‘Because it’s 1947?’

  ‘Because it’s 1947? Why should that be special?’

  ‘I don’t know, Miss.’

  ‘You are a silly boy. Now, yes, Purdom, I know you know. But no one else does? Very well. Tomorrow … every 24th of May is Empire Day. Empire Day. On Empire Day we celebrate the achievements and triumphs of the British Empire and give our thanks to God. And the King.’

  ‘Miss, I heard it on the wireless this morning.’

  ‘Well, you did not remember it until I reminded you. So, tomorrow is Empire Day and we celebrate it on the 24th of May because that was the birthday of Queen Victoria and it was under her that our colonies and possessions multiplied so greatly and over which she reigned so well and for so long. Now, because it is Empire Day we are going to have a special treat. Purdom is going to tell us a story … yes, come to the front of the class … there, yes. This is a story from The Ingoldsby Legends, one of Purdom’s favourite books, and a story he has read many times. It is a local story, or certainly a near-local story. It takes place … if we were to walk over the embankment there what would we see? Kilmart?’

  ‘Miss, we would see the sea.’

  ‘Yes, we would, but what would we see beyond it?’

  ‘Sheerness, Miss.’

  ‘That is correct. Sheerness is on an island, as indeed we too once were. Sheerness is on the Isle of … the Isle of? Farmer?’

  ‘Is it Sheppey, Miss?’

  ‘Yes, it is, Eileen. The Isle of Sheppey … named so because of all the sheep there. The story we are going to hear is set on the Isle. It is a legend … and … Purdom, it is called?’

  ‘Grey Dolphin, Miss.’

  ‘Good. So Eric will now tell us The Legend of Grey Dolphin.’

  ‘Sir Robert de Shurland lived in Shurland Castle which is not very far away from Sheerness.

  ‘One day he was eating oysters and this sentry arrived. The sentry said that a sailor had been washed up on the beach who was dead and the friar wouldn’t bury him. So Sir Robert went down there and he shouted at the fat friar and said you must bury this man and he wouldn’t. So Sir Robert kicked him as hard as he could and the friar fell into the grave they had dug and was killed.

  ‘When the Abbot in Canterbury heard the friar was dead he got all his men together and they got on their horses and went to the castle where Sir Robert was having dinner again, eating oysters. They attacked the castle but Sir Robert and his soldiers attacked them and they all went back to Canterbury. And then Sir Robert had some more oysters.

  The Abbot told the Pope what had happened and the Pope said Sir Robert must be killed.

  ‘Sir Robert was going to tell the King about this and get a pardon because Sir Robert had fought with him on the Crusades.’

  ‘And who was the King, Eric?’

  ‘Uhm … he’s called Longshanks in the book, Miss.’

  ‘Yes, I know he is. But you don’t think we had a King Longshanks on the throne, do you?’

  ‘The book says so.’

  ‘I know … but Longshanks was his nickname. Do you know what his real name was …? Does anyone? Dyce?’

  ‘Henry, Miss.’

  ‘Henry?’

  ‘King Henry, Miss.’

  ‘You are a silly boy! None of you know? Very well, it was Edward I. He was known as Longshanks because he had long legs. And he was the son of Henry III. Purdom.’

  ‘So Sir Robert was going to see the King and get a pardon. He heard the King was in a ship coming down the River Thames and he sent for his horse, Grey Dolphin, and rode him out into the sea and Grey Dolphin swam two miles out to where the King was in his boat and when the King saw him coming he thought he was a mermaid or a monster.

  ‘The King recognised Sir Robert because they had been on the Crusades together and he was very pleased to see him. And he said I pardon you for killing the fat monk. And then Sir Robert got on to Grey Dolphin and Grey Dolphin swam back.

  ‘When they got back to the beach Sir Robert got off Grey Dolphin and then an old lady who was a witch appeared suddenly. He said, what do you want, old woman? She said that Grey Dolphin had saved his life this time but Grey Dolphin would cause him to lose his life as well. And when she had said that she disappeared all of a sudden and Sir Robert didn’t know where she went to.

  ‘Sir Robert was ever so worried by what the witch had said and he looked at Grey Dolphin and he was very tired from swimming and he thought he was a very old horse and if he went into battle again on a crusade for the King he would need a young horse. Also, he didn’t want Grey Dolphin killing him so he took out his great sword and cut Grey Dolphin’s head off in one swipe. Now he had killed Grey Dolphin … Grey Dolphin wouldn’
t be able to kill him and he went back to his castle and forgot all about it.

  ‘A long time went by and Sir Robert had been fighting with the King in battles in Scotland and in other places. He had been away for a long time and now he had come home and he was marching along the beach with his men near the castle. He saw that old lady again on the beach sitting on a rock and he rode towards her and when he got there she disappeared in front of him. He looked down and saw that it wasn’t a rock she was sitting on but the skull of Grey Dolphin. He was very angry and got off his new horse and kicked Grey Dolphin’s skull into the sea. And as the skull of Grey Dolphin was flying through the air it laughed and everybody was afraid.

  ‘There was a pain in Sir Robert’s foot after he kicked it and when he took his boot off he found there was a tooth stuck in his big toe from Grey Dolphin’s skull. It hurt him and he pulled it out and then went home to the castle.

  ‘Sir Robert went to bed and the next morning his toe was really swollen and he couldn’t walk and it got bigger and they sent for the doctor, who had to cut it off. They thought he was going to get better but the poison spread up from his toe into his leg and everywhere else and soon he died and as he did he was thinking of Grey Dolphin and the old witch.’

  ‘Good. A good story, Purdom. We will now sing I Vow to Thee my Country

  WILLIAM ‘DIXIE’ CHIVERS: I started in the Chatham dockyards in 1946 as soon as I was demobbed and I worked there right up until they closed in 1984. We got this bungalow here in Margate the following year and I haven’t been back since.

  It wasn’t easy getting into the dockyards in those days. The main thing though, them days, was a two-day Civil Service examination. It was held once a year. And if you didn’t pass that you didn’t get in. Timmy must have passed it because he started work under me as an apprentice fitter. Then he went to work in the sheet metal shop … on submarines, I think. We still had National Service in those days but if you were an apprentice you got it deferred. Tim was very happy about that, getting it deferred. I seem to remember that he never did do it in the end, though … I can’t remember why.

  Timmy was a bright lad and worked hard. Thought a lot. But his heart was never truly in the job. He read a lot. Always had his nose in a book. Also good at photography.

  He worked under me for about a year until he was transferred. Still used to see him about after that from time to time. Always cheery. Then he went to work for that photographer in Rochester who fell out of a train and got killed. What was his name? Hedgecock or something. Something like that.

  I can’t remember the last time I saw Timmy. Perhaps a year or two after he left the yards … in Rochester.

  Next time I see any of the lads I’ll ask them. See what they can come up with. But as I told you, the bloke you need to speak to is George Treadwell. He was one of my apprentices. He owns all those car body-shops all over the Medway towns now. Very successful. Has a big car and everything. He was Timmy’s best friend. He’ll help you.

  GEORGE TREADWELL: Dixie Chivers! Now there’s a name! Haven’t seen him for a few years!

  I got to know Tim in the mid-1950s when we were both apprentice fitters in the dockyards.

  He was my closest friend in those days and we used to do everything together. We had some right old times. I was a couple of years older than him and eventually I had to do my National Service. Two bloody wasted years that was, pissing about for a bunch of officer types who didn’t know their arse from their elbow.

  After being demobbed I went back to the yards but only stayed for about six months. It was a secure job but I didn’t see any real future there for a working man. A working bloke could only go so far. I thought to myself, fuck this, and I went to work in the body-shop at Cooper’s garage, just over the bridge in Strood. Tim and I were still best friends though.

  So, Tim and I met in the docks when we were apprentices. I think it was 1956. Yeah, it must have been. There was petrol rationing. It was the Suez crisis! What a laugh that was. We worked all hours God gave us. Plenty of bubble – that means overtime. Some of the old guys there spent all their time getting nostalgic about the war. They used to say, ‘Wars are good for the working man in the yard. He’ll always have a full pay packet.’ They all thought Nasser was a good thing because it meant more work.

  Tim was living with his mother and this bloke she married over in Chatham and then he, the husband, died and Tim and his mum rented a small flat in Rochester. She got very ill and went into hospital and they soon realised that she wasn’t going to come out again and that’s when Tim moved into this funny place near the Banks. Well, it was just off the Banks. St Margaret’s Banks. That’s the raised bit of road on the High Street where the railway line crosses it. Sort of halfway between Rochester and Chatham. As you know, they say that no one knows where Rochester ends and Chatham begins. It was there he had this place. He had this big room and an adjoining bathroom. It was on the second or third floor and it was right next to the railway which is raised on a viaduct.

  This flat was just around the corner from St Bartholomew’s where his mum died. Only a few minutes’ walk. You may even have been able to see the hospital from his window.

  I used to spend all my time at Tim’s flat. I was still living at home then and of course I’d be a bit restricted turning up there with Tim and a couple of girls! And Tim was very good at pulling the birds back then. Always had a good-looking one on his arm.

  When we were at the docks you used to get all sorts of ships coming and going from around the world. Tim would always get matey with the sailors to see if they had any interesting stuff. All sailors stash something away that they might be able to trade or sell. There was a pretty hot Customs and Excise department in the docks but they only went after obvious stuff – you know, expensive watches, gold, drink. A sailor could come in with a couple of kilos of Mary Jane, marijuana that is, or grass and the Customs officers would just think it was some exotic local tobacco. They didn’t know about getting loaded and that. Neither did the police.

  The first reefer I ever smoked was walking along Rochester High Street on a Saturday morning with Tim who gave it to me. We walked along getting totally loaded and passing it back and forth and falling about all over the place and laughing. Nobody had ever heard of dope in those days.

  There was an old record Tim used to play. A song that went:

  Have you seen that funny little reefer man?

  He’s got a notion

  To walk the ocean,

  That funny little reefer man.

  That really used to make us laugh!

  Tim left the yards and went to work for this local photographer who did portraits and weddings. He really liked that and he was very good at it. Had a natural flair for taking pictures. We still spent all our spare time together. I was working at Cooper’s then and I could always borrow a car at weekends, not that old man Cooper knew. So we’d go off driving with a couple of girls on Sundays. No insurance or anything! We used to go down to Margate and Ramsgate and have a good time.

  We used to listen to a lot of music. In the beginning he had this old wind-up 78 r.p.m. record player and then about 1958 or whenever it was he got a record player for LPs and that. It was there I first heard Thelonious Monk and Chet Baker and Gerry Mulligan. I used to think we were the only two guys in the whole of England who listened to jazz like that. We were really cool. We also listened to Parker and Gillespie and all the others. Nobody else could bear it, especially the girls. All they wanted to hear was Pat Boone and Tommy Steele.

  Tim was always reading. He’d get books out of the library on people and things you’d never heard of. He also read a lot of Henry Miller. And I did too. His books were banned then, but we certainly enjoyed them.

  After his mother died Tim got very restless and decided there had to be some changes in his life. I turned up at his flat just after she died. It was the summer of ’59. The most glorious summer of the century, they said. The weather was fabulous – day after day
of it! The door was open and Tim was sitting on the bed smoking a joint and just staring ahead. We passed the reefer back and forth. It was dark outside and the window was open and whenever a train went by it drowned the music. We just sat there for ages and then he looked up and said to me, ‘We’re already history.’ I thought that was a funny thing to say and it’s stayed with me all these years. ‘We’re already history.’

  ‘What’s that mean?’

  ‘It means this is already the past.’

  ‘I thought now was now?’

  ‘It’s gone before you can ….’

  ‘Your turn.’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

  ‘It’s … it’s … I cannot believe my mother is dead. She’s history now. She’s in the past. You try and prepare yourself for it, but you can’t really.’

  ‘She’s not suffering now.’

  ‘She’s not anything any more.’

  ‘I can’t imagine my mum dying.’

  ‘I can’t either.’

  ‘You now.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Mind if I close the window?’

  ‘It’s a nice night out there.’

  ‘But the trains ….’

  ‘If you want.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘There’s nothing to hold me here now. I’m going to go somewhere else. Move on. Hit the road.’

  ‘Where are you thinking of going? Chatham?’

  ‘Chatham? No! Move away altogether. London probably.’

  ‘What do you want to go there for? This is where you belong.’

  ‘I don’t belong here now. You might, I don’t.’

  ‘You’re my best mate, Tim. Rochester wouldn’t be the same without you.’

  ‘You’ll survive all right.’

  ‘When are you going?’

  ‘Soon. Sort out a few things. Settle some things. This and that.’

  ‘This is good stuff.’

  ‘I’ll do another three-paper one and we can go down the road and see what’s happening.’