Continued from
http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=30601.msg971477#msg971477So. If I was to become the rifleman of the West Riding, I was going to need a rifle.
I realised straight off the bat that this would be a tall order for a 12 year old kid, and an even taller order for a 12 year old kid with nothing in his pocket except a hole.
Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t throw the towel in straight away. Back then, in addition to being the world’s biggest daydreamer, I was also the world’s biggest optimist.
Example: When I was 11, I saw a man riding a trail bike. He was standing on the foot pegs and deftly negotiating a very narrow and slippery path through some hilly woodland. I decided there and then that I wanted one. I had about as much chance of getting a motorbike as I did a Ferrari, but from that day on, I tried to beg every motorised two wheeled vehicle I saw until eventually, several months later, someone gave me an ancient Lambretta with two flat tyres and a homicidal clutch. I was thrilled to bits. It had taken a while, but I had never doubted that I would get one.
Never the less, firearms were a bit different, and, during a brief and uncharacteristically sensible moment, reality kicked in and I reluctantly accepted the fact that I probably wouldn’t be allowed to have, or be able to afford a Winchester model 1892 (modified for rapid fire), and, with a heavy heart, I crossed it off my list.
With the Winchester gone west, as it were, I decided that the next best thing would be an air rifle. Half an hour and a two-penny bus ride later, I was standing with my nose pressed firmly against the window of “Attercliffe Sale and Exchange”.
There were loads of “Swap shops” strewn along the middle two-mile stretch of the Attercliffe Rd, but the biggest and by far the best was Attercliffe Sale and Exchange. The huge front window displayed a veritable treasure trove of used merchandise that was, (To me at least) strangely exotic and “other peopley”, but at the same time endlessly fascinating and eminently desirable.
At the bottom of the window were the tools. Big hammers, picks, and shovels vied for floor space with giant adjustable spanners, huge stilsons and enormous mole grips. Then, nestled in the spaces between were the saws, drills, taps, dies, “D” links, chains, and the odd block and tackle.
Above these, on a low shelf were the electrical goods. Radios with big round dials, reel-to-reel tape recorders with clunky levers, and hair dryers capable of producing enough heat to convert iron ore into ingots. There were Phillips shavers, Dansette record players, Remington typewriters, Singer sewing machines and, for the discerning customer, Agfa “Super 8” super portable cine cameras that weighed in at several ounces under 30lbs. You name it; AS&E had a second hand, electrified version of it.
Next, at eye height on black velvet covered shelf came the watches and jewellery. Big silver pocket watches with fob chains, slim gold wristwatches with delicate leather straps, and those oh so alluring chunky divers watches with their heavy bracelets and large luminous numerals glowing green beneath the thick glass.
There were rings galore. Half and full sovereign, (both bent coin and full mount) Wedding rings, engagement rings, signet rings, and oversize knot or saddle knuckle-duster type rings. There were Rings with every kind of stone in every setting imaginable. There was even an American class ring. It was designed so that the letters that made up the name of the school formed a cradle for an incredibly bright blue, perfectly spherical piece of lapis lazuli. I was spellbound by it, and I spent ages trying to imagine how it had come to rest in a swap shop in Attercliffe.
Every last inch of space in that vast window was occupied. Some things, like the tools or the electrical goods were grouped together in categories, while endless other miscellany was squeezed in anywhere it would fit. Things like dartboards, hunting knives and gasket sets fraternised with fishing rods, vinyl roof kits and binoculars.
Everything had a price tag that was hand written and cut from bright orange cardboard using pinking shears to give it a fancy shape. Big items like guitars and piano accordions had large round “Sunshine” shaped price tags, and small items like rings and watches had tiny square price tags attached by a bit of gold coloured thread.
Even today, the sight of a bright orange hand made price tag can send me hurtling back through time. Within moments I am once again staring at giant spanners, hunting knives, and the lapis lazuli class ring.
Sometimes, if I am in a particularly reflective mood, my gaze will drift up to the very top of the window, because there, hanging by short lengths of hairy string, resplendent in all their blue and walnut glory, are the air rifles.
Peeeowwww!!
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