Each week we are serialising Vic Barlow's new book From Rags to Bitches on wilmslow.co.uk . Here is the fifth chapter. If you missed previous chapters these can be viewed by clicking on the 'From Rags to Bitches' tag below.
From Rags to Bitches
Chapter 5: What's love got to do with it?
Like many kids of my generation finding an after-school job was a must if I wanted money in my pocket... and I did. Maybe not the rolls of banknotes my Uncle Bill flashed around but enough to buy new gear to wear at the youth club.
My dad found me a holiday job in a giant bakery where he worked. It was very well paid (which I liked) working 12-hour shifts on a conveyor belt (which I didn't).
I'd had a paper round for a couple of years but it was kid's work and did not give me the kudos with girls that working in a factory did. After payday I planned to breeze into the Saturday night dance in my new midnight blue suit and have those girls swooning.
There was just one problem... all the older boys had sideburns expressing their manhood, but no matter what I tried hair refused to grow below my eyebrows.
"No problem," said my pal Terry on Saturday as I prepared for the dance. "I'll just draw you some on."
If anyone could do it Terry, renown for his artistic skill, was the man. Repeatedly dipping his finger in black powder held in a paper bag he created sideburns worthy of Elvis.
"Now you look like a seriously cool dude instead of a kid," Terry said, putting the final touches to my facial 'hair'.
To test the veracity of this statement I called in at The Cock Inn and ordered a pint of bitter. To my utter amazement I was served without question. What was a 15 year-old boy to do with a pint of beer? I drank it in two gulps and headed to the dance.
If I thought no one would notice the massive sideburns that had miraculously appeared overnight I was sorely misguided.
"If it isn't Doctor Jekyll," barked Dangerous Don, leader of a gang of troublemakers.
"That's not Jekyll, it's Hyde."
"He needs to bloody hide before his mummy sees that bum-fluff on his face."
"Ha...ha...ha..."
Don's gang were having a field day.
"Take no notice of those idiots, I think you look very smart," said the pretty girl I'd been eyeing up for months.
"Thanks Dorothy, it's my new Italian suit."
"Really? Where did you get it?"
"Gorton."
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Yes why?"
"You seem a bit unsteady."
"Well, it's been a long week... at work," I added for emphasis.
"Would you like to dance?"
Would I? I was on that dance floor in a nano-second.
After bopping around to Chubby Checker and Little Eva the lights went down while Ray Charles poured out his heart to someone he couldn't stop loving. Dorothy and I went into a clinch hoping Ray's heartache would never end. Things were working out much better than I anticipated.
As we walked off the dance floor people began to snigger.
"Ignore them, they are just jealous." said Dorothy, squeezing my hand.
The sniggering began to spread morphing into outright laughter.
"Would you like a cigarette?" I said, suddenly aware they were laughing at us.
"Oh, no thank you I don't smoke, it's bad for your complexion."
"Not as bad as dancing with a minstrel," yelled Dangerous Don.
"Whatever is he talking about?" Dorothy asked.
One look at Dorothy's delicate white face covered in patches of black powder filled me with dread.
Dangerous Don and his gang sashayed towards us waving their hands.
"Mammy...Mammy...how I love ya, how I love ya, my dear old Mammy..."
Everyone burst into laughter as Dorothy fled to the ladies, tears running down her black cheeks.
I chain-smoked until Dorothy reappeared some time later red-eyed, her face scrubbed but not entirely white.
"I have never felt so humiliated," she said.
I don't know whether it was the beer, the embarrassment or the cigarettes but as I went towards her my knees buckled and I threw up all over her shoes.
I know the question you're asking. It was the same question I yelled at Terry the following day. "What was that damn powder you used to draw sideburns on my face?"
'"Soot."
"What...are you mental?"
"You wanted to age five years in ten minutes. What was I supposed to use?"
"Terry, you're an idiot."
"Yeah, but I'm not the one throwing up on my girlfriend am I?"
"Dorothy is not my girlfriend."
"She isn't now, mate."
I didn't see Terry for a long time after that but I did see Dorothy. I saw her a lot. Her mother had a little Border terrier that ruled the roost and she asked if I could walk it as she certainly could not.
Dorothy often came along on these walks and gave me the impression our relationship could go further. (We never referred to the 'minstrel' incident.)
She said I was obsessed by dogs so I started going for walks with her without the terrier. Things were going quite well until I threw a stick for her to fetch. It was a joke but one too many for Dorothy who regarded me as a clown (fancy that).
I was heartbroken when she dumped me for some boring older bloke who didn't cover her in soot (or vomit).
"Dunna worry," said Granddad, as I related my sad story.
"Love is blind, but once married tha'll soon get thi sight back."
You had to love my Granddad.
(To be continued...)
Photo: Teenage Vic looking 'cool.'
