Rattigan - A Slice of Bread & Jam

A SLICE OF BREAD & JAM

BY

TOMMY RATTIGAN

A SLICE OF BREAD & JAM

BY

TOMMY RATTIGAN

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, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Author

First published in Great Britain in 2015

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Copyright 2015 Tommy Rattigan

All names of characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 978-0-9932423-0-4

Printed in Great Britain by

Orbital Print, Sittingborne, Kent

To Jill for putting up with me!

Acknowledgements.

The Manchester Evening News

Burst Universe Design & Publishing

Rose Mcgiven

& Friends on hulme, c.on.m

St Wilfrids RC Primary school Hulme past and present

Ex Hulme. Moss Side. Manchester Memories.

Friends of Platts Fields Park. Gorton M18 Places of places!

Firmstart. Hulme Manchester

Image Credit:Shirley Baker/Mary Evans Picture Library

Jackie Levescontie and family.

Mam told me off!

Michael Gavin-Rattigan

Was here!

- 1963-

Standing just a short distance away from me, with her head leaning slightly to one side and grabbing my attention, Myra Hindley had thrown a coy look and the briefest of smiles in my direction. A short distance behind her, Ian Brady stood staring off to his right with a hand dug deep in to his overcoat pocket while he had dragged on his cigarette. Id first noticed the two figures walking past the park near Ducie Street, as the pair of them had stopped and Id seen the flare of a light as Brady had lit a cigarette, before theyd headed through the park and past me the play area, where Id been happily swinging on the swing as Id waited for my two brothers, Martin and Nabby, to show up.

The pair of them had stopped some fifteen or twenty yards away from me and seemed to have had a brief conversation with one another before Myra Hindley had suddenly turned and had headed back to the swings, while Brady had stayed put, looking about him and dragging on his fag. When she was about five or six feet away shed stopped as I had let the swing slow under its own momentum. And from the distance shed stood from me, I was able to smell a mixture of heavy perfume and hairspray which had immediately reminded me of my two eldest sisters, Mary and Rose, who would smothered the stuff all over themselves and their hair, filling the house with fumes and almost choking the lot of us!

Now standing face on to me with her hands inside her coat pockets, Hindley had silently looked me up and down. My senses told me she was about to say something, but as I had waited in expectation for her to speak to me, shed said nothing. Id returned her brief smile, letting her know Id felt comfortable in her presence and was approachable and shed then stepped a little closer with a bright wide smile spread across her face. To all intent and purposes she had not seemed to me any more interesting or different from the people I had met while out begging on the streets, with my brothers and sisters, with some people kindly taking us in to their homes and feeding us before sending us on our way with a few spare coppers in our pockets. So when Myra Hindley had invited me to go with her to her Grandmothers house in Gorton for some Bread and Jam it had been nothing out of the ordinary to have been asked and for me to have agreed. And so, I had set off on my journey following her through the ever darkening streets on the edge of Longsight heading back into Gorton, with Ian Brady following just a short distance behind us, to a house where I had believed was a place of safety and a bite to eat. Though in reality, I was in fact walking in the mist of two evil child killers whod had other ideas for me.

Before I take you on that particular journey and share with you the intense emotional atmosphere which had wrapped itself around me, as I had sat inside the old terraced house in Bannock Street, let me first take you to the beginning of 1963, so you may walk with me through that one particular year leading up to my encounter with the most reviled evil killers, Manchester will never forget. There is no set plot to this book, just fading memories of a bygone time, when the streets of Manchester, were the playgrounds of their children.

-ONE-

I am seven years old. I have three older brothers: Paddy, Shamie and Martin. And I also have four older sisters: Mary, Rose, Elizabeth and Maggie. I have three younger brothers and two younger sisters: Michael, Nabby and Gosson, Bernadette and Kathleen. I am Tommy, making thirteen Rattigans in all - unlucky for some!

Most of my family, save for Michael, Gosson and Kathleen, were born in the Republic of Ireland. Daddy was known as a Tinker or a Tinsmith, or a dirty feckin auld Gypsy, depending on who he was dealing with at the time. He mended or made pots and pans and sharpened peoples knives for a living as we travelled along the roads between Athlone, where I was conceived, and Dublin. And despite having served with the Military Police, out in India, during WW2, he had not been able to hold down a proper job since leaving the British army. And so, with no prospects in Southern Ireland, he decided to uproot and better himself over here in England, taking the whole family off across the Irish Sea to a new life in Hulme, Manchester, where he had signed up at the Labour Exchange.

Martin, Bernie and I, usually spent all our time together, while Nabby, if he hadnt been minded to be off doing his own thing, would come along with us at times. He was two years younger than me and three years younger than Martin, while Bernie was a year younger than me and two years younger than Martin, though she looked older than her age, on account of her height. She was at least six inches taller than Martin and

me, and a foot taller than Nabby, and she never stopped eating. Daddy called us, the four stooges, because we were always getting up to all sorts of mischief. Sometimes he would have to come from the pub to fetch us from the police station. And while there, hed pretend he was so pleased to see us, as any concerned parent would be, only to beat the living daylights out of us with his leather belt, once hed got us home.

I was the fastest runner out of us all, so I would be the one to grab a purse, or any lose money left lying around. Even the odd unmanned cash till wasnt safe and if ever the opportunity arose, which it had done from time to time, my grubby little hands would be in it! The last till snatch was in Marks and Spencers, a few months back, when Martin had ran past it, banging down on the keys to cause the drawer to shoot open as Id followed a split second behind him and snatched up a handful of paper money, stuffing it down the back of my jumper, before heading for the main exit. Wed got caught before wed managed to get out of the doors and were taken back to the custody room by two of the women cashiers. On the way, Id noticed in one of the mirrors, I had this weird looking hump on my back and so I had rounded my shoulders and stooped slightly lower, looking slightly deformed in the hope no-one would notice the fact, the money was hidden there.

Just hand back whatever money you took and well say no more. one of the two uniformed security guards called Dave, had promised us.

We didnt take any money. Look! keeping myself slightly