Slutch

Slutch, this is wet, wet mud and it can be so much fun.

Ever made slutch pies?

Well, all you need is a big bossy sister, June, a kid brother, Frank,
to cop mother's corrective retribution and our Anne. Things sort of
worked out better in evens. Most important of all, mother wending her
way to new shops, she would always pop in to see one of her gossiping
cronies on way back, usually my mate Mac's mum, whose house was the
local drop-in for all the neighbourhood tittle-tattle and sure to keep
must-know-it-all busy for ages, wouldn't want to lose her grip.

'Right, you two, get baking spoons and tray and you, well you can come
with me, and hey, don't be messing about.'

Straight from same mould as mother, maintaining the sovereignty in her
absence. Didn't mind too much, dad didn't, so why should I. My cushion
to the intensities of family life.

'Reet, our Frank, you get spoons'.

Getting caught digging with the ancestral cutlery was a thick ear, the
spoon taker absorbing that first intensity.

The best slushy bit was at the bottom of the garden, close to the
hedge, close to the brook. After removing the grass clod, a hole was
scraped out to just into the clay. On bossy boot's say so we would get
out our willies and fill up the hole.

Our Anne would always be glued on Frank's which for some inexplicable
reason was a bit longer than mine even though he was a couple of years
younger and much, much shorter. I wonder if they played about with each
other? Our June's eyes would flit about inattentively, she sort of lost
interest after discipling herself to some of the older, hairier sorts
up street.

The best slutch is gotten by stirring thoroughly whilst sprinkling in
the pre-dig, being sure to keep scratching the bottom to mix in the
clay and finally squeeze wringing to a firmish dough, which could be
then be moulded, adding bits of broken twigs would help rigidise
it.

And that's all there is to it.

June would shape the first pie and then oversee our efforts. Coal bits
were used for currants. A dollop was saved for the free form last,
pointy mounds, columns and the like. Then we'd have a slutch pie party
and pretend they were the most scrumptious things in the whole wide
world.

Mum was taking longer than usual, so it was decided to round off the
recreation with a wazing up against the wall contest. Our Anne would
swing on the gate whilst keeping an eye on the lobby. Swinging on the
gate was not an offence for the youngest.

The wall between the back door and coal shed was driest and the match
began, me and our Frank would stand about a foot back from the wall and
on June's command would point our willies upward and waz as high up the
wall as we could. It wasn't really a contest because I was much taller
and the only interest was in bettering our personal best which were
marked with a coal line.

June had gone quiet and so had Anne, her lazy eye was having an off day
and had already been captured. The slutch utensils hadn't been cleaned,
never mind replaced. Mother was about to throw a right wobbly, June
stood her ground, me and Frank sodded off a bit sharpish, straight
through the hole in the hedge and legged it along the brook bank to the
jumping across point and the safety of the allotments. Frank didn't
make it, stumbling back into the most squelchy predicament.

Diminishing threats concluded that father would deal with the matter
later.

Frank was getting quite anxious as he knew that slutchy shoes alone
would be a deafening blow and he was up to his eyeballs in the
stuff.

"We're in real trouble now."

"Yes, you are."

Frank's consternation grew.

My mind was whirring about the plentiful resource of ready made slutch
we had just chanced upon. Such a find would have to be reported.
Preoccupation had to be put on the back burner with the unwelcome wind
of mother's none too mellifluous tones and Wayney's dad, who was
grumblingly unlocking the allotments gates. She must have had a right
old set to with our June and was still on the warpath and worst still
enlisted the help of our Frank's mate's dad who wasn't too fussy who
was in the firing line when it came to setting right, he could give you
a right wallop.

Fun was always punished by the grown-ups.

We panicked into the tunnel and hid behind a clump of bulrushes. This
is the one place neither of us wanted to be, the only escape was to go
through it and it was a double-dog dare with all sorts of dangerous
creatures lurking. Hairy spiders patrolled the roof just waiting for
the chance to creepy-crawl down the back of your neck, and gross warty
frogs which could swallow you in one suck and gulp, and a serpent
monster, legended to have eaten many and burnt loads more with his
fiery breath.

We each snapped a spider getter-off stick from the reed thicket, pulled
our jumpers over our heads and went for it, me following Frank.
Progress was painfully slow, Frank was swishing his stick about all
over the place before hesitantly stepping forward. I couldn't see what
all the fuss was about but I was sure of one thing, it was going to
take all day at this rate and my socks and shoes were already sopping
wet. Truly inspired, I gave our Frank a little tickle with my spider
getter-off stick. It worked a treat, it scared the living daylights out
of him and he belted out of the tunnel with me in hot pursuit and he
didn't stop running the brook until reaching the sneak through hole
into the new estate, which was opposite the new shops.

We rested and pondered our next move. Getting cleaned up had become a
more urgent matter as I was now also muddied to hell and going to
grandma's was decided upon. How to get there without being spotted was
another matter altogether. A plan had to be hatched.

And this was it, we would wait until midday, shops would shut for
dinner hour, hopefully nobody would be hanging around and we could
sneak up the ginnel by side of new shops, show a clean pair of heels
across the wreck and into grandma's back garden. We traipsed back to
get a view of the road over the tunnel and wait for Mac's dad to cycle
past, he always came home for dinner and would be our start
signal.

We waited for ages, flaws in the plan began to doubtingly to creep in,
what if scenarios were expressed and we were making ourselves quite
edgy.

I told Frank that I was sure I saw an absolute monster of a hairy
spider fall in the brook and drown after his encounter with it,
reckoning he must have already stunned it with his slick stick
swashbuckling before it fell upon him. His face lit up, he now had a
real vanquishing encounter to embellish and tell.

Mac's dad showed up and not before time, it had started drizzling but
this was seen as a good omen, less chance of anybody hanging
about.

We backtracked, slithered through the sneak hole, legged it to the
ginnel and the rest went as planned, nothing to it really, not a soul
in sight.

Grandma's washing was already pegged out.

"Now listen our Frank, if grandma gets whiff of a cock and bull story
there'll be no merciful reception, we'll just be as honest as we can
and hope for the best. You keep stum."

Grandma was dad's mum and never really saw eye to eye with mum,
something to do with when they lived together whilst dad was
adventuring in the navy. I was too young to understand and their
recollections were bewilderingly different.

"Hello grandma."

"Look at the state of you two, what in god's name have you been up
to."

"O! grandma, we were coming over to help you with the laundry when we
bumped into a couple of those Arkwright bullies and they came after us
and we ended up getting pushed into that huge puddle on wreck."

"You'd better get off home and tell your mother."

"O! no! please grandma, our June's been getting right on mum's nerves
and she'll conclude that we've been up to no good and you know what
she's like. O! please, please grandma, it's just not fair, we were
coming to help you and all that's going to happen is we'll be punished,
it just isn't fair. O! please, grandma."

"You'll be the death of me yet, get them socks and shoes off before you
come in then."

"O! thanks a lot grandma, and do you know what else, we didn't get any
dinner today and our tummies are rumbling."

At least the bit about mum and our June was true, who was in that
transitory phase from tweeny to tufty and was so unpredictable, getting
the hump real easy. She wouldn't let me see her thingy anymore. All
that unhappiness just to become a grown-up, she even had to peel 5
pound of spuds on Sunday mornings now.

(To be continued)