Open Writing

I have just lobbed the ball towards Arthur when this man in some kind of uniform appears and shouts

“What do you think your doing?”

Arthur and I are in the park in the area used for open-air concerts in the summer. When it opened the local newspapers referred to it as Lancashire’s Own Hollywood Bowl! but that was a gross exaggeration. A novelty, perhaps, for that part of the world, but not much more than a glorified bandstand really. And those have been around for ages, haven‘t they?.

Now we both stop what we are doing and I explain to this man that we are playing Pai-Tsu.

“Pie soup?” says this man. “What the hell is that?”

I start to tell him that Pai-Tsu, not pie soup, is a ball game of Chinese origin played by two people called a pai and a tsu, hence the name.

He interrupts.

“Well, whatever it is, you can’t play it here,” he says belligerently. “So just piss off.”

Arthur starts to walk towards his jacket which he has left by the side of the stage, but I decide not to be intimidated. After all, I am nearly fourteen and my father has always told me not to let myself be pushed around.

“Why not?” I ask him. Be polite at all times, my father says, but be firm.

“Because this is not a games area. This is an open-air concert area. The orchestra sits on the stage, where you are, and the audience sits on chairs here, where I am.”

“I don’t see any orchestra or audience or chairs,” I say.

“You trying to be funny?” he asks, moving closer. “I’ve just told you to piss off, so piss off.”

“There are no signs saying No games or Out of bounds unless you’re an audience or an orchestra.”

Arthur has got his jacket on by now and is making signs which mean Don’t make a fuss, Just let’s clear off. He should know that I don’t like being pushed around. Especially by rude people. And this man is rude. I suspect that he has authority on his side, but I am not yet ready to go quietly. The man is moving towards the steps leading up to the stage where I am standing. I do not move. I just wonder whether he is strong enough to throw me off the stage. He has just reached the top of the steps when a green van appears on the scene, moving across the grass with flashing lights. The driver sounds his horn, which stops the man coming closer to me. He turns, shading his eyes from the sun, and peers towards the van. The van stops and the driver, an older, shorter, fatter man gets out and shouts

“What’s the problem, Derek? Need any help?”

“It’s these kids, Mr Parr. They’re messing about. I’ve told them to clear off, but all I get is a lot of lip.”

“Hang on a bit, Derek.” He is moving closer. “Kids you say? Where are the others?”

Arthur has gone. He’s like this is Arthur. Anything for a quiet life is Arthur.

The man on the stage looks round and says

“There was another of 'em. Looks like he’s scarpered.”

The fat man is up on the stage by now. I decide to speak before he does.

“We’re not messing about. We’re playing Pai-Tsu.”

“That’s not a game I know,” says the fat man. “Foreign is it?“

“Chinese,” I tell him. “It’s one of the oldest games in the world. Older than chess even.”

“Whatever it is,” says the first man, “you can’t play it here, because this is … "

“A concert area,” I finish for him. “That is why this is ideal. Pai-Tsu in Ancient China was played in a place exactly like this. You need a stage with a curved back to it, just like this is. Otherwise” - I know this sounds weak - “you can’t play it. Here in Golden Hill Park is the only place in these parts where you can play Pai-Tsu properly. In China thousands of people used to go and watch Pai-Tsu games. It was a bit like gladiators in Rome, you know. You know the Coliseum?”

Perhaps the fat man senses that I’m getting a bit desperate, because he holds up a hand and then walks up to the man he calls Derek. They talk quietly for a bit, but they are too far away for me to catch what they say. Then he comes back to me and says “Well, this wasn’t built for this game of … ” He waves his hand, so I help him out.

“Pai-Tsu,” I tell him.

“Yes,” he says, “ but at the moment there is no concert on, so you and your pal are not inconveniencing anybody.” Then he lowers his voice.

“Are you sure this is the only pay shoe place in the area?”

“Yes,” I tell him. “Probably in the whole of Lancashire, perhaps anywhere outside London.”

He stops and thinks a bit.

“Popular is it? I mean, in this country?”

“Getting that way,” I say. “There’s a Pai-Tsu club in London. Some people like it better than squash, because it’s in the open air, you see.”

He seems to come to a decision.

“Look,” he says. “You and your mate can practise here when there’s no concert on.”

“OK,” I say. “And we won’t be told to clear off?”

“Don’t worry about Derek. He won’t bother you again.” He looks round.

“I think my pal has gone home,” I say. “We were just finishing anyway. I’ll have to be going too.”

“OK,” he says. “Oh, I should have said. There’ll be rehearsals sometimes, so … ”

“I know,” I say. “We won’t be able to play then.”

He collects the other man, who has been doing a bit of sulking, they get into the van together and drive off. As soon as the van is out of sight Arthur reappears.

“What was all that about?” he asks.

“If you’d stayed to help me, you’d have found out, wouldn’t you?”

“Well?” he says. He always ignores difficult questions.

“We’re all right here if there’s not a concert or a rehearsal on.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I explained about Pai-Tsu.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t need to know, Arthur. It just means we can carry on messing about here.”

“Right,” says Arthur. “Where’s the ball then?”