Sylvias knickers.

Sylvia was a girl who sat opposite me in junior school; she was pretty with braided blonde hair and she had a haughtiness about her even at the tender age of eight. Her parents were Scandinavian and were always travelling somewhere or other, at any rate they weren’t seen very often. She endured my school only for as long as it took her parents to find somewhere more academically suited to her higher social class. I suppose all us kids came from the wrong side of the tracks to them, trouble was both sides of the tracks in Gorton was the wrong side.

Be that as it may, we were a happy band of ragamuffins ever ready to help each other for a price. That’s not as mercantile as it sounds, I’m talking sweets, marbles, a ball maybe or a catapult, all the usual junk that you might find in a kids pocket were bartering capital to get what you wanted. Some of us were more adept at this than others. One such chap was Billy Wrexham; he looked like the kid out of the Lassie films, was a great favourite with the girls and could charm the birds from the trees.

I was very fond of looking at girls knickers in those days, I still am only nowadays I don’t lie on the floor pretending to have tripped in order to look up girls skirts. Even as a kid I knew that there was more to girls than skipping and giggling, and that they would play an important part in my future. But for the time being I was content to admire and continue to take the skin of my knees playing my childish game.

For some reason I was besotted with Sylvia, whose aloofness only served to drive me to distraction, she wouldn’t speak to me and barely looked my way. But she was all over Billy bloody Wrexham, who made it obvious that he wanted nothing at all to do with her. So I formed a plan, Billy told me that she kept trying to kiss him, he would brush her aside of course and run away smartish, but she persisted. Now Billy had admired my football boots, and why not? They had been endorsed by Stanley Mathews the greatest footballer of the day.

I offered Billy a deal, all he had to do was kiss Sylvia in exchange for a look at her knickers, I would give him the boots, he would relate the experience to me and everybody would be happy. Sylvia would get her kiss, Billy would get the boots and I would find out (all be it by proxy) what her knickers looked like. This all sounds pervy I know but I was only a kid and second hand information was better than none I reasoned.

Billy put the proposition to Sylvia who told him that in addition to the kiss she would require some chocolate, she was fond of chocolate. So now I had to find some chocolate, Billy certainly wasn’t going to stump up a bar of five boys (Sylvias favourite chocolate bar) even Stanley Mathews boots weren’t worth that, and a kiss. The exchange was set for the next day after school, I had to think fast and I did; however I didn’t think sensibly.

I paid a visit to my cousins house in the next street, whilst there I knicked her skipping rope and then left to look for someone fool enough to swap them for the price of a bar of chocolate. A fool was soon found (Girlie Pete) and the chocolate along with my precious boots was stored in my school satchel ready for the next day.

Right about now your thinking the plonker is getting in deeper and deeper, and you would be right, this was just a taste of what lay in store for me later in life. Women equals trouble always has for me and I suppose as long as I breathe always will. The next day in school my eyes were never of the clock. It had become something more than just a means to an end. I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to do with the information when I got it, but it was important that I got it.

The school bell went at four-o clock and everyone rushed out of the gates to go home, Billy and I hung back and I gave him the currency to complete his mission. We were to meet later near the church on Gorton lane where he would relate what he had seen. I stood there for some considerable time. He didn’t show. Eventually I dragged myself home. There waiting for me was three sets of irate parents, there had been five sets of irate parents, but Billy and Sylvias Mum and Dad had left earlier after reading the riot act to my parents about what their children had been up to at my behest.

I received the first clip round the earhole from my aunt whose daughter I had stolen the skipping ropes from, my cousin seemed to take great enjoyment from this, I suppose I couldn’t blame her.

The second clip my quickly reddening earhole received was from the mother of Girlie Pete who had given me the money for the chocolate in exchange for the stolen skipping ropes, and who now had to give them back. He smirked as the blow landed. (I made a mental note to beat the shit out of him at the first opportunity)

The third and forth clips were delivered to my beleaguered earhole by my Mother and Father respectively. I was just glad that I had got there after Sylvia and Billy’s parents had gone otherwise I would have been forced to change earholes. I was given the bollocking of a lifetime, sent to bed and threatened with fifty years confinement to the house and no spends.

I lay in bed that night earholes throbbing like mad and thought well at least tomorrow I will get to find out from Billy what Sylvias knickers looked like. I approached Billy during the first playtime break and said in an expectant voice “Well, what was they like”. He carried on nonchalantly probing his conk and said “nufink special”. I growled at him “Waddaya mean nufink special” satisfied that his nose was empty he stopped picking “they were boring, just white and no pockets, cant have anyfink good in em wiv no pockets, so I didn’t look any more”.

I was devastated, incredulous, flabbergasted, you bloody fool I thought, nufink bloody good in em cos they had no bloody pockets. All the frustration and anger at the loss of my boots, the cauliflowering of my ears and my fifty year house arrest burst from me and I launched myself at this nose picking dimwit. It took two teachers to drag me off him, both of whom were shocked and surprised at the behaviour of a normally quiet and respectful boy like me.

I still mourn the loss of my boots and for some considerable time I continued to wonder what exactly it was Billy had seen that day. I was cured of the latter many years later after being stopped at the door of a night-club by a huge female bouncer who enquired as to my name. When I told her she said “Hiya Dave its me, Sylvia, I remember you from school” I nodded politely and entered the club. As I passed she called after me “See yer inside for a drink later” I thought oh God I hope not, she might offer to show me her knickers.