Popeye Never Told You

by Rodney Hall

  Allan Patterson is my new friend but Mum says he spells his name wrong because Allan should have only one l and Patterson should have one t,

  ‘but how can he be wrong about his name?’ i say,

  and anyhow i like Patterson because we talk about everything and sometimes when he wheels his bike along the road we walk home together and he shows me the little garden at the side of his house on Bristol Road and thats where we stand talking and getting cold, but sometimes Patterson sounds just like an old man,

  ‘the garden gets the morning sun’ he says,

  and i can see a garden fork stuck in a pile of cow poo,

  ‘youve a lot of things growing’ i say,

  ‘my dad does it all’ he says,

  ‘your dad?’

  and so theres something wrong if his dad is here and Patterson takes his glasses off to rub them clean on his shirt,

  ‘hes too sick to go to the war’ he says,

  and i look up at the sky between the chimneys,

  ‘you lucky thing, Patterson!’ i tell him ‘we live in a flat’

  and in the yard he keeps mice so thats what he smells of, and he points to a potato plant and two lettuces,

  ‘this bits mine’ he says and takes me right up close to look,

  so now i hate him,

  but he sticks a hand in his pocket to pull out a mess of string,

  ‘you hold one end’ he says,

  and he gets busy and when theres a good long straight bit he lays it out on the dirt,

  ‘this can be your corner’ he says,

  ‘but you mean—?’

  and Patterson says ‘you can grow what you like’

  and i dont know what to say so i get out all the marbles ive got in my pocket to give to him but he shakes his head,

  ‘go on’ says Patterson ‘dig your fingers in’

  so i break a clod with my thumbs,

  ‘here’ Patterson says ‘try Dads spade and dig a hole’

  and the spades too big but the earth is easy and the smell reminds me of the woods when i make a hole and now i can look down into it and Patterson slings his jacket across his shoulders,

  ‘when you finish you have to stand the spade against the wall over here’ he says,

  and i say ‘okay’

  and Patterson says ‘it belongs right under the bathtub’

  and i say ‘okay’ getting a good look at a grey tin bath hung up on a nail ‘is that a real bath?’

  ‘what does it look like?’

  ‘do you use it?’ i say,

  ‘of course we do’ Patterson says,

  ‘in the bathroom?’ i say,

  ‘in the kitchen’ Patterson says and he takes a turn at digging my corner of his garden,

  and Mrs Patterson comes to the window so she can watch but when i wave to her she goes away,

  ‘so what happens if your dad comes home now’ i ask ‘and blows you up?’

  ‘what for?’ says Patterson,

  i dont like to explain that me being here is wrong,

  ‘is he old?’ i say because anyway im thinking about the war and everything,

  ‘he commands the Home Guard’ Patterson says ‘and hes head of the Invasion Committee’

  so this is my lucky day,

  ‘can i have a ride on your bike?’ i say,

  Patterson thinks about it,

  ‘no’ he says,

  on the brewery sign theres a dead sheep hung up by a strap round its middle and this is the beer im going to drink when im a man and the whole brewery smells strong and sour even with rain coming down and puddles in the street,

  ‘i know you!’ the policeman shouts,

  and i jump a mile,

  and hes standing in the rain propping up his bicycle,

  ‘ive had my eye on you’ the policeman says,

  so he must have found out about the flour mill!

  ‘youre the lad rattling a stick along the fence in Butchers Lane’ the policeman says,

  ‘no im not’

  and Dis voice comes from a long way off ‘get a move on, Rod!’

  ‘thats my sister and shes waiting for me’ i explain ‘and our mum works at the Ministry of Food’

  the policemans helmet and his cape are soaking wet and shiny,

  ‘well, perhaps i shall let you off this time’ he says,

  and suddenly he laughs and hes happy but i dont get why,

  ‘so hop it’ he says,

  ‘yes’ i say and my cap drips and my teeth are chattering,

  ‘but dont let me catch you malingering again’ he laughs,

  and this is a new word like trespassers that im going to remember for school,

  ma-ling-gering,

  i get a creepy idea that an X-ray is looking through my whole body and ive turned invisible green, but if soldiers could be invisible theyd help win the war, and this is such a great idea i tell Di,

  ‘then what about invisible enemy commandos!’ Di says ‘prowling around town with their guns all ready to shoot us and no one even knowing’

  ‘but wouldnt we see the guns’ i say ‘floating up and down the street?’

  and the radio is on while we eat tea though Mum calls tea dinner,

  ‘dinners in the middle of the day’ i tell her ‘everybody knows that’

  ‘dont put your elbows on the table’ she says,

  but the Workers Playtime music suddenly stops right in the middle of a song and a posh gentlemans voice comes on,

  ‘this is your English friend in Germany’ the voice says,

  and Mums face goes white and her knuckles too because she has to hold on to the table,

  ‘the bombing has done terrible things to you’ says the radio ‘and we know that panic is breaking out, well this is all because your government tells lies to stop you finding out that youre losing the war, and youve been losing since Poland fell and then France fell and next it will be Britains turn’

  Mum screws her face up,

  ‘what?’ says Mike looking interested,

  ‘the British lion is wounded’ says the gentlemans voice ‘and soon enough it will be all over, but this need never happen because the English people and German people are cousins and we should be allies not enemies’

  but Mum leaps to her feet and up out of her chair and she knocks her cup where it smashes on the lino in a puddle of tea and its a good cup too,

  ‘so why fight against what—’ says the voice,

  ‘you traitor!’ Mum shrieks at the set and snaps it off,

  and i know all about traitors and deserters too but i never expected a traitor on our radio in our own flat,

  ‘that man’ she turns round to face us before she speaks ‘is Lord Haw-Haw!’

  and her look shows how horrible this is,

  ‘do they have Lord Haw-Haw in Kangaroo Valley?’ i ask,

  ‘what on earth makes you ask a question like that?’ she says,

  and suddenly she rushes over and she holds me by the ears and kisses my hair,

  and Joan gives me a book called Pinocchio to read out of so she can teach me how to speak properly and this is called elocution, but i dont get past Once upon a Time because i cant seem to say Time the way she wants,

  ‘teim’ Joan says to show me and i watch her teeth,

  ‘time’

  ‘teim’

  ‘time’

  she sighs at last and lets me read the next bit thats about a piece of wood speaking when the carpenter cuts it, which is why he makes it into a puppet instead of making it into a table leg and he calls this puppet Pinocchio and there are all sorts of words i am supposed to pay attention to if im to speak properly like that traitor, but the only thing i can think about is the talking wood saying ‘teim’,

  and Joan tells me she isnt speaking to Gran, except to say yes or no.

  and the biggest thing now is adding up all our pennies and half-pennies plus several sixpences earned from Gran for running errands and even for just promising to love her, so Michael
can go out to buy the glider kit from the hobby shop because hes fourteen and thats old enough,

  and the kits called the Dove and its made of balsa wood, and this kit belongs to me as well because it belongs to us all,

  ‘before the war your Uncle Ralph used to fly a glider’ Mum says ‘a real one’

  and we get straight to work on the Dove and on the box theres a picture of it so we can see what it will look like when its finished and the three of us sit round the kitchen table unfolding the plan printed on a big sheet of paper and spreading it out flat, and we get everything needed because there has to be glue and razor blades and scissors and pins, and what you do is match the little balsa wood shapes to the drawing on the plan and then fix them together to make a frame,

  and Mike reads out the instructions,

  ‘it says here to build the fuselage first and the tail next and the wing last’

  ‘why?’ i say,

  ‘because’ says Mike,

  and the tip of Dis tongue shows because she has to concentrate on what shes doing,

  ‘whatre these for?’ i ask and hold up two rubber bands,

  ‘we use them later’ Mike says,

  and we make a start on cutting out components and constructing the frame from long strips as thin as matchsticks, but the wood can split so you have to be careful,

  ‘balsa wood is the worlds lightest wood’ Mike tells us,

  and while we work he talks to us about aerofoils and how the wind passes over the aerofoil to give the glider lift because now weve got a whole lot of new words, and Mike even draws the wind for us like a lot of hair, but the cutting and glueing are slow jobs and its important to follow the numbers printed on the wood because they have to match the plan,

  ‘and then we can glue the bits together and put them aside to dry’ Mike says,

  but i make a dreadful mistake,

  ‘you clot!’ Mike shouts,

  because im cutting around the shape of an aerofoil and its gone wonky and now i can see for myself and all i do is stare at it through my tears and everythings spoilt because nobody can ever put back the curved bit that just got just cut off, but Mike comes to the rescue because he bought a spare sheet of balsa and he cuts the right shape so now the wrecked one can be thrown out,

  ‘you can start putting the fuselage together from all these square cross-sections weve made, if you like’ Mike says,

  and this is better because i know to start with the nose-block and that the square sections get bigger and bigger up to where the cockpit fits in and theres even a little mica cut-out for the windscreen, then the sections taper down to reach the tail,

  ‘the tail assembly and the wings need to be made separately’ says Mike reading off the plan,

  and i know but i dont say anything because hes being nice and the frame im glueing up looks right and this is even better than meccano,

  ‘when its dry can we add the tail fin on?’ i say,

  ‘thats going to be my job’ says Di,

  ‘look at this!’ Mike says because he has got the wing skeleton done,

  and it sits on the table with both ends tilting up at the tips,

  so we cut some sheets of tissue-paper and we glue them on in panels, and now the whole model is white and begins to look exactly like a real plane and the edges get trimmed with scissors and finally some water gets flicked all over it so the paper dries tight like a drum,

  ‘its time for your rubber bands’ Mike tells me and he takes them off me and straps the wings on,

  and the Dove is bigger than i thought and stronger than anything,

  and Mum comes to look and she promises to take us all up to the fort on the common for the maiden flight,

  lying on my back theres warm grass and theres the sky thats nothing but blue, and the blues so deep i can look right in and theres a vapour trail like a straight line drawn with chalk getting wider and ripply at one end so that it turns into a feather,

  ‘of course i shall come right to the top with you’ Mum says ‘i need a break from worry’

  and now we take turns carrying the Dove because up here we can look right across the whole hillside and the wind blows the grass flat to the ground and theres nobody else so weve got the place to ourselves,

  ‘this is a lucky day’ Mike says,

  ‘i can feel God’ Di says,

  ‘what nonsense, darling’ Mum says ‘is that what Gran told you?’

  so i try to see if i can feel God too, but its just something blowing around my knees,

  ‘perfect flying conditions’ Michael says ‘just look at the downdraught!’

  and tiny spring flowers all around us are nodding in among the grass and the blue ones are harebells,

  ‘what about here?’ Mum says,

  so we put our basket down right by the wall of the fort and everywheres warm,

  ‘theres a joke’ i tell them ‘i say knock knock and then you say whos there? and then i say Lydia and then you have to say Lydia who?’

  but they just stand like idiots looking at me,

  ‘well?’ i say,

  and then Mum gets it,

  ‘Lydia who?’ she says,

  and i say ‘Lydia Dustbin!’

  and Mum laughs but the others take no notice and its them i was really telling,

  ‘if you watch the sky’ Mike says ‘you can feel the world rising under your feet’ and i try but it doesnt work,

  and i put my face against the ground because even thats warm,

  ‘the flight of the Dove!’ Mike says,

  ‘so whos going to launch it?’ Di asks,

  ‘me’ i say and i jump up,

  ‘why is it always you?’ Di says,

  ‘anyway’ Michael says ‘scientifically it should be someone who can be trusted not to crash it the very first time’

  but im sick of science,

  ‘Mum has to choose who’ i say,

  but Mum plants herself on the blanket and begins unpacking the picnic lunch,

  ‘you have to’ Di tells her,

  ‘yes’ Mike and i say together ‘come on Mum’

  and Mum stops what shes doing with a look of delight and she dusts the crumbs off her skirt and gets up and reaches for the glider,

  ‘but—’ i say,

  and she takes hold of the Dove the way Mike shows her, so nothing can stop her now and we have to make the best of it, so we give her a few tips to be sure she gets the idea because grown-ups dont know the same stuff as kids,

  ‘like this?’ Mum checks and she holds our glider above her head with its white wings like a crown ‘am i doing alright, darlings?’

  so she draws back her arm ready,

  and Mike takes hold of her shoulders from behind and he turns her to face the wind,

  she hardly seems to throw it at all but the Dove rises all by itself, higher and higher till it seems to stand still in the sky, and thats what ive been hoping for and then it dips and steers itself and floats and swoops,

  ‘lovely!’ Mum says ‘how lovely!’

  and we all stand with our backs to the fort to watch it,

  ‘thats our Dove’ i say,

  ‘flying’ Di says,

  and weve done it!

  ‘look out!’ i say because it banks away across the hillside,

  ‘thats okay’ Mike says and grins,

  and lower and lower the Dove glides until it skims along on the grass,

  ‘perfect’ Mike says ‘a perfect landing and a perfect maiden flight’

  and Mum looks pleased,

  ‘whos next?’ she says,

  but by the time my turn comes the gliders nose is streaked with grass stains but i rush to pick it up and point it into the wind and raise it above my head like Mum did and already i can feel it lifting and trying to escape so i hold tight,

  ‘good luck, darling!’ Mum calls,

  and im on tiptoe running with it, running into the wind and down the hill and this flight is going to be better than anyone elses because thats my
plan, but my fingers let go before im really ready,

  ‘damn!’ i say,

  the Dove hesitates,

  and its wings tilt,

  and up goes the nose!

  and it swerves and crashes to the ground tumbling nose over tail, and Michael groans because the wings are knocked crooked,

  ‘that wasnt a proper go’ i yell ‘so ive got to have another!’

  but Mike shakes his head and gets busy fixing the elastic band to put the wings right,

  ‘four flights are enough for now anyway and at least we now know its strong enough to crash’ says Mum and delves into the basket ‘so shall we try Winifreds pineapple?’

  and she gets to work on the pineapple can with the tin opener,

  ‘i dont want any’ i tell her,

  ‘alright, but just taste a smidgen so we can thank her properly, and then you neednt have a second piece’

  so i let her spoon some between my lips and the most amazing taste fills my mouth,

  ‘wow!’ i say when ive swallowed,

  ‘so?’ says Mike ‘what?’

  ‘i thought it was going to be apples’ i say,

  Mike tells me a secret while we carry the shopping home,

  ‘i shall design my own glider’ he says ‘a huge glider with a six-foot wing-span’

  ‘a sail-plane?’ i say,

  ‘yes and im going to cut the aerofoils deeper and more curved than anybody ever before, and im going to add a couple of degrees to the tilted wingtips and im going to enlarge the tail’

  this is so important that we walk together to think about it,

  ‘you want to know something else?’ he says,

  ‘yes’ i say,

  ‘ive been reading about dead bodies’ he says ‘and even while a man is in his coffin buried underground his hair keeps growing’

  ‘what hair?’ i screech,

  ‘his hair, you know’ he says ‘all of it’

  ‘on his arms?’ i say,

  ‘yes and his face too’

  ‘and his chest?’

  and Mike nods,

  ‘all of it’ he says,

  my shoes click because of the new studs the shoemaker hammered into the toes and heels and i walk so i sound like a soldier and Patterson checks on them because he wants the same,

  ‘i got some Yates seeds’ i tell him,

  and we kneel down together to begin my very first garden because all i ever grew before is mustard and cress at home, and the packet says to plant the seeds half an inch underground with ten inches between, but Pattersons dad comes out to watch and he takes hold of the packet to get a close look,