Jenno's Widdlington

Jenno’s Widdlington

  by

  Jenno

  Oi ain’t no intellectual; Oi write ter be read.

  Jenno's Widdlington

  by

  Jenno

  ISBN 978-1-4657-9811-4

  Copyright 2012

  Cover design and illustrations by Peter St John

  All rights reserved

  La Forge

  320 Chemin de Poizieux

  01170 Crozet

  France

  Books by Peter St John

  P’raps yew know already, but there’s some novels wot ‘ave got me in ‘em. It weren’t me wot wrote ‘em; they was written by Peter St John, but since Oi ‘ad ter keep on a-joggin’ ‘is mem’ry, an’ tellin’ ‘im wot ter write, it were as good as. This is wot them novels are called:

  “Gang Territory”

  “Gang Warfare”

  “Gang Rivalry”

  “Gang Loyalty”

  “Gang Petition

  “Gang Spies”

  and

  "Gang America"

  If yew wanna know more about ‘em, but only if yew really loike, yew c’d ‘ave a look, at

  https://www.peterstjohn.net

  Preface

  Ain’t “preface” a funny sorta word? It’s kinda loike me facing up ter wot yew’re goin’ ter get. Any’ow, Oi ‘ad the idea that Oi ought ter say somefink at the beginnin’ ter get yew ready fer wot comes after, ‘cos it ain’t always easy ter unnerstan’, even fer me; an’ cripes, that’s saying somefink.

  The fing is, that lately, Oi’ve been puttin’ stuff up on Facebook (not prefacebook!). There’s a few people around wot seem ter loike wot Oi put there, so Oi decided ter collect it all tergevver in one place, as it were. An’ then Oi added a little bit more about moi village o’ Widdlin’ton, jus’ ter give yew good measure.

  Peter St John ‘elped a bit at the start, but then ‘ee kept on an’ on about ‘ow moi writin’ weren’t all wot it could be. Well Oi know that already, don’t Oi? So Oi didn’t need ‘im ter tell me. An’ so Oi told ‘im straight out, that if’n ‘ee were a-finkin’ that Oi’m goin’ ter write posh English, jus’ ter please ‘im, an’ then lose all moi friends down the Lane wot’ll start believin’ that Oi’m suddenly puttin’ on ‘igh an’ mighty airs, then ‘ee c’n jolly well fink again.

  Same goes fer yew. If’n yew don’t loike the way Oi write, then yew c’n always look at the pictures. It’s all free, so yew ain’t got nuffink ter complain about. Besides, ‘oo’s book is it anyway?

  If’n yew’d loike ter see some stuff about me wot’s a bit posher, yew c’d take a look at Peter St John’s “Gang” books wot are all on https://www.peterstjohn.net/

  Any’ow, ‘ere we go wiv moi book…

  Wiv luv from Jenno.

  8 February 2012

  Oi’ve drawn yew a map of Widdlin’ton. It ain’t the Centre of the World even though it’s got my ‘ouse on it an’ all. Oi’ve marked my ‘ouse special, so’s yew can’t miss it. https://www.peterstjohn.net/index_18.htp

  Most people live in a sorta gang territory, loike wot Widdlin’ton is, but a few live in no-mans-land. Pity, ‘cos life’s less interestin’ there…

  There’s some people wot reckon as ‘ow gang territories don’t exist. S’obvious that they ain’t never been ter Widdlin’ton… https://www.peterstjohn.net/index_2.htp

  Cripes! It’s rainin’ apostrophes in gang territory!

  Someone loike me, wot uses proper English most of the toime, is always more liable ter misinterpretation than all them ovvers wot are real careless when they speak. Know wot Oi mean?

  An’ then people argue most about fings for which there ain’t ‘ardly any real evidence.

  ‘But them wot speak wivvout finkin’ c’n be listened to wivvout payin’ too much attention.

  Oi want yew ter pay attention; but if’n yew don’t want, yew don’t ‘ave to. Oi’m generous loike that…

  Love in Widdlin’ton is loike a dangerous machine wot nobody don’t properly understand. Yew don’t never know wot it’s goin’ ter do neither. Best keep well clear of it, loike wot Oi troi ter do… Oi fink…

  We ‘ad a bit of a war in Widdlin’ton, an’ there are some parents wot reckon as ‘ow Peter St John’s book about it is too violent. Well, they would, wouldn’t they? https://www.peterstjohn.net/index_3.htm

  Peter’s aunt ain’t ephemeral; she’s loike ‘er bicycle… uproight!

  She reckons moi generation is real terrible. That don’t matter none, ‘cos Oi’m roight glad ter be in it.

  A lotta people reckon “Gang Rivalry” ain’t true. Cripes, don’t they never read nuffink!

  It’s real ‘orrible ter foind out that wot yew believed ter be true, ain’t so. But it’s even more ‘orrible ter go on believin’ it.

  We ‘ad a German bomber shot down in Widdlin’ton. It’s true. It’s in the picture. https://www.peterstjohn.net/index_16.htm

  Miss Hangar’s front door ‘as got a big iron knocker, but it’s no good knockin’ when she ain’t there.

  Yew don’t need ter knock at yer own front door neither.

  Unless yew’re at ‘ome, that is…

  Oi’m getting’ ready fer some wins. Wot about yew?

  Oi know some people wot say as ‘ow gang loyalty don’t really exist. Cripes, they needn’t apply ter join moi gang!

  That reminds me: Oi’ve gotta take mesself seriously: ‘cos there ain’t nobody else wot does…

  Roy is leader of the Lions Avenue Lot, wot is Peter’s gang. ‘Ee ain’t so bad fer someone wot is in anuvver gang. Leastways, there are girls in ‘is gang, an’ they get treated roight, not loike in JJ’s mob, wot is moi gang.

  D’yew know ol’ “Dismal”, wot’s in the Lions Avenue Gang? ‘Ee’s always positively negative, an Oi can’t get more positive ‘n that can Oi? Or do Oi mean, negative?

  People wot ‘ave got a chip on their shoulder ought ter brush it off real quick afore it grows inter a hulkin’ great log.

  Soapboxes ain’t only fer makin’ racin’ carts; yew c’n use ‘em fer a cricket wicket too. Winnie’s a top racin’ champion but, in “Gang Loyalty”, she’s jus’ a beginner at cricket.

  Cripes, an’ fer us girls, that ain’t the ‘alf of it ‘cos we’ve gotta beat the boys; ‘specially that lot up The Street where Winnie lives…

  This ‘ere’s “Dismal” agen. Yeah, Oi know ‘ee don’t actually look it, an’ cripes, some people even loike dopy ol’ Dismal. Well Oi suppose ‘ee ain’t so bad, once yew get used ter ‘is perennial pessimism. Most of us reckon ‘ee does it a-purpose, but nobody ain’t real sure; not even ‘im… probably…

  “Dummy”, oop’s… Oi mean Mr Pearce, is… well, let’s jus’ say as ‘ow ‘ee’s got medical problems. Besides, ‘ee ain't never ‘ad no chance ter go ter school, an’ ‘ee ain’t got no pyjamas neither, so it ain’t really ‘is fault. Peter an’ im became friends by accident, as it were. Ay’ow, that changed a lotta fings in Widdlin’ton. Cripes, did it ever… !

  Simplicity simply ain’t bein’ a simpleton…

  Archibald Spencer Spalding ’as got this fing about milk. ‘Ee don’t loike ‘is noime neither, wot ain’t surprisin’, ‘specially when yew look at ‘is initials. ‘Ee prefers ter be called “Golfball”. Peter don’t loike milk neither, p’raps that’s why they get on, an’ that ‘ad consequences… Any’ow, Golfball’s okay, even though ‘ee is in the Adare Road Gang.

  Cripes, Oi’m a cover girl in Gang Territory! Yew c’n see me; if’n yew look real close… https://www.peterstjohn.net/index_2.htm

  Moi daft bruvver “Braces” is there an’ all, wiv that stupid “Itchyprick” Hitchcock an’ ol’ “Stinky” Chambers as well. Stinky ain’t nuffink too special neither.

&
nbsp; Ichyprick Hitchcock reckons as 'ow there ain’t many pens wot keep on writin’, loike they should, ‘till the ink runs out.

  It mus’ be real rotten ter feel depressed all the toime. Oi wish Oi ‘ad a cure fer it, ‘cos it makes me feel down. Don’t it yew?

  Freedom is a struggle, against bein’ put inter chains; wot we all ‘ave ter do all the toime.

  It’s up ter yew: Either yew do nuffink, or yew ‘elp one anovver ter get free. Yew’ve got a free choice… Oi ‘ope…

  Yew gotta be ready if’n yew want ter strike lucky…

  “Gang Loyalty” is moi fav’rit book in all the world. It’s mostly about me, but that ain’t got nuffink ter do wiv it, ‘cos Oi ain’t narcissistic (Wowee, wot a wunnerful word that is!). Oi’m jus’ little ol’ me, an’ proud of it… https://www.peterstjohn.net/index_5.htm

  When somefink in the world is really well done once, it jus’ can’t be done over again. Take me fer instance…

  Bein’ in a gang ain’t funny. So yew c’n stop laughin’…

  The best drum ain’t necessarily the one wot makes the most noise.

  Don’t never take yerself too seriously; loike ol’ Bill Bates ‘ere.

  An’ not too lightly neither…

  Poor ol’ Bill. Oi say that, ‘cos Winnie ‘ad ‘is measure an’ ‘ee didn’t loike it none, seein’ as ‘ow ‘ee’s the leader of The Street gang.

  Gang loyalty is stickin’ wiv yer friends; even when they’re runnin’ out on yew…

  Wot is unlikely, is dead certain ter ‘appen.

  An’ then it gets worse…

  Lotsa people ‘ave strong beliefs, but speakin’ personally, Oi believe, real strong, that it ain’t a good idea.

  Oi don’t believe in belief: it brings nuffink but trouble…

  People ‘ave jus’ got ter believe in somefink. If’n they aint got somefink sensible ter believe in, then cripes, they are goin’ ter believe in somefink wot don’t make no sense at all.

  Wot yew believe c’n ‘ave a real big effect on ‘ow appy yew are; an’ so yew’d better be real careful wot yew believe. Believe me…

  Even so, yew c’n believe wot ever yew loike; but Oi don’t recommend it…

  This ‘ere’s the Haflin twins. They spend a lotta toime jus’ ‘angin’ around up The Street, waitin’ fer somefink ter ‘appen.

  If’n yew jus’ wait around fer somefink ter ‘appen, yew moight ‘ave ter wait a real long toime…

  Mrs Jennings keeps the store at Gables Corner. She’s a roight ‘appy lady wot laughs a lot.

  Until we ‘ave learned ‘ow ter be ‘appy an’ noble, loike ‘er, we ain’t got much ter tell…

  Wot don’t stop some people from tellin’ it…

  The little picture’s frustratin’, an’ cripes, the big picture can’t be grasped. ‘As anybody got a Jenno-sized picture handy?

  Some days, Oi feel kinda small; ovver days, Oi feel real tall: but mostly, Oi feel jus’ the size wot Oi am; an’ that’s okay too.

  On November 11, shake moi can, an’ show yew care…

  On Armistice Sunday Oi always wear a poppy.

  Peter St John’s gotta birfday comin’ up. But there weren’t room fer no more candles on the cake…

  Peter St John is the best writer Oi know; but then, Oi don’t know many writers: Fact is, ‘ee’s the only one wot Oi know…

  It’s ‘is birfday. Better not tell ‘im wot Oi said, leastways, not till after…

  Peter St John reckons promotin’ a book is loike playin’ a piccolo outside in an ‘urricane. Oi told ‘im ‘ee ought ter troi a tuba, but ‘ee didn’t seem ter appreciate it, poor lad.

  An’ now, ssssh… ‘cos Oi’m goin’ ter whisper the next bit. Homo Sapiens ain’t ‘alf a noisy species. Huh?

  That don’t apply ter me, o’course…

  Oi’m goin’ ter get me one o’ them stars, even if it’s only a little’n…

  Ev’ry one’s a spoke in the wheelin’ universe. But there ain’t no centre, an’ there ain’t no rim. Even so, some people believe that they’re the hub.

  Why’re yew lookin’ at me loike that?

  Oi’m allowed ter dream, ain’t Oi?

  Mr Trundle’s the Station Master. ‘Ee’s also the special constable. ‘Ee’ loikes runnin’ around doin’ that.

  “Gang Spies” don’t exist: it’s just a lotta careless talk. https://www.peterstjohn.net/index_7.htm

  But yew won’t convince us kids…

  Katy’s pretty good at first aid; wot is just as well fer us kids in Widdlin'ton…

  Yeah… Queen Elizabeth I were auburn an’ all…

  If’n yew ain’t touched by wot yew do an’ by wot yew fink, then yew ain’t really livin’.

  Ter go forward, look ter the past, loike Mrs Button, 'cos the past is a base fer an ever-new beginnin’.

  Oi ain’t stubborn. An’ Oi’m goin’ ter keep on sayin’ so, till Peter St J says ‘ee’s sorry fer saying Oi am.

  Jet-propelled Jenno

  Peter St J says that wot ‘ee meant ter say, when ‘ee said Oi was stubborn, was that Oi’m resolutely tenacious; wot is a bit better. But ‘ee’d do well ter watch it; Oi’ve got moi eye on ‘im from now on…

  Oi don’t let the grass grow under moi feet. No more shouldn’t yew; unless yew’re a livestock farmer.

  People are free ter believe an’ say any ol’ fing wot they loike. Oi s’pose that’s why they mostly do; ‘cept when someone tell’s ‘em they’re not to…

 

  ‘Appiness is gatherin’ tergevver enough confidence in yerself ter get over yer difficulties an’ do somefink worthwhile, wot yew really want ter do. D’yew ‘ear me Pearl?

  Yew wanna keep cheerful? Then yew gotta fight against being discouraged. Yeah, it ain’t easy.

  Oi gotta problem: Oi get asked ter endorse or support people an’ products wot Oi don’t know nuffink about, an’ cripes, it don’t seem quite ethical ter me. An’ any’ow, quantity ain’t quality. There’s only one of me any’ow. Wot d’yew reckon?

  Besides, Oi don’t go around loudly soundin’-off about fings neither. Do Oi…?

  Self-praise ain’t no recommendation. Cripes, the advertisin’ industry mus’ be tremblin’ in it’s little cotton socks… Any’ow, moi megaphone makes a noice flower pot. Trouble is, it don’t ‘old no water.

  Don’t never underestimate yer contribution, even if nuffink seems ter be a-changin’.

  But yew don’t get much change fer a penny.

  Loyalty is listenin’ ter yer friends rabbitin’ on, an’ on, an’ on, even when they ain’t sayin’ anyfink wot is the least bit interestin’…

  Sometoimes moi Mum does moi coiffure (ain’t that an elegant word? S’French o’ course) wiv a little braid each soide. Only trouble is, they get in the way o’ seein’ sideways when Oi’m soap-box racin’.

  Love is lettin’ the ovver person go first.

  Yeah, well, okay. But cripes, s’pose it’s me wot’s out in front?

  Oi ain’t particularly good at bein’ stupid…

  Dogmatism (cripes, jus’ hark at me!) don’t do no good at all, an’ skepticism (Oi learned that one at school) ain’t no better. That’s dead certain; yew’d better believe wot Oi say, ‘cos it’s me wot says it.…

  Yew’ve gotta fink loike me, ‘cos cripes, Oi’m tolerant!

  Thank yew fer missin’ me. But cripes, it weren’t that bad, an’ Oi weren’t gone that long.

  Oi’d better write this next one real quick before any more arrows come moi way:

  There ain’t nobody in the whole vast universe, wot is more important fer yew, than wot yew are. If’n yew c’n get a-hold o’ that, real proper loike, whilst a-lookin’ straight in front o’ yew, an’ seein’ all around that it’s the same fer everybody else, then it follows that yew’re goin’ ter ‘ave good relationships.

  Oi jus’ wish it were loike that fer all them ovvers in moi gang…

  We lost some apostrophes in “Gang Territory”, so Oi’m a-scatterin’ a few so as Peter S
t John c’n follow where Oi’m a-goin’. Yeah, an’ ‘is editor too!

  Apostrophes are loike baby frogs: they wriggle around an’ jump up in unexpected places. There’s a person (wot shall be nameless) wot reckons Oi’m an apostrophe; but that’s a calumny… ain’t it?

  Peter St J’s got a link wot jus’ kinda fell outta the sky on ‘im. It’s https://www.freado.com/read/11760/gang-territory/ Oi wouldn’t recommend goin’ there, that is, unless yew wanna see moi braids agen. They’re noice, ain’t they? Practical an’ all, when there’s a bit of a breeze.

  Creation don’t never know wot it’ll produce by way of evolution: Jus’ look at moi braids…

  Peter reckons ‘ee’ll always be moi friend, even wiv moi braids, ‘cos ‘ee knows too much about me… Yeah, that’s perfec’ friendship… ain’t it?

  Yew gotta be ‘appy, loike at Christmas, an’ then spread that ‘appiness aroun’ ter everybody else… don’t yew fink?

  We’ve ‘ad some more snow. P’raps the climate’s changin’; it’s gettin’ colder any’ow. That don’t matter too much, ‘cos Oi’m goin’off ter the Mountain Glide ter slide wiv the Gang…

  Oi wouldn’t much mind if’n it were a bit warmer in the summer though…

  Merry Christmas everybody! Oi ‘ope there’s lotsa real good fings in yer Christmas stockin’s. But if’n yew’ve only got an ‘ole… then darn it!

  Ev’ry new take-off starts wiv yerself. So ‘appy New Year ter yew; an’ ‘appy landin’s…!

  S’no good in the snow wiv wheels, so Oi’ve fitted Emmeline P wiv runners. She makes a pretty good sled, don’t yew fink?

  Trouble is, there ain’t no brakes…

  We gotta lotta snow this winter. The Mountain Glide certainly ain’t loike the All-American Soap Box Derby at Akron, where there’s a noice little ‘ill… when yew got wheels.

  An’ brakes!

  Oi’m pretty successful at failin’…

  It don’t feel noice ter be uncertain. Peter’s certain o’ that…

  It ain’t so much wot yew know as causes trouble; it’s wot yew fink yew know but ain’t so…

  ‘Ave yew noticed lately? It’s a wunnerful world…

  When yew look aroun’ wiv yer eyes real wide open, everyfink’s extraordinary. Leastways, that’s wot Oi reckon.

  Oi loike ter be alone wiv meself sometimes ter get inspiration. Wanna come wiv me…?

  John Jay’s got ‘is good points, but ‘ee ain’t wot yew’d call democratic, ‘specially when it comes ter girls. Even more ‘specially when it comes ter girls loike me…

  The trouble wiv democracy is that people don’t wanna be equal; they wanna be privileged. Yeah, me too…

  Jus’ ter show yew that Oi ain’t got nuffick (much) against boys, ‘ere’s a picture of some of ‘em from the Lions Avenue Lot racin’ down the Mountain Glide. ‘Corse it ain’t loike the All-American Soap Box Derby; it’s much, much, littler, but cripes it’s a whole lot more excitin’… Leastways, that’s wot Oi reckon.

  This ‘ere’s Katy, wot lives down the Avenue near Peter; she’s in ‘is class at school an’ all. From ‘im she learned real good ‘ow ter play marbles, an’ that led ter some problems fer most everybody…

  Molly’s the prettiest gal in Widdlin’ton, reckons Dummy. Peter thinks so too, only ‘ee would, wouldn’t ‘ee, seein’ as ‘ow they share a double desk at school. Cripes, Oi ain’t got nuffink against Molly; she ain’t exac’ly ugly; me neither come ter that. Wot do yew reckon?

  Oi really loike them silences between friends wot take the place o’ talkin’; ‘cos it ain’t wot’s said wot matters, but wot don’t need ter be said.

  Peter’s aunt is a witch; only cripes, don’t tell ‘er Oi said so: Oi got enough trouble as it is…

  Any’ow, this picture is Jus’ a little somefink fer Halloween. ‘Ope yew loike it.

  A real friend really want’s ter know when askin’ ‘ow yew are.

  Ter be a true friend, yew gotta listen, when yew’d rather be listened to…

  A good friend laughs at yer jokes, even when they’re terrible, an’ listens ter yer problems, even when they ain’t partic’ly serious.

  Molly ‘ere is a-changin’ the name of ‘er cart. But change ain’t the same fing as progress, ‘cos if’n it ain’t goin’ someplace,then change ain’t no progress, even if it’s scientifically technological.

  Selena ain’t never seen no ghosts at the Old Vicarage, but then there ain’t nuffink at all wot we see real clearly, ‘cos everyfink ‘as got somefink a bit mysterious about it; even me…

  Even if’n yew got irons on yer legs, loike Tommy ‘ere, it don’t mean yew gotta stan’ still.

  Yew c’n choose: either use yer initiative ter do somefink, or wait fer it ter ‘appen. But jus’ don’t yew forget: Initiative undermines destiny.

  Cripes, listen ter me bein’ philosophic! Normally, Oi don’t recommend it, but this toime Oi took the initiative…

  Because of the war, it ain’t only Guy Fawkes wot is put on the bonfire, Adolf ‘Itler is there too, an’ sometimes the Nazi propagandist (cripes, that’s a big word) Lord Haw Haw as well. Remember, remember, the fifth of November.

  Yeah, not even ‘Itler didn’t succeed in blowin’ up Parliament neither…

  “Is Guy Fawkes like garden forks?” asks Wikky.

  But then, she’s only six.

  Heebie Jeebie Phoebe Jackson ain’t no friend of Peter. She an’ ‘er mum, the postmistress, got Peter inter trouble wiv the law: ‘Ee ‘ad ter go up in front o’ the magistrate about it an’ all. Cripes, wot a barney that was. It were a real Gang Warfare; no kiddin’.

  Heebie-Jeebie Phoebe an’ me ain’t exactly wot yew’d call good friends. It were ‘er wot precipitated (ain’t that a lovely word? Oi ‘ope yew loike it too) the loyalty crisis in Widdlin’ton. O’ course, Peter St J don’t agree, but then ‘ee can’t ‘elp it… can ‘ee, the poor lad?

  If’n yew wanna know who yew are, yew gotta look in: if’n yew wanna be who yew are, yew gotta look out…!

  When yew come roight down ter it, we’re all kinda mediocre; cripes, even me, just occasionally…

  Peter’s aunt reckons Oi’m disreputable. Well, yew can’t ‘ardly blame ‘er, can yew?

  Molly sorta tricked Peter, down in the air-raid shelter, inter makin’ a cart fer ‘er, wot ‘ee didn’t really want ter do. Any’ow, ‘ere’s a picture of wot Molly ‘ad ter start off wiv…

  An’ below is ‘ow it finished:

  Not bad, eh?

  She don’t look it, ‘cos she’s kinda “glam”, but cripes, Reenie Brown, wiv er “Brown Buzzer”, is our soap-box racin’ champion, that is, before she joined the Women’s Royal Auxiliary Air Force. We ain’t ‘eard from ‘er since…

  If’n yew loike soapbox racin’, ‘ere’s somefink fer yew wot Oi pinched from Peter St John, ‘cos it’s ‘im wot does the pictures fer the “Gang” books. Oi ain’t no good at drawin’ see, but when it comes ter soap-box racin’ yew won’t see me fer dust.

  That’s Reenie out in front.

  Peter an’ me went up ter Lunnon ter see the King. Cripes, wot a lark! We saw the Tower. This ‘ere’s a picture of it.

  Peter an’ me met this bloke in front o’ Buckingham Palace. ’Ee didn’t want ter talk wiv us, but jus’ crashed ‘is rifle butt about. Then ‘ee marched off. Reckon ‘is boots must weigh a ton.

  The really important thing in life is ter communicate, loike wiv broadcastin’. Even more important, is ter know when ter shut up…

  Oi reckon it’s really good when a speaker and a listener conspire in solitude. Don’t yew?

  We make a foine pair: Peter’s a successful failure, an’ Oi’m a failure at success, but a real friend ignores yer failures an’ accepts yer successes.

  Peter’s got a new boiler. It goes wiv gas, so’s ‘ee c’n ‘ave ‘ot water fer ‘is barf. ‘Ee’s lucky; ‘cos at moi ‘ouse yew ‘ave ter ‘eat up the water wiv a fire under the copper wot is used fer washin’ the clothes. Still an’ all, the fire mak
es it noice an warm in the winter. Trouble is, yew ‘ave ter go out an’ collect the sticks fer the fire.

  The new boiler’s workin’ real good. Peter’s takin’ a barf at last. Cripes, it’s about toime!

  A whole lotta people feel alone an’ threatened in a world wot’s strange an’ ‘ard ter unnerstand…

  D’yew know wot Oi fink? Oi reckon we’re all so much inter our own affairs (yeah, an’ that includes me) that we don’t really feel wiv the over person. ‘Appily, there are exceptions, but cripes, ain’t we at bottom a roight egocentric (wot a lovely word) lot? P’raps it’s fer the best…

  Sidney “The Slug” Snaylor is from the Adare Road Gang, up near town. ‘Ee’s exac’ly ‘ow ‘ee looks, so best keep well away from ‘im… if’n yew can!

  Peter St John reckons we’re becomin’ a one-armed species. But there ain’t ‘ardly no telephones in ‘is “Gang” books; ‘cept this kind.

  This ‘ere’s the vicar. Oi ain’t goin’ ter say much about ‘im, ‘cos the least said, the better.

  Later, we got a new vicar wot we call “Funf”. Yew c’n see ‘is picture in a moment, if’n yew loike…

  The new vicar is the Reverend Hans Vonvanderbildt. We call ‘im “Funf”. Not to ‘is face, o’ course. ‘Ee loikes birds; the kind wot ‘ave got fevvers. ‘Ee gives ‘em names in Latin, wot got ‘im all tied up once…

  Don’t never say Oi din’t warn yew…

  ‘Cos Oi’m a skeptic wot don’t go in fer skepticism.

  Time fer a new beginnin’…

  ‘Ave yew ever ‘ad a feelin’ that everyfink stops just outside Widdlin’ton? No, no more ain’t Oi…

  Life is a deep, dark wishin’ well inter which Oi toss coins; but there ain’t ‘ardly never no splash…

  Even so, if’n yew look real deep down at wot yew really want, yew’ll foind yer best ‘opes down there.

  Oi reckon yew’ve probably ‘ad quite enough fer now of them pictures from Widdlin’ton, so Oi’m goin’ ter stop puttin’ them in, so’s Oi c’n give yew an old proverb, wot Oi’ve jus’ made up: A jumpin’ flea, is a bitin’ flea… Yeah, an’ Peter St John is a-scratchin’ loike crazy.

  Yew c’n laugh, only it ain’t funny fer Peter: ‘ee needs both of ‘is ‘ands ter do more drawins’ wiv…

  ‘Appy endin’s are all very well, but not when they come along too often, ‘cos real life ain’t loike that. Real life is more loike a whole lotta points o’ suspension; don’t yew fink?

  … … … … … … … … … … … …

  Oi’m goin’ ter leave yew now in suspense, ‘cos there’s goin’ ter be more stuff added ter moi Widdlin’ton book; but not now… later on.

  By the way, Oi'm on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/JennoBryce. Oi've also got a blog, https://jennospot.blogspot.com. P'raps Oi'll see yew.

  Cheerio,

  Luv from Jenno

  Reviews and Comments relating to some of Peter St John's "Gang" books

  Gang Territory (Paperback)

  Review by Helen Hollick

  https://www.helenhollick.net/ 4 June 2008

  “A rare find – darn good book!

  Gang Territory was a pleasure to read – I was hooked from the first paragraph. This is a story that will delight boys of any age from 8 – 80! One of the few stories set in war time Britain that I have actually enjoyed because it created a sense of reality. Gang Territory is about a real boy doing real things in a world that was very real!

  Every school library must have a copy – and anyone who was evacuated during the war or wants to know just what it was like being a young boy (or girl!) from 1940 – 1945 will love this book.

  Hooray, there is a second one in the series too (Gang Warfare) and a third one on the way!

  Well done Peter St John – a fantastic read.