âI got a post card from Nutter, today,â says Sid, pushing away his tea cup as if he never wanted to see one again â with Mumâs tea you feel like that.
âThatâs nice. How is he?â I say.
âDifficult to tell. Most of it has been crossed out by the censors. He seems a bit under the weather, though â not surprising when you think how much it rains over there.â Sid laughs heartlessly.
I pick up the postcard: âThe paddy fields, Ho-lung-ti.â
âIt looks nice, doesnât it,â I say. âThe mountains and all that in the background.â
âBlooming marvellous,â says Sid. âI envy those boys, really I do. Doing away with National Service was the worst thing we ever did in this country. I remember how disappointed I was when they stopped it just before I was due to be called up.â
âWhy didnât you sign on, then?â
Sid looks uncomfortable. âIt wouldnât have been the same, would it? I mean, I wanted to go in with all my mates, didnât I?â
âThey could have signed on as well, Sid.â
Sid shakes his head. âNot everybody feels the same as I do about this septic isle, Timmo. Iâve only got to hear the opening bars of Land Of Hope And Glory and Iâm rummaging through Rosieâs Kleenex.â
I tear my mind away from this affecting thought and examine the postcard. The first word is scratched out and followed by âyouâ and an exclamation mark. Then comes another âyouâ followed by three words that have been crossed out followed by a double exclamation mark. Fortunately, though it would have been unfortunately, had I been of a sensitive disposition, I can still read one of the crossed-out words.
âI donât reckon it was the blokes in Taiwan that censored this, Sid,â I say. âIt must have been our lot. Nutter isnât half having a go at you.â
Not that I blame the poor sod. If you read Confessions of a Pop Star you will recall that Nutter and a group called âKipperâ were rail-roaded out to Taiwan, that used to be Formosa like Alvin Stardust used to be Shane Fenton, by Sidney Noggett who still is my brother-in-law. They thought they were going to promote their chart-busting record but Sidney had arranged for them to promote the Taiwanese war effort by signing them on for five years in Chiang Kai-Shekâs army. Sidney does not usually go to this amount of trouble for people unless they are costing him money and there is little doubt that âKipperâ were becoming an expensive luxury.
Sid picks up the postcard. âItâs a nice stamp, though, isnât it? Iâll save that for little Jason.â
âYou never think about them, do you?â I accuse. âThousands of miles from home and with none of their own kind near them.â
âThey never have any of their own kind near them,â says Sid, bitterly. âYou tell me one person who is as greedy, lazy and useless as they are.â
âI donât want to hurt your feelings, Sid,â I say after I have thought about it for a minute.
Sidney waggles his finger at me. âThatâs very naughty, Timmo. You know how sensitive I am.â
I take a long look at the poor little suffering tea leaves at the bottom of my cup and decide to change the subject. âWhatâs this new idea of yours, Sid?â I ask.
âItâs a gold mine,â says Sid.
My heart sinks. I can just see it. Some clapped out National Coal Board reject that Sid has been conned into buying. Broken down lifts, flooded galleries, no pit head baths, worked out seams. And who will end up thousands of feet below the earth with a Mickey Mouse torch tied to his bonce and a kiddyâs spade in his mitt? Thatâs right, yours bleeding truly.
âIâm sorry, Sid,â I say. âI donât want any part of it.â
âBut you havenât heard what it is yet!â
âI donât care about the details. Iâm not going down any mine.â
Sidney claws the air in exasperation. âI was talking metaphysically, wasnât I? I donât mean a real gold mine. I never fancied mines after I saw Shaft.â
âShaft wasnât about mining, Sid.â
âYou mean that big, black bloke didnât have coal dust all over his mug?â
âNo, Sid! He was born like that.â Honestly, you worry sometimes, donât you? They say that there are over a million illiterates in the country and I reckon that they lie pretty thick around Scraggs Lane.
âOh,â says Sid. âThat explains a lot of things.â
âWhat about the new idea?â I say.
Saying that to Sid is like striking a match to find a gas leak, but somehow I canât help myself. I have been stuck with Sid for so long that I cannot break away. Like a junkie begging for his fix I must know what half-baked scheme the Maestro of Muddle has come up with now.