Pie 'n' Mash and Prefabs Read Online Free PDF Page A

that Barry and Richard told Mum that they had taken me over to the far end of the field, near where the River Lea flowed. They lost me somehow and came running back, shouting to her that I had fallen in the river. Mum’s face turned a ghostly white. She dropped everything and rushed out of the prefab, fearing the worst. Running into the field, she was yelling my name, barely able to control the tears. Suddenly, she saw a forlorn figure over the far side of the field, trudging slowly towards her. When she realisedit was me, she ran and caught me, holding me to her so tightly I could hardly breathe. We made our way back to the prefab with her still clutching on to me, not daring to let me go. I couldn’t understand why she was crying so much and wondered what had happened and if I’d done something wrong. It was only when we got back home and she sat me down on the kitchen table that she spoke to me for the first time, saying, ‘Don’t you ever go near that river again! I thought I’d lost you.’ She then picked me up and gave me another big cuddle, far too relieved to see me in one piece to be cross with me. For my part, I couldn’t really understand what all the fuss was about as I hadn’t been near the river, let alone fallen into it. Why Barry and Richard told her that I had, I have no idea.
    Although I hadn’t been near the river this time, I did quite often go down there when I was older, either on my own or with friends. There was a big power station at the end of Millfields Road near the Marshes, which backed onto the river and was serviced by barges bringing the coal. The coal would be unloaded and lifted up into the power station by means of two large fixed-hoist cranes. Mostly the barges were pulled by tugs but some were still drawn by horses. It was fascinating seeing those barges make their way sedately up the river and then watching the coal being winched up.
    In the evenings, I looked forward to Dad coming home from work and often used to look out the kitchen window to see if I could see him coming. If I did, I would run out to meet him. Once he was home and with tea out of the way, we would play games, usually paper games such as noughts and crosses and boxes, or simple card games like snap or ‘Old Maid’, or readuntil it was bedtime. In the summer, we might go outside and play a ball game, usually catch, though, after a hard day’s work, Dad was usually too tired for anything too energetic. There were also a few occasions when he said, ‘Let’s go and see what we can find in Chatsworth Road,’ and he would take me out to buy a small toy. I can remember him buying me two buses and a set of picture transfers on different occasions. Transfers were quite popular then. They came on sheets of paper, about a dozen on a sheet, and you’d cut out the one you wanted, soak it in water and the picture would float free of the paper. You could then stick it down in a book or on a toy as a decoration.
    We owned a cat that was almost totally black, with a large white spot under his chin, so I called him Spot (well, I was only four years old). He never grew much bigger than a large kitten and he was my companion until long after we had moved away from Hackney. I have had a number of cats since Spot and all of them have been quite fussy about which tinned food they eat. It was just as well Spot wasn’t, as Kit-e-Kat was the only brand available then. When it was time to feed him, we put his plate on a sheet of newspaper on the floor. The newspaper was kept in one of the drawers in the kitchen cabinet and, whenever he went into the kitchen, Spot would jump up to the drawers to let you know it was time for food.
    He went missing one day and, despite searching all of his regular haunts, we couldn’t find him anywhere. The days passed into weeks, the weeks into months and there was no sign of him anywhere. Heartbroken, we gave him up for lost. Then, one day,