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Payday Friday
It would have been a Friday teatime. My dad comes in from work about six. Hands over his wage packet, to mum, – less his pocket money and his pay slip – egg and chips for tea – chip pan was permanently on the stove. Then he was off for a quick wash in the kitchen sink and an even quicker change. Friday was payday and the weekend started here. My mum starts having a go – as she often did – ‘why don’t you take your son for a pint, he’s sixteen now (that was old enough in Birkenhead, particularly if your dad was ‘Jimmy’) and have a chat – see how he is getting on at school’.
I am pretty sure he knew which school I went to – I had over- heard him bragging to his mates – that his lad had a scholarship to the Grammar School (as if he had anything to do with it)- but I doubt if he knew what class I was in at any time! Not his fault – what I was doing was a mystery to him – his education had been basic and sporadic – I never saw him read a book in his life – and my head was never out of one.. But I had become aware that he was a well-known and popular man outside the home – mostly in pubs, it has to be said. But he did always work and – what bits I saw of it – he was always popular wherever he worked. As I matured and we got a bit closer – I realised that he might not have had much education – but he did have a sharp intelligence and a quick wit – he could be very funny off the cuff. The fact is that I got my intelligence from my mum’s side and my sense of humour from my dad’s side.
To the Pub with Dad
Mum won, of course, so he takes me to the pub – on the way he tells me, I will have to find my own way back home so don’t leave that Late. As there were about five pubs within 10/15 minutes of the flats – I didn’t see a problem. So – in less than ten minutes, we are in the Fireman’s Arms with two pints of Bitter on the bar. Not my first pint but I had not developed a liking for it – yet. Some local landlords were pretty flexible – particularly with early customers with cash who had taken their school jackets off!
Pub almost empty – just an old couple in the corner sipping their Guinness out of the bottle – and the landlord behind the bar – staff in later – and of course him and my dad are mates on first name terms.. Trying to do my best with the pint – asking for a lemonade would have spoilt the moment. Dartboard free – dad says let’s have a game – and produced his darts, which he carries with him almost everywhere. Landlord gives me the pub set of darts – dad offers the returnable deposit (in case we steal the darts) – landlord tells him to ‘p…ss off’.
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Of course, dad is a good player. I am still a bit unclear– but he must have played for at least two teams in different leagues – he was out 2 or 3 evenings every week and, of course -Friday to Sunday. He beats me of course but gives me a chance. This was in the mid 60’s so the dart board did not have electronic scoring – which came a long time later – but slim blackboards, chalk and wiper on either side of the board. My dad could subtract any number from 1 to 180 from any number below 501 instantaneously! Years of practice.
We start another game – two lads arrive -maybe late twenties and quite smart – finally people who don’t know my dad. They get two pints and stay stood at the bar – chatting away and watching our game. We finish – with another win for dad – he doesn’t hammer me but also doesn’t let me win – mind you, with double start – double finish – we could have been there all night – for me to win one.
Playing Doubles
The two lads say – ‘do you fancy a doubles lads’? Dad – ‘sure, no problem’ and they have their own darts. Nearest to the bull starts – dad starts. They are better than me but not as good as dad. We win. One of them says – ‘You’re not bad are you – how about best out of three?’ Another game they get closer, but we win. They say – ‘We’re getting closer – how about playing for a half – might pep us up a bit. No problem – we win again – get a top up half a bitter each. Them – ‘your luck is bound to run out. How about, we add a bit of spice – a quid per head’?
At the time, one pound bought at least eight pints).
Dad – ‘You can f***k off. Do yer think I was born yesterday? you’re just a pair of f****ing hustlers’. Sup up James, we’re going’. Landlord – been watching – apologises to us and bars the two lads for life and tells them to get out. In retrospect – it could have got nasty then – but they just shrugged their shoulders and left. The fact that the landlord was a very big lad, probably helped! That was enough excitement -and enough bitter – for me, for one night. I was off home and dad had a route to last orders.
I slept that night!