Reminiscences of a Common Kid
A load of us kids had had a good day
at rolling the tyre. Darkness had descended and we were going
back home to eat a hearty well-earned tea. We decided to quit
playing with the large old lorry tyre and launched it on a steep
and fast journey down the hollow. It was soon rolling and bouncing
madly on its mad way, towards its unsuspecting target at an
increasingly breakneck speed. Its final bounce was up over and
into a back garden, crashing very loudly into a large dustbin,
scattering its contents everywhere. (I seem to recollect that
it smashed a window as well). We stood, somewhat wide-eyed and
open mouthed, at this horribly spectacular scene, rooted to
the spot. However, when the back door of the offended house
opened and two large and very angry fellows came running out
climbing a ladder into the hollow and came running towards us
screaming for our blood, we were off like greased lightning.
With two potential murderers in hot pursuit, shouting that they
were going to kill us, plus a few other unpleasant things that
are best not put in print, I was in super overdrive. And, besides
the fear of being caught and killed by these two, I would then
have to deal with being killed again by my parents, when they
found out why I had been killed in the first place! Man, we
certainly put ourselves through a terrible amount of extra fear
when we were young Commoners, didn't we ever.
With these terrible thoughts fuelling
my pumping little legs I dove into the Beecham's front garden,
our near neighbours, frantically thinking, now what? I went
to lay under their front privet hedge, between it and the front
wall, but instead I spotted their large corporation dustbin
with heavy-duty lid. Snatching the lid off, I climbed in and
manoeuvred the lid on top. I well remember the long...... very
long?.. wait. My lungs were bursting for air, but I feared that
the sound of my heavy breathing and gasping would betray my
hiding place.
It felt like I had been cooped up in that dark and smelly dustbin
for hours, but I was probably in there for around five to ten
minutes max. Eventually I plucked up courage and emerged from
my hiding place, back into the cold, still night air. Cautiously
I craned my ear for any footsteps, for any voices, as I slowly
crept out to the road to see if the coast was clear. I
then burst into another life-preserving dash, this time to my
house, daring not to look back to see if anyone was after me.
It was an incredible feeling, of actually still being alive!
However, it was a long time before any of us ventured down that
part of the Hollow again.
I also remember the mad antics of us
rolling down the slopes, over by the wooden door that was set
in the corner of the St. Nick's hospital grounds wall. We would
climb into the large lorry tyre and hang on to it for dear life
as we turned head over heels, round and round, at an ever-increasing,
blurring, dizzy speed, crashing through gorse bushes, (this
added considerably to the danger, thus extracting the maximum
amount of fun) over these humps and bumps. (Added bonus was
who crashed into the hospital wall the hardest!)
Then there was the wicked 45-gallon steel
drum run (complete with jagged metal edges). Man, that
was sheer madness too! Rolling at breakneck speed to the bottom
of the hill, to emerge elated and quite battered, bruised and
often bleeding. Then having to wait again, impatiently, for
your turn again; for another mad ride, and then another and
another......
We certainly lived and played hard on
those there Common slopes.
Colin Weightman
(Just to add. It was none of us kids that rolled that other
tyre down Lakedale Road in the unfortunate incident that befell
poor little Joan Doling and her dolls pram! In her story; 'Joan
doling Reminiscenses')