John Meadows - You Did Say Have Another Sausage

Title Page

You Did Say Have Another Sausage

John Meadows

Publisher Information

Published in 2016 by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

Copyright 2016 John Meadows

The right of John Meadows to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998

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. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

The views and opinions expressed herein belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect those of Andrews UK.

Acknowledgements

A special thank you to Bill Fryer, Janette Lyon, Bill Lyon and Doreen Williams for reading my manuscript and offering encouragement and advice.

Dedication

To my wife Norma, without whom this book would never have happened.

Also, in memory of my nephew Paul Buckley (1980 - 2016)

Chapter One

Life from a Donkey

A Genuine Constable

Youre nicked! growled a voice menacingly in my ear as a huge forearm held me from behind with a vice-like grip round the neck.

Then a second voice grunted, Weve been after you for months! as my left arm was forced up my back. Petrified with shock I turned to find myself face-to-face with a copper, his features contorted and spitting venom through clenched teeth like a pantomime villain.

I had just got off the bus from Rainhill to St. Helens town centre one Sunday night, after a night out with my girlfriend, Norma. It was close to midnight and there were a few people around. I had noticed a couple of policemen silhouetted by the street lights, and the next thing I knew was that I was pounced upon and apprehended. Reflected in a shop window, I caught a brief glimpse of several passers-by stopping to witness this dramatic arrest.

Eh? I croaked incredulously, I think you must have made a mistake.

Yeah, they all say that, he sneered.

Then the policeman holding my arm up my back said, No mistake, you are definitely our man.

I turned to my left and again was met face-to-face by a determined copper. But this time he was grinning broadly.

Are you trying to give me a bleedin heart attack? I spluttered as they released me. I patted my chest to emphasize the point.

It was Willy Fryer, or, as he now preferred, Bill. He was a former schoolmate and life-long friend who had recently joined the Police Force; so Little Willy had morphed into Old Bill. He was out on the beat as part of his training.

The two of them roared with laughter, pleased to have frightened the life out of an innocent member of the public. Once I had stopped shaking, and I felt the colour come back to my face, all I could do was join in the laughter and appreciate the joke, more relieved than amused. The few people who had stopped to watch seemed disappointed as they dispersed into the night. Bill introduced me to his colleague, a constable who was acting as his training mentor. We chatted together as I accompanied them to the police station, which was on my route home. I had known Bill since we were both five years old and had been classmates at both Merton Bank Primary and Cowley Grammar school. A few years later we were to be the best man at each others weddings. He was always a larger-than-life character, in more ways than one. Dark haired with bushy eyebrows, he stood 6ft 2in and weighed over 16 stones. A rugby prop forward, he was tailor-made to be a policeman. His colleague was even bigger. I wouldnt like to bump into those two on a dark night. What am I saying? Thats exactly what I did do!

So how is your art course at the Gamble? he asked, nodding in the direction of the imposing Victorian building opposite the police station. The St. Helens School of Art was housed there, together with the public library. Its official title was the Gamble Institute, founded in 1896 by Sir David Gamble, the first mayor of St Helens.

Ive heard that they draw and paint nude models, is that true? they asked, straight to the point without any preamble or foreplay.

Of course, I replied matter-of-factly.

Whats it like? they asked, sounding more like schoolboys than members of Her Majestys Constabulary. They reminded me of the character in Monty Pythons nudge, nudge, say no more sketch. The one when Eric Idle asks Terry Jones if he has ever seen a naked lady.

Why is it everyone always asks me straight away about drawing nude models when they find out that I am an art student? I asked rhetorically. I am surprised at you two, I said with haughty, mock indignation.

All I will say is that nothing goes on in there to merit a police raid.

Pity, they said, laughing.

How are you enjoying your police training? I asked, changing the subject.

Its great, replied Bill with a level of enthusiasm that seemed to be aimed as much towards his mentor as to me. We always walk round in twos... and thats inside the police station!

I finally got home at about quarter to one.

What time do you call this? asked my dad.

Ive just been grabbed by the police and accompanied them to the station.

Why, what have you been doing?

Nothing.

The police dont just grab people in the street for no reason, he said dismissively, convinced that I must have been guilty of something or other.

It was Bill, but thank you for your vote of confidence.

My mum then chipped in, I saw Bill in town last Saturday afternoon, and Ive never been so embarrassed.

Why, what happened? we both asked.

I was carrying my shopping bags and trying to cross the busy road to catch the Blackbrook bus when Bill came round the corner. He looked great, proud as punch in his brand new uniform, shiny buttons and polished shoes. His face lit up as he saw me. He took my bags off me and stepped into the road and stopped the traffic so that I could cross. The bus was just about to pull away, but trainee constable Fryer had other ideas. He signalled authoritatively for the driver to stop, which he did, and then escorted me to get on the bus at the back before giving the driver a sign to move off. I waved goodbye to Bill. He stood to attention and saluted.

Thats Bill all right, said dad, smiling and shaking his head.

It was 1967, which was a milestone year in many respects. It has become known as the Summer of Love, the zenith of the swinging sixties when England set the trends in music and modern popular culture. The dedicated followers of fashion turned Carnaby Street into a catwalk to the soundtrack of Whiter Shade of Pale, All You Need Is Love and Purple Haze. Hippies in Hyde Park displayed their psychedelic body-art dancing to Scott McKenzies If youre going to San Francisco be sure to wear some flowers in your hair. The BBC finally responded to the competition from Radio Caroline by launching Radio 1 with Flowers in the Rain. The year was encapsulated by the seminal album Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band by the Beatles, and its Pop-Art record sleeve, designed by artist Peter Blake, has become an iconic image in its own right.

So what better year to leave the straightjacket of grammar school for the freedom of art college? It was a quantum leap from school cloisters with teachers in academic gowns to action-painting and nude models. It was a great time to be 18. There is a well-worn, tired old clich, If you can remember the 60s, you werent really there. I must be an exception to that particular rule because, like fine wine, my memories improve with age, and, like oil paintings, they appreciate in value (well, perhaps not my paintings).