This week's blog is another true story from my childhood - followed by a poem based on the story. - Enjoy!       

                                                                SNOW JOKE

I was born in Burnley, Lancashire and lived in a big, old terraced house with a backyard, the gate of which, led out to a large cobbled area which was our play ground.

Most of the houses in the area looked the same, row after row of big, grey terraced houses with chimneys that oozed out clouds of black smoke. This was the age before smoke free zones and being an industrial town with factories and cotton mills, it wasn’t just the smoke from residential chimneys spewing out smoke but also the tall industrial chimneys which dominated the landscape.

Looking back, the setting was quite gloomy and depressing but that’s not how I remember it, with lots of extended family living close by - my grandparents lived next door but one. There were always lots of family members popping in and out, lots of laughter and quite regular family get - togethers mainly in my Grandma’s house where there would be around thirty people crammed in, chattering or singing and dancing to the strains of Grandad’s accordion playing.

Beyond the green, latched gate next to ours, lived the original grumpy old man who was known – for some inexplicable reason – as ‘Pop’

Pop constantly aggravated my Mum with his moaning and grumbling about ‘them kids’ which referred to me and my two elder brothers, Tommy and David. David was the eldest and therefore should have known better but he was a proper lad and led Tommy and me into all sorts of scrapes and misdemeanors, the likes of which would never have entered our innocent heads had it not been for our rebellious leader.

These misdemeanors involved such pastimes as knock and run, and shouting “Baldie” out of the window at folically challenged passers-by before swiftly ducking behind the opened sash windows and peeping over the sill to catch the bemused reaction.

I particularly enjoyed playing knock and run. I didn’t really understand the purpose of the game I just remember it was a source of great excitement, one minute we’d be standing in front of someone’s door whilst whoever’s turn it was knocked loudly. The next we’d be running like the clappers in a desperate bid to get out of sight before the door was opened. Great fun!

I remember one particular night when Tommy and David rushed into the house excitedly and insisted I come out and play with them. I was delighted; I wasn’t usually in such great demand. When we got outside they pointed to a gate.

“See that gate?” asked David “Go and rattle it really

hard” he instructed “and you’ll get some sweets.”

So off I went to accomplish my mission. I grabbed the handle tightly and pushed and pulled with all my strength. The gate rattled furiously but no sweets appeared. .I   threw a defeated look towards the two expectant brothers lurking in the shadows.

“Nothing’s happening.” I whispered.

David emerged temporarily from his hiding place to give further instructions.

“You’re not shaking it hard enough.” he advised, “You need to shake it really

really hard.”

I returned to the task filled with a new determination after the pep talk. Grasping the handle in two hands I proceeded to shake the gate until it was about to come off its hinges. Then everything went black and my excitement turned to horror as I felt myself shuddering from head to toe. I realised that I was freezing cold and dripping wet. From within my miserable, wet darkness I could hear the stifled sound of giggling.  My vision returned as one of the delightful brothers came to my aid and lifted the bucket off my head. Then came my next set of instructions delivered in a somewhat menacing tone:

“Right, you better not tell mum what happened, tell

her you fell in a puddle.”

      “I…. I fell in a puddle.” I wailed as my mum wrapped a towel round me, but from the dark looks she threw at the two ‘innocent’ onlookers, she didn’t believe me.

It wasn’t until later it emerged that David and Tommy had been rattling the gate earlier and had been warned by an exasperated Pop that if they did it again he was going to place a bucket of water on top of the gate and they were in for a soaking. Ever been had?

In those days winter really was winter with the obligatory four feet of snow. A path would have to be cleared from the back kitchen door to the gate before even the shortest of journeys could be considered. On one such day – the story goes – Pop’s heart must have thawed a little, unlike the frozen snow and as a gesture of goodwill, he had entered our back yard armed with a shovel and cleared a path for us. To most people this would be a sign, an extending of an olive branch, so to speak, but not to my Mum, withered by the constant barrage of abuse  about her ‘little angels’ this was an opportunity for……revenge!

She donned her wellies and crunched her way round to Pop’s door to confront the snow thief. She ‘ram tammed’ on the door – as she put it – and a few moments later, Pop opened it a little sheepishly, probably expecting to see a burly policeman standing there judging by the violent hammering at his door.

“Now then” began my Mum, “Warrave you done wi’ our snow?”

After an incredulous pause and a sharp intake of breath Pop replied hesitantly:

“I… er ….. I’ve cleared a path for you.”

“Well you’d no right” continued my Mum, “That’s OUR snow, now

gerrit put back, the kids want to play in it!”

That said, she turned and crunched her way home victoriously, wearing a wicked grin.

Pop, rather grudgingly, trudged back and forth with spades full of snow until every last flake had been replaced – so the story goes.

Now, I can’t validate this story, it is being passed down through the generations (Kunta Kinte style) by my brother David. That said, David is the man who, during his three ‘lost’ years when he disappeared with the hippies in a cloud of smoke, was roadying for Pink Floyd,  the man who now lives ‘just up the road’ from Chris Jagger (Mick’s brother) who he regularly has ‘jams’ with and who, incidentally, once announced:

                                             “Oh she’s great this chick”

 just after the presenter on Top of The Pops had introduced Alice Cooper.

SNOW JOKE – a Lancashire tale

Bill the grumpy man next door 

Often gave my mum what for

Her little cherubs he complained

Were running wild and unrestrained

Chance came for sweet revenge one day

As she beckoned us to come and play

In snow that had fallen two feet deep

While we’d been drifting off to sleep

What possessed him we don’t know

But Bill had been and cleared our snow

Perhaps the path was his device

To end the feud and break the ice

But mummy’s angels had been wronged

And for this moment she had longed

A chance to air her deep frustration

Off she stormed for a confrontation

Face to frosty face she came

With the perpetrator of her pain

Hands on hips she pursed her lips

Warrave yer done wi’ our snow? she quipped

Bill was taken quite aback

By this incredulous attack

I’ve cleared a path for you he mumbled

Put that snow back, it’s ours she grumbled

Bill’s jaw dropped in disbelief

Lost for words that slippery thief

The poor old wretch had met his match

When he ventured on to mummy’s patch

So off he trundled with his spade

Quite disgruntled and dismayed

To re-instate our stolen snow

Truth or fiction?  No - one knows