Aunts and Uncles ( Part 1)

Aunts and Uncles.

Once so full of life, so full of character, so full of wonder. Now, sadly, most are gone.

We were a big family. Dad was one of six and Mum one of four. They all had lots of kids. So, growing up, I had lots of Aunts and Uncles and dozens of cousins.

It was my sister’s twenty first birthday party. Dad hired out the local working man’s club.

Uncle Vic and Uncle Ernie had had a skin-full. At the end of the night they wanted “To fight the world.”

The “world “ that night happened to be the cocky young deejay they’d spotted pinching two bottles of spirits from the free bar. The bar that the family had paid for. My Dad intervened. As much as he didn’t like anyone taking the piss he didn’t want to see the young lad get beaten to a pulp by Vic and Ernie. He decided to have a “quiet word” with the guy and get him to put the bottles back.

The young deejay made a big mistake that night, he laughed at my old man and told him to fuck off. Dad was sober, he’d also been a very good amateur boxer during his National Service days and represented the army at Lightweight. He laid the deejay out with one punch and left him unconscious in the car park.

Vic and Ernie were put out by this. THEY wanted to beat up the deejay. So with no one else to fight they decided to fight each other. I kid you not, it’s true!

Vic hit Ernie as hard as he could full on the chin. Ernie never flinched. Just smiled. This worried Vic as he’d given Ernie his best shot and Ernie’s smile had now turned into a sneer. Vic put his hands by his side as if to say “okay, now it’s your turn.” He closed his eyes and waited for the punch to come. It never did. Instead, Ernie put his arm around him and led him back to the bar. They continued drinking into the early hours.

If drinking had been compared to football. Vic and Ernie would have been in The Champions League!

It wasn’t until Ernie sobered up two days later that he realised his jaw was broken.

Uncle Vic was married to my Dad’s sister Hilda. My Aunty Hilda was a colossus. Not massive in stature but ten feet tall in personality and attitude. No one messed with Aunty Hilda. At every family party my Dad would play the Piano and EVERYONE, even the kids, had to give a song. When it was Hilda’s turn she would put her hands up the chimney and black her face with soot. Then she’d sing three or four Al Jolson songs and have the whole family crying with laughter. Her rows/fights with Uncle Vic were the things of legend. They would always have a “scene” at the end of every party. Vic full of beer and Hilda’s veins coursing with gin and orange.

Vic could throw a good right hand but he always came off second best to Hilda!

Uncle George was my dads brother. The strongest man I ever knew. When I was growing up he gave me some valuable advice. “ Your handshake is your statement to the world. It’s your first connection with other people. Make it count.” He would then demonstrate by gripping my hand like a vice and shaking it firmly. I took his advice and to be fair I’ve never yet failed a job interview.

George was a confirmed bachelor. Yes, he had a girlfriend (Aunty Rose) but they never married. George wasn’t one for commitment.

He worked for the local council as a painter and decorator and could wallpaper a large double bedroom in an hour. He’d visit our house a couple of times a week. Mum would make him a cup of tea and he and dad would chat. About seven o’clock he’d offer to take the dog for a walk. He’d come back four hours later. The dog full up on arrowroot biscuits and George absolutely wankered.

He was a heavy drinker was George. His tipple was a pint of bitter, a large scotch and a barley wine. All at the same time, but three different glasses. After all, he wasn’t some kind of piss head! He’d take a mouthful of bitter then gulp down the scotch. As his glass of bitter began to empty he’d top it up with barley wine.

He didn’t drive. Just as well really, just rode his push bike everywhere. There was many a time that dad would have to go and look for him only to find George asleep by the side of the road after falling drunkenly off his bike.

He slumped at the bar of a local pub one night while dad was playing the piano. Everyone thought he’d had too much to drink. Actually he’d had a stroke and died. Some would call that Karma....