Diary of a Loony (7) (1975) Mr. Whippy

In 1975 we moved out of the Lodge. Yoni had found another job in Lincolnshire, where she would stay until, ten years later, she fled to New Zealand with her sons, cutting them off from their father for fifteen years. Fuck knows how they get away with it, but they do. Still, last I heard she was a mad, broke old bag in a tumbledown on South Island. 

We landed as lodgers in Vile's council house in Binfield Heath. I don't know how my mother knew Vile: probably one of the barflies at the Imperial Hotel, Henley. She was another runaway mother, who had taken up with the local ice-cream vendor, Pat. 

Pat was not a nice man. He thrashed Vile's kids for any reason, none or just because they liked to play. Perhaps he'd had a hard life. That Vile let him do this is, I hope, still a shard in her hoar heart.

My grandfather died and all constraint on my mother's madness was removed: it was about this time she took up with the hairy Scottish ape, whom my grandfather would have thrashed without mercy on sight. David! London swimmer, boxer, Cable Street, International Brigades, Merchant Marine, Inspector of Schools. Why did you leave so soon? 56?

The cocks crowgo quick, the hens cluck on forever. Till Ivan, Abdul or Wang turn up with vulpine grins. Good luck then, Chickadee! 
For it's “Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' Chuck him out, the brute!”
But it's “Saviour of 'is country” when the guns begin to shoot. 

One Sunday morning my brother and I were in my mother's bed, reading and giggling little boys. She had not returned from her night's joy. 

There was a voice outside the bedroom door: “Wossallthisfuckinnoise? Comeereyerbrats!” My brother and I were thrashed with a belt on our bare arses; I suppose he'd been hoping for this chance for a while. Ooer

To be fair my mother was outraged when she finally returned. The police were called and I had to show my welted buttocks to a frowning boy in blue. No charges were pressed: we were only council 'ouse kids, after all. Interestingly, the same police force, twenty five years later, was happy to throw me in a cell and press charges for possession of 1/8 oz. of weed. 

The majesty of the law!

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