My Life Stories

By

Thomas G Richardson

My daughter had been at primary school for only 3 days on Wednesday she came back in tears. When my wife and I asked her what was wrong she replied “Everyone has a friend but I haven’t any”

For a while I ponder what I could do. At the time I was in my early twenties but already had a degree in psychology. I took her by the hand and told my wife and son to follow me to her bedroom. At the time my daughter was going to a strictly catholic school and in those days it was strict. Brain washing could take lessons from the Catholics.

Once we reached the bedroom I knelt down and asked them to do likewise. I then closed my eyes and started to pray. It went along the following lines. Dear Jesus please make sure that Theresa gets a friend and always has friends from now on” I then solemnly got to my feet and declared “that’s it then I bet you get a friend soon Jesus always answers our prayers” behind my back my fingers were crossed. Jesus knew they were crossed so I wasn’t really a hypocrite.

On Thursday night my daughter came skipping home and declared I have got a new friend her name is Carla Rossi. She was the daughter of one of the local ice cream magnets her family were millionaires when being a millionaire meant you had money if you know what I mean. Let’s face it today a millionaire is considered short of cash these days! We seem to talk in multi or better still billions.

The strange thing (or should I say obvious thing) was that from then on my daughter had lots of friends and all were rich. When I was in the Army I was an other rank but all my daughters friends were officer’s daughters and sons. It did not matter where we went she always had top drawer friends. Although I do not believe in religion I do believe in God. I feel that God decided he had a purpose for Theresa and she need to have the right back ground with the appropriate contacts. For non believers this may seem like wishful thinking but let us look at some facts.

Today my daughter is a Harley Street Consultant in ophthalmology. There have been several times when she has waived her fees for people she knew would go blind if not treated but she knew could not afford her fees privately.

In one case a little old lady came to see her about cataracts. The lady was almost blind and decided she could not wait the months it was going to take on the NHS so she was going private. My daughter told her the cost would be £3000 and the lady hesitantly said she could just afford that. My daughter said to her “Listen I am running a survey on cataracts at the moment for a charity and I could put you in that if you wish. The lady asked how much that would cost and my daughter said not very much really no where near the usual cost.” She said a beam of a smile came on to her face that reminded her of her grand mother. The operation was performed a week later with a perfect result. The lady asked how much it would be and my daughter said give £50 to your favourite charity. The survey was of course bogus but my daughter had saved that old lady not only £3000 (which she had assessed were her life saving) but her pride and of course her eyesight. To that old lady her pride was probably worth more than the cash but she lost neither. She was of course not made wise to the fact that there was no survey.

As Dave Allen used to say “May your God go with you”

If Carla Rossi reads this please get in touch

By

TG Richardson

“Charcoal, saltpetre, sulphur and that’s it.” I said.

“Are you sure Gordon? That’s all there is to making gunpowder,” said Ginger Murray,

“I got the formula from a book in the library.

Poss. Johnson asked, “What sort of quantities do you use?”

“I don’t know, I’m going to experiment.

You will help won’t you?” I asked Jumbo E1liott.

“I suppose so, Could be fun”, replied Jumbo.
In the chemistry lab Jumbo and I started our experiment. “Einstein” our chemistry master let us do our own thing as long as we were quiet. While I ground up some charcoal Jumbo went to find some sulphur and saltpetre, He returned with these ingredients and added them to the
charcoal, We guessed the quantities it looked gunpowder,

I poured a small amount on to a piece of tin and lit it; There was a swoosh as it burnt rapidly, This was the real stuff without doubt, I poured the rest of the gunpowder into an envelope and put it in my pocket,

At break I put some of the gunpowder into a metal tube, Standing on the ends I dented it in, “Who is going to hit it with something to see if it goes off?”

“You must be joking,” said Ging, “There was something in the paper the other day about some kids blowing off their hands with fireworks, This might be much more powerful,”

“Okay,” I said: drop something on it and we”ll all run before it goes off” “It’s metal. It could spray bits every where we could be blinded”, said Jumbo,

“Shrapnel, that’s what you mean, My granddad told me about it, He got several bits in his head in the first world war, You three get behind that wall and I”11 do it, After all it’s my bomb, I invented it”

As they hid behind the wall I suddenly felt worried, My granddad had said a lump of shrapnel could tear your head off, I picked up a large rock dropping it on the tube I dashed behind the wall, There was a deafening silence: Nothing had happened, I tried several times but nothing, In the end we gave up throwing the tube into the woods, Ah well back to the drawing board or should I say library for more formulae.

Nitroglycerine was much easier to make all it took was nitric acid and glycerine . I had some nitric acid but couldn’t find any glycerine any where.

“Excuse me sir I wonder if you can help me with my experiment,? I asked Einstein. “What exactly do you want?” “I can’t find any glycerine, It is in the cupboard,”

He looked at me suspiciously,

“The cupboards locked sir can I have the key please.?”

What are you trying to make before I give you the key to the cupboard.”

“Nitro-glycerine”, I said innocently.

You could blow the whole school up! To mix nitro-glycerine you can’t just pour nitric acid onto glycerine. There would be an instant explosion, It has to be measured precisely and mixed very carefully indeed,” He went into a description of how to do this before stopping in mid stream as he realised what he was doing, “Get back to your bench boy and get on with something less dangerous. Much less dangerous”, he added, That was the end of our experiments in the realms of high explosives which is probably just as well;

By

TG Richardson

"How would you like to go to the wrestling with me", asked my father,

We left at seven-o clock that night, The wrestling was due to start at seven thirty. I had never been to see a wrestling match before and I was really looking forward to it.

The ring had been set up in what was called the store back way; this was a piece of waste ground just behind the Co-op. The ring was out in the open and surrounded by loads of folding chairs,

Dad paid for our seats and we joined the crowds to get a seat, Although 1 went several times after that I could never remember it raining on wrestling night. Perhaps God liked wrestling I thought.

The wrestlers had marvellous names such as Mad Max, Bully Boy Johnson, The Ghoul, Killer Watts and all tried to live up to those names, On the night we went the main bout was between the Ghoul and Sunny boy Danson,

'Watch the Ghoul Gordon, said my father, Look out for the rabbit punch'

'What's the rabbit punch dad", I said,

'Hits them on the back of the neck with the side of his hand, Sometimes he hits them so hard he knocks their neck out of place. Then he hits them in the front to knock it back in'

As the match proceeded each wrestler threw one another from one side of the ring to the other, The Ghoul was a large fearsome figure wearing a mask Even through the mask you seemed to be able to see a terrible grin as he smashed Sunny Boy into the ground. Without doubt the Ghoul was starting to get the upper hand. Several times he bounced Sunny Boy of the ropes, As he passed having bounced off the ropes the Ghoul delivered an awesome chop to the chest. Then it happened what everyone was waiting for.

The Ghoul grabbed Sunny Boy by the wrist. Spun him round. Hurled him against the far set of ropes, This time as he bounced back the ghoul let him pass. Smash. The rabbit punch hit the back of his neck you almost felt the pain. There was an audible crack As Sunny boy started to crumple to the floor then he was hit again on the front of the throat. It was all over.

It was marvellous. I loved it. Now I knew what I was gong to be when I grew up. It was a wrestler without doubt, I knew I would be able to do this. Every time dad took me to the wrestling I watched with great concentration taking in all the holds and the throws,

Even though I enjoyed watching the Ghoul the wrestlers I liked the best was the lightweights. They moved with grace and speed. Holds were applied quickly and skilfully and it was quite artistic.

One of the best lightweight wrestlers I watched was George Kidd. Not for him the fancy names he did need them. People came to watch the speed and skill with which he wrestled, He could get out of holds as if by magic would give his arm bent behind his back in a hammer lock to his opponent, The other wrestler could hardly resist this gift. But has he took the arm suddenly with great speed the hold would be broken and George would be in control. A great laugh would go up at this and other moves were played on a lumbering opponent. To me George Kidd was every thing I wanted to be an expert wrestler. I decided to style myself on him.

At the weekend I went to my local library to see what I could find on wrestling, There was stuff on Cumberland wrestling but nothing on all in wrestling which was what I wanted.

I came across some books on Ju Jitsu and Judo and these seemed to fit the bill exactly, They showed strange looking men dressed in weird kind of clothes but more importantly they showed and described the holds and throws of both sports,

I took home a couple of books and studied them avidly, My poor brother Harry was Uki (This was the Japanese for opponent or partner) I practised the holds and locks on Harry trying to get them exactly as shown in the book,

“Gordon its' hurting!” said Harry,

“Good it's supposed to hurt', I said. “I'I1 not keep it on very long. I’ve got to practice if I'm going to become a wrestler'

Harry was a good sport. How he put up with it all I'11 never know, Mind I always used to let him borrow my bike after each session so perhaps that was it.

By

TG Richardson

The tournament for the ACF boxing finals was to be held in the Gymnasium of the unit we were billeted at.

That evening the gym buzzed with excitement, In the centre a boxing ring had been erected and his was surrounded by folding chairs which filled the rest of the hall, There was a feeling of expectancy in the air, George and I wandered out to have a look at the ring, neither of us had ever boxed before in the ring. What we called a proper boxing ring. It looked vary daunting to say the least,

We joined the rest of the lads at about 7 p.m. for the weigh in, I felt extremely nervous, Several visits to the toilet were called for before my bladder seemed to settle down, All I had on was a pair of boxing shorts. I shivered as I stood in line to be weighed.

'Okay lad jump on the scales’

An official looking man was pointing at me, As I stood on the scales he noticed that my breasts were a little swollen, He pointed to them, and ‘Do they hurt at all'

I blushed with embarrassment and shook my head, 'Nothing to worry about lad it happens to all young lads at your age'. A sense of relief swept over me. I had to admit this point or should I say points had been worrying me for some time I thought I was turning into a girl!

“Seven stones and seven pounds, next'

I jumped off the scales and hastily put on my vest to cover my chest as quickly as possible. Emblazoned on my short was the emblem of the Durham Light Infantry, which was a bugle, All the ACF team was proud of that emblem. We were fighting for the regiment or so it had been drilled into us. I was fighting for myself I thought and the thrill of being the County Durham Champion,

One by one the boxers went out to the ring as the Tournament started, Some of the other boxers went out to watch the contests but George and I stayed in the dressing area, My bladder called again and off I trotted,

'How many times is that’? Asked George. 'Talk about “taking the piss”. There can’t be any left to take.”

Come on George your next followed by Gordon! Said Cess Ramsey, 'We seem to be doing okay all our lads are through the preliminary bouts to present, Let's hope it continues,'

'I'11 come and watch you’, I said to George, 'Do your best mate'

George did better than that. He came straight out at the bell hitting his opponent straight on the nose with a powerful straight left. The lad folded to the ground in obvious pain. There was a mandatory count of eight and the lad was back in the firing line. Three more of those lightening lefts in the face and there was blood everywhere. The referee jumped between them as George prepared to deliver another. It was all over. George had won on a technical knock out.

As I climbed into the ring to take George’s place in the blue corner the roof seemed to lift with the noise. Cess Ramsey looked at me. I must have looked nervous. 'Don't worry son once you start you forget everything but hitting 'im. If you don' hit ‘im he sure as god wil1 hit you'.

In the event I put up a reasonable show and at the end was judged to have done enough to go through to the finals. I could hardly wait to see George or one Punch Collins as he was now known. I had been on the end of that left punch of his many times and knew what punishment it could inflict.

The finals were to be held the following night. Another day of waiting I thought as I trotted off to the bogs again.

683 words 18 Nov 92 continue with finals and eventual presentation of medals,

By

TG Richardson

I had beaten all my friends and any other lad I could coerce into wrestling me around the area where I lived. I was starting to grow bored of it all.

With my friend George Collins I Joined a Youth Club at St Helens. It was held on part of the premises of a large clothing factory. Both George and I were thirteen years old at the time. George had taken up boxing and used to go through to the local boxing club at Shildon. He was he told me doing quite well and really enjoyed it. He had also joined the Army Cadet Force but this didn’t appeal to me. I did not fancy becoming a toy soldier. Strange really as in the end I completed 22 years in the army.

In the meantime Cecil Ramsey one of the trainers at Shildon was going to start training lads on behalf of the ACF at the youth club. A backroom had been suitably equipped with punch bags, balls and other boxing equipment.

George dragged me through to see it all. I watched him sparring with one of the other lads and he looked very good to my inexpert eyes.

Cess Ramsey (who was known to everybody as Cess) asked me if I’d like a go, Okay I reluctantly agreed and put on a pair of gloves. He sparred quite gently with me and I started to get the hang of it. Cess reckoned I was a natural and had talent. This geed me up no end.

It wasn’t long before I was persuaded much against my better judgement and on the understanding that I wouldn’t have to do any of that marching business that I joined the ACF and graduated to the boxing team.

Within six months I was fancying myself as a professional. Another Joe Louis I thought. George I had to admit was much better than I was but I reasoned he was taller and half a stone heavier, The truth was he was stronger, a heavier puncher and overall a much better boxer. But I was a trier. No one was too

My stock at my local grammar school King James the First rose higher and higher. For the first time my reports by the PE teacher were excellent. I was teaching other kids how to box at school and belting anyone I found bullying younger members of the school.

Cess had entered us in the army-boxing tournament, which would if we reached the final be on the telly. What an incentive.

For the Durham Championship we travelled to somewhere in Scotland. We were put up in an army barracks where the tournament was to be held George and I went exploring and we opened one hut door to the sound of "Attention. Stand by your beds". There was an embarrassed silence as our two small figures poked our heads around the door. Beds were lined up down either side of the hut and men were standing to attention waiting to be inspected.

'Come on in lads,' said one of the men.

We walked into the room viewing the kit on the bed in amazement. Everything gleamed and every article on each bed was line up with the one in the next bed and so on right down each side of the room. Laces were coiled like pieces of liquorice bootlace that we used to buy for a penny in the corner shop. Mess tins sparkled as if chromed. Boots with toes gleaming lay side by side. Blancoed webbing with gleaming brasses lay at the foot of the bed. It looked magnificent. The men must have spent hours cleaning and polishing to get to this standard. How many hours I was to learn when I too became a soldier and had similar inspections.

The men in the hut chatted with us for some time and then said we had better be off as an officer would be around any moment to complete the inspection.

(765 words 2pm 17 Nov 92 continue with description of tournament and results of fights and medals awarded)