because of the housing shortage their usable life had been extended.
In the afternoon he returned to the flat with the cash. Andrew was already sitting at his desk and took delight in examining the book in detail and counting the cash.
“For your first outing you’ve done rather well Harry, the rest you can collect later in the week after you’ve moved into your place.”
Andrew continued checking the money and balanced the entries in the ledger.
“You look like bloody Fagin.” Harry said smiling.
Andrew ignored the suggestion and continued his sums. After a further ten minutes Harry became bored of scanning the newspapers and he yawned loudly.
“Late night was it?”
Andrew proffered and then continued.
“Here, go and move into Argyle Street, you don’t need to stay here and watch me.” He slid the key across the desk.
This was the excuse Harry needed,
“Great I will, if you’re sure.”
“Get on your way. I’ll see you in a few days. Don’t upset the neighbours!”
Harry didn’t hear the last remark; he’d collected his mac and was already descending the stairs.
The following day Harry moved into the small furnished house. The properties were the typical two up, two down terraces that were constructed just after the end of the Great War. His house had electric light downstairs and gas mantels in the two bedrooms above. A lean-to scullery and toilet had been added on to the ground floor kitchen. He quickly emptied the half-filled suitcase that contained the only possessions he had. Fortunately Eileen had supplied him with bed linen and towels so at least he could settle in for the night.
At about two in the morning he was awoken by noise coming from the house next door. It appeared to be a passionate row erupting between the wife and her husband who had just returned home from a night on the town. The shouting provoked a dog to start barking from one of the back gardens adjoining his property. Harry stood up and opened the window overlooking the street. He noticed a few of the neighbours opposite were also staring out of their windows trying to see what was happening. Suddenly the argument burst out from next door and into the street. It turned out that it was the son of the couple next door who had returned home late in a drunken state and was obviously not welcome.
“You’ve been missing for months and you expect us to take you in again?” the mother shouted,
“This is the third and last time you come back here!”
The father joined in stuttering with rage,
“You…you sh..shit, you emptied my wallet before you left last time, now Pi..Piss off!”
The youth staggered into the road, too drunk to respond. His mother continued with her barrage,
“Go and get your man ‘Irish Duffy’, or whatever his name is, to find you a bed. He’s got more money than us. You’re not living under our roof again.”
The father stepped out to the kerb,
“We’re fighting a fucking wa...wa…war over here against that type. Away with you now!”
Another neighbour from the same side of the street appeared in her dressing gown,
“That’s right Bill, you tell the sod. Your son’s done nothing good around here since he left the Boys’ Brigade.” Feeling fearless now with all the support around her she turned her anger directly to the youth,
“Fuck off or join the army you wanker!”
Another woman appeared from the opposite side of the street and escorted the youth into her home for the night. The drunk’s mother reacted immediately,
“That’s right go and stay with the grey old bag opposite again, any port in a storm for you.”
“Specially if you like be..beached w..whales!” his Father added.
The youth turned and attempted to argue back but his profusion of words were disarranged and incoherent. However, he did expertly accomplish a ‘V’ sign directed at his parents before tripping on the opposite pavement. The ‘whale’ just managed to save his fall before guiding him into her
In the afternoon he returned to the flat with the cash. Andrew was already sitting at his desk and took delight in examining the book in detail and counting the cash.
“For your first outing you’ve done rather well Harry, the rest you can collect later in the week after you’ve moved into your place.”
Andrew continued checking the money and balanced the entries in the ledger.
“You look like bloody Fagin.” Harry said smiling.
Andrew ignored the suggestion and continued his sums. After a further ten minutes Harry became bored of scanning the newspapers and he yawned loudly.
“Late night was it?”
Andrew proffered and then continued.
“Here, go and move into Argyle Street, you don’t need to stay here and watch me.” He slid the key across the desk.
This was the excuse Harry needed,
“Great I will, if you’re sure.”
“Get on your way. I’ll see you in a few days. Don’t upset the neighbours!”
Harry didn’t hear the last remark; he’d collected his mac and was already descending the stairs.
The following day Harry moved into the small furnished house. The properties were the typical two up, two down terraces that were constructed just after the end of the Great War. His house had electric light downstairs and gas mantels in the two bedrooms above. A lean-to scullery and toilet had been added on to the ground floor kitchen. He quickly emptied the half-filled suitcase that contained the only possessions he had. Fortunately Eileen had supplied him with bed linen and towels so at least he could settle in for the night.
At about two in the morning he was awoken by noise coming from the house next door. It appeared to be a passionate row erupting between the wife and her husband who had just returned home from a night on the town. The shouting provoked a dog to start barking from one of the back gardens adjoining his property. Harry stood up and opened the window overlooking the street. He noticed a few of the neighbours opposite were also staring out of their windows trying to see what was happening. Suddenly the argument burst out from next door and into the street. It turned out that it was the son of the couple next door who had returned home late in a drunken state and was obviously not welcome.
“You’ve been missing for months and you expect us to take you in again?” the mother shouted,
“This is the third and last time you come back here!”
The father joined in stuttering with rage,
“You…you sh..shit, you emptied my wallet before you left last time, now Pi..Piss off!”
The youth staggered into the road, too drunk to respond. His mother continued with her barrage,
“Go and get your man ‘Irish Duffy’, or whatever his name is, to find you a bed. He’s got more money than us. You’re not living under our roof again.”
The father stepped out to the kerb,
“We’re fighting a fucking wa...wa…war over here against that type. Away with you now!”
Another neighbour from the same side of the street appeared in her dressing gown,
“That’s right Bill, you tell the sod. Your son’s done nothing good around here since he left the Boys’ Brigade.” Feeling fearless now with all the support around her she turned her anger directly to the youth,
“Fuck off or join the army you wanker!”
Another woman appeared from the opposite side of the street and escorted the youth into her home for the night. The drunk’s mother reacted immediately,
“That’s right go and stay with the grey old bag opposite again, any port in a storm for you.”
“Specially if you like be..beached w..whales!” his Father added.
The youth turned and attempted to argue back but his profusion of words were disarranged and incoherent. However, he did expertly accomplish a ‘V’ sign directed at his parents before tripping on the opposite pavement. The ‘whale’ just managed to save his fall before guiding him into her
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