He was my best friend from that time when you actually named your best friend as number one, as if friendship was the pop charts with various friends jostling for that coveted top position.
We’d met when we were both five at the very first day of school. We’d had some great adventures. We’d discovered Star Wars and Superman and The Incredible Hulk together. We’d discovered the secrets of Sherburn Hill together, explored the country lane, the slag heaps and the rubbish dumps together. We’d learnt to read, write, draw and collect Action Jacks together. We’d created magic potions, travelled back in time, been bounty hunters, saved the world from a Dalek invasion (many times) together. We’d learnt how to burn our shoelaces with a magnifying glass, sing the Beatles songs from Help!, programme our Commodore VIC20 computers (and reach level ten in Arcadia.) We’d made recordings on a tape recorder that were so funny we laughed until tears streamed from our eyes and we lay on the floor holding our aching sides.
We’d always sit together in class until Mr Hall banned it and said we had to sit at opposite sides of the room. We were also told that boys weren’t allowed to put their arms around each other in the playground (but girls were). The dinner ladies had reported it to the teachers who’d sent letters home and we were told that the only physical contact boys could make with each other was to punch each other, otherwise you were a ‘puff’, whatever that was. (Turns out, neither of us were).
How is it that you can get really close, so tight in a friendship and then… something happens? This is what happened.
It was a hot afternoon, early summer. I got my bike out of the hut in my back garden and wheeled it down the grass and out of the gate. I rode up to the end of the cul-de-sac and up the curb to ride past Sean’s house and looked in the window to see if there was any sign of life. There wasn’t so I rode up the hill to the tarmaced area called ‘Play Area One’. Everything on the estate had a name. Behind my house was a hidden pavement that was secret until the houses behind were lived in. We called it ‘the secret passage’ ever since.
On the play area was Sean and Sid with their bikes. Sid was a year older than Sean and I who were 12. Sean used to live next door to him when he lived further up the estate, before he moved opposite me. Sean and I had Commodore VIC20s and Sid had a Sinclair ZX Spectrum. We had a software writing corporation called MISARM-SOFT. The initials were the first letters of our names; Michael, Instone, Sean, Adrian, Robert, Murphy. The A and S also stood for Andrew (Sid) Smith.
Sean and Sid had collected a few bricks and a wide plank. They’d made a ramp and were jumping off it with their bikes. I watched for a while then had a few goes too, it was too hot to just stand around. Someone decided to change the arrangement of the bricks to make a higher ramp. I picked up a brick to help with an idea of how I could make it higher but more stable. I was about to put it in place when I dropped it. It broke.
I tried to conceal the broken brick by hiding it under another and I look around to see if there was another brick to replace it. There wasn’t. Sean noticed.
“What have you done that for man?” he said.
“You’d better get another brick.” snapped Sid.
“All right, all right, I’ll get one.” I wondered where I could get another brick from.
“He’s got loads of bricks in his back garden” Sean said to Sid. He turned to me, “haven’t you?”
“But my dad needs them for a wall” I said.
“Go home and get one” said Sid. I got on my bike to ride off when Sean said, “Hey, he can get away. We’ll go with him!”. Sid grabbed my back wheel.
“I said I’ll get one” I said.
Sid dropped my back wheel. I raced off, not looking back. When I got home I thought about it all and came to the conclusion they didn’t deserve a new brick. I sat down and watched The Dukes of Hazard with my brother. I looked out of the window and saw faces peering through the fence at the back from the secret passage.
A year earlier, during the last few weeks of junior school I had been very ill with some sort of fever. Before the illness it had been just an ordinary June, just like all those that had gone before, stretching back into our pre-history. There had been no sense of endings then. If there had been a feeling of occasion in those final weeks of school, I’d had missed out on it. Mr Jackson the headmaster retired that summer and there’d been event to commemorate. I’d missed that too. I’d never said goodbye to any of my classmates who I’d grown up with since that September day six years ago when we were all five. And except for the few that lived on my estate I’d never saw any of them ever again. Barry said that Mr Jackson had died not long after.
So after that summer had passed we’d all moved up to a bigger school. But I’d gone to a different comprehensive school to my infants and junior compatriots. They all went, I assume, to Gilesgate, the rough, tough inner city ‘Grange Hill’ type school. I went to Belmont, which seemed more refined, almost like grammar school. When the new term began at our separate schools I’d slowly started to lose that regular contact with Sean, even though he lived opposite. Presumably he’d made new acquaintances, new alliances, new friends and a whole year of new school had passed.
That first year had ended and it was the start of another summer holiday and I was feeling I needed to keep clear of Sean because of the brick incident that week. Barry lived at the other side of the village. I told him about Sean and the brick. He and Sean had never got on. At school, when I’d played with Barry, Sean would always resent it. Barry mentioned that he’d seen Sean riding around the village with a small gang. I’d been reading The Lord of the Rings and jokingly referred to Sean as ‘Sauron’ and his gang as ‘the Nazgul’, ‘the black riders’.
Barry and I were round at Graham Stead’s house, drawing maps of fictional islands and continents we’d made up on rolls of anaglypta wallpaper. We saw Sean’s gang coming round the corner on their bikes. Barry and I leapt on our bikes and rode off. Graham went back inside his house.
There’s an adrenaline that comes from being chased. Especially if you know you’ll always get away. We seemed to have shaken them off and got to Play Area One and found my brother there. He joined our gang and so did his friend Neil. So there are now four of us. I was in the middle of explaining the situation to my troops when some retard called Nigel came up.
“I’m going to tell them where you are.” he said.
“You thick head.” I said “You think we’re going to stay here?” Nigel shut up and started throwing a tennis ball off someone’s house.
It was getting late so we all headed home. I was pleased that I had at least got four members recruited to my own entourage. I looked out of my brother’s window and saw something disturbing in the street beyond the back garden, between the garages. In the dim light, Barry was stood near Sean. Then Neil went up to him. I opened the window so I could hear. Neil had said, “Can I join your gang?”.
The next day I rode around the village on my own. I turned into a narrow path only to see it blocked by Sean and his black riders. I knew I couldn’t get away this time. They stopped me and Talley grabbed my front wheel.
“Why don’t you give Sean a brick?” he said. Before I could answer, Renny came up from behind and crashed into my back wheel.
“Sorry, my brakes don’t work.” Renny said grinning.
I was frustrated, worried and wanted to get away. I hit at Talley, trying to get him to release his grip on my bike.
“Right, you asked for it.” he said and jumped on me and I fell off my bike. I lashed out at him again which gave me the chance to jump back on my bike and get away. My bike made a grinding noise, the mudguard on the back was buckled and scraped against the tyre.
A day or two later, Barry and I had been up the moors. On the way back we headed to ‘the Bash’, a huge and thrillingly dangerous slag heap, a remnant of the village’s coal mining past. After collecting a few fossils, we walked back to the village and there, just in front of the entrance to the secret passage behind my house was Sean and his riders. They cut us off. They used their bikes to block up the entrance to the passage and crowded around us. But Barry had slithered out towards the back and when I looked around he was standing well behind them all.
I looked around for a means of escape but there wasn’t any. To the left of me was the barricaded passage entrance. Behind me to the right and left were rows of garages for the flats and behind me was a fence. Stood around were Sean, Sid, Cheeky, Daz and Renny. This lot had all been my mates, for years, just less than a year ago. Sid had with him his tiny brother Steven with dirt around his face. He must have been just two years old.
“Why did you call me Spud?” said Sean from the back.
“I didn’t” I said.
“Yes you did” said Barry.
“No I didn’t” I repeated.
“Yes, you said you’d used names out of the book you were reading” said Barry.
“I don’t recall ‘Spud’ being in Lord of the Rings” I replied.
Daz picked up little Steven.
“Steven, kick him, go on, kick him!” he said. The little toddler did just that. Perhaps they wanted me to go for the poor kid but I just moved out of the way.
“Ha! Look, he’s scared!” said Daz.
I was getting anxious. I wanted to go in for my tea. Then everything seemed like slow motion. I ran and leaped over the barricade of bikes, giving them a kick behind with my right foot, knocking them all over. Then Renny rushed at me and jumped on my back. He was a small potato-like shirtless lump. I threw him off and heard him go splat on the ground. Cheeky came next. He ran at me and I grabbed the scruff of his neck and picked him up. Oddly, he laughed out in surprise. I threw him to the floor. Then Daz tried it and I knocked him to the floor too.
Then it happened. The others had retreated and Sean moved towards me with fire in his eyes. I lashed out. He hit me in the stomach. But with the next blow, our fists collided, like some sort of stalemate. Our knuckles cracked. Everyone else just looked on.
Further down the passage our gate opened and my brother came out. He shouted back through the gate to the house and my Mum came out and I backed off. Sean’s face was red and I was shaking.
Later I told my Mum the whole story and after tea she took a brick over to Sean’s house. We didn’t see each other again after that, and at the end of the year my family moved far, far away from the village where we all grew up.
Three years later my Dad had some business in the North East and because it was in the holidays I went up with him. It was early evening when he dropped me off in the village and I walked round to Sean’s house as the light faded. We were now both fifteen. His mum answered the door and I went in and up to his room. Sean was there with two boys I didn’t know, playing computer games on a Sinclair Spectrum. I wondered what had happened to Sean’s VIC20 and we talked about nothing as if nothing had ever happened ever. It was as if he could only just remember who I was. The only thing he mentioned related to the past was that there was another boy now living in my old house. After a while I said, ‘see you later’ and left them to it and walked out into the night to the spot where my Dad was due to pick me up.
Even that is now 26 years ago. This isn’t even a story to be proud of. But somehow I knew it was important as I wrote it down at the time. I’ve developed longer and deeper friendships since. But there something different about those early years, the foundation for who we are and what we’ll become.
The threads of our life’s tapestry is laid down in those times, and although so short, sometimes they do feel like the most important threads of all.
If you liked this theme of childhood and school memories you may like:
I own the only surviving copy of time
My headmaster still owes me £50
Why do we remember what we remember?
Everyone remembers a good teacher
Where does our ‘right and wrong’ come from?
Ayd works with people to explore and unlock their creative ideas in ways they may never have thought possible to inspire innovation in their lives, and their business.
Book Ayd to speak about the Power of ‘What If?’ and Inspiration for Innovation at your conference, or in your business. A great way to open your event or as an after lunch energiser.
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You didn’t need to tell me which kid you were. You still look like that. 🙂 And what a thing for the teachers to say–punching for boys only!
But on to the meat of the story. I’m often amazed at my 9 year old daughter saying, “I just made a new friend at the park!” Often she can’t even tell me the child’s name or anything about her, but they played pleasantly for half an hour, and now the face is “friend”. On the other hand, someone she has known for a long time can say something insulting to her, and suddenly they are “never to be friends again”! What constitutes friends when we are young is certainly fluid.
My son is going through something akin to your story. His “Sean”–whom he has literally known since birth–is developing some “rough” edges. Their tastes in entertainment are differing more each year. My son, like you, is more inclined towards the creative, mental things. His “best friend” is turning more physical, and enjoys violent media and the idea of girlfriends. They are bound together by loyalty, but the actual enjoyment they experience together is waning. So much of mature friendship comes from trust and understanding; one is hard to repair once broken, and one is hard to develop without effort.
This is a good story about coming of age, and the mother in me aches for the hurt boy. Maybe your experiences, though, will help your own children be prepared for when friendships end. Thanks for sharing this, Ayd.
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But who IS the hurt boy? On writing it I no longer feel like the victim that I thought I was at the time. I was more a player in a drama that we all agreed to play out. So I feel that Sean carries the hurt, as at least I was being reflective, even back then. But who am I to assume what he or anyone else though or thinks? I was embarrassed to write that in both clashes, I punched first. But I couldn’t edit history. That’s how it was.
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Ayd, you tell stories so well, painting the picture so I almost feel as if I was there watching. I sense a feeling of regret through the story-telling, of what should have been or could have been?
The story also reminds me of my own childhood, when days would be spent making our own entertainment. There was no TV during the day, no computer games (OK, just a few years ahead of you), so we’d “go out to play”. There’s a phrase I haven’t heard used for many years. My friends and I would disappear off for the whole day and wander anywhere our legs or bikes could take us. Yet these days parents would probably be dreamed unfit if they didn’t know where their children were every minute of the day. I don’t think it’s a change for the better. Kids have their entertainment delivered to them, they don’t have to create games or dream. I think it’s reduced the use of imagination and creativity. I’m sure you’ll reflect on that:-)
Thanks for sharing the story so vividly.
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Thanks so much Rob, that’s a wonderful comment. It’s a sad indictment and having 3 small children a testing dilemma. Will Self recently said that the danger to our kids is not so much ‘stranger danger’ (see: https://aydinstone.wordpress.com/2011/06/11/sranger/) but the massively increased number of cars on the road (and the way people drive these days) – I feel that every time we go out.
Like you, I roamed for miles, from Saturday morning, not coming back until it was dark and time for Doctor Who, from age 7 or so. And yet there’s no way I’d want my little ones going out of my sight.
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Wow, what a well told story. I only experienced something like this once in my life, but luckily the guy wasn’t a great friend and I had this vibe about him that wasn’t great so when it turned I wasn’t totally caught off guard. Thanks for sharing; love how it was written.
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Really appreciate that.
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Really enjoyed reading this. brought back memories of my own childhood and come-and-go friendships.
Blog: John Mc the Writer
Hiya Ayd what was your address in Sherburn?
Meldon Avenue. Now who might you be…?
nice to know I wasn’t the only one who attended the same school with a bunch of weirdo.s unfortunately I wasn’t as fortunate as you. You were lucky you got out. while I had to remain at the school from hell I know exactly what it’s like to have people gang up on you who you think are your friends it’s awfull what happend but what you went through is nothing compared to the hell I had to live through going to gilesgate school and are still living with the mental scars today coping with depression and other problems from the result of bullying if your wondering who I am I’m the one sitting directly infront of you on the matt
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SO pleased to hear from you, but so sad to hear that things didn’t go well. I heard a few stories about Gilesgate from Barry, I can’t imagine how awful it must have been for you. And yes, I had a good escape going to Belmont. I know the same thing that happened to me and Sean happening to You and Tina; that you were forced apart. I do remember you well, although we probably only ever exchanged the shortest of conversations.
Why do children pick on the quiet ones? And why didn’t the teachers notice, or do anything about it? In the 2nd year we moved down south to a school more like Gilesgate and I lost all my confidence for a while, was bullied for having a different accent, having ginger hair and being withdrawn. My children are now the age we were in that photo and my son has no confidence at all, for no reason, that’s just how he is (the other two are fine). I know we’re going to have to work hard to make sure he doesn’t have such a raw deal.
I often think about what lives my classmates from that time have had, not having seen any since 1982. Thanks so much for getting in touch and I hope things are working out in your life now.
You may have found them, but if it’s of interest, here are my other Sherburn-ralated writings:
Happy times and places,
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hi there thank you for your response I just happend to be looking stuff up on the net and came across the photo I was really amazed by it didn’t expect to see that after all these years it brought a lot of memories back I don’t know if you know or not but the school is no longer there I don’t know if anyone updated you but sherburn village has changed so much since the early 90.s the school got knocked down and there have been bungalows built there now they.ve called it school court so it was nice to see the photo as its been years since I’ve seen some old photos growing up sherburn has changed a hell of a lot now you probably wouldn’t recognise it now it’s become such a big place there are more houses in sherburn now than ever it’s almost become cluttered with houses I keep hoping that they don’t do away with the countryside all together I think it would be ashame this countrys too small to build too many buildings thanks for your reply I agree I can’t understand why youngsters or even adults who are quiet natured get targeted and bullie I’ve never been able too understand even though I’ve tried I don’t think it’s any excuse for bullying someone just becouse there different natured or if they have different likes and dislikes its no excuse for bullying you can’t help being the person your born to be I suppose it’s just the way I was brought up and I think having older parents makes it different as well I’ve alwayse had to behave and stay in line that’s the reason why I’ve never sort of followed the gang my dad was very strict so that’s why I’ve alwayse remained in the background and alwayse kept my head down I hope your youngest gets through these tough school times I know I would never live gilesgate over again the infants for me weren’t to bad even though some of the teachers were crap such as mr hall I don’t have to remind you everybody still has something to say about mr hall even after all these years he.still funny with some of the other kids that are at school today I think he should be retired now but Ive heard people talk about what he.s like with some of the kids he was there when all four of my nephews were there that’s how we used to get to find stuff out.
well nice hearing from you from kate
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This was one of the finest pieces I have ever read on the internet. Maybe because like you said in your previous comments, whether we felt at the time that we were the victim or know that we were the “bully” (I think harsh but fitting word) we can all review later on in life.
I am still working out whether I was the victim or the bully. maybe a bit of both. I know I was to blame for things that I did to some of my best friends (similar stories as yours really) and so I just wanted to say in a nutshell your story has touched me and I shall now have to reflect.
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Well maybe that’s your opinion but as far as I’m concerned I no for a fact that I played no part in me being bullied over the years I’ve thought back long and hard to the time before the bullying started and I can say that my life was happy time in the early seventies I had a good friend Lisa in fact the only best friend I ever had until sadly her and her family moved to easington which meant I had to look for other friendship I never found that specail bond ever again and even now after all these years in 2013 I’m still looking for that specail friend which will probably never come I didn’t asck for what happened to me and I know I’m not to blame I remember exactly what happend when I befriended Tina which now I wish I’d never bothered things were great at first until this new girl started Maxine barker I don’t know what her problem was with me but one minute everything was great and then she came along and for some reason I was targeted I didn’t even know the girl but for some reason I don’t no off she had it in for me from day one things were never the same for me after that and I still keep thinking back to that time what did I do to her what did I do to make her hate me so much I still remember as clear as day and I still don’t understand why she went after me I even remember confronting her one day and ascking her why she kept harassing me and she just laughed in my face and as for Tina my so called best freind well I was no longer good enough for her I wasn’t wanted anymore and ended up spending the rest of my school days standing on my own so I no longer consider Tina my freind anymore I only ever had one best freind and that was Lisa I don’t see why I should feel quilty for something that wasn’t my fault and had no control over I’m not taking the blame just because someone had a problem with me and dident like me for who I was she has to take responsibility for her own actions not me I’m not taking the blame for her and I will never forgive them for what they did I don’t believe in forgiveness. Forgiveness is to easy I believe in punishment I did nothing to her I would have understood if I been a bitch to her but I never had I dident even know her so I don’t understand where the hatred came from she was the one with the problem not me and Im not going to take the blame for her she can take responsibility for her own wrong doings that’s the way it should be its not my fault she had a problem.