by Tyla Pallas
King Outlaw Publishing
First Edition 2012 The right of Tyla J Pallas to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN Hardback 978-0-9573050-0-7 ISBN Paperback 978-0-9573050-1-4
ISBN eBook 978-0-9573050-2-1 www.justanenglishoutlaw.com For Stephanie, Harry and Gracie Saviours of my soul.
Dog Tales
Contents
All the following stories are true, as far as I remember that is… Chapter Page 1. Old Bloody and the Scooter 2 2. Room Service 12 3. Spirit of the Jag 18 4. Excerpts from the Accident Book. The foot saga 22 5. Strangla 50 6. The Wolf 54 7. Trouble with the Rozzers 62 8. Deal A Day 66 9. Do you know who I am? 72 10. The Rons 78 11. Swastikas 82 12. Alice and Salvador 86 13. Ali’s biggest fan 90 14. New Boots 94 15. Dynamite stories 104 16. My Life, My work (a poem) 114 17. Painting hotel rooms 120 18. Visiting the USA and Suicide Pete 124 19. The Dogs and Axl 140 20. Lives of the Rich And Infamous 144 21. Family matters 148 22. India 152 23.The Finnish saga and Hornby 160 24. Bull and Gate 172 25. Acid 176 26. Drugs 182 27. Horrible things 188 28. More trouble with the Rozzers 196 29. Practical Jokes 202 30. Normality 208 Biography 216 Discography and Books 220
A small note before we start, You may think that my grammar and spelling are atrocious, and you may well be right, but bear with me, for instance in this story my Uncle Norm speaks, as he did with a very broad Midlands, Black Country accent. I have tried to replicate that as best I could without blowing up the spell check on this confangled contraption…and so….
‘Suped up’ (see what I mean?) its pronounced ‘Souped’ or ‘Sueped’ Anyway what a word or phrase should I say. In the 1970’s it was’ The sayin’ everything was ‘suped up’, it was ‘suped up’ this ‘suped up’ that, I think Starsky and Hutch had a say in the ‘suped up’. And I don’t mean soup! Or to sup up yer drink. It’s a term to for those in the dark as to what I’m goin’ on about its to modify anything you like from a cars engine to its body work, to a guitar, an amp, a pair of dull looking socks. Get my drift?
So across the road from where I grew up in Wolverhampton, deep in the Black Country was an array of fields. Horses all over the shop, stables, football pitches, a dis used railway line. The boys club and a sports stadium, all fields it was, not like now ha! A dream setting for a kid. You would get the bigger lads with mopeds and us lot on our ‘suped up’ pre BMX bikes, Tracker bikes we called them, We had all modified our bikes according to how much pocket or paper round money we decided to spend on them. Cow horns, Ape hangers, mud guards were discarded, tyre’s with massive tread were fixed on and away we went.
I however had the advantage of me Uncle Norman. Or Old Bloody, as he was known. No he wasn’t a gangster or a fighter. It was just that every other word that came out if mouth was ‘Bloody.’
Exciting and naughty, for back in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s using the word Bloody, Bleeder or even Ruddy could get you a clip round the ear. So being able to sit there with him effin and blinding, actually he never said the ‘F’ word, even when he dropped an engine on his big toe, he only ever said bloody, or Bugger. He was a constant sense of amusement for me an my mates.
Let me describe ‘Old Bloody.’ He was in his fifties and had to me always looked like he was in his fifties. He was born looking fifty and swearing for England. He was always covered in grease and oil from being a mechanic and always had a roll up hanging from his lip. He’d run his oil stained fingers through his hair and it would stand erect. You couldn’t invent a gel that worked so well nowadays. Jedward would have stood in awe.
I never ever saw him dressed any different in his grubby oil soaked barely blue any more overalls from having come from under a car.
In the War, he had worked as a mechanic for the Royal Air Force. He said he couldn’t tell me where, as it was top secret. Then he’d give me a wink of his eye, and smile as he rolled another snout. He loved his dogs, him and aunty Gladys always had dogs, strays most of them that they found on the fields, while walking the...well dogs. When they died, the dogs that is, well, they would bury them up the end of the Garden! Apart from one who was cremated and then again cremated with my Aunty Glad. So when people ask me about the urn on me mantle piece I say,
It’s my Aunty Glad and her dog, Judy.
Old Bloody took to smoking a pipe on doctors orders so I got him a Zippo pipe lighter from the USA when I went on tour once I was all grown up...erm yeah grown up, and swapped him his WW2 flying glasses. He lost the lighter. I lost the glasses. I’d like to think someone found them both and uses them to this day unaware of their history.
One day my dad gave me my mums old moped. It had little teninch wheels with massive fat tyres on and a shopping bag on the back. To get it going you had to put it on a the stand it had for parking and pedal like mad while holding the throttle handle bar on full. When the engine kicked in you could push it off the stand and race along at a whopping 12 MPH, full out! Me an my mate Neil pushed it up the road to Old Bloody’s garage.
-Uncle Norm. (We didn’t call him old bloody to his face, and if we ever let it slip in front of Aunty Glad we’d get devil looks from our mums)
-Uncle Norm, can you make this go any faster?
-Lets have a bloody look then, gew and tell yer Aunty Glad to put the kettle on, do you want some pop?
- Ok, and a roll up!
- Bloody roll up, I’ll give you bloody roll up, No you bloody
wont!
- Then he goes on about who made the best cars in the world.
- The Bloody Russians, the bloody Lada! Best bloody engine in
the bloody world. None of that bloody Yankee crap. Bloody Gas-guzzlers! Bloody Yanks
He drove a Rover. It was constantly in his garage up on blocks with the engine out and up on chains.
-I’m gonna put a bloody Lada engine in this bugger. You see how that sounds. Bloody Marvelous. Bloody Russians, they’ve got the right bloody idea.
-Gladys! Where’ve you gone for that bloody tea, Bloody China! We giggled. She’d come out with tea in a chipped mug for him, pop and biscuits for us, tutting at him all the time and raising her eyes to the heavens.
-What have I told you about swearing in front of the Babs! She’d say to him
- Who’s bloody swearin? Not bloody me. He’d retort.
- Right what the bloody hell have we got ere, (about my mums moped) Bloody hell its bloody Japanese. They aint got a bloody clue, the bloody Japs. Bloody Honda’s bloody Suzuki’s, Kowa -bloody- sakis. That’s why they crashed all their planes in the war ya know, it was a bloody accident, bloody Kamikaze's my hat! Bloody Japs. ‘Cause you know why they have cameras? So they can bloody go back home to Bloody Japan and bloody replicate bloody everything and then bloody sell it bloody back to us for half the bloody price that’s bloody why!
- Can you make it go faster then Norm? Can ya?
- Bloody right I can! Glady’s, I say Glad. Put a bloody Glen Miller tape on will ya, and turn it up! So we can bloody hear it out here will ya..He! He! He knew he wound Aunty Glad up, they were always winding each other up.
- Put it on yer bloomin self. She would say, whilst putting it on for him.
- Bloody tragedy. Ever heard of Tommy Dorsey Tim?
- no Norm
- Gladys
- Norman!
After about another hour of bloodying this an that Old Bloo
dy says to me,
- Right on you bloody get. Now bloody easy on that bloody
throttle, gew on bloody peddle, tek it easy on that throttle now. Gee it some welly, tek it bloody easy....
She fired up, sounded like a high pitched jet engine, in my mind anyway, shaking on the stand with power, like a dog pulling at the leash.
-Right! Turn it bloody off, lets get over the bloody fields, there’s not enough bloody room here, you’ll be through the bloody French windows and Gladys will do her bloody nut!
- Hold on here I’ll get the bloody Dog. Nippy, nippy, com ere
boy..... We pushed the bike over the railway bridge and onto the top fields.
- Now bloody listen to me. If she’s too bloody fast let her bloody
go and bloody dive off as soon as you bloody can, bloody sideways! We’ll aim in that bloody direction cause that bloody big bank will bloody stop her.
I get on and start peddling while being easy on the throttle. She fires up and a big cloud of smoke spits out.
-Right yer bloody away. Says Norman, and gives me a bloody shove off the bloody stand.
It was like being shot out of a cannon, I shot across the fields, it was like being Steve McQueen in the Great Escape. (Bank holiday Monday afternoon film, shown every year since it was made!)
-Open her bloody up, bloody steady now, and watch out for that bloody horse! Bloody turn.... turn. BLOODY TURN! I managed to turn but it was like holding on to a bolting horse myself and out the corner of my eye I could see bolting horses, everything was a blur, the wind whistling through me ears, the noise of the moped like a strangled hairdryer, as if she wanted to go up a gear but there was no gears, just this strained high pitched wheeze like a deflating balloon in reverse. She’s gonna blow I kept thinking as I headed for the bank, faster and faster, an a bloomin bumpy ride it was. I was definitely doing more than 12 (mph) It felt like I was doing about 70 (mph) I must be doing 50 at least. I held on for dear life, the important thing to remember was the throttle, but the faster I went the more I struggled to hold on, the speed and thrust meant I pulled back even more, thus accelerating even faster, I could feel me and the whole moped literally leaving the ground as I sped across the fields. In the distance I could see a caravan, and thought to myself, where the hell did that come from? That wasn’t there yesterday. I veered away from it and managed to make a full circle now aiming straight back towards Neil and Old Bloody. They looked shocked, amazed even Neil motionless mouth open wide, a gasp, speechless. Old Bloody, likewise but with a woodbine dangling on to his bottom lip, hanging on for grim life, as was I.
-Slow bloody down, ease off the bloody throttle, bloody hell! I went straight through the middle of them as they dived for safety. I was now heading for the opposite bank. This was where Aldersley stadium was initially going to be built before they found out the land was too waterlogged on the best of summer days. This was not a Summer day and my mean machine churned up the mud but didn’t show any sign of stopping, it was certainly smoother than the previous section of track in fact this mud seemed to give her an extra wind. It was brilliant, I had not one ounce of fear in me, it was pure exhilaration. Adrenalin before I knew what adrenalin was. It was fun, a 13-year-old boy having fun, great fun, brilliant fun, the best fun ever! I yelled at the top of my lungs as I aimed for the hill...I really was Steve McQueen, the cooler king, I’m gonna launch off up this hill and fly to safety from the Nazi’s across the barbed wire fences that prevent me entering Switzerland. To Freedom!
I pulled back on the throttle as much as it would go, like a manic hornet I screamed, the moped screamed through the Autumn afternoon, I was defo doing a ton, defo! The hill beckoned, I braced myself for take off..10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-..ONE! BLAST oooOOOOOFFFFFFF......
SPLAT! KRUNCH, KAPUT, Brrrrrrrrr..Spluter, splutter. Silence. I lay on my back staring at the sky. I saw a jet, wonder where that’s going, I thought...America? Australia?...Ibiza?.... yeah Ibiza was great...then...
-BLOODY HELL! BLOODY HELL! Are you bloody ok? Tim, Timmy, bloody hell, don’t bloody move, Tim can you bloody hear me, can you bloody hear me, Bloody hell!
I sat up peeling myself from the waterlogged muddy bank absolutely drenched in mud,
-What yeah, yeah I’m fine, what what....??
I was covered head to toe in mud. It was bloomin freezing as well. I looked at the scooter, the front wheel had buckled completely back into itself and smoke was coming out of it and some bubbling water was coming from some place and the hissing of the tyres deflating as she breathed her last breath. And on top of that she was imbedded into my take off ramp, my escape route. At least I wasn’t wrapped in the barbed wire fence.
-You stupid Bloody Bugger you could have bloody killed yourself! Are you all right then?
- It was good though Norm wasn’t it, I mean it went faster didn’t
it?
- I should bloody say so!
- Can you fix it Norm?
- Not bloody likely, if your Mother and Gladys ever find out
they’ll have my guts for garters.
- Who do you think you are Steve M Bloody Queen!
- Yeah.Ha! Ha! Yeah! Steve bloody McQueen... yeah! Ha! Ha!
Ha!
- Eh, no Bloody swearin’ otherwise you know what...we’ll be
for it..Ha! Ha!
- Nippy c’mon boy, c’mon. And yow Neil, c’mon gerra bloody
move on it’ll be dark soon, then we’ll be bloody for it! ‘Bloody Hell! Ha! Ha!!
…Send me up a Bloody room!
It was the time we (The Dogs) were promoting one of our numerous singles. Polydor who were our distribution label for China Records, to whom we, The Dogs were signed, suggested it would be a good idea if myself and another member of the band, plus Gordon Biggins from China to travel to a few record shops, do a bit of signing and shake a few hands, all in the name of promotion. So being as me and Steve were currently barred from our local battle ship for having too much fun on New Years Eve and forcing the boozer to close at 10 pm for a re furbishing we decided to accept their kind offer. So we found ourselves in the Manchester Britannica, where the three of us had a very nice meal, all very civilised. Afterwards we adjourned to the bar for a Brandy when word came through from Steve’s missus- Katherine -that she was with child. Cigars were ordered as were several Jack and Cokes, Vodka’s and Brandy’s. All was going well until 1am the barman informed us that the bar was closing, there was after all only me and Steve there. Gordon had slopped off earlier being the sensible one in charge, and driving us the following morning to wherever was scheduled.
Fear not though, the barman kindly informed us that room service would cater for our every whim. Marvelous! we said, and tottered off to our rooms. Yes! no expense was spared we
all had a room each - well it was a mid week deal at £55 per room. Bargain! (That’s about a £1,000 in today’s money) I think we chose to set up base in my room. Ok let’s order a few drink and see what films they have. I dialed room service and requested refreshments, by the bottle. One bottle of Jack Daniels, one bottle of blue label Smirnoff, and one bottle of Southern Comfort. With some mixers, Coke, do you have cranberry? Sorry sir no cranberry, bloody hell they never have cranberry, a bad habit I’d picked up while on tour in the USA. Ok orange then. All complete. Receiver replaced, only to ring a few moments after. Sir, I’m afraid that the bottles of spirits you have ordered will have to be charged at optic prices, they will be £60 each.
-Don’t be afraid! I said. There’s nothing to be scared of, that will be fine, put it on my room, oh and while you’re there we’d like to order some sandwiches, is that possible? Yes sir, what would you like, on asking him what they had we opted for the egg mayonnaise.
-Oh and I’d like to order a bottle of blue label vodka some freshly squeezed orange juice and 120, yes One hundred and twenty egg mayonnaise sandwiches for room 556, yes Mr. Biggins that’s correct.
-Ok sir I’ll read that back, one bottle of Jack Daniels, one bot
tle of Smirnoff vodka, blue label. And one bottle of Southern Comfort. Also 12 cans of Coke and a couple of cartons of fresh orange juice - and 320 egg mayonnaise sandwiches, with the crusts cut off - and for room 556, one bottle of Smirnoff, blue label, freshly squeezed orange juice and 120 egg mayonnaise sandwiches crusts left on. That will be with you as soon as possible.
- Can you send the drinks on up first?
-Very good Sir.
We hadn’t even got to the pay per view than there was a knock on the door, Room service. There was a train of waiters pushing various carriages of goodies, including a trolley that was full of glasses and even a full ice bucket, the sarnies even had crisps with them, spot on. They obviously thought there was a bloody convention going on, but no one batted an eyelid. Down the corridor, I could hear another waiter knocking on Gordon’s room, and I think I heard a muffled reply along the lines of ‘fack off’ I wandered down and said to the waiter, I’ll sign for that, I’ll sort him out, he’s a bit temperamental, he’s the singer. When the staff had gone me and Steve tried to hang a sandwich off Gordon’s door by inserting about four of them skewered by a cocktail stick though his keyhole, but the weight of the sandwiches snapped it off in the hole. We just took the vodka and the rest of the sarnies back to our room, and scoffed about 200 - well they were only little ones. We knocked a hole in the Jack, but didn’t even open the vodka or the Southern Comfort. Disgraceful. Late next morning I left my room to head down for a spot of breaky, namely a pint of Guinness from the bar, I noticed a maintenance man working on the door to Gordon’s room. Gordon was downstairs in the bar drinking coffee…
-Morning Gordon, what’s happened to your door then?
-I dunno, I came down for my breakfast, when I went back up and put my key in it wouldn’t open. There’s a bloke up there now taking the lock to pieces.
Upon saying that the bloke came up to us and said,
- Here’s what the problem was, it was jamming the lock, looks like a toothpick or something, no idea how that got in there, anyway its all working now.
