Wor Geordie

By George T Harbron

This book is based on true facts in the life of a young lad from Gateshead, in northeast England. Geordie lived in a one-bedroom, upstairs flat with his Mam, his Dad and his seven brothers and sisters. He had a way of attracting trouble and the police were forever at the front door. At the age of eight fate struck him a blow that would chan

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shakspeare Editorial
• Release date: Apr 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781999329587

George T Harbron

George T Harbron is Geordie born and bred. His first book, Wor Geordie, was all about his own big adventure that took him from the northeast to the south of England. It would have been so much easier if he'd had Durgin alongside him then!

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Wor Geordie

George Harbron

First published by Shakspeare Editorial, May 2021

ISBN pbk 978-1-9993295-7-0

ISBN ebk 978-1-9993295-8-7

Copyright © 2021 George T. Harbron

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent 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.

The right of George Harbron to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Design and typesetting www.ShakspeareEditorial.org

Photographs © G.T. Harbron

Dedicated to my mother for her love and care

Kids from Kirton Street, Railway Terrace

With thanks to Sister Tate

Chapter 1

He was only a young lad, eight years of age, living in the North East of England, in a one-bedroom, upstairs flat with his seven brothers and sisters.

Dad was a pitman, working underground. His job, as it was known at the time, was a stone-man. A hard, brutal job, but people took this type of work on for the money. Before that, Dad had been in the army for the duration of the Second World War. He’d told them one of the places they’d sent him to had been Africa, where he had caught malaria; other than that, he very rarely talked about it.

Geordie’s Mam kept house, looking after everyone, making sure there was always plenty on the table, getting them off to school looking as tidy as she could get them.

The one-bedroom flat had a small kitchen and a toilet outside, down the back stairs to a small backyard that led out into the back lane. The yard was shared with the downstairs neighbour. The toilets were separated by a four-inch brick wall. If they were occupied at the same time people could have a conversation with each other, which happened often – especially between kids! The yard also contained two small coalhouses that were kept well away from each other as, if one was full of coal and the other was empty, it was far too much of a temptation to loosen a brick and help yourself to your neighbour’s coal – especially on a cold winter night.

Things were not easy in 1947 (far from it) but people made the best of what they had back then. But if your dad was a pitman who received a ton of coal every month, courtesy of the National Coal Board, you had a good commodity. Mam would always sell some to her neighbours. When it was delivered they tipped it in the back lane for Mam to shovel into two large galvanised tin buckets. She wouldn’t trust anyone to do it for her as you could guarantee some of it would go missing. Either Geordie or his older sister was always told to watch the coal in the back lane, while Mam carried it into the coalhouse.

Geordie was no different from any other kid running around in the cobbled streets and back lanes of Gateshead and Newcastle on Tyneside. But trouble always seemed to follow him around, no matter what he did. Many were the times when, after a loud knock on his front door, their neighbours would stand watching, whispering and talking.

‘There’s a copper at number five again.’

‘Oh, aye and you know who that will be for don’t you?’

‘It’ll be for that young Geordie of hers. What a life she’s got with him.’

Geordie was constantly in trouble one way or another – it always seemed to be him who ended up getting caught. It was nothing big time, he was too young for that. Nevertheless, it was the things that parents could well do without, like minor brushes with the law after stealing bits and pieces from shops. Geordie and his little mob were banned from the bigger shops on the High Street, like Woolworths and Littlewoods.

Many’s the time they trespassed on the railway lines if they could find nothing else to occupy themselves. There was a seven-foot stone wall separating the houses from the railway that they had no problem climbing over. What they couldn’t get into their heads was that it was a dangerous place to be, with trains running past every fifteen minutes or so. Plus the fact that some of the lines were live; step on them and you would fry like an egg. Nine times out of ten they were seen and chased by railway workers. Only once were they ever caught, but just given a warning and thrown off the railway land.

~

One weekday when the schools were on holiday, and with nothing else to do, three of them left the small park at the top of their street (if it could be called a park, with its three swings and a roundabout that caused more injuries than it was worth).

They headed off toward the High Street with nothing particular in mind. There was one entrance that had a partition in the middle of it to form two shops. On one side of the partition they sold clothes and on the other side they sold chocolates and sweets. This proved very tempting for the three of them. One stayed near the entrance and if anyone came in they would start coughing very loudly. Geordie went behind the counter and stuffed his pockets with sweets, while his mate kept an eye out for the person who served coming back into their side of the shop.

Before they knew it, the shop assistant came back from the other side of the partition. His mate ran like hell out the entrance, leaving Geordie under the counter. The owner came rushing around from the other side on hearing the commotion, and caught Geordie under the counter. He told the assistant to close the door in case he made a dash for it. As usual, Geordie gave a false name and address. They called for a policeman. The main police station was only a few hundred yards away, at the bottom of the High Street. Before long, an elderly policeman walked into the shop, where he found Geordie sitting in a chair. While the officer was asking where he lived, Geordie’s mate came walking into the shop, as brazen as brass.

‘Oh, I know him; he’s Charley Dodds,’ he said, looking at the officer.

‘Is he now?’ replied the officer. ‘Listen young man, you go and tell his mam where he is and that I want to speak to her. If you don’t do it quick I’m going to arrest you instead of him. Now go.’

His mate turned on his heels and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

The next thing he knew, his Mam was walking into the shop, still wearing her pinny and turban with a coat on top. The officer told the shop owner that they might have a job to prosecute owing to Geordie’s age, and that a caution would most likely do the trick and give him a fright so he’d not do it again. His Mam apologised to the shop owner and told him she’d make sure that he never stepped into his shop again. She was relieved to hear the owner agreeing with the officer. They left the shop with his Mam holding him by the scruff of his neck.

She gave him a hard shake, saying, ‘I’ll bloody well kill you when we get home.’

Mam didn’t lay a finger on him, but she did tell his Dad what had happened. He wanted to give him a good hiding, but his Mam managed to persuade him not to, much to Geordie’s relief.

~

Things settled down, but it didn’t take long before he and his little mob, having nothing else to do, decided they would head for the High Street again. As they approached the local cinema, Old Blacks, they decided they’d try and gain entrance through one of the side doors, which they’d done on so many occasions. They were unable to open the first door, the steel proved to be too much for them. Someone suggested trying the doors on the other side of the building, up an alleyway. While they were quietly trying to prise one open, they heard a commotion at the alley entrance. Two men were arguing and they could see that both of them were drunk. That put a stop to what they were up to. One of the drunks decided he’d had enough and started walking away. Geordie and his mates did their best to get past them. Then the unthinkable happened. The drunk still in the alleyway shouted and swore, took his last drink from his bottle, then threw it at the other drunk. The bottle flew through the air and hit Geordie on the back of his head. He kept on running until they were on the main footpath, but a few minutes later Geordie fell to his knees. He was dizzy and his mates’ voices were echoing as he heard one of them saying he’d seen him get hit with a beer bottle.

They headed back home with him. By the time they got to their back lane Geordie had pulled himself around. He was still a bit dizzy but didn’t want to get in trouble with his Mam or Dad, so he sat in his backyard until he felt a bit better and went up the back stairs to get his tea. He didn’t tell his Mam what had happened, he simply told her that he didn’t feel well.

Mam felt his brow, ‘Well, you haven’t got a temperature but get yourself to bed, you might be coming down with something. We’ll see what you’re like in the morning.’

He didn’t argue, he was just pleased to go to sleep. Even when his brothers crawled into the bed, he didn’t wake up. There were three beds squeezed into the one small room: one for his Mam and Dad, one for his sisters, and one for him and his brothers.

On the Monday, when he had to go back to school, he told his Mam that he didn’t feel well. She felt his brow, but he felt all right to her. He then told her he had a ‘bad head’, but he had played that card once too often, so Mam wasn’t having any of it and chased him off to school.

At the school gates he met one of his mates who had been with him in the alley, ‘How’s ya heed Geordie?’

‘Aw, it’s all reet. Still got a cut in it though, ind a still feel a bit sick.’

‘Did yi tell ya mam what happened?’

‘Nah, a git in enough trouble to start with with oot looking for it.’

‘If yi still feel sick why divint we dee a bunk from school then?’

‘Nah, not the day. A just want ti sit doon, me heed’s killing is.’

‘Yi should have gittin ya mam to put a plaster on that head of yors.’

‘Aw shut up will yi. I’ve got a bad head with oot yea ganning on.’

In the school playground the noise from all the kids shouting wasn’t helping Geordie’s headache one little bit. He knew that something was wrong, he was getting sensations in the top of his legs, and his arms, and was glad when the bell went for them all to go to their classrooms.

He sat at his desk as the forty or more kids took not the slightest notice of the teacher. The teacher never bothered you