Cider Days by Julie Hubbard - March 2008

Mulling over the golden sphere in my hand, the images it evokes still hurt. 

I’ll never forget the cider day, it’s taste lingers.  It had started well enough, the sun high up in the sky, toasting the land to a golden crust.  We, that is all the gang  gathered in our white T shirts, old ripped jeans and baseball boots. It was  hard to distinguish the girls from the boys, eager to prove they were as tough as us..  We were sat in the river field, our favourite spot.

Most of us came from the big  council estate across the road, except for Posh boy, he lived in a private house.  Then we would  scrabble under the barbed wire, ignoring the private keep out sign on which Chunky embellished with rude drawings and spent the holidays lying around or swimming in the river.

It was the beginning of the summer holidays in 1975, we had all just turned fourteen and our spirits were as high as the cloudless skies.  All of us sure we knew it all.  I had just been passed the sacred ciggie, there was not much of it left and the end had began to go mushy from all the wet lips.  Unfazed  I inhaled very deeply and ended up coughing up my lungs and eyes streaming from the smoke which had burnt them.  Everyone fell about laughing, trust you Digby, that was my nickname I despised it, I was probably the least cool member of the group besides Skidders but hell at least they tolerated me even if it was because I was so stupid it made for good entertainment.  If you were going to be anybody in this world you had to be part of a gang. 

Tom cleared his throat as if to announce something very profound.

  “Well gang we have a real treat today as with my connections I have acquired some booze.”      

Wow! Tom was such a hero.

With his announcement we went wild, most of us had only ever managing to swig a bit of sherry at Christmas when our parents lay dozing.

Sharon produced rainbow coloured plastic Tupper ware beakers and Tom poured the cider from a giant plastic bottle, each measured carefully, god forbid anyone would get more than anyone else or fights would ensue.  The first mouthful was horrendous, it was the cheapest  scrumpy and made me convulse with it’s dung  aroma. 

  “This is good stuff!” I lied with a face like my granny sucking a lemon.           

We chuckled away at our own cleverness, after the third beaker the taste was irrelevant as the giggles punctuated every sentence uttered and random outbursts followed hysterics.  I could not see properly anymore, everything had gone misty and people started to swirl around.  Robert actually laughed so hard he wet his pants.  Chunky and Posh boy were stripping off their clothes and making loud whooping noises.  Next minute they had jumped into the murky depths of the river.

That’s when Tom came up with the idea,  that we should stay out all night and camp at Granny Wotton’s  house.  To reach it, you had to wade across the river to the other side into open countryside.  No one lived there anymore, crazy Granny Wotton had died a few years ago now,  and her son owned the cottage.  He lived away and did not seem to want the house, so it had begun to fall into disrepair becoming a haven for wildlife and unruly kids. 

Unsure of  whether I should do this, as I knew my parents would be worried but not wanting to wimp out  I reluctantly agreed, besides with the cider in my belly I  found  new courage and strength.

So we all started to wade across the river in a wobbly procession, every so often someone would topple over into the water.  On reaching the other side we spied Farmer Ward’s bull in the far corner.  Normally we would have all high tailed it back across the river as it was a vicious bastard but today we were invincible.  It soon spied us and sure enough  started ripping up through the field sending up a cloud of dust.

Everyone screamed and started legging it to the gate.  Trouble was it was going to reach it before we were.  Skidders ripped off his T shirt and started to wave it frantically. 

  “Come on you bastard!

“Skidders you lunatic run!”  I shrieked.

We all managed to reach the gate and leap over it in time thanks to Skidders  distraction.  Skidders meanwhile had managed to dodge the bull as it lunged for him and started towards the gate, he was within a whisker of it as the bull drove into his rear end sending him crashing into it.  Tom quick thinking as ever yelled and waved to distract and I pulled the almost unconscious Skidders over the gate.

  “Bloody hell! That was too close for comfort!” Skidders had rallied round and sat rubbing his bottom.   Everyone collapsed laughing from the adrenalin and the sheer relief of having escaped. We managed to reach  Granny Wotton’s house without further incident and started to rip away the boards on the windows.  Peering into the murky shadows we clambered into the front room.  There were still pieces of furniture left from when the old woman had lived here, that her son had not thought valuable and had left behind.  It gave the place  a still lived in feel and I for one did not care much for it. 

  “I wonder if it’s haunted, I bet Granny Wotton still walks the rooms at night”  said Tom in his creepy voice. 

  “Shut up tom! Your scaring me!”  said Sharon with dark eyes as big as saucers.

“Hey I’m sorry babe, but you can cuddle up to me, I’ll look after you”  Tom put one arm around her waist and the other on her bum, while winking at us.

Tom was such a ladies man, all us lads wanted to be him.

Sharon though was totally unimpressed and slapped him hard.

  “Get off you letch I’m not cheap you know!”

I was secretly pleased as I had always had a bit of a soft spot for Sharon and was glad she disapproved of Tom’s advances.

Tom looked a little hacked off but soon had everyone cheering when he produced another bottle of cider from his rucksack. 

  “I saved this for later and now we are going to party!”

We gathered wood and broke up bits of furniture piling them into the empty grate.  Then lit the biggest fire ever.  It kicked out a tremendous heat which was ridiculous on a sultry night but there is something about boys and fire that brings out  primeval instincts.

The party got going and everyone was having a good time, Skidders had a new party piece showing the massive purple bruise on his rear end, after a few more beakers of cider we split up and decided to explore the upstairs rooms to look for the ghost that we all knew was there.

I  went with Skidders, I floated up the stairs hardly able to feel my legs at all.  The roof was beginning to fall in and birds had took to nesting in the eaves.  There were still pictures on the walls in the hallway and even some family portraits.  One in particular caught my eye and I staggered across to take a closer look.  A rather prim severe looking woman with fishy grey eyes that seemed to follow me as I moved.  I could have sworn  that those eyes blinked, in an instant I sobered up.

The screams were piercing, Skidders looked terrified and I was all for legging it, but then I heard Sharon’s voice, pleading for Tom to get off her and leave her alone.  My blood ran cold, running up to the bedroom door, I took hold of an icy brass door knob and tried to turn it.  It would not budge,  my hands became sweaty and kept slipping off the finger worn sphere.  I could hear Sharon crying and was becoming desperate. Skidders had run back downstairs in panic.  I gave it one more hard turn and then it gave, leaving me with the door knob in my hand and the broken shaft hanging from the door.

I heard skidders voice shouting to me,

  “Digby the house is on fire get out!”

I banged and kicked on the panelled door furiously and shouted for all I was worth.  It seemed to be frozen.  Smoke started to drift up the stairway smarting my eyes and stinging my throat.  I couldn’t think straight, I was panicking my courage failed me and I ran back downstairs into a sea of smoke, struggling to breathe I managed to fight my way out through the broken window.   

I saw the gang huddled outside, all looking like lost little children.

  “Where’s Tom and Sharon?”  said Posh boy.

At that moment the sound of breaking glass distracted us and we saw Tom at the bedroom window.  He was screaming and frantically waving his arms.  The cottage was burning fast now and the ground floors were impassable.  Everyone started to yell at him to jump.  He hesitated for a minute before leaping from the building and hitting the ground hard.       

In the confusion I had forgotten about Sharon, how could I? and as I looked up I caught a glimpse of her pale face ghostly against the red backdrop of flames.  I screamed at her to jump but she seemed to be in shock and unsure what to do.  Then she turned away from the window. 

We were never a gang again, none of us wanted to be reminded.

I don’t know why I hung on to the door knob, I found it in my pocket the next day and now it acts as my reminder lest I ever should forget.

THE END