Pie 'n' Mash and Prefabs Read Online Free PDF

we heard a faint miaowing outside the side door and, when we opened it, there he was. He presented a very sorrysight. He was dirty, sore, dishevelled, bruised and with a torn ear. We took him straight to the vet, who told us he would recover if looked after and not allowed out for a few days. That cat became the most looked-after cat of all time and within a week or so was back to his old self. We never did find out what had happened to him, though.
    As well as Spot, we also kept a budgerigar called Bluey (another one of Dad’s little jokes as he was actually green!) and a couple of tortoises, known as Shadwell and Wapping, in the back garden. I’m afraid we weren’t very good at helping the tortoises hibernate and both of them died in the winter. We also lost the budgerigar when it flew out of the door. Dad had taken it out of the cage in the kitchen to clean it out, as he had done many previous times. As usual, it was allowed to fly freely around until it was time to put it back. On this particular occasion, there was a knock at the side door and outside was a group of kids, asking if they could get their ball back as they had kicked it over into our garden. Because we lived on a field, this was a frequent request. Dad’s response was always, ‘You can get it this time, but, if it comes over again, you’re not getting it back.’ Of course, they always did get it back, however many times it came over. It was while he was making his standard reply that the budgerigar saw his chance for freedom and flew out the open door, never to be seen again.
    The kitchen cabinet where we kept the newspaper was also home to the shilling jar – an old malt jar – for the electric meter. We tried to remember to put a shilling in before the electric ran out but very often forgot, so quite frequently we would be watching television when suddenly it, and all the lights, wouldgo off. One of us then had to grope our way through the dark to find the shilling jar and then the electricity meter, which was in the hallway on the other side of the house. Whenever we got a shilling in change, it would go in the jar – I don’t think we ever actually spent a shilling piece in the shops.
    Every quarter, the electricity man would come and empty our meter. He would give us a small rebate and we’d put the shillings back in the jar. Once, we completely ran out of shillings when the electricity went out. The only shilling in the house was an eighteenth-century George III shilling, which Dad had managed to get hold of somewhere. Reluctantly, he put this in the meter but told Mum to make sure when the electricity man came to get this one back in the rebate. Fortunately, it was rebated safely.
    While I was enjoying what can only be described as an idyllic childhood in my prefab on the field, I was blissfully unaware of the major trauma my parents were going through. John had passed his 11-plus exam with such a high mark that he was offered the chance of going to public school, either Christ’s Hospital, Westminster or Bancroft’s, on a scholarship. John’s headmaster, Mr Foreman, advised my parents that, of the three, Christ’s Hospital near Horsham in Sussex would be the best bet. Mum and Dad didn’t want him to leave to go to a boarding school and couldn’t understand why a child should be removed from the security of his family at the very young age of eleven. However, they also realised that this would be a wonderful opportunity for him and, after much agonising and discussions with John, it was decided he would fill in the application form for Christ’s Hospital. Shortly afterwards, he was asked to sit an entrance exam. Dad took him up to a placein Holborn, where he underwent a medical, an interview and a written exam. When he came out, Dad asked him what sort of questions he’d had to answer.
    John said, ‘How many 2½d stamps can you buy for a £1 was one of