« Chapter 17 | Main | The Baker's Dozen »

A Shout From The Attic: Acker

...I saw Acker's mother lay about his back somewhat viciously with the flat side of her bread knife as he sat at dinner. She was a big woman and he would be about thirteen. She showed him no mercy. He did not cry or attempt to defend himself....

Ronnie Bray recalls a boy who commanded respect at school, if not at home.

To read earlier chapters of Ronnie's on-going autobiography please click on the menu on this page.

Many children lived in their own circumscribed worlds because childhood had not yet been destroyed. No doubt, there were children who belonged to contented and happy families, but I saw few that were. For others it was something of a battle, especially in the years when children begin to throw off the confines of home and parental discipline as they struggle to lay down their own values and challenge those they have inherited.

I saw Acker's mother lay about his back somewhat viciously with the flat side of her bread knife as he sat at dinner. She was a big woman and he would be about thirteen. She showed him no mercy. He did not cry or attempt to defend himself.

Acker had a gruff voice and a sense of humour that elevated him. Although he was the toughest kid in our class, he was not given to being offensive and was no bully, although he always gave of his best when bullies unwisely set about him. He was, as far as I know, never bested in a fist fight.

About twenty or so years after we left school, I came across him again. He was living in The Holays in Dalton, Huddersfield. He had been a psychiatric patient for several years suffering from paranoid schizophrenia. I am not aware that he ever married and he died young. Acker loved football. We did not play football at school except one year late in my school life we were all walked up to Greenhead Park for a match.

He often wore a bright orange jersey that reminded us of Oxydol washing powder.

Categories

Creative Commons License
This website is licensed under a Creative Commons License.