Jakes Boy: Sequel to ‘A Place to Call Home?’
By Lynda Smith
()
About this ebook
Lynda Smith
Lynda Smith was born in 1946 in Manchester, England, and was raised in a typical working-class childhood. She married at the age of twenty but is now divorced. Lynda has three adult children aged 45, 43, and 26. Ms. Smith took early retirement due to poor health and so decided to renew her interest in writing, completing the sequel to A Place to Call Home?, which was published in 2013.
Read more from Lynda Smith
A Place to Call Home? Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsJake’S Boy: Part Ii of a Place to Call Home? Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
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Jakes Boy - Lynda Smith
© 2015 Lynda Smith. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Published by AuthorHouse 11/18/2015
ISBN: 978-1-5049-4450-2 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-5049-4451-9 (e)
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,
and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1 Goodbye curry street 1945
Chapter 2 Hello Westminster Avenue
Chapter 3 Reluctant Hero-1952
Chapter 4 Teddy Boys
Chapter 5 Intrigue and Espionage
Chapter 6 The Mother of Invention
Chapter 7 Home Sweet House
Chapter 8 Passing ships?
Chapter 9 Fate intervenes
Chapter 10 Stay in your own back yard
Chapter 11 The Wash House
Chapter 12 Old Habits
Chapter 13 Chalk and Cheese (Viva La Difference)
Chapter 14 Hidden Depths
Chapter 15 Tangled Web
Chapter 16 Regrets and Repercussions
Chapter 17 Christmas Is Coming
Chapter 18 Man of the Soil
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
Goodbye curry street 1945
As Patrick turned into Curry Street he thought his heart had stopped, as he surveyed the shocking scene before him. The left side including number ten had been completely flattened!
Demolition workers operated huge cranes and bulldozers to remove the rubble and the remains of homes barely standing. They looked like pitiful doll's houses sliced in half as the workers operating the wrecking ball bashed away at the adjoining walls of the terraced row. Leaving the interiors exposed to the elements.
He stared in amazement when he looked up at number ten and saw his mother's flowered wall paper flapping forlornly in the slight breeze.
He could not believe his eyes when he saw Kathleen's large wooden crucifix holding steadfastly to the wall were her bed had been. What happened here?
He asked one of the work men. Just stand back mate for your own safety another lot's coming down
, he answered gruffly bloody Jerries'! aiming for the docks and missed
the man continued all most jovially Hitler should have given his Luftwaffe stronger glasses eh?
Patrick was not in the mood for idle conversation what about the people are they alright?
What a bloody silly question he rebuked himself. Being re housed- don't ask me where though I haven't got a clue! Just ask in the pub they should know.
Patrick crossed the road to the king's arms which still remained untouched and sturdy as all the houses did all the houses on this side. The pub where all the local weddings, christenings and no doubt the VE celebrations had taken place in the past. He walked into the crowded, smoky atmosphere of the lounge bar and his former neighbour, Burt Jackson shouted in his boisterous voice well! Look what the cat dragged in young Pat Dolan! Smashing to see you lad, home safe and well! Let me get you a drink everyone's is here
, the Jackson family were the only people allowed to call Patrick Pat
Kathleen had insisted his name is Patrick and not to be shortened.
After a lot of backslapping and welcome homes
someone shouted get this man a drink he won the war for us all
Patrick smiled sheepishly looking at the familiar faces all beaming at him.
Well I didn't do it on my own, Errol Flynn helped me out now and then!
After now and then the friendly banter in the room continued and someone shouted he deserves a drink for wearing that bloody de-mob suit couldn't they find one to fit you, you long lanky bugger!
Patrick laughed good naturedly he knew he looked comical in the too small suit which revealed his wrists and ankles.
One of the women neighbours grasped Patricks hand your mam's kept us up to date with your exploits, Patrick if it wasn't for you and your lot we'd all be speaking German by now.
Then Bert Jackson said oh here's Annie and our Maureen come over here you two and look what the wind has blown in
.
Oh no!
Patrick thought not Maureen Jackson! Maureen had taken a shine to Patrick when they were youngsters and he had not reciprocated her feelings he had found her forceful, pushy and almost terrifying at times
.
She saw him and sauntered over to him in Maureen mode.
Provocative, flirty and blatant as she batted her eye lashes which seemed to Patrick to be weighed down with a truckload of mascara. She was wearing a low-cut red satin blouse, her over ample bosom looking in imminent danger of escaping the confines of the flimsy material.
Patrick felt his boyhood anxiety return as she flung both arms around his neck hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe. Ensnared in the vice like grip, he was helpless to escape the oncoming onslaught of her red lips as they kissed him full on the mouth. Maureen pinched both of his cheeks non to gently almost taking out his eye in the process with her long red talons.
So flyboy when are you taking me out to the pictures?
she simpered girlishly.
He ignored her while trying to avert his eyes from her