In dark corners, against dark boards copper coins
lurk almost unseen. Unseen that is except for the sharp eyes of young
boys whose games involve much crawling and creeping close to the edge
of things, close to the corners, close to the dark places where coins
have lain unseen since they slid there unnoticed by their owners.
Coins of many reigns: Victoria, Edward, George V, George VI and,
brighter, new more easily seen, Elizabeth. Some with Britannia on
their tail side, some with a ship in full sail, even some tiny ones
with a wren perched on a branch with its tail upright. Coins lodged
between floorboards. Coins half stuck under the edge of skirting
boards. Coins just under the edge of carpets, down the sides of
chairs, under tables, in cracks and crevasses, undetected by all who
stand full height, but visible to those whose games take them crawling
under and over and through.
First one coin, and then. A new game? “Can I
find more?” One here, one there. Try another room. Try the landing
where no windows add light to see these hidden treasure. Try the
stairs. Try down the side of the wickerwork settee. Try under
cushions and under the front of the dresser.
Find one stuck edgewise between floorboards. Get a
compass and use its point to jack it up and out.
Collect, seek, find, until a little trove is
collected. Ah, the delights these could become. Sherbet dips,
liquorice – specially the whirls, or even better the ones shaped
like pipes – or perhaps a packet of sweet cigarettes, with their
bright red ends. Such joy pretending to be grown ups smoking, blowing
pretend cigarette rings, offering one another a “fag”. Best of
all, perhaps, a bottle of frothy Corona ginger beer with its rubber
stopper and “3d”1
back on the bottle. Good days when finding six empty bottles to take
back to the shop would get you the price of a new full one. Then the
“pop” sound and you prized back the stopper and it flipped on its
hinges going “clink” as it hit the side of the bottle. Pop,
clink, fizz. Pop, clink, fizz. The sound of childhood joy. The
expectation of the tingling, fizzy warm slightly burning sensation as
the pop was guzzled down, the bubbles frothing up and making your
nose tickle, followed by a satisfying “burp” as the gas came back
up. Looks of approval for those who could produce the loudest or the
most frequent.
Full of expectation and wide eyes with the success
of the hunt, take the handful of coins to Mother to say,
“Look what I have found! Can I go to the shop
and buy some pop?”
A pause. A look of questioning. A frown. These
looks were not expected. Then the awful question -
“Where did you get those?”
“I found
them”
“NO YOU DID NOT – NOW TELL THE TRUTH”
“I did, I really did, I crawled all
around the house and found them”
“NO YOU DID
NOT – YOU ARE LYING – YOU NAUGHTY BOY – YOU STOLE THEM OUT OF
MY PURSE. GIVE THEM TO ME AT ONCE.”
An hand comes down from above and seizes my arm,
holding it firmly and shaking me.
“Tell the
truth - NOW”
The anger and disappointment in the voice is too
hard to bear. The injustice. The confusion.
"Give me
that money immediately and tell me the truth”
I hand over my hard found treasure trove. Gone all
hope of sherbet, or liquorice. Gone all hopes of sweet cigarettes.
Gone all hopes of fizzy ginger beer.
The anger drives me down lower and lower into the
floor. The look bores through me. I can not look into her face any
more. My eyes cast down, my knees weaken. I can feel tears forming. I
begin to shake and to hold back the sobs that want to come. I have
mortally offended. I know shame and confusion. I know that I have
done immense wrong - but have done no wrong. I am condemned and cast
out, accused and convicted. There is no appeal. The court has been
held and the judgement has been given. I taste the bitter edge of
justice and know its unreason. Punishment will now come like an awful
pall over the day. There will be no fun or joy.
Later an uneasy kindness with undertones of
disapproval sends me to bed – the repentant double sinner redeemed
by living an untruth – as a boy who steals from purses and tells
lies.
---
1: 3d
= three pence in UK pre-decimal coinage
