R
Robert Harrison
Guest
Tommy pushed hard on the peddles of his old three wheeled bike. To young to remember if it was his own bike, and if it was who gave it to him. Somewhere back in his young memory a picture formed of a dimly lit room crowded with people who he knew or at least he thought he knew. There was singing and a lot of noise and bright coloured paper hung from the low ceiling. He dismissed the faint memory as being of little importance and concentrated on reaching the entry that led to the road.
The blue cobbles made the handlebars of the bike wobble in his small hands, and there were times when he crashed into a Privet hedge or lopsided paling fence which divided the small front gardens from the cobbled walkway which itself was bordered by a high brick wall. Sparrows chirruped and argued over a crust of bread atop the wall, sometimes flying to the pathway to pick up crumbs, then to fly once again to the top of the wall to join in the fray. Tommy liked the Sparrows; he liked their cheerful chirruping and their cheeky ways. Though only two and a bit years of age Tommy could tell the male Sparrow from the female, but had yet to tell which were Tree Sparrows and which were House Sparrows. It did not matter for they were all his friends or so he imagined.
Tommy got off he bike to put back the hard rubber tire that on occasion would come off the front wheel. He carefully fitted it into the grove that ran round the inside of the metal wheel, being careful not to get it twisted. Tommy was a very smart young lad for his age, he knew that it he stood on the top step of his house he could see some of the washing that hung on the lines in the secret place on the other side of the wall. Sometimes if he were lucky he would see the washing go up and down, pushed up by a long pole with a notch in the end. He was amazed to see the change of clothing that would miraculously replace the cloths that he first saw hanging limply from the piece of rope that went towards the houses on the other side of the wall.
The sparrows had gone now, flying to the roof of the house, which was built over the dark entry, which led to the road. Tommy had often stood near the entries entrance but as yet had never ventured into the dark cavern. It was built like a railway tunnel that he had seen in his picture books, but the entry was much small than the tunnel the trains ran through. Tommy would shout into the dark entrance and step back quickly when the hollow sound of his voice came back at him. He would give a frightened laugh and run back up the cobbled path towards his front gate, then look back to see that the voice was not following him.
The tire was back on the front wheel and Tommy peddled towards the dark entrance to the entry. When he was about ten feet away he took his feet of the pedals and used his feet to walk his bike along. He stopped about two feet from the entrance and just sat there. He twisted the loose rubber handle bar grips first forward and then back again, forward and back. His little feet moved the bike an inch forward and stopped.
Oi, he shouted, and as the echo came back to him he gripped the handlebars tighter. This time he did not turn and run but sat there looking round to see if anyone was about. The only sound he heard was music coming from one of the houses. It comforted him and a voice of a woman on the other side of the wall added to that comfort. He leaned forward over the handlebars as far as his small body would let him. Oi, Oi, he shouted again, and again the echo came back Oi,’Oi. He sat there for a while not understanding who was shouting back at him. Was there another little boy in the entry just like himself, if there were then he was older as his voice was different to his. Oi, Oi, Oi, Oi. Back came the answer, only this time the last Oi was softer. Perhaps he is going away thought Tommy. He unconsciously moved towards the entries opening and found himself at the very entrance, closer than he had ever been before, only this time he was not afraid for there was someone else in there living in the dark.
Still sitting on his bike he looked up at the curved roof and saw that it was not all in darkness, Tommy could see partway into the tunnel. He saw that it was made of red brick, the same brick that his own house was made of, but along the sides of the walls there were deep marks all about the same hight, as if someone had used a stick to gouge them out. Lower down there were also marks only shorter. The cobbles that disappeared into the darkness were worn as if they had sunk in the middle. To Tommys young mind this was a mystery indeed.
It was then that he heard voices coming from the darkness, muffled at first then he heard two men speaking and a scraping noise, scraping on then off, on then off. Tommy picked up his bike and straddling it he ran as fast as he could to the safety of his front gate. He turned round and saw two men walking side by side emerging from the entry, one was pushing his bicycle and one of the handle bars was scraping along the wall as was one of the peddles, just at the hight where all of the other marks on the wall were. Tommy somehow managed to work out that the entry was not wide enough for two men and a bicycle.
In the back of his young mind the sudden realization came to him that he had indeed been in the entry before, a long time ago or so it seemed. He remembered being in his pram and the hood was up. He remembered that one minute there was light and then darkness and light again, and noise and bustle and faces looking at him, and people speaking. Then the thought disappeared, it was dinnertime.
The blue cobbles made the handlebars of the bike wobble in his small hands, and there were times when he crashed into a Privet hedge or lopsided paling fence which divided the small front gardens from the cobbled walkway which itself was bordered by a high brick wall. Sparrows chirruped and argued over a crust of bread atop the wall, sometimes flying to the pathway to pick up crumbs, then to fly once again to the top of the wall to join in the fray. Tommy liked the Sparrows; he liked their cheerful chirruping and their cheeky ways. Though only two and a bit years of age Tommy could tell the male Sparrow from the female, but had yet to tell which were Tree Sparrows and which were House Sparrows. It did not matter for they were all his friends or so he imagined.
Tommy got off he bike to put back the hard rubber tire that on occasion would come off the front wheel. He carefully fitted it into the grove that ran round the inside of the metal wheel, being careful not to get it twisted. Tommy was a very smart young lad for his age, he knew that it he stood on the top step of his house he could see some of the washing that hung on the lines in the secret place on the other side of the wall. Sometimes if he were lucky he would see the washing go up and down, pushed up by a long pole with a notch in the end. He was amazed to see the change of clothing that would miraculously replace the cloths that he first saw hanging limply from the piece of rope that went towards the houses on the other side of the wall.
The sparrows had gone now, flying to the roof of the house, which was built over the dark entry, which led to the road. Tommy had often stood near the entries entrance but as yet had never ventured into the dark cavern. It was built like a railway tunnel that he had seen in his picture books, but the entry was much small than the tunnel the trains ran through. Tommy would shout into the dark entrance and step back quickly when the hollow sound of his voice came back at him. He would give a frightened laugh and run back up the cobbled path towards his front gate, then look back to see that the voice was not following him.
The tire was back on the front wheel and Tommy peddled towards the dark entrance to the entry. When he was about ten feet away he took his feet of the pedals and used his feet to walk his bike along. He stopped about two feet from the entrance and just sat there. He twisted the loose rubber handle bar grips first forward and then back again, forward and back. His little feet moved the bike an inch forward and stopped.
Oi, he shouted, and as the echo came back to him he gripped the handlebars tighter. This time he did not turn and run but sat there looking round to see if anyone was about. The only sound he heard was music coming from one of the houses. It comforted him and a voice of a woman on the other side of the wall added to that comfort. He leaned forward over the handlebars as far as his small body would let him. Oi, Oi, he shouted again, and again the echo came back Oi,’Oi. He sat there for a while not understanding who was shouting back at him. Was there another little boy in the entry just like himself, if there were then he was older as his voice was different to his. Oi, Oi, Oi, Oi. Back came the answer, only this time the last Oi was softer. Perhaps he is going away thought Tommy. He unconsciously moved towards the entries opening and found himself at the very entrance, closer than he had ever been before, only this time he was not afraid for there was someone else in there living in the dark.
Still sitting on his bike he looked up at the curved roof and saw that it was not all in darkness, Tommy could see partway into the tunnel. He saw that it was made of red brick, the same brick that his own house was made of, but along the sides of the walls there were deep marks all about the same hight, as if someone had used a stick to gouge them out. Lower down there were also marks only shorter. The cobbles that disappeared into the darkness were worn as if they had sunk in the middle. To Tommys young mind this was a mystery indeed.
It was then that he heard voices coming from the darkness, muffled at first then he heard two men speaking and a scraping noise, scraping on then off, on then off. Tommy picked up his bike and straddling it he ran as fast as he could to the safety of his front gate. He turned round and saw two men walking side by side emerging from the entry, one was pushing his bicycle and one of the handle bars was scraping along the wall as was one of the peddles, just at the hight where all of the other marks on the wall were. Tommy somehow managed to work out that the entry was not wide enough for two men and a bicycle.
In the back of his young mind the sudden realization came to him that he had indeed been in the entry before, a long time ago or so it seemed. He remembered being in his pram and the hood was up. He remembered that one minute there was light and then darkness and light again, and noise and bustle and faces looking at him, and people speaking. Then the thought disappeared, it was dinnertime.
