In case Spielberg or one of his crowd comes sniffin’ around, this must be how the final sequence goes-
Silence. Thick mist. Coughs, Murmurs- very minimal- sparse- indistinct. The camera figure (that’s you) turns to discern a man gradually solidify through the mist. Me, centre-ish. Another – left. My Grandad- Charlie. Another- right. My Dad- John.
All three are- early 20’s. See drawing.
Me Grandad?
Charlie Well spotted .
Me And Dad?
John Right again.
Me We’ve never…really met
John No. I wasn’t…far.
Charlie We’ll talk later It’ll…We’ll sort it.
(Pause)
Come on. We need to move on.
Charlie and John make the minimum of taking me, one each side, and we stroll off into the mist past the dim outline of the buffers.
Considering all the pause work, we ought to nip back and shove in a credit for Pinter. The Caretaker, The Birthday Party, The Room; I was learning all the time.
The whole point of this ‘Appendix One’ item is that, having done the whole thing in the 1st person singular, this lets me write the denouement without having to lapse into the 3rd person, or having my hand slide off the bottom of the page, leaving a smeared ink trail.
A few spare end papers to accommodate your notes.
Perhaps you have old and dubious memories, lurking like half-sucked, boiled sweets, fluff covered and wedged in the pocket corners of old coats, defying you to bring them out into the light, to reveal their nasty little secrets. You can suck ‘em clean, if need be. Needn’t worry about catchin’ anyfink, not at this stage.
Mayhap some memory gives you pleasure, of a deed well done, a weakness conquered, temptation resisted. Where we are going, we may need all the mitigation we can scrape together.
A friend said I had offered a guide but had failed. Sadly, there is no guide to facing the unknown. All I can do is show you how I cope, in the hope that it may prompt you to do the same.
These notes were originally intended as footnotes, but I couldn’t cope, so I pinched this space.
23 not just a cheap joke. .In the ‘60s Sheffield Council gave OAPs free public transport any time except morning and afternoon rush hour. You wouldn’t believe how many had to try to break the rush hour embargoes and would moan like mad when they were refused.
32. The writers aren’t the culprits. It’s the money sniffers following on. Twice in the last year, I’ve been given ‘new finds’ by recently deceased writers. Both were readable but in each case it was obvious why both worthy gents had plumped for post mortem publication.
37. SAGA LOUTS.- Woodbine Willie, Boedicea, the Green Fairy. Sir Mortimer wheeler was once upbraided by a snotty student reporter over Boodicca- Boedicea. He replied ‘If I were offered an evening out with either Boedicea or Boodicca, I would choose Boedicea’.
46. Armpit Theatre. If you know it, you love it. If not- tough buns.
69. SAGA LOUTS. ‘Soap’,one-eyed Winnie, and Cool Clive.
77. Typical of something I don’t want to disappear with me. A Victorian gem- cast iron sign. Cast iron indicates that it was made and issued in some quantity. In our yard, in the corner formed by the end of the block of shared closets, where a desparate drunk, finding all the doors locked, might seize a dark, desperate opportunity, this sign confronted him with Victorian propriety.
107. SAGA LOUTS- Charlene and Joe Bananas- complete a group of 7 first drawn as a sort of post card 30-odd yrs ago.
132.Everyone knows the 1914 Truce Story, but not many will know how it was nearly scratched. It was some Kraut General (Maybe even young Prince Willie, Hisself) who issued the trenches with Christmas trees festooned with lanterns to be strung out on the parapet for some miles distance. It so happened that the first eager beavers to begin installing was directly opposite a company of battle-hardened Scottish infantry, possibly 50th Highlanders- vicious little beggars at best, and who had recently suffered quite a mauling from the Bosche, so were in no mood for peace or goodwill. So when the weinachsbaums started popping up merrily, the wee Scotts lads started popping them off just as merrily, for target practice. In fact they even bagged a fair number of luckless Krauts who weren’t sharp enough at the arboreal retreating moves. For a while, it was touch and go, as to whether the scheme would prosper, until pressure from adjacent units did manage to gain sway, so peace and goodwill did prevail.
136. In spite of the title, this is not a tale of Winter, because reindeer calve in the Spring, like similar creatures. It becomes a tale for Winter only when Polly delivers her startling denouement on the bottom of her fourth drawing.
