The Complete Pratt Read Free Page B

it.
    He could summon it all up, but he couldn’t be sure that these were genuine memories of his early childhood. After all, he had known that same world many years later, after the war, for Paradise Lane survived the Thurmarsh Blitz, and the Baedeker raids didn’t touch it.
    1938 brought his first genuine memory, dim and confused though it was. It involved the aforementioned wireless set, an argument, a sporting record and a dismembered insect. The date, had he known it, was Wednesday, August 24th.
    Binks and Madeley Ltd were on holiday. Ezra had a whole week without making penknives. He didn’t go for a cruise on the
City of Nagpur
. He didn’t even go to Bridlington. He couldn’t afford it, because he’d bought the wireless. His parents had come over for the day. His father had been a miner, and he coughed a lot. and spat into his handkerchief. His mother was small and steely. They had another son in Sheffield, but they lived with their daughter, who had married one of Penistone’s foremost coal merchants.
    Ada, Her Mother and Ezra’s mother were out shopping. They would soon return with the ingredients for the making of brawn, and a fish and chip dinner from the Paradise Chippy. Ezra and his father had been ordered to keep an eye on Henry and lay the table. They had done neither, being too engrossed in the wireless.
    Len Hutton was approaching Don Bradman’s record of 334, the highest score ever made in a Test Match. Don Bradman himself was captaining the Australians. The tension in south Yorkshire was palpable.
    Henry sat in the road, unwatched. A large, black beetle crawled over the warm, uneven cobbles towards him. He grabbed it, and began to pull its legs off. Quite soon it was dead.
    He rushed excitedly into the house. His father and grandfather were crowded round the wireless, staring at it as if worshipping it, because they were afraid that they wouldn’t be able to hear it if they didn’t sit close to it and stare at it.
    His grandfather smelt of moustache, blue cheese, tobacco and old age.
    Fleetwood-Smith was beginning a new over, at the exact moment when Henry announced, proudly, ‘I killed a inseck.’
    ‘That’s right. Now ’ush,’ said Ezra.
    ‘I deaded ’im a lot,’ said Henry, producing a handful of limbs and organs to prove that this was no idle boast.
    ‘Grand. Shut up now,’ said Ezra.
    ‘Dad, Dad. Look, Dad, dead,’ said Henry, thrusting the evidence in front of his father’s face.
    ‘Bugger off, will yer?’ shouted his father, as a great roar came from the wireless. ‘Bloody hell. I missed it.’
    ‘He cut Fleetwood-Smith for four,’ said his grandfather, choking and getting out his handkerchief. ‘He’s got record.’
    Henry wailed, hurled bits of beetle onto the floor, and began stamping them into the carpet, screaming.
    The three women returned with their purchases, chatting happily, ignorant of the mayhem inside the house.
    ‘There’s nowt Cousin Hilda doesn’t disapprove of,’ said Her Mother . ‘I don’t like that.’
    ‘Betty Crabtree’s another one,’ said Ada.
    ‘Tha what?’ said Ezra’s mother.
    ‘Betty Crabtree,’ said Ada, ‘She never has owt good to say about folk. She’s a right misery, is Betty Crabtree.’
    ‘She gets it from her mother,’ said Her Mother.
    ‘That’s Henry screaming,’ said Ezra’s mother.
    They hurried into the house. Henry was still screaming. On the wireless the crowd was cheering and singing ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’.
    ‘Shut that thing off,’ shouted Ada. ‘I can’t hear mesen talk.’
    ‘Tha what?’ shouted Ezra.
    Ada switched the wireless off.
    ‘Ada!’ said Ezra.
    ‘That was cricket on there,’ said Ezra’s father.
    Henry’s cries grew quieter now that they had no competition.
    ‘What’s t’ mess on t’ floor?’ said Ada.
    ‘Henry’s been stamping on an insect,’ said Ezra.
    Ada slapped Henry, and he began to scream again.
    ‘Nay, mother, give over,’ said Ezra. ‘It weren’t