I swear (part 1)
South Shields, 1967. I leaned nonchallantly against our wooden gate, in the back lane, I was acting the big man and swearing to the bloke next door, who'd already complained a couple of times to Mam about my bucket-gob. I Repeated all the words I'd heard recently, I thought I was so big and clever, while the other kids looked on with their mouths open, and waited to see what happened next. Altercations in those days before telly, always attracted a small crowd.
I should have got a clue when their eyes widened in shock, with the knowledge that someone other than themselves was going get his arse smacked good and proper. A hand grasped my collar-pulling a few hairs out at the back of my neck in the process-I was yanked off my feet, and flew back through the gate. Mam had seen through all my lies, she knew I'd swear again, because I'd repeatedly promised her that I'd never sworn at anyone! She knew, intuitively the way that all mothers did, that I lied a lot, so she'd stood hidden on the other side of the gate!
I was dragged backwards across the yard, past the coal-house and to the back steps, I blubbered and pleaded that I'd be good and live a chaste, decent law-abiding life, from then on. I'd have sworn to anything if it would have prevented what I knew was about to happen. But soon my heels thumped on the rickety stairs, all I could see were the cobwebs in the roof amid the dirt and stains, and the fast retreating light from the back door down below. I lost a plimsoll on the way up when it snagged on a crack in the stair riser. She hauled me like a sack of spuds into the scruffy shed-like scullery.
She'd warned me time after time that if she ever caught me swearing, she'd wash my mouth out with Carbolic Soap.
If everyday soap could be categorized as, nice and sweet, soft and gentle, perfumed and refreshing, then Carbolic was the total opposite. Blocky, rough, smelling of disinfectant, lather-less, industrial cleaner, and generally horrible. Carbolic was the skinhead of soaps, and I was about to have a meal of it!
I could tell mam had lost her rag because she took the dirty plates out of the sink and smashed them to the floor in temper, oh Gawd, I was in trouble, I just stood and looked at her, I hoped that if I looked dejected enough she'd relent and take pity on me but she didn't, she yanked me by the collar and the seat of my pants. When she had her mad on she could be a strong bugger! Quite scary in fact.
Mam slammed me onto the damp smelly drainer, like a butcher slapping a hunk of beef onto a chopping-block. I could feel the dampness as it seeped into my clothes, my head drooped into the big china sink. Mam didn't like the position I was in because she couldn't get a strong enough hold on me, so she dragged me further up the drainer, she scattered the greasy pans and plates that were by the sink waiting to be washed. Now I was directly under the brass tap, but I was fighting her.
On the draining board, I struggled and wriggled, Mam had a strong, polished-finger-nailed hand holding me by the throat. I can see the upside-down view of the muck and grease on the lip of the sink. There's pans and plates being scattered, clattering everywhere by my wildly thrashing legs and feet, she fought to keep me positioned and I fought her back to keep my head away from the brass tap. She turned the tap on, there's was a clunk as the air was released and I heard the water approaching up the pipe. A single drop of water gathered on the end of the tap, and I thought to myself I'm saved, sometimes the water just didn't flow on certain days, and I thought to myself that this was one of those times. But alas for me, not that day!
The treacherous water gushed out of the tap, it soaked my head and neck. I now spluttered and spat as I continued to cry and begged Mam to let me go. But once Mam made up her mind to do something she did it. Oh Gawd did she do it.
While all this was going on, Mam was shouting at me at the top of her voice, "I'll teach you to f***ing swear you little bas***d! You won't f***ing swear again! Will you? you f***ing little shite!" I could hear snippets of distant shouts drifting up the stairs, "Go on Mim, give the little bugger what for!" or "Teach the little bugger a lesson he wont forget!" I'd sworn at loads of people so they were probably the ones shouting.
I jammed my mouth closed with a snap. I knew that my mouth had to be open for the Carbolic to be got in.
"Open your mouth, and this'll go easier on you!" shouted Mam. At this point, a team of wild horses wouldn't get me to open my mouth.
"Open your mouth" she repeated quieter. I defiantly stared at her now, if it could be called a stare? Because I have to keep blinking to keep the splashes of water out of my eyes. My mouth was still wedged shut, but at the same time I tried to dodge the water that still gushed out of the tap and God, it was cold!
Then she leaned down, got right in my face, practically nose to nose and repeated in a really strange quiet-like voice, "Brian, open your mouth", she's smiling. It was one of those rictus-smiles where you knew she was gritting her teeth. I'm really scared now! Anyone who's experienced a stern-loving Mother like this will know exactly what I'm talking about. This was the killer-smile that brooked no arguments, no resistance, no bullshit. This kind of command had to be obeyed, or woe betide you. I knew then it was no good.
I stammered a quick "Please Mam," and in that instant, she jammed the carbolic soap into me gob! Oh she could be so quick! I gagged, I thought I was going to die. She's now rubbing and drubbing like its wash day on a Monday, while singing some obscure little song, her eyes normally blue and pretty were just slits in her face. Meanwhile I begged and sobbed and got myself worked up into a lather, I felt really sorry for myself then. The bar is wedged into my teeth, she really put some 'elbow grease' into it. The taste was horrible, like sucking on a toilet urinal cake, and trying like frig not to swallow. She was so thorough and resolute, she was determined she was going to teach me a lesson, even if it meant someone reporting her to the National Assistance.
Finally it was over. She stood me on my feet, of course, being the devious little git that I am, I wobbled a bit, looked as if I was about to faint, and Mam wrapped me in her arms, acting all contrite, guilt can be a good commodity when youre eight and you knew how to wield it. As she wrapped me in her arms cooing to me and telling herself what a horrible person she was for inflicting this on her poor child, I made a cardinal error, and smiled, thinking to myself of how I could turn this to my advantage?
She saw this and instantly she was back to Were-Mam, my arse was back on that draining board in a flash. She had the Carbolic soap in her hand raised and ready to "wash" me again. I just looked on with what I can only describe now as a futile-acceptance of something I had no control over. She saw this, and slowly dropped the bar onto the floor, looked at me with a little discomfort and possibly shame on her face and told me to get off the drainer.
This wasn't so easy with my little legs and no stool to climb down. But I eventually struggled off and stood before her. "Now", she said. "Will you ever swear again?" I hung my head and swore on the Bible that I wouldn't. She stood in front of me with her hands on her hips, her foot tapped constantly in a temper-fuelled rhythm, I knew I could still be in trouble at this sign. She sighed and said under her breath, as she shook her head slowly from side to side, "Eee, our Brian, what am I going to do with you?" I just hoped it wasn't anymore of what had just took place. She then sent me to my room, without supper.
I'd like to say at the end here that I learned my lesson that day. But I'd be lying, because I still swore, I just never put myself in the position of letting mam hear me.
