Grumbling all the time, Mrs Hodges led the way to her home. As Jon carried his case and the shopping bag, his large floppy cap fell further down over his forehead and ears. Several times Mrs Hodges stopped to talk to an acquaintance.
"Whatve you got there?" asked a stout woman with bottles in her shopping bag.
"Boy from Orphanage," replied Mrs Hodges. "Mr Hodges thinks it proper tave boy from Orphanage. Looks a nutter to me. Never said a word, e asnt", Mrs Hodges squinted at Jon. Temporarily lost for words, Jon stood his ground and stared back. "Come on, boy. Get a move on. can't stop talking all morning." Jon gave a small shrug and followed on as before past rows of neat terraced houses, windows shining, doorsteps scrubbed, and immaculate handkerchief sized lawns. Net curtains were on all the downstairs windows, the inside hanging curtains all hung to perfection. Sterility pervaded the air, there were no flowers, no trees, just perfectly trimmed hedges and tidy brick walls. It even looked as if the roads were scrubbed.
They turned into a house with a granite sundial in the middle of the gravel laid out immaculately instead of a lawn.
Mrs Hodges rang the bell. "ere we are, Mr Hodges. ere is the boy from Orphanage. You just tell im what to do, and then e can take is suitcase upstairs. First door on the right." That was the introduction to life with the Hodges. Mr Hodges was tall and thin with a stoop, small rimless glasses, and wavering tapered veined hands. He smelled of must. The house was so clinically clean, polished, scrubbed and tidy, that it seemed no one actually lived there.
"Well, Inglis, you are to work across the road at Potters Electrics. Think yourself lucky that they are prepared to give you some form of apprenticeship. Start the day at 7.30, and finish at 6. That will take up most of your time. Before you go you have to light the kitchen boiler, clean what shoes are left out, and make sure the coals are ready for the day." Mr Hodges droned on in a monotone.
"Yes, sir," was all Jon could chip in, his spirits falling.
"You will get an evening meal with us, and mind you're thankful for it. Therell be bread and dripping for breakfast, and the mid-day break will be taken at Potters. The cost will come out of your wages, which will be 5/-d a week. The Orphanage are paying us for your keep. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes sir," answered Jon, but questions were tumbling around in his head.
"Sunday is a rest day, but you must come to Chapel with us twice. You stop work on Saturday at 3 p.m. Then you must come back here and help with the work. Youll be kept busy, never fear. Now go to your room and come down for supper at 6.pm. Understand?" The voice went droning on, immaculately spoken but lifeless.
Might as well be a machine, Jon thought. What about free time? What about meeting people? This lot are awful. Cold and heartless He opened the door on the right. Not this! Its worse than before! Why, I could eat off the floor. The room had a window which opened on to a small courtyard, and looked onto the neighbours back wall. The grey brick reflected an unwelcoming dull light into the room. The iron bedstead looked as bleak as the one he had just left, the bedspread was white and clinically turned in at each corner. A bare table and wooden chair were the only other pieces of movable furniture, no mirror, no pictures. There was one built-in cupboard with hooks for hanging clothes and there were some shelves. Jons small possessions looked lost amongst all the space. There was five hours to go till suppertime, he had no money, no book to read, and no pencil or paper.
Nervously he went downstairs. "That you, Inglis? What dyou want?" Mrs Hodges asked, poking her head round the kitchen door.
"May I go out?" Jon asked. "Its a long time till supper."
"First of all, you chop that wood. can't have you idling around. Plenty of work to do here." Mrs Hodges gloated over the power she had. can't protest at this stage, mused Jon, as he wielded the chopper. Seems though I'm still going to be hungry. Must be my lot in this world.
Potters seemed to contain a world of bullies. From out of his small weekly wage Jon paid 2/6d for his lunches, good solid food, dull but liberally served. No one spoke to him, - and he heard himself often referred to as "the Orphanage boy." He was made to run errands, sweep, tidy up, make the tea, and do countless unproductive chores. In the first week he learnt nothing to do with the electrical world, but he watched carefully and remembered the names of the appliances. At night he went back to his lodgings, tired and dispirited. This routine continued for several weeks, Jons morale wavered from low to very low.
One evening he returned to the usual smell of polish and boiled cabbage. He walked quietly through the hall, but as he started up the stairs he heard Mrs Hodges voice.
"My Mr Hodges, now es a real good man. Fixed up to have an Orphanage boy, e did." There were murmurs from the visitors in the kitchen area. "Not many would do that," continued Mrs Hodges. "We've taken im in, little red eaded rascal. ad im several weeks now. Never trust a red ead, I say. We've given him everything that wed have given our own son, if wed ad one. Sure Minister ll be pleased with us. Got a real ome, e as. Not many has done as we ave. All for nothing too, just for God." On and on she droned.
Furious and hurt, Jon went upstairs. can't bear this, the bloody hypocrite. All for nothing. Rubbish. Orphanage pay them, and I do all the work. Crabby old bitch. Must try and move on. Havent got much saved, but nothings happening thats helpful. Wish Bell were here. No one to talk to.
Jon was silent at supper that night. He toyed with his kipper and two boiled potatoes. He watched the Hodges closely, and saw that after their frugal meal, Mr Hodges sat himself in the hardbacked chair and made a barricade around himself of the local paper. Jon and Mrs Hodges washed up, skimming round the edge of the occupied chair.
"Come on, boy," grated Mrs Hodges, "you're alf asleep tonight. There's plenty more to do when this is finished. Its Saturday today and you Won't be...."
"Please, Mrs Hodges," Jon chipped in boldly. "I've been here several weeks now. I've saved some money. Id like to go in to Leeds centre. Its my first bit of free time."
"Ungrateful child. You've come to Leeds to work. Didnt Orphanage tell you that." She was put out by Jons request.
"Let him go," came Mr Hodges voice from behind the paper. "He can't get into trouble on one night in the month."
"Thank you, sir," Jon replied quickly. "Ill let myself in, and lock the door behind me." -
"Dont like the sound of this," moaned Mrs Hodges. "What about the lawn, and the weeds on the gravel. There's plenty to do still in this place."
Jon disappeared quickly up to his room, avoiding further complications and housework. He put on his cap, flung his coat over his shoulder and with what money he could muster, he went downstairs.
"Goodnight, sir," he called from the hall.
"Be back by eleven oclock. Thats plenty late enough for a young'un." Mr Hodges did not remove the paper to talk to Jon. "Dont get into trouble."
"Ill be alright," said Jon cheerily. "Course I will." He said that more to kid himself than to impress Mr Hodges. "Goodnight, sir," he said again, and let himself out of the door. Free for a whole evening. But to do what? I've no idea. Got 10/- in my pocket. Think I'll just walk and have a look see. Get some grub later on. But where do I get it? I dunno. Mustnt forget the way back. My! this is fun.
Jon walked back to the bus stop where he arrived , and then along a wide street with shops on either side. Shops, shops, everywhere, bookshops, grocers, chemists, banks, not just one but several. Much, much bigger than Whitby. Dont remember Newcastle like this. So many people, buying and walking. So much traffic. Bet the horses dont like all the cars lumbering by them. He started to look carefully in at the windows, to see the prices that were being asked. Blimey, 20/- for a suit! 1d for a pound of taters. Thats not much. Prhaps I'll get used to working it all out, what I can buy and what I cant. Xpect its mostly cant.
He walked on to a large stationer. He went inside, and bought an evening paper. It cost a whole penny. First purchase. Now what?He then bought a small bar of chocolate and some biscuits which he selected from large tins, and put them in a brown paper bag. He went outside, and found a low wall. He sat down, the sun warming his face, ate some of the food, and glanced at the paper. Its all about Leeds. Thats funny. Now, just look at these adverts. All these hotels wanting help in the kitchens. Right, I could do that - easily. Bother, it wants a telephone call to fix an appointment. can't do that. Dont know how to work the damned machine. Ah, look at this. Personal enquiries welcome. Interviews granted between 5 & 9 pm on Saturday. At the Kings Arms hotel. Fired with enthusiasm Jon approached a policeman and asked for directions to the Kings Arms hotel. That hotel was situated on the edge of a park, about half a mile away. Jon walked as fast as he could and when he saw the outside of the huge place he hung back. Its enormous. Even bigger than Orphanage. Here goes. Up the steps and then lets see.
Jon climbed up the shallow marble stairs, and having remembered to take off his cap, he approached the reception desk where an older man, brass buttons down both sides of his brown uniform asked him what he wanted.
"Young boy," the receptionist replied, when Jon explained his mission. "You dont use the front door. Go round the side to the servants quarters. Thats the door for you. Ask for the Chief Steward. And best for you to be civil, mighty civil." He turned to look at his documents.
Quickly Jon scuttered down the marble stairs, and less quickly sought out the side door.
"Chief Steward please," Jon asked the young girl who opened the door.
"Not another," moaned the girl. "But cum in. At least yer a bit different. Red air, an old fashioned suit. Some that as come are ol an diry. Think Stew, thats our boss, ll like yer. Cum on in. Sit ye therr."
After a few minutes the Chief Steward, nicknamed Stew, came in. "Ullo, littleun. Want a job? WHere's yer Mammy? WHere's yer ome?"
"I aint got no Mammy, and I aint got no home. Living with Hodges and working as apprentice. Orphanage pays Hodges. But sir, I ate the Hodges. I'm not learning anything either. Work ard I will, sir. Had to work ard at Orphanage. Used to working ard." Jon did not know how to sell himself. He felt confused and hopeless, feeling that he was loosing the opportunities of escape. "I'm on the small side, sir, but I'm strong. Played a lot of sport, sir, I ave. Football, and boxing. Never get tired, sir."
The Stew interrupted. "Dont take on so, laddie. Like yer looks I do. Younguns better than oldies. Easier to teach em our ways. What abou em Hodges. Best yer tell em.
"When can I start, sir? Could I come tomorra?" Jon asked easily.
"But yer dont know conditions of service, Inglis. Wha abou quarters? Yeve not even seem em."
"Anythins better than Hodges. Its like a prison with them. Seems I've been there ages. This is my first evenin off. Let me start tomorra." Jon pleaded as well as he could.
"Alri, alri," consented Stew. "You cum along an ask for me. I'll fix you oop wi proper clothes. can't ave you servin customers lookin some summat ou a Dickens. Youll be the under waiter. Front rooms."
"Ill leave note with Hodges. Can I come before breakfast? Won't be any bother if There's nothing to do," more at ease Jons speech started to loose its accent.
"Alri, alri. Five shillins a week, and tips. Long hours they are. One ole day orf a week. Will get in touch with Gym scout. Hes lookin for youngsters. Go to gymnasium on yer day orf. Keep yer outa mischief." Stew sounded enthusiastic with the arrangement. Jon left the hotel, golden visions of his new future swam before his eyes.
He opened the Hodges door quietly, and walked up the stairs in a normal way, no creeping around.
"I'm back, sir, goodnight," he called towards the half-open kitchen door. He wrote a note saying, Sir, I have not been happy here. I have found more work and accommodation in Leeds. I leave 5/- for any debts that I might owe you. I hope Sister Mary will understand. I did not like feeling I was a servant. You will have to tell Potters. He signed it Jon Inglis.
Dont expect they knew I had another name. Whew, what an excitement. And Potters Electrics can stuff it. Now I've got to creep out as it gets light. Try for six oclock. Hodges should still be asleep. Thank goodness I've not much to carry. Dont think my suit is odd. We all looked like this. What will tomorrow bring? What will the Hodges say when they go to Chapel. Should like to hear the excuse they make for me not being there.
Jon quickly packed his small case, and sat on the end of the bed dozing, too fearful to fall into a deep sleep. He heard the church clock chime, four, five, six, and then he heard the rattle of the milkman on his early Sunday round. Time now. Here goes. In his stockinged feet he crept down the stairs, and quietly opened the front door. Everything was so efficiently oiled in that household that nothing squeaked. Still in his stockinged feet he hobbled out to the pavement, his breath making puffs of smoke like a steam engine. At a safe distance he put his shoes on, drew his coat round his throat, and strode out towards the town, carrying his small case. The milk float and stray cats were the only evidence of life on the street. With his head held high, and shoulders braced, he felt as if he owned the world.
"Yer early bird," laughed Stew, when Jon had tracked him down in the pantry which was off the kitchen. "Everyone, this be Inglis." Stew waved his hand to the group assembled round the large wooden table. "Hes going to take laddies place that left last week, in front rooms." Then came a stream of names, so Jon just smiled. "Yer not on duty yet," said Stew, "so stock up wiv plenty o breakfast. Tea and toast on working days, thats all." There were good humoured moans from the men, and the few boys. "Then come to clothing store. Yer need to be fixed oop."
Two pairs of black trousers and two white shirts and one black tie were winkled out of a cupboard full of trousers and other assorted garments.
"Get iron to this lot, me boy, and report to me at Stewards Bar at 11 am. Show you the ropes. Then yer on yer own. Get friendly with fellas an theyll help. Put tips in box on counter. All get a cut tha way. But yerll get leastest. Now orf yer go. Rooms at top o otel. Number 25." Jon appreciated the precise information which Stew let flow. He climbed up the back stairs to the very top floor, all seven stories. Bedroom same as at Hodges, but what a view! The whole of Leeds lay carpeted before him, plenty to watch and plenty of lovely air. With tuition from an older boy who was ironing clothes himself, Jon managed to present a reasonable picture with his tie straight and his usually unruly hair watered well down.
"Here I am sir, dying to get started." Jons enthusiasm was infectious.
"Lor luvaduck,!" laughed Stew. "Dont think youll be tha keen by te-night." A detailed account of his duties soon set Jon on his way, collecting cups, taking orders, taking money, and sweeping crumbs. He was specifically told not to deal with orders for alcoholic drinks on account of his age: he had to be sixteen for that.
The first week fled by. In spite of aching legs and lower back, Jon was quite content with his lot. Good food, money coming in, and proper men to talk to. There were women who cleaned the rooms, but there seemed an unwritten law that the stewards, however lowly, did not mix in with them. Tuesday was his day off, and as instructed he went straight to the - gym.
"Youre a bit of a shorty," laughed Muscles, the one and only name that Jon had heard the Gymnastic instructor called. "Build you up a bit we must. Girls dont like shorties that much. Stew tells me you're a footballer and can box. True, eh?"
"At Orphanage I played lots of football, sir. In the team, I was. Quite good I was, sir, but kept on getting into trouble and stopped from playing. Not so keen on boxing, sir, but I'm stronger than I look. Worked on farm I did. I'll toughen up with good food, sir. Always hungry before, sir. Its better now." Again Jon felt the need to create a good impression, being put down for so long had left its mark.
"Football team is full up with a waiting list. I'll put you down for boxing coaching. That starts in an hour. Bay three. I'll tell Fisty you're coming. Hes a bit of a bully, but hes good at his job." Muscles started to laugh. "Cant have you all smashed up, then girls would never look at you."
Girls, girls, thats the second time Muscles mentioned them. Do I look that odd? Thought my face was O.K. Hairs bit of a nuisance. Makes me conspicious. No time for girls at the moment. Dash it I'm not yet sixteen.. Know what to do with them, but not when. Sad about the football though. I was so much one of the best at Orphanage. Never mind, one thing at a time. Off into the Boxing world.
Fisty had the face of man who had been in the ring for many years. It was nobbly, shiny and nose and ears were somehow in the wrong place. Huge shoulders and long arms made him an awesome character.
"Cumarn, Inglis. On guard. Snap to it." Taken aback Jon quickly got into his boxing stance. He was unprepared and ill-equipped wearing his slippery black shoes that belonged to the hotel. Fisty loomed over him. Jons arms flayed like windmills. He felt like a mosquito attacking a giant. Fisty laughed.
"O.K. O.K. Well make boxer outta yer. Not afeared o me yer wasnt. Get some togs. This toime next week, I'll get yer goin."
"Thank you, Fisty, sir. I'll be there." Jon stayed in the gymnasium till it closed using what facilities that he was allowed.
In his off duty periods Jon found the boxing an ideal recreation, but he also found he ø-(: - had a lot to learn. With practise and under careful instruction he quickly developed a dig on the punch bag which made him realise that he might progress quite well in the sport. But it was a different matter the first time he was called into the ring at short notice as a substitute sparing partner. His opponent was an middle aged man, who had been a professional boxer in his youth. Unceremoniously Jons legs buckled from a right cross to the jaw and he was on the canvas. Still seeing stars he was bustled off and the next sparring partner was called in to replace him. It was Jons first lesson of controlled violence. Getting into the ring with a pro of such a calibre, even though elderly proved how callously sparring partners were treated as punching fodder. There was no sentiment, and once in the ring there was no outside help. Jon realised from this knock-out that he must change his style from an upright stance going forward to a crouching style, not using the straight left, but hooking.
Learning his trade, learning to box, and learning to meet the public kept Jon busy for several months. With the good food he grew several inches, and from the reaction of his younger female customers he grew in sexual attraction. He had now turned sixteen but looked older. Stew was pleased with his work, and promoted him up the ladder and allowed him to work behind the bar as well as up front. Stew also advised him to open a Post Office account.
"Lord, whats that?" Jon asked. "What would the Post Office want with a few shillings?"
"Do as I say," Stew insisted. "Always best to have savings."
"Cant think what for. Got money for things now. Why worry about tommorrow? I dont need much."
"Not naow, but p'raps. Youn' gels like presents. Youn' gels like parties. You mark my words, young man."
"Not gotta girl," muttered Jon. But he negotiated a Post Office Book and opened it with three shillings.
To Jon life seemed like a budding flower, each petal opening up to a new circumstance upon which the sun shone kindly, the weeks turning into months and the months into two years. The work was hard and tedious, some of the customers difficult to please, some over generous with their tips. With the boxing, the routines in the gymnasium, and the adequate food Jon developed into a chunky youngster, his flaming red hair and cheeky blue eyes bringing many comments, some caustic, some pleasing.
One night while serving coffee he accidently touched the hand of a young girl. She was at a corner table sitting quietly with her parents, looking bored. The electric current that passed between them caused their eyes to meet. Silent unspoken messages flashed. Jon gave the semblance of a wink. The girl gave the semblance of a nod.
When there was a slack moment between duties, Jon went to the reception desk.
"Hi, there," he called to the elderly receptionist. "Whats the name of the family of three, two parents and a young girl?"
The receptionist looked at his list. "Thatd be the Sinclairs. Parents have balcony room, young girl is up on fifth floor. Mind your step, Inglis. Dont want trouble."
"Go on," laughed Jon. "She looked so bored. Mighty fine filly she be though. Thanks for what you've said. ll watch out for her at breakfast and see if shes any happier."
Not likely, I Won't laughed Jon to himself. I'll parade that corridor and catch her as she goes up stairs. Now I'm beginning to get the feeling. Sure Clayton didnt have this feeling with Sister Jane.
That night Jon asked if he could be excused from his very late duties. He finished at 10 p.m. On his way up to the top of the hotel he peered into the television room, and saw the girl half asleep dreamily watching a programme that totally absorbed her parents. She caught the sight of Jon, and again an imperceptible nod.
Gosh, things are going fast, he said to himself. After changing into casual clothes he went to the fifth floor and busied himself in the broom cupboard pretending to clean some shoes. Soon he heard light footsteps. It was the girl.
"Hullo," she said, as if it were the most usual occurence to find the waiter in the broom cupboard. "I'm Elspeth. And I'm bored stiff. I've left my parents watching that awful programme, and told them I'm off to bed. They Won't come up, they never do. Just a nuisance to them, I am. Look, can we go somewhere? Have a drink? What about the back stairs?"
Jon dumbfounded at her self-assurance nodded. He was too taken aback to say a word. "I'll go and get a coat. You O.K as you are?" Jon nodded. "You've a tongue, havent you?" chided Elspeth. "Do you want to come or dont you?"
"Course I do," Jon found some words, angry with himself for being so gauche. They took the lift straight to the basement.
"Now what?" again Jon felt incompetent. "Got plenty of money. You chose. Not used to this, I'm not."
"Handsome you are," teased Elspeth, "but you seem mighty innocent, or is it all put on? Dont tell me you're a virgin." She started to giggle, not waiting for an answer.
Three drinks and an hour later, Elspeth led him out of the smokey pub that they had chosen. "Gorgeous moonlight," Elspeth commented. "Too soon to go back to the hotel, or do you prefer a bed?"
Beautiful though she was, sexually vibrant and self assured, Jon felt pulled between the urge between his thighs and his dislike for her forwardness. The urge and tingles won. "You chose," he said. "The moon is lovely and a park is not far off. I'm not sure... "
"Come on, sissy, its only midnight. The park it is. You show the way." Elspeth, eager now, walked fast. "Look... those bushes. they're probably hollow inside. Put your jacket down and with my coat well be fine. No onell see us." Jon made everything as smooth as possible. He breathed heavily, nervous and excited.
"Know what to do, do you?" Elspeth was fiddling with her skirt. "Come on, lets have a kiss first."
Sitting beside her Jon took her in his arms, awkwardly. He kissed her lips, and she responded opening her teeth. "Now, your tongue. Thats better," she murmured through the side of her mouth. Then the natural flow of the sexual pattern took over. More and more excited, Jon dealt with each stage as if he was an old hand, and finally with a huge explosion from inside him, it was all over, and he lay exhausted. Elspeth was quite rigid. "Youre no good," she said. "Didnt give me time to come. Thought you were a beginner, and you were. Never mind. can't all be winners."
"I. ..er. Sorry," Jon started to mutter. "Thought that was what was wanted." Seeing her frown, he said, "Lets get back. Youre a beautiful girl, but I'm wasnt good enough for you, so thats that. Maybe some one elses done better."
"Too right you are. But no ill feelings."
Purposefully, but without touching they both walked back to the hotel. The journey to the their bedrooms was unnoticed. Jons introduction into the world of a girls needs had had a sorry start. Fortunately Elspeth and her dreary parents left the next day. She was the first of many ships to pass in the night.
Boxing had the same magnetic effect upon Jon that football had held. In every spare moment Jon went to the gymnasium; he grew stronger and stronger and more skillful. Another stage was reached when Fisty suggested that Jon should enter for a regular series of six round contests with the local clubs. At these clubs the standard was not very high, and Fisty explained that Jon could learn the competitive trade without being facially damaged or bruised. At Exhibition matches he would receive a small payment.
"More doors opening for me, Fisty," Jon exclaimed gleefully. "I've had several victories so far, so soon I'll start to be making a name for myself."
"Dont get too big for yer boots, Inglis. Never know whats coming next."
"Point taken," said Jon with a laugh.
Even though life was treating him kindly, with plenty of warm food, good friends, together with the outlet of his ever more successful boxing ploys Jon wondered if he was in a rut.
"Stew, sir," having just celebrated his seventeenth birthday Jon approached the older man.
"Sir, I was just wondering if..."
"Wots bitten yer, me boy? Not enough money? Want promotion? Yer all be same. Work ere for a bit, get trained, then yer get edgy. Want orf, me boy? Is thait?"
"I never said, Stew, sir." Jon tried to sound certain of his feelings. "Dont rightly know, sir. Feel I'm able to do more, sir."
"eard tha before," Stew sounded hurt. "Bin ere twenty years. Good enough fer me, it is. Bit young an green yer are for fartin abou. Yer best stay ere. Loike yer, Oi do. Maybe lift yer oop a bi."
"I'm alright, really sir. Just had a feeling. I'm seventeen now, so There's lots of time. Bin good to me, you have, sir. No ill feelings, sir?"
"Used ter it." Stew replied with a laugh, and turned away.
The next time Jon went to the Gymnasium, Fisty had an idea which was eventually to change the pattern of Jons life.