August 1st

August 1st. Happy Birthday, Ernie Vaughan. He was my best mate but I
was always a little jealous that he had a special day when even the
banks closed for his birthday. Still, he didn't always get lots of
presents because his family were not particularly well off. So, it kind
of made up for those little disappointments, when he would proudly
announce that everyone could have a holiday because it was his
birthday!
Ernie lived in the house next to Wembley's goalpost. The other goal
was down the other end of the street, on the opposite side. Not ideal
but we managed!
His drainpipe was also one of the net posts for Wimbledon. We tied the
rope tightly to the pipe on the other side and used a simple knot on
his side so that we could easily undo the rope if a car should come. We
didn't need court markings. The gutter was in but the kerb and pavement
were definitely out.
My contribution to our world of sport came when we went to Lords. The
pavement outside my auntie's front door was the bowling crease and the
wickets were chalked on the wall opposite. If it was an important Test
match, I used to bring out my wooden stumps and jam them in the crack
in the pavement. The bails were two splinters of firewood and the
height of luxury was to have a wicket keeper who wore an old pair of
gardening gloves. The boundaries were at either end of the street but
you were still 'six and out' if you hit the ball over a garden
wall.
We enjoyed many a titanic battle playing one-a-side football. Often,
the result of an all-day marathon (half times for dinner and tea of
course!) would hinge on a bad bounce from a window ledge or a badly
judged wall pass with a doorknocker. Invariably, we shared glorious
sporting moments, remaining good friends in triumph or defeat.
Occasionally we also had to share the cost of repair for a broken
window. It was at these times that we showed true team spirit. No blame
attached, no hard feelings, no recriminations - just half each with the
cash. It was a pity that the adults did not act in the same way. They
just did not understand that sacrifices must be made if one was to
reach the pinnacle of sporting success. They only ever reached the
pinnacle of our bottoms! Still, we were able to comfort each other in
such times of adversity.
We fought thousands of crusades, battles and World Wars. Often we
would clash in friendly rivalry as he attacked my garden wall fortress
or I hid in ambush waiting for his bogey stagecoach. However, we were
never on opposite sides when we fought the Germans. It was almost an
unspoken rule that we would team up even though that meant opposing an
imaginary enemy. I am sure that this was due to fierce, patriotic pride
but it could just as easily have been a childish fear of tempting
fate.
Despite the rough and ready atmosphere of our street world, we were
able to experience the delights and privileges of the cultured elite.
The back door of the great Central Hall was in our street and, very
often, during a concert or recital, the doors were opened slightly and
we were allowed to sit on the steps and receive a taste of the exotic
world of 'posh music and long frocks'.
Music was also on the programme every Sunday evening when we would
cross the road to the Salvation Army Hall. Again, we would sit on the
steps and listen to the infectious sounds of the 'Sally Army Band'.
Although we received many invitations to join in, we managed to resist
any further 'religious experiences' and never ventured beyond the front
steps. 'Onward Christian Soldiers' was one thing, having to wear a
uniform to prove it was something else!
We remained good friends until commercial progress dictated separate
paths. We lost contact and friendship disappeared, just like the
houses. Fortunately, I still have many fond, mud-stained memories of a
good mate and his street.