By Mike Pannett
For a tender lad like Mike Pannett, starting to be up within the North Yorkshire geographical region within the past due Sixties and early '70s was once a dream come precise. The sunlight continuously looked to be shining, the summer time vacations lasted ceaselessly, and for those who have been despatched to shop for a fish supper for the relatives there has been swap on hand from that crumpled pound notice. they truly have been the nice outdated days.
Given a fishing rod, a bottle of dad and a jam sandwich, a lad may well wander so far as his motorbike may take him, and the geographical region was once one giant event playground peopled via larger-than-life characters and never-ending possibilities for laughs and larks.
Like many a boy, although, Mike learns issues the demanding method. He is going on a motorbike trip and winds up in A&E. He attempts to be precious round the home—and approximately burns where down. And while he is going on a fishing journey it virtually ends with a shipwreck.
He's a possible lad, is Mike, and those are his most probably stories.
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Additional info for A Likely Tale, Lad: Laughs & Larks Growing Up in the 1970's
Ron possessed a well-developed social conscience and he took me to my first protest rally. We shared a love of old Sydney buildings and we were attempting to save the beautiful sandstone village of Hunters Hill, hoping to preserve its grand old homes like glorious St Malo, which was built by the Frenchman Didier Numa Joubert. A committed crowd of 47 Noeline Brown pgs 22/4/05 2:20 PM Page 48 NOELINE conservationists attempted to stop the bulldozers but we lost the battle in no time at all to the Department of Main Roads and now a highway slices through the suburb.
Ron had a very healthy attitude towards sex. I didn’t ask him about the women who must have shared his love life before I came along, but he used to pinch my ear from time to time, and say, ‘Tinks I’ll have a ninny noony’, which made me think he had done some experimenting away from home when his ship dropped anchor at the carefree islands of the Pacific. When Ron and our crowd were out sailing on the harbour we would sometimes moor the boat close to the marina at Elizabeth Bay and have lunch at The Elizabethan, a little mock-Tudor restaurant on the street level of an apartment building.
Mr and Mrs Kee were Chinese and their two children attended our school. I once bought some bungers for Cracker Night and found they had Chinese writing on them so I decided to take them to Mrs Kee for a translation. I was shocked to learn that she didn’t know what the writing meant. Mrs Kee had probably been born in Australia, maybe she was even second or third generation, but I felt she’d been cheated of her culture, somehow. Playing mah-jong appeared to be her only real link to China. The butcher’s and the grocer’s shops were down the street near the railway station and they each delivered their goods to our home.