The
couple in front of him lit their cigarettes from the same match,
kissed until the smoke was coming out of their noses, then each slumped
into a big red balding seat ready to wallow in another Saturday night
at the Regal cinema.
Ricky was his usual late self and arrived out of breath just as the rousing newsreel music was starting up.
“Hurry up and sit down”, demanded James.
“My mother...”
“It’s always your mother, just shh...there’s something coming on that I want you to see”
They
impatiently sat through a story of the latest spring fashions for the
young ladies of 1951 then a report on Tottenham Hotspur and the Arsenal
football teams fighting for the top place in the English First
Division - although James, with a snigger, dismissed talk of any team
other than the Arsenal
“This is it now, watch”
The
excitable announcer talked over some film of London’s Southbank. In
only a few days time the Festival of Britain would open and the focal
point was be the breath taking three hundred foot structure which gave
the impression of being unsupported.
“Bloody hell” James was pleased at Ricky’s reaction.
”It’s
like one of those Dan Dare rocket ships...” the couple in front came
up for air, told James to shut up and then just as quickly returned to
kissing, “..and I am going to climb that bloody monster.” James whispered.
“Why would you ever want to do that?” asked Ricky already knowing the answer.
“Because I can”.
Yep, that was the reply Ricky was waiting for.
The
guy in front, whose face was now covered in lipstick, told them if
they didn’t shut up right this minute he’d hit them. Then the guy in
front of him, told him also to shut up; you could be here all night
with this stuff.
“Excuse me, my crazy friend but weren’t you watching? It is three hundred feet high” a fact that was worrying Ricky.
“I know, ain’t it brilliant?” this time James talked in a cheap American movie kind of way.
You
see, to James everything was brilliant and brilliant acted as the base
level for his life. If it wasn’t brilliant he wouldn’t give it the
time of day but somehow every brilliant thing that James attempted to
do would result in Ricky getting into more serious trouble.
The
alternative for Ricky was not being James’ friend and that was too
awful to even think about. It would mean Ricky going back to being
shoved around the British Library by his parents. It would mean Ricky’s
mother cleaning his face in full view of people with a handkerchief,
into which she had just made him spit.
Somehow getting into trouble was his only salvation.
One
Saturday, James had suggested that Richard call himself ‘Ricky’ after
Bogart’s character in Casablanca. Richard hoped that James would soon
tire of it but yesterday when he knocked at Richard’s front door and
asked if Ricky was in, Richard’s mother belted her son’s ear.
“James
is such a sweetie, why would you ever let him call you by that awful
name, you wicked boy? It’s not very clever, not in any way is it clever,
Richard, do you hear me?”
Ricky
wasn’t listening to his mother, instead he was contemplating greater
ideas such as there must be a time just before a person is born when the
gods decide if you should be blamed for everything in the universe or
be allowed to get off scot free. Ricky knew that the gods had voted him
into the former group and James had, most definitely, been voted into
the latter; even when James blatantly lied to peoples’ faces they
always ended up thanking him for something or other, Ricky knew he
could never beat those odds.
On the morning of the 2nd of May, the boys boarded the London bound train weighed down with paraphernalia, most of which was a mystery to Ricky.
“I’ll explain on the way” said James and over the sandwiches that Ricky’s mother had supplied, he did just that.
For
several months, working with his college and pretending to be studying
architecture, James had contacted the manufacturers of the Skylon- the
new name for the big rocket - and they had supplied all the
specifications. So he knew it was aluminium and steel and James reckoned
on two ropes and a couple of small hammers should do it.
“So you’re going to climb the thing then come down again?”
“Hell yes, but I’ll leave a souvenir at the top to let them know I was there.” James was smug.
He thought maybe a bottle of whisky but Ricky had to remind him what would happen if it fell.
“What about a flag?”
“I don’t have one”
Then
James noticed the scarf that was around Ricky’s neck but Ricky argued
that it was the college scarf and anyway it had cost three guineas and
since it was the college scarf it might give the game away. James said
he wanted to give the game away and blow the consequences, so Ricky
reluctantly handed the scarf over. Ricky never liked blowing the
consequences, he could see trouble ahead.
When
they arrived at the Southbank, the workmen were still putting the
finishing touches to the Festival Hall. James had reckoned this might
happen and had brought working clothes for both him and Ricky. It worked
as they managed to walk straight past the security man who mentioned
that it was getting a bit cold and James had to agree.
“What now?” asked Ricky, still thinking about the consequences being blown.
Apparently
the plan was to wait until midnight when the lights on the Skylon were
switched off. Was climbing in the dark a good idea?
“Hell yes”
Ricky wondered about James, who had never actually been to America but still talked like them.
They
found that they could crawl under the Pavilion and it seemed a great
place to hide and was relatively warm. After a long wait and a bit of
cramp, James attempted to stand up and hit a trap door with his head,
this led into the Pavilion itself.
“Bloody hell” shouted Ricky. “Shh”
“But look at this place it’s got food and more food and champagne”
James
ruled that they would return to the room after he’d climbed the tower,
assuming that he survived. Anyhow he had a backup plan that if things
got too dangerous or the wind picked up, he’d just jump into the
Thames.
“And hope you don’t drown”
No wonder Ricky’s mother hits him, thought James.
So
a few minutes after midnight James got ready to start the fifty foot
climb which would bring him to the bottom of the Skylon. It was all a
matter of shimmying up the cables that held the tower in place. Ricky
knew his friend and knew he was more scared than he was letting on, so
Ricky started their game that had seen them both through troubled spots
in the past.
“Who would you rather kiss Dinah Shore or Doris Day?” asked Ricky.
James
opted for Doris Day, every time. Then they discussed who the better
singer was between Frankie Laine and Bing Crosby, both of them opted for
Bing. Ricky reminded James that he better not fall off as he still
needed to go with his pal to see ‘The Day the Earth Stood Still’ when it
came to the Regal.
Ricky
then asked who was the best player between Jackie Milburn and Stanley
Matthews. James knew that Milburn had scored against the Arsenal and so
ignoring the question he quickly disappeared into the night.
“Be careful” whispered Ricky, to himself.
It
was the most difficult climb of James’ life. The overhang was more
than he expected and a couple of times he thought that his great view
of Big Ben might be his last. By four am he had made the top and Ricky
had been right, there was no way you could leave a bottle of whisky up
here. He caught his breath, enjoyed the view for a minute then tied the
scarf to the top of the Skylon.
When he’d lowered himself halfway down, he noticed the policeman standing at the bottom. Where was Ricky?
James’
options were limited, he was still high enough to jump into the river
or maybe he could take his chances with the copper. It was getting
light and it was cold, going down by rope was his only choice. He could
easily outrun the policeman so that is what he did. As he slipped down
the support cables he jumped off earlier than he or the copper had
expected. Luckily nothing was broken and on a hunch he headed towards
the Pavilion. Sure enough Ricky was hiding under the building and
without being seen, James rolled under to join him.
“Let’s find that trapdoor” the words crept slowly out of James’ mouth.
Within
ten minutes they each had a bottle of champagne to hand and were
swigging it back good style; the policeman was nowhere to be seen.
Without realising, both sat down behind the big fancy sofa and fell
asleep.
It
was Ricky who saw her first; there she was staring at him, Queen Mary
as large as life. Ricky shook James awake, who grumbled all the way
into consciousness. He was about to say ‘bloody hell’ but Ricky
realised what was coming and slapped a large hand across James’ mouth.
“What are you boys doing here?” whispered Queen Mary.
“I’ve climbed the Skylon, your majesty” said a bit too loudly.
The smile on her face was subtle but definitely there. She nodded to the boys to look around the sofa, which they did.
“Blood....” the hand got slapped over James’ mouth again.
There was King George the 6th, Queen Elizabeth and Winston Churchill.
“Bloody hell” exclaimed Ricky, who couldn’t help himself and had no one to slap a hand over his mouth.
An army officer came over to tell Queen Mary she was required outside whereby she smiled at the boys and left.
“Think she’ll tell?”
“Don’t
know, but we don’t want to chance it”. Quickly the boys dropped
through the trapdoor and stayed there until it was dark again.
The
next Saturday night at the Regal cinema James and Ricky watched, from
the comfort of their red balding seats, a newsreel report on the
mysterious appearance of a scarf at the top of the Skylon.
They laughed and laughed until everyone in the cinema told them to shut up.
bobby stevenson thoughtcontrol 2012
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