There was no doubt at all about the general monotony of life in 1950 in our corner of North Kent. It was something we were completely accustomed to, relieved only for some of us by extravagant dreams for the future. And most of the more rational of us didn't even bother with the dreams, instead preferring to dwell upon what our meagre pocket money might buy on Pay Day which for some reason was usually Thursday. Once my father returned from North Africa and was safely employed at Bevans Cement Works I was supposed to receive pocket money because I needed to understand the value of money, that's what he said. However I learned not to rely on it because more often than not it was curtailed because of some misdemeanour. I'm not sure if Molly from number 31 received pocket money at all but on the other hand she had the kind of mother who bought comics and pear drops from Simms' shop so the deprivation didn't hit her quite as hard as it hit me.
It was girls like Barbara Scutts and Rita Jenkins whose mothers made embroidered Dutch bonnets and angora boleros for them to wear on Sundays, those whose pocket money status was obvious simply by looking at them - they were the ones receiving a penny for each year of their lives on a regular basis! And besides that they loudly discussed with each other the items and delicacies they might buy next. That can be quite irritating when you're nine years old and desperate for sticks of liquorice wood or locust beans from the shop on The Hill at Northfleet. The fact that the occasional wriggling inhabitant could be found in the beans was beside the point and in any case Billy Elliot who appeared to be more knowledgeable than the rest of us, the wrigglers simply amounted to a bit of extra protein. I did not of course know what protein was but it all sounded more than believable. My innate longing for money became even stronger when lurid pink balls of bubble gum became available from the same shop which was located very conveniently on our way to school. It did not escape my notice that Barbara and Rita of the angora boleros were the first in our class to blow plastic looking bubbles!
I knew there was no point whatsoever discussing any of these money problems with my mother and at that stage I tried not to speak too much to my father. Later I learned that my mother's favourite sweet treat as a child had been gobstoppers that changed colour as you sucked them. She claimed that she once nearly choked to death on one and it might have been true as she seemed to regard any sweet item consumed between meals as dangerous. Meanwhile I became ever more consumed with fury that I was not to be accorded the same prestige as nearly choking to death would give me. I decided that the only avenue left was theft and that was when I began to steal the odd coin or two from the pockets of my father's work jacket.
I did not begin this journey into crime lightly. I told myself it was important to be fair to him but of course I didn't actually believe that but there was no way in the world I wanted to be caught and that particular thought caused me sleepless nights. I developed a system where I only carried out the pilfering every second week, extracting only pennies or halfpennies making sure to juggle the days. I can now see of course that I was possessed of all the hallmarks of a career criminal even though I would like to shift the blame onto my mother and her family, most of whom took petty theft in their stride without too much comment. My own ill gotten gains were spent faithfully in the shop on The Hill on liquorice wood and locust beans in the kind of quantities that became extremely satisfying. I was at times even moved to share the booty with those classmates I most detested simply to demonstrate how generous I was. I could not help noticing, however, how tentatively Barbara Scutts accepted bubble gum, examining it carefully before putting it into her mouth as if she suspected me of lacing it with Ricin.
My poor trusting father failed to notice the thefts even when I stripped him of two pennies and one sixpenny piece on one occasion in order to finance the purchase of a blue Alice Band as a birthday gift for Margaret Snelling who now sat next to me in Mr Clarke's classroom. The complication of what resulted from that rather rash purchase, however, was what gave rise to the sudden halt in further thefts and all because of the bicycle she had just inherited from an older cousin.
Margaret had been so appreciative of the Alice Band that she rapidly decided we were now close friends, inviting me to her nephew Philip's second birthday party in the kitchen of her house in Stonebridge Road where we ate jelly and ice cream and little cakes with pink icing. Because I was not accustomed to parties that celebrated birthdays I was delighted of course. I was less delighted when she took to riding over to our house on Saturday mornings to say hello and completely horrified when she did so one day actually wearing the Alice Band, especially when my mother admired it.
For what seemed for ever it was as if time itself stood still as I waited in rising panic for the executioner's axe to fall. But strangely the moment passed without further comment and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Wiping my clammy hands on my clothing I became at once aware of the rapid beating of my heart and immediately resolved to abandon my career as a straightforward thief. I would from that day forward no longer steal from my family. Instead I began to purloin bus fares and Brownies subs money together with the Sunday Mass penny for the plate.
Looking back I can only be amazed at this complete lack of conscience particularly when just a few years later I chose to be totally condemning of my brother's fall from grace, particularly his thefts from our mother. I also realise that the only reason it was my father who became victim to my own thefts was because I was all too aware that being without conscience herself and with years of petty theft behind her, my mother would have realised the truth of the situation immediately!
It all seems very odd now, entering a life of crime simply to finance an overwhelming desire for liquorice wood and locust beans. I was sharply reminded of it a few days ago when a neighbour's grandchild proudly showed me a gobstopper in his mouth that changed colour as he sucked it. I think I even warned him to be careful because I knew someone who'd nearly choked to death on one!
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