a handsome son like you anyhow, especially with that talent for making people laugh. But it goes with trouble, too.
“Now. Don’t you go pulling any shenanigans like that again. Dig the earwax out and hear me good, because I mean it.” She twisted our ears as she spoke.
“Ow.”
“Woah!”
“Mum!”
But truth be told, we were all trying not to laugh. Mum could twist hard enough to make it sting, but mostly it was never more than a pinch. She was such a biddy thing, and now that we were all taller than her, she had to stand on her tiptoes to wag a finger in our face.
“I can just imagine the language coming out of those men down there was not fit for any civilized gentleman.”
“I’m not so civilized as all that, Mum,” Thomas mumbled. “Heard worse at the mill, you know, every single day.”
“Well, good sir, man of the world, are you? So maybe there’s little hope for you, but your brother here is about to be an educated gentleman. He won’t be having any need for that sort of filth.”
“Yes, Ma. Sorry, Mum.”
It was true, my schooling was one of the main reasons Dad decided to leave Lancashire county and head off to New York.
“A boy like you to whom reading comes so easily needs more schooling, not the mill.” He’d said this the first time I came home from school and recited some little poem for them after supper one evening. It was something I was asked to do regularly, for entertainment on winter nights. But it was my last year of public school. There was no money for more, not back home in England. In America, I could continue school for free.
“Yes,” Dad said to me the night he told me of his plans. “You’ll get a better life than your old man’s, eh?” I knew what he meant, but the thing of it was, if I was to grow up to be a man like him, that would please me well enough.
“To Paddy, the man with a ready laugh and a huge heart and the strongest arms in the mill,” said the fellows when they lifted pints to him on the night of their farewell party. And that described him, all right. Yes, indeed. Patrick Hindley was the kind of man any son would be proud to grow up to be.
— DIRTY OLD GEEZERS —
The water was cold. The pipes clanged in protest as I refilled my glass. I stood at the kitchen window as I sipped it, staring up at the hill. And right then, Beach Boy appeared out of nowhere and waved at me to join him. The glass slid out of my hand and shattered into a bazillion pieces on the tile floor. A shard of glass pricked my finger as I swept it into the dustpan, and blood spurted out like a mini geyser. After doctoring myself up, I started up the hill.
Burdock stuck to my socks, thistles scratched my ankles, and I had to thread carefully through tangles of spiderwebs. Fat spiders with yellow and black bodies sat content in the middle of lacy designs spread between the tips of timothy, like blankets at a picnic. I hate spiders. Still, I climbed.
“Hey!” I bellowed out to the sky and the wind. “Are you here?”
The sea crashed on the rocks below and eddied back out. My voice echoed back.
Here, here, here.
Thegulls screeched, and from the other side of the basin came the low groan of a motorboat put-putting towards the government dock.
I spotted Nana’s truck pulling into the driveway and I dove down, hoping the grass hid me.
“Minn!” she called towards the house. “Come help me lug in these berries.”
I flattened myself farther into the grass, waited until she’d gone in for the last time and then rolled over. The clouds were silvery white; the sky filled with scribbled chalky lines and shapes. I thought of hieroglyphs in ancient caves. Dinosaur, dolphin, castle, face of bear. After the morning’s workout, it was a perfect place to rest.
“Ida!” Harv’s voice interrupted my daydreams. I leaned up on my elbows to watch.
Nana came out of the house with two glasses of lemonade. Harv took them from her and placed them on the table. Then, to my
“Now. Don’t you go pulling any shenanigans like that again. Dig the earwax out and hear me good, because I mean it.” She twisted our ears as she spoke.
“Ow.”
“Woah!”
“Mum!”
But truth be told, we were all trying not to laugh. Mum could twist hard enough to make it sting, but mostly it was never more than a pinch. She was such a biddy thing, and now that we were all taller than her, she had to stand on her tiptoes to wag a finger in our face.
“I can just imagine the language coming out of those men down there was not fit for any civilized gentleman.”
“I’m not so civilized as all that, Mum,” Thomas mumbled. “Heard worse at the mill, you know, every single day.”
“Well, good sir, man of the world, are you? So maybe there’s little hope for you, but your brother here is about to be an educated gentleman. He won’t be having any need for that sort of filth.”
“Yes, Ma. Sorry, Mum.”
It was true, my schooling was one of the main reasons Dad decided to leave Lancashire county and head off to New York.
“A boy like you to whom reading comes so easily needs more schooling, not the mill.” He’d said this the first time I came home from school and recited some little poem for them after supper one evening. It was something I was asked to do regularly, for entertainment on winter nights. But it was my last year of public school. There was no money for more, not back home in England. In America, I could continue school for free.
“Yes,” Dad said to me the night he told me of his plans. “You’ll get a better life than your old man’s, eh?” I knew what he meant, but the thing of it was, if I was to grow up to be a man like him, that would please me well enough.
“To Paddy, the man with a ready laugh and a huge heart and the strongest arms in the mill,” said the fellows when they lifted pints to him on the night of their farewell party. And that described him, all right. Yes, indeed. Patrick Hindley was the kind of man any son would be proud to grow up to be.
— DIRTY OLD GEEZERS —
The water was cold. The pipes clanged in protest as I refilled my glass. I stood at the kitchen window as I sipped it, staring up at the hill. And right then, Beach Boy appeared out of nowhere and waved at me to join him. The glass slid out of my hand and shattered into a bazillion pieces on the tile floor. A shard of glass pricked my finger as I swept it into the dustpan, and blood spurted out like a mini geyser. After doctoring myself up, I started up the hill.
Burdock stuck to my socks, thistles scratched my ankles, and I had to thread carefully through tangles of spiderwebs. Fat spiders with yellow and black bodies sat content in the middle of lacy designs spread between the tips of timothy, like blankets at a picnic. I hate spiders. Still, I climbed.
“Hey!” I bellowed out to the sky and the wind. “Are you here?”
The sea crashed on the rocks below and eddied back out. My voice echoed back.
Here, here, here.
Thegulls screeched, and from the other side of the basin came the low groan of a motorboat put-putting towards the government dock.
I spotted Nana’s truck pulling into the driveway and I dove down, hoping the grass hid me.
“Minn!” she called towards the house. “Come help me lug in these berries.”
I flattened myself farther into the grass, waited until she’d gone in for the last time and then rolled over. The clouds were silvery white; the sky filled with scribbled chalky lines and shapes. I thought of hieroglyphs in ancient caves. Dinosaur, dolphin, castle, face of bear. After the morning’s workout, it was a perfect place to rest.
“Ida!” Harv’s voice interrupted my daydreams. I leaned up on my elbows to watch.
Nana came out of the house with two glasses of lemonade. Harv took them from her and placed them on the table. Then, to my
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