I Only Came For The Music: 10 - Tagging Along
...I had to agree. Georgie never did any harm, he was quiet, and never fought like the other boys, never bullied smaller children, or teased the girls. He didn't live in our street. He preferred our street to his own though, because there were so many children around. I suppose in his own way he was happy, tagging along with our rag-tag-and-bobtail crowd...
The latest episode of Betty McKay's wonderfully engaging autobiography confirms that children are capable of great levels of compassion and understanding.
Games were seasonal when I was a child. Marbles and tiddley-winks were played in the springtime. In the summer the girls played rounders, and the boys cricket.
What I liked best though was when we travelled further afield. We went to pick Mayflowers, pussy willows and catkins in a boggy area known as the Twiggery. Once in a magical place we found a carpet of bluebells. Town children, we returned home laden with wildflower bouquets for our mothers, which were put into jam jars on the kitchen windowsill, looking sadly bedraggled, their loveliness lost on the journey home.
Collecting conkers involved the girls as well. Barrow woods was the best place for the largest conkers. It was on such an expedition, that I remember noticing the big boy for the first time. He was large and angular, looking older than the other children - too old to be bothering with boys and girls as young as we were.
He was odd; his features coarse and graceless. Physically he was ungainly. Although he was bigger and older, he wasn't in charge. He watched what the other children did, but didn't necessarily copy them.
We were on our way home, conker laden, when he suddenly fell down. He lay twitching and jerking, his eyes rolling back in his head. I thought he was acting the fool, and not knowing any better, I laughed. Peter, the evacuee boy from London, frowned at me and shook his head. "It isn't funny Betty, he's having a fit."
When the twitching stopped, Georgie lay still for a few moments, then stood up, and walked on, exactly as if nothing unusual had happened.
I thought about it for a bit, and then caught up with Peter, who I always found interesting and easy to talk to. Of the boys, he was the only one I really liked, because usually he made me laugh. "Peter, who is that big boy, what's the matter with him, and why did he have a fit?"
Peter smiled at me, "Nosy little perisher, aren't you? His name's Georgie and he's thirteen. He's an epileptic and has a lot of fits."
"He doesn't seem to mind, does he? He just got up and walked away."
Peter looked a bit puzzled, and nodded, "Yes, that's right. I noticed that from the first, almost like he didn't realise what had happened to him."
I felt embarrassed, "I'm not being nasty Pete, but is he a bit odd, you know what I mean, don't you?" My voice trailed away, I didn't like to say a bit soft in the head.
"Aunty Eva says it's because he's been having fits for such a long time, that he isn't too bright. I think he tags along with us because he enjoys a bit of company, and he isn't doing any harm, is he?"
I had to agree. Georgie never did any harm, he was quiet, and never fought like the other boys, never bullied smaller children, or teased the girls. He didn't live in our street. He preferred our street to his own though, because there were so many children around. I suppose in his own way he was happy, tagging along with our rag-tag-and-bobtail crowd.
Our parents never seemed to question his playing with us. If I ever mentioned him at home, mum would refer to him as 'that poor boy'. He was accepted as one of the gang and woe-betide anyone from another street who attempted to make a fool of Georgie, for they had the rest of us to contend with.
After a little while we didn't seem to notice the fits.
