Cubs and Owls.

Once a week on a Friday night I would go to wolf cubs at St Johns school in Burscough. There were about 15 young boys in the cubs and about 10 older boys in the scouts. The organisers all had name from the Jungle book by Rudyard Kipling. Arkala, Ballou and Mowglie were all older men and women who taught us how to tie knots and make a pot of tea. We never were told their real names and all ways had to use their jungle name, like a rank in the army. It was strange when you met them in the village when you were out with Mum. I did not recognize them out of their Scout uniform until they spoke to Mum telling her what the cubs had done the night before. We had to learn a promise that involved being loyal to God and the Queen. We also had to learn the national anthem in full not just the first verse, how many children know it today? It is probably not politically correct to teach it today. I would leave  St John’s school at about 7.30 and cycle round  to Eastwoods chip shop on Lord Street.

I would buy a pennorth of chips with batter scraps, these were the bits of batter that came off the fish as it was put into the hot fat. It was crispy and crunchy and cost no extra, plenty of salt from the big glass shaker on the counter. There was a vinegar shaker also but is was green with verdigree and I did not like the green colour so that put me off vinegar on my chips to this day. News paper was used to wrap up all the parcels of fish and chips. These were was collected from the local news agents after they did not sell all the papers. They tasted so good, stood on the street under the street lamps with your fingers going black from the printers ink. Nobody thought that you may be getting all sorts of bacteria from the paper, you never got ill or had an allergic reaction. After eating the chips I would cycle the long way home because I didn’t have any lights on my bike, rather than the main road where the big lorries went, the direct road took me along the A59, the main road between Liverpool and Preston. I would go down Victoria Street past the Methodist church and school, over the canal and round onto Higgins lane past Halls farm and home onto the council estate, a total journey of about two miles. There were and still are no street lamps on these roads, the only lights were the moon and stars. 

I remember one night cycling home and I thought that I was being chased by a ghost, this white shape came flying out of nowhere over my shoulder and turned with a blood curdling screech back towards me, I ducked and started peddling with all my might. I was home in no time flat. I told my Dad and he said with a little chuckle it had been a barn owl that had recently taken up residence in the local farm.

 I didn’t believe him until about a week later Steve Hall, the son of the local farmer, took me up into the hay barn to show me a barn owl nest with 5 chicks. He said that if there was not enough food for all the chicks the bigger ones would eat the smallest of the brood. For the next few weeks I spent all my spare time catching all the mice I could and letting them go around the barn, all the 5 chicks eventually flew the nest which I now know is quite rare for a brood that large to all fledge. I am glad the farmer never found out I was bringing mice into his barn.