Full Circle Read online

  ****

  He was a good lad and had befriended a young Jamaican boy they had met when they visited Clapham Common, always a favourite outing for them. The boy had suffered from the racial discrimination which had started to rear its ugly head in Britain. Alex had stood by the young immigrant Daniel, known as Dan, always getting into scraps defending him from the racial bullying, invariably causing him to come home with bleeding knuckles. Even though both were only eleven years old, the boys were to become lifelong friends, almost inseparable. Dan’s family was one of the first few hundred immigrants to land on British shores, arriving on ‘The Empire Windrush’ in 1949. His family and some of their countrymen were temporarily housed in Clapham’s deep shelter which had been built to accommodate thousands. These people had been housed by the government in the shelter when it was completed and later dispersed to wherever their labour was needed.

  During the development of the shelter, the removal of huge volumes of excavated soils had been a major feat, most of it ending up in Clapham Common increasing the level of the ground and changing the nature of the landscape forever.

  Dan’s father had been hired by London Transport, as had a large number of the newcomers, with the resultant birth of anarchy in Britain regarding immigration policies and the political agenda; a time of huge unrest. Since the British Nationality Act 1948 came into effect, at the beginning of 1949, it allowed anyone connected with the UK or one of her crown colonies to become a citizen of UK and colonies, resulting in more troubled times. Dan’s family was one of the luckier ones.

  ****

  Grace was filled with relief and gratitude that her son was so independent. Even though he was making his own friends, he was always so attentive to her needs and seemed much older than his years and thank God, so resilient. His dad would have been so proud of him. The two boys would come bursting into the kitchen after another visit to Frank’s laden with baked goodies.

  Whenever they made a trip to Frank’s, they invariably visited an old disused theatre close by. They would stop off and explore the intriguing place all boarded up but like little mice, they had found their way in. The original stage props remained and some old costumes were still intact. The building held unending fascination for the boys and they never got tired of visiting. Little did Alex know that the old theatre was to become a shelter for him in the years that followed.

  “Have you been at Frank’s Bakery again? I hope you’re not making a nuisance of yourselves,” Grace would say, always offering up a silent prayer of thanks to God and Frank, when the pair came rushing through the door and arms wrapped around their precious offerings.

  Sometimes the boys would travel to Brixton where Dan’s family had been relocated, along with many of their countrymen. Alex was always welcomed into the family bosom. Their home, although lowly, was clean and bright, filled with love and caring, and the sounds of Caribbean music. Dan’s mother was a huge woman always wearing a voluminous pinafore covered in red tropical-flower prints. How they laughed when she threw up her hands cooing in joy when the boys brought in some of Frank’s famous cakes and biscuits. Good old Frank, he always rose to the occasion with his generosity, invariably throwing extra into the bag knowing that the family was sorely lacking in treats of any kind.

  One treat however, was forthcoming. Dan’s family were all going to the Festival of Britain for the day and asked Alex if he’d like to go with them and of course he jumped at the opportunity.

  Set up on the South Bank in 1951, the Festival instilled new public interest and in fact was instigated to boost morale and healing following the devastation of WW2. It featured proposed plans and designs for the rebuilding of London and urban areas. A huge theatre including 3D films, allowing seating for several hundred people, was the biggest attraction but Alex and Dan were in awe at the science centre which boasted the tallest dome in the world. The sea, Polar Regions, space and many futuristic scenes were on show and both boys were bug eyed.

  Later, sitting eating fish and chips by the river, the air was filled with their sheer exuberance and exhilarating chatter. What a truly fabulous outing, one that Alex was unlikely to forget, a sentiment which he repeatedly expressed to the good hearted family.

  “Thank you for including me in this trip, it was really good of all of you. This has been a day I’ll always remember.”

  Alex was to draw on these good times through all the bad that were to come.

  ****

  “Mum; mum are you there?” Dashing around, he located his mother at the back in the kitchen. She looked up from the newspaper she was reading and Alex couldn’t help but notice again how pale she looked.

  “Did you have a nice day, Alex?”

  “Oh mum it was so great. What a terrific festival, you should have seen the Science Centre.”

  Smiling enthusiastically, she offered him some tea but he was too excited to have anything, just wanted to recall everything about the day, so she listened, nodding and enjoying the diversion. How happy he was. Her son’s face positively glowed with radiance.

  Alex slept soundly that night and was up bright and early the next morning. Rushing downstairs to the kitchen still full of enthusiasm from yesterday’s events, he came upon his mum lying on the kitchen floor and his life took an abrupt turn, changing him forever.

  Chapter 3

  Camden Town

  Full of resolve, Alex quickened his step. “I must be resilient,” he said to himself. “Me mam knew this was going to happen and I have to remember everything she taught me.” He knew Frank would still be around, probably in the back alley behind the shop, clearing the debris. His stomach was growling furiously and his mouth watering at the thought of all that good bread and scones, and oh the fruit cake, he really hoped there would be a bit of that left. Frank had been part of his background for as long as he could remember; it seemed he’d known him forever. The old man had always been very good to him and his mother, making a point of saving plenty of left overs for them; kept them under his wing so to speak.

  He approached the bakery from the back alley and immediately caught sight of Frank tidying up the garbage at the back after a hard day’s work. He looked up when he heard Alex.

  “Well hello lad, nice to see you and you picked a good time to come; I’ve lots of goodies left over. You look as if you’ve been through a war, what’s up lad?”

  Concern written all over his face, he dropped what he was doing and led the boy in.

  “Let’s get some grub down you, never mind leftovers at the moment.” Once they were seated, the boy acted as if he hadn’t seen food in days and attacked his plate with vigour. Sitting back, hunger finally sated, he looked at Frank who was very obviously wondering what was going on.

  “And how’s your mum then?”

  For the first time since he had found his mother, Alex broke down, his features contorted in misery. Relaying all that had transpired; he made a point of keeping his eyes downcast so that he wouldn’t see Frank’s horrified expression lest it weaken him even more, only girls cried after all.

  “So here I am. I’m not waiting around here for them to come and get me. Me mam had friends in the Primrose Hill area. The first one I’m going to contact is Bob, he owns a second-hand pawnshop in Camden Town and it’s far enough away from here that they won’t be looking for me in that neck of the woods.”

  Frank agreed with him wholeheartedly and shuddered when he thought of the number of boys, particularly orphans who had gone missing from the major homes and orphanages. Nefarious programs were administered by prominent organisations who betrayed the trust of British youth under their care, the aim being to migrate children to the British Colonies for the purpose of colonisation and placement of the boys into trades. Such schemes were initiated in the 1800s to export pauper children because of a perception that placement of such boys into working trades in their homeland was not economically viable. The practice of exporting youth still continued but the focus was on boys older than Alex; never
theless the risk for him was still high.

  Ironic that thousands of British youth, a valuable source of manpower, were banished from their homeland and shortly after the war ended, the first boat carrying hundreds of Jamaicans arrived to escape unemployment in their country and enjoy a better life in Britain; a fact which had been seized upon as an opportunity to re-build Britain after the devastation and destruction reeked upon the country.

  Frank resolved to do all he could to get the lad out of the town centre. He had a few contacts that he knew would give the boy a helping hand on his way out of the city. He would have applied to be the boy’s guardian but timing was of the essence given the current climate and he would not take the risk, being well aware of many children getting ‘lost’ in the paper shuffle, particularly orphans.

  “Listen Alex, you can lie low with me for the next few days until the heat dies down. I’ll get in touch with a few people who will help should you need them on your way out of the city centre. You can sleep on the couch at the back but you’ll not be able to leave the place, you hear me? It’s for your own good. If they spot you, you’re done for and you know that. You and your mam were well known, as sure as shooting somebody will open their face and then you’ve had it.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you but I don’t have nothing to give you.”

  The boy was grateful and distraught at the same time.

  “Enough of that, we don’t want to hear talk like that.” The other’s voice was brusque with emotion. “It’s the least I can do, your mum was the best and got the rough end of the deal; never really had a chance but she loved you boy, you were the icing on the cake as far as she was concerned. Talking of cake, you fancy some of that fruit cake you’re always on about?”

  Alex’s mood was elevated and in spite of the abysmal circumstances, smiled across the table at his friend. That night he fell into a deep sleep and for once wasn’t pursued by the many demons that came out to haunt him as soon as he drifted into unconsciousness.

  The next few days were very satisfying for Alex. Frank was ecstatic; the boy worked unceasingly and was obviously in his element clearing all the irksome jobs that Frank had not been able to get around to do. He was pleased to see that the lad was always careful not to get in sight of the windows in case anybody saw him, staying in the back regions and doing exactly as he was told.

  A few days later having arranged some contacts, he called Alex from upstairs.

  “Don’t know if you remember from your days in Camden Town but there were two stations with conflicting names. One of them is very ancient, it was originally opened in the 1800s called Camden Town but they have just changed the name to Camden Road because there’s already the underground (tube) called Camden Town. Alex, I’ll make sure my mate puts you on the right line to Camden Town. He’ll be here tomorrow to go with you to the station. Here’s a map to Sid’s bakery, here’s how you get there. I’ve sent word to him that you’ll be coming and I’ve told him he’s to take care of you. He’s trustworthy Alex, we’ve been friends a long time and you’ll love his wife Elsie as well, she’s a real gem, heart of gold.”

  Alex glanced at the map and could see to his joy that Bob’s pawnshop wasn’t too far away.

  ****

  The journey to Camden Town went without a hitch and Alex was greeted warmly by Bob and his Mastiff-cross Bruno. Bob had rescued Bruno from certain death when he had stumbled upon the animal cold and half-starved in the alley one winter night. Bob was with a couple of mates and was frantically trying to cover his latest acquisition, a safe of quite large proportions. One of the men had a trolley on which they were easing the safe back into position where it had become dislodged in their haste to get out of the building.

  “Crikey what the devil is that?” Charlie had called out looking down at Bob’s feet. Their eyes fell on the poor wretched creature. Bob, who had always harboured a soft spot for animals (in fact any helpless creature) reached out and held the dog’s face in his hands. Both gazed into each other’s eyes and Bob’s heart clenched. That was the beginning of a bonding which lasted a lifetime.

  Getting the dog home was a bit of a trial but they finally made it, cleaned him up and gave him a juicy steak which was inhaled in seconds it seemed and judging by the speed it went down, it was obvious that he was going to be an expensive addition to the family. Bob named his new companion Bruno, as guessing by the size of his feet, he still had quite a bit of growing to do and appeared to be only about eight months old. Well that was an understatement; the dog never seemed to stop growing and certainly lived up to his name developing into enormous proportions. Bob soon came to realise that Bruno was very obviously descended from the great Old English Mastiff which dated back several thousands of years BC. They generally weighed over 200 lbs. For a while he couldn’t stop scrutinising poor old Bruno each day to see whether he had grown since the day before. His canine friend was getting increasing more uncomfortable being the object of his master’s intense stare.

  The breed had been used in a variety of cruel sports dreamed up by the human species for their amusement and had been almost wiped out. Poor Bruno, however, must have been an outcast and victim of WW2. The lack of food everywhere and costs involved in keeping this type of dog caused many to be abandoned and left to fend for themselves during this period. Bob considered himself very fortunate to have such an amazingly huge but gentle dog. He had noticed that, true to his breed, Bruno was very protective if he felt his owner or their property were threatened in any way and Bob had to make sure he had him under control at all times. A dog of that size could certainly do a lot of damage and Bob was certainly mindful of that. They were devoted to each other and Bob didn’t even mind when he was covered in drool every time the great creature laid his head in his lap. As time went by, the two were inseparable.

  ****

  Bruno rushed to Alex and caught him unawares, both crumbling in a heap. The boy laughed uproariously as the massive opponent jumped all over him. Just like old times, they wrestled and rolled around the ground for a few minutes, the dog getting the better of Alex every time just as he had always done. Bob gave Alex a brief hug when he was back on his feet, noting he seemed to have gained at least another inch since the last time he saw him. Not wanting to embarrass the boy, he released him and urged him into the back of the store grinning broadly.

  “Well lad, what you been up to, haven’t seen you for quite some time? Come into the kitchen, I’ll make you some nosh.”

  They were soon tucking into something delectable that Bob had been stewing up on the stove and there was a huge hunk of bread on a platter along with a generous portion of butter. Alex couldn’t get over how well his mother’s friends seemed to be surviving the recession following the war. Food rationing was still in effect but they seemed to have plenty to eat.

  Alex didn’t want to involve Bob in the gory details of his flight out of the city at this time. He felt he should keep a low profile with as little emphasis as possible. He knew Bob didn’t follow the news and Alex thought his secret would be safe for some time to come. There was the fact that Bob didn’t care much for authority and would be very unlikely to inform them of his whereabouts, nevertheless, Alex did not want to put his friend in a difficult position. The less he knew the better, so he decided to keep quiet and instead embellished on an elaborate yarn that he had been working on since he left the city.

  “Mum always wanted to get further out of the city, maybe where she had such happy memories around the Primrose Hill area, so she’s taken up night waitressing in one of the bars where she can earn more money. She reckons we should be able to move back this way when she’s got a bit of a stake saved so that we can rent something and be together. Rents are cheaper out this way and in the meantime as she can’t be with me at night and has to sleep during the day, we decided I’d come and stay with a friend who lives in the area.”

  The tale just rolled off his tongue, it was so good he almost believed it himself. If only i
t were the truth. Oh how he missed his mother. ‘Resilience son, resilience.’ The words bounced around his brain.

  “She had always talked about going back south again where she had been born but that’s something she said we would decide together at a later date.”

  Bob seemed to swallow the story.

  “You’ll be looking to earn a bit of cash yourself then, won’t you, so that you can be together sooner?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly right. I thought I’d like to come and see you, and ask you if you could teach me the trade. You know I’m right handy with locks and a good many other things.”

  Bob smiled fondly at the boy.

  “You got that right,” he chortled. “If you was my boy, I’d swear you was a chip off the old block. It’s a real art, that’s what it is and you always had a knack for it even as a little nipper. Don’t think there’s any likelihood of you getting held prisoner for long by anybody.”

  Alex, while grinning broadly, quavered inside remembering the number of rooms he had broken out of and ran from abusive foster parents who locked him up for hours, even days without any proper food. No, for sure he wasn’t going to get caught, not ever again.

  “When do you think you might have something for me?” he enquired eagerly.

  "Well it just so happens that me and the boys is helping a lady out with her safe. We’ll be picking it up from her place and I’ll contact you when we have it. Tell you what, there’s a newspaper seller who ain’t got no legs, they was shot off in the war, when the sods dropped a bomb on the Paternoster Row, he’ll be your contact. Fred always was, and in fact still is, a keen reader. He was high up in the academic field you know, spent hours studying this, that and the other. Anyway, he was having a kip exhausted after his latest research study and paused to rest on the steps just outside the bookshop.

  Fred always had his nose in a book and Paternoster Row was the heart of the publishing trade. Do you know it was started in the early 1900s and progressed to the war? Anyway, after that night at the end of December in 1940 more than four and half million books were destroyed, lost forever. The bombing destroyed the whole street. Woke poor old Fred up alright, finds there’s nothing much left where his legs was. Lucky to find himself alive, God knows how he made it. Somebody got help and they got him to the infirmary. He’s a tough old geezer alright. You’ll know him when you see him, he’ll be sitting on a little square trolley on wheels; gets himself around on his hands."