Free Street Kid by Judy Westwater Page B

didn’t want it getting out that Freda and he weren’t married, or that she wasn’t my mother.
    The other reason he didn’t want me mixing with anyone was pure snobbery. Dad lorded it over the others in Wood Street and, as we had the end of terrace house, bigger than the rest and with a yard of its own, he could look down on everybody else.
    Dad didn’t let me go to the same school as the other kids in our street. Instead I had to walk quite a way, across three main roads, to Duke Street Primary, where the other children all knew each other. They’d played together after school since they were little and already had their gangs. I was just an outsider.
    Sometimes, after I’d finished my chores in the evening, I’d stand on the dustbin in our yard and look over the wall at the kids playing in the alley. I’d watch them playingJerries and Tommies, brandishing pieces of wood, and making the sound of rattling bullets – ‘ta-ta-ta-ta’ – their voices ringing out in the alley. I longed with all my heart to join in.
    The Wood Street kids thought I was odd for not playing out in the street. They thought I didn’t go to Lloyd Street School with them because I was a snob, and it only made things worse that I wasn’t allowed to talk to them. When they taunted me on the way to school, I just gritted my teeth and walked on. I really wanted to go over and ask if I could play with them later, but was too scared my dad might find out.
    I used to stand against the railings of the enormous playground of Duke Street School every breaktime, watching the other kids. The girls would be playing skipping or clapping games or sitting hunched over their marbles, cross-legged in a circle. Many of the boys would be playing a game with their cigarette cards, a bit like bowls except they flicked the cards. Others would be playing tiddlywinks with bottle tops. After weeks of standing and watching, longing with all my heart to join in, I thought of a plan.
    The next morning, after doing my chores, I carefully opened the sock drawer in the living room and took out Freda’s purse, which she kept hidden there. I took sixpence from it. I didn’t stop to reflect that what I’d done was wrong, my desire to find a friend was so great. I had a grand plan which was driving me forward and nothing would get in my way.
    On the way to school, I stopped at Allens, the corner shop, and bought a large bag of sweets – mint imperials, toffees, bullseyes, and gobstoppers – and put them in my pocket. At breaktime, I went into the playground as usualbut, instead of standing by the railings on my own, I walked over to a group of girls who were playing marbles.
    ‘Hey, anyone want a sweet?’ I tried hard to look as though it didn’t matter much to me either way. Inside, though, I felt as if all my future happiness depended on how these girls reacted. At first it seemed as if my plan to find some friends had worked as they all gathered around me. But the attention didn’t last long, and when the bag was empty the girls returned to their game and I was left standing outside their enchanted circle, unsure of what to do. Then I felt even lonelier than ever.
    In my mind there was only one thing to do, and that was to buy more sweets. I wanted to feel that warm glow again, to have the girls huddle around me again and say nice things.
    The next morning I stole another sixpence from Freda’s purse. She hadn’t noticed the missing money the day before, or perhaps she’d thought my dad had taken it. In the playground that day, I approached a different group of girls, who were playing a ball game. Two girls each had a ball and the others were watching intently while they threw it one to the other. I knew the song off by heart:
Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday, Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday,
This is the end of Solomon Grundy.
    One of the girls dropped her ball at that