TGC - The True Tale of Woe


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At least you didn't get a criminal record. It annoys me to see so many apple trees in peoples gardens never cleared and the apples just rot where they hang. Why don't they give them to the poor or food banks or something if they don't want them?

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TGC: The True Tale of Woe "Tales of Woe, of a Nottingham lad" Currently a short portly-but-wobbly bespectacled 67 year-old, made redundant four times, dedicated NHS patient, with his new heart,

Tales of Woe, of Gerry, a Nottingham lad. Chapter Two: Mother's many Endearing Qualities 1) Losing Her Son On occasions (four), she went home from the public washhouse leaving him sat waitin

True Tales of Woe, of a Nottingham lad Chapter Three - The Dangers in the Back Yard Written as he remembers it, in his own words... Our row of soot covered old terrace houses, backed up lopsided

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TGC,

Did that escapade take the pleasure out of scrumping, or did you manage to dare do it again. OUCH :huh::huh:

Bein; the brave, bold confident lad I was... no I didn't go scrumpin' agen! Although I did go exploring the bomb sites and found misssen trapped in an air-raid shelter later - but that story is in another chapter. Tsk!

TTFN

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TGC, you are starting to sound more and more like Victor Meldrew :) :) :)

I reckon whoever wrote 'One Foot in the Grave' must have hacked into me diaries before writing it? Hehehe!

Cheers

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The True Tale of Woe: A story of one Nottingham man's (Using the term loosely) utter failure, depression, frustration, and poverty, starting in August 1947

Chapter Nine: ‘Billy Smarts Circus the escaped Effalent!’

George’s horse stables, were underneath the railway viaduct that supported Arkwright St Station, was at the end of our terrace of houses.

This is no bull, records at the Evening Post will prove this, Georges Stables were also used for storing animals in advance of the Billy Smarts Circus coming to town.

Under the arches, was where the big cats were quartered, and the actual stables were used to my knowledge over the years to pen, elephants, rhinos, horses, snakes, and zebras.

One night, as I lay in bed that fateful night, I was aroused by an indescribable noise, as I struggled to find the matches to light the candle, Dad came rushing into the room, and dragged me out, nearly knocking me out as he bashed my head against doorframe, rushed downstairs, squashed me under the sink and shouted "Stay under there until I tell yer to move!"

He disappeared, and I knew something was amiss (I've always been sensitive to these things you know).

But curiosity got the better of me, and I sneaked back upstairs, and stuck my head out of the window in an effort to find out what all the commotion was… and found my head about 3ft away from an elephants head that was coming towards me!

Within about 15 seconds I was back under the sink! I can still remember the smell of that elephant!

Anyway, it transpires that the elephant was a young one that was missing his mater, so he bashed down the stable doors, walked up and down our terrace, then up Brookfield place, on the way head butting in Mrs Wing's front door, then overturning a blokes Morgan sports car on Derwent Street, then bending a lamppost, then walked up to the Willoughby Street bridge and lifted a man up and put him on the bridge (severely injuring him in the process), turned back into Derwent Street, and charged into mothers illegal bookies house front window, wedging himself firmly in that position! Whaling noises, and crumbling bricks indicated he was not happy being stuck where he was.

The police fetched Mr Widdowson a man who lived on Kirkewhite Street to the scene. Mr Widdowson had worked with elephants during the war in India. Apparently he had been used before to help the police with escaped elephants, but I can only recall this one such event personally.

Mr Widdowson took a quick look at it, and he said "Shoot it, it's African" So he went with the marksmen, down the alley to the back of the house, and they broke in and he told them where to shoot it for optimum results.

Then the occupants of the house appeared from upstairs, totally oblivious of what had happened until the gun shots awoke them!

It seems that a neighbour saw me at the window earlier, so I got a further taste of the belt buckle and leather for disobeying daddy again by leaving the relative safety of the sink!

Ah well...!

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Animal cruelty, that REALLY pisse5 me off. Sorry, wrong topic.

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I thought being "dragged up" in St Anns was bad, but if Gerry is anything to go by it was bleddy worse in The Medders, amazing how we all look back on it with such affection, perhaps because we knew nothing different at the time.

I sympathised with Joy James' account of her childhood in St Anns, burrit wernt a patch on poor owd Gerry !!

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Dont leave us in suspence TGC. What became of the elephant?

I reckon we can assume from the tale that the outcome was not favourable for the unfortunate animal.

The poor thing was shot by the police, with the guidance of a chap from the circus.

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Barstewards ! I've never liked circus's. I do remember Billy Smarts, Chipperfields and Bertram Mills coming to the forest. Oh and Roberts Brothers in later years. Dad took me to one and he misjudged his footing as we were taking our seats and he badly scraped his leg on the foot boarding. I laughed, but it looked bad when we got home. Sorry dad.

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The True Tale of Woe: A story of one Nottingham man's (Using the term loosely) utter failure, depression, frustration, and poverty, starting in August 1947

Chapter Ten: ‘The part-time Jobs’

Nearby where we lived (did I say lived?) there was a hardware store on Kirkwhite Street, Heason's was the name.

Daddy very kindly got me a Saturday job with them, to help supplement my double paper round, and Grove light lighting jobs funds.

I think I got paid 2/3d for a full nine hour day (11p). But it didn't last too long. Among my duties, was burning the weeks rubbish in the back yard, and delivering small items bought in the shop to customers on an 'errand boy’s bike'

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On about the fourth weekend, I set fire to the shed, then the bike ended up under a trolleybus on Arkwright Street, when I came off on the icy road, and the table lamp that was in the basket got broke, well crushed under the trolleybus wheels actually!

I was not injured in either incident, not that anyone asked.

Mr Heason was very good about it, and let me work for another two Saturdays and kept my wages in payment for the lamp, and damage repairs to the bike before sacking me.

Daddy was not pleased, and sent me immediately to the Grove cinema, to apply for the job as gas-lamp lighter, and snuffer in the evenings and weekend.

Amazingly they took me on straight away, and paid well too, about 7/6d a week, And! - I got to see the pictures, even the X-rated for free!

He did force me into taking an evening paper round though, but that soon ended when he realised I would not be home in time to assure I lit the fire and get his dinner ready in time.

Later, a chap bought out Georges old stables, and started a business in firewood supplies.

Naturally, I joined them with Dad's help, and set about being taught where and how to swipe wood from, back at base sorting it out, how to use the chopping machine (they would not let me have a go on the band-saw), then the bundling machine (a vice into which you put the sticks, pressed a pedal, then twisted a wire around them, released the pedal and then threw the bundle into a massive trolley - and then wheel the trolley over to the bagging area [use 56lb potato sacks] and count twenty bundles into each bag).

I even helped with the deliveries to the shops, on an old shop bike, somehow they managed to get four bags onto it, as well as me.

I was enjoying doing this job, but dear mater returned, and I was to return to the nubbing, hair-net card filling and so on. Tsk!

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I had a dream last night abart me gettin' made redundant all over again... 'orrible it were!

Woke up feelin' even more depressed than usual - but oh so glad it wont 'appenin' agen in reality!

Poor twit!

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  • 8 months later...

At least you didn't get a criminal record. It annoys me to see so many apple trees in peoples gardens never cleared and the apples just rot where they hang. Why don't they give them to the poor or food banks or something if they don't want them?

Youre joking Bilbraborn, have you ever wondered why you often see perfectly good apples in the gutter?, the kids throw them out of their lunch boxes now cos they would rather go to the cob shop or Greggs for a load of crap rather than eat an apple.

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I heard again from Gerry.

He is still undergoing some treatment, and has read this thread

"Heartwarming to read I've been missed"

He is not taking too much on at the moment, but will be back.

I found this post, hope it helps.

It can be found on topic Any Body seen TGC

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