News The Christmastide when old Growler really had a ball
We called him Growler. To those of us growing up in our back lane then, it summed him up completely. At least it did until a Christmas soon after the war
Growler lived alone in a terrace house in one of those streets off Goole's Pasture Road. He was Growler to the kids of the neighbourhood and to just about everyone else. He kept himself to himself, hardly ever talked to anyone. If he had anything at all to say it was usually a grumble.
Occasionally we would see him hobble down the lane carrying an old shopping bag, returning from Pasture Road shops with the bag was almost as empty as when he set out. We never heard him laugh, never saw him smile.
But worst of all for the kids who played in the lane, a ball which ended up in his backyard was effectively lost forever. Occasionally one of us would dare to enter the yard, hoping a polite 'Can we have our ball back?' might bring a positive result. Yet whether one got as far as the back door or only halfway, the result was always the same: One growl from Growler and mission impossible became mission abandoned.
Many were the moments like that until one misty afternoon not long before an early post-war Christmas. Euphoric at the start of the school holidays, we were playing football because there was no sign of snow. Someone lashed at the ball like a Goole Town player we'd seen at the Victoria Pleasure Grounds the previous Saturday, and with instant despair we watched our ball bounce off the coal-house roof and down into Growler's back-yard. There it finished up near his back door. Match abandoned! And our gloom was deeper than that of the darkening sky.
With no other ball to turn to - not that side of Christmas. anyway - someone eventually suggested we might have a better chance of retrieving the latest lost ball if we went as a group and politely knocked on Growler's front door. It was reasoned that the old man might be swayed by strength in numbers and the fact that we had not invaded his back yard. So, with Christmas music in the air, we made our way to the front street.
There the music came from the Salvation Army band gathered in the middle of the road, and as our nervous, hopeful group neared Growler's front door a young lady wearing a Salvation Army hat got there before us.
When Growler answered her knock, inevitably he responded to her greeting her with an unfriendly grunt. Then, as our deputation of kids waited close by, exchanging knowing glances, the young lady shook the tin she was carrying and explained that the collection was intended to provide local needy people with a little 'Christmas cheer'.
"Why should I give anything?" we heard Growler retort. "Nobody ever gives anything to me! The only time people talk to me is when they want something. Those lads behind you, for instance, they'll be wanting a ball back, I reckon. But they're wasting their time. So are you!"
Apparently undaunted, the Salvation Army lady smiled. She told the old man he was under no obligation to contribute to her collection, wished him a happy Christmas and offered him a sweet from a paper-bag. Standing near the front gate, we saw Growler half-close his door then take one of the offered sweets. That was not entirely surprising perhaps, for at the time sweets were still rationed.
But then Growler surprised us all. Fishing in his pocket he produced a couple of coins and dropped them into the collecting tin.
Then the Salvation Army girl said something to old Growler that we could not hear, and he surprised us again. Disappearing into the house he returned with the ball we'd 'lost' in his backyard an hour earlier.
"Here," he said to us grudgingly. "As this young lady says, it IS Christmas."
"I can hardly believe it!" said one of the adults in the back lane when we reported the return of the lost ball. And when the mother of the ball's owner heard about it, she gave her son two mince-pies to take to the old man as a 'thank you' for the ball.
"While you're at it," said a neighbour, "I'll give you a bit of cake for him, too."
Another neighbour offered two of the oranges she'd just bought from Child's greengrocer's shop at the end of Third Avenue. Then some of us who played in the lane came up with the idea of giving Growler a Christmas card. Another neighbour sent Growler a note telling him he'd be welcome to join her family on the afternoon of Christmas Day.
Soon after that the lady from the Salvation Army knocked on Growler's front door again with a ticket for the old folks' tea on Boxing Day.
"Hey!" Growler called to us from over his back gate, the following morning, Christmas Eve.
"Will you lads take my radio battery and get it refilled at Richardson's shop in Pasture Road?"
In view of what had happened the day before, in no time at all we were back with the battery filled to the brim.
"There!" said Growler in response, only he did not seem to be growling any more, and he handed over a bag containing every other ball we'd ever lost in his backyard.
Published on 20th December 2007 in News.
Add to: Digg | del.icio.us | Reddit
Comments
There are currently no comments
Comment
All comments are subject to moderation (during normal office hours) and may be amended.
Email addresses are required for administration purposes only.
By contributing your comments, you accept our terms and conditions.