By Terry Patterson
The wind from the North Sea could chill a man to the bone but it didn’t deter Jimmy Latimore and Tom Hadaway as they both looked out onto an almost orange red sky. Tom pulled up the collar of his heavy reefer jacket and took hold of the peak on his cap pulling it over his brow to stop it from blowing away. They took each step a little slower these days as they headed down onto the quayside, something that they had done for over sixty years as friends. Nothing had really changed on the river as they stood on the old Library Stairs looking out onto a brilliant sunrise. It lit up the River Tyne on the Northeast Coast of England. It was a sight that always delighted Tom even though he now lived in Preston, some two hours’ drive away. Jimmy sniffed the air and remembered the smell that permeated from the Guyana works where he drove the popper lorry up the bank laden with offal to be turned into fertiliser. The one hundred and four moss-covered steps at the top of Clive Street were worn with age, where over the decades many feet had tread. The grass on either side was overgrown now and the place where he sat of a lunch time as a boy was covered in ivy.
“You’d think that they would come and tidy the place up, wouldn’t you?” said Jimmy, pointing at the old building on the right that was also covered with graffiti and bits of plaster flaking off it.
“Aye, that was a lovely place to sit and write. I used to bring my two egg sandwiches and a bottle of pop at lunch time when I was just a lad and sit for hours up there. I would watch the Leda and the Neptune going out to sea, pulled by the old tugboats past the bar at Tynemouth.”
“They are small now compared with the big container ships that sail up the Tyne now, Tom.”
“They’ve got no character though, have they? I mean, when I worked at Smiths Dock as a corker burner there were some beautiful ships built there.”
“The river is dead now, look at it, there isn’t a boat in sight.”
“Aye, and no fish stores either. To think that once this was the biggest herring port in the world. We exported fish all over the country, you know. The Fish Quay was always a busy place with young herring girls who came from Scotland to gut the herring and put them into barrels.”
Jimmy stopped halfway down the stairs and took out a baccy tin from his pocket that had been neatly decorated with Bryant matchsticks that had been carefully sanded down. There was a painting of a trawl boat on the lid. The whole tin had been given several coats of clear varnish and it was quite a beautiful piece of work. He took out a pack of Rizla cigarette papers from inside the tin, squeezed one from the packet then grabbed a pinch of tobacco from the Golden Virginia pouch and began to spread it along the paper in his right hand. Quickly he brought it to his lips and using the tip of his tongue licked the end of the paper then neatly rolled it between finger and thumb.
“Those things will kill you one of these days you know, Jimmy.”
“Bugger off Tom,’ replied Jimmy in a thick Geordie accent. “I’ve been smoking since I was nine years old. I’m seventy-eight now and still going strong. Judith, my wife used to say that an aal’, she never smoked or ate any fatty foods when we were married and died when she was only sixty-four.”
“She might have lived longer if she hadn’t been running after you all day long.”
“What you trying to say, like?” said Jimmy, giving Tom a look of contempt.
Further down the stairs was the side of Gilbergs, an old fish store which sold prawns. It was closed and boarded up at the front now and it looked like some ancient ruin. Jimmy instinctively took out a match from his pocket, stuck it against the wall and it ignited. He held it to the end of the roll-up that was hanging from the corner of his mouth. He puffed away until the end glowed then held it between the finger and thumb of his right hand. He shook the match out with the other and then placed it back into his jacket pocket to use in another project that he was working on in his spare time.Once at the bottom of the stairs Tom looked up.
“To think I used to run up these buggers years ago.”
“You couldn’t run for a bus now.”
“Listen who’s talking, look at you, you’re out of breath.”
“I used to beat you in the hundred yards dash at Ralph Gardner when the school had its sports day though, Tom.”
“Aye,’ well I wasn’t built for speed, I was more a distance runner, I was.”
“Come on, we’ll have a race to the Waterfront Cafe. The loser buys the fish and chips.”
“That’s not fair, I mean… it’s alright for you. You’ve got a private pension.”
“What’s that got to do with having a race?”
“A bloody lot these days, it costs £3.80 for a pensioner’s special. I remember when it cost one shilling and nine pence old money.”
“Aye, the robbing buggers took one hundred and forty pence off us when we went decimal didn’t, they?”
“Biggest con trick ever that was.”
“Anyway, I thought you got left a fair bit when Judith died; I mean you did all right there, didn’t you?”
“What? You’re joking, I don’t get free housing benefit and council tax like you, Tom. The bloody government takes what little Judith left me in tax and the bit I have left pays the bills and I live on the rest. I only get seventy-seven quid a week pension.”
“You don’t have any rent to pay though, do you?”
Walking past the closed down stores they could both smell the beef dripping that fried the fish and chips from the Waterfront Cafe. Jimmy began to quicken his pace.
“Hold on will you, I never said it was a race.”
“It’s your bloody turn to buy them anyway. I bought them last week.”
“Are you sure, I’m sure I paid for them.”
“No,’ I paid because if you remember rightly, I ordered extra bread and butter for you and it cost me forty pence more.”
“God, you’re not quibbling over forty pence, surely.”
“No, but I’m just saying that I paid last week so it’s your turn.”
Turning the corner, they reached the Waterfront Cafe and went inside. Jimmy headed straight for a seat in the corner of the room where he liked to sit.
“You order the fish and chips, I’ve got to go to the back, I’m bursting.”
“I’m not paying, mind you, Tom.”
“Alright, don’t go on about it.”
Tom disappeared through a door leading to the gents toilets as Jimmy tried to get the attention of the waitress. The waitress was in deep conversation with a couple sitting at another table and Jimmy was getting impatient. His stomach began to growl like a dog. He looked over, waving his arms trying to get her attention. She saw him out of the corner of her eye but ignored him. Frustrated, Jimmy could not help himself. He shouted over to the waitress.
“Here, pet, when you’ve got a minute, like, I’d like to place an order.”
The young woman gave Jimmy a tight-lipped smile then carried on talking to the couple sitting at the table. Jimmy began to mumble, getting angrier by the second. “What have you got to do to get served in this place?” he exclaimed, holding both palms open in protest and speaking loud enough for others in the cafe to hear. Jimmy picked up a menu and began to peruse it in the hope that the young woman could see that he was ready to order. Moments later Tom returned to the table.
“Have you ordered yet?”
“No,”
Jimmy pointed over to where the waitress was standing and who was still talking away to the couple at the table.
Tom stood up and casually walked over to the young woman.
“Excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude, but we’d like some lunch.”
The young woman stopped in the middle of her conversation, looked up from the table and took out her note pad.
“Yes sir, what can I get you?”
“Two pensioners specials please, with extra bread and butter and a pot of tea for two.”
“Your meal will be with you shortly sir.”
“Thank you, you are so kind.”
Tom returned to his seat and sat down. “There you are, that wasn’t hard, was it?”
“She’s still yapping away though isn’t she.”
“Well, give her a bit of time, she looks like a new girl.”
“She won’t last long in here if she’s talking all day long. Look, I’m hungry, we don’t usually wait this long.”
“Didn’t you eat breakfast?”
“No, I didn’t get to the shops to buy a box of cornflakes from the cheap shop yesterday.”
“You could have gone and got them from the corner shop.”
“Are you kidding, they charge you two pounds forty for just a small box when I can get a one kilo box from Heron’s for just one pound eighty. That’s a saving of sixty pence, and you get more for your money.”
“God, I never had you down as a tight arse but you are, aren’t you?”
“Hey bonny lad, I must make all my pennies count. I haven’t got a private pension.”
“Will you stop going on about my private pension? It’s not that much.”
“It affords you two holidays to Spain every year. You never asked me if I’d like to go with you.”
“Jimmy! I see you every week; what would I want to go to Spain with you for?”
“Well because you are on your own and so am I. It would be good company for you and anyway, it’s cheaper going with another person.”
“I like to go on my own, I get to meet some nice people.”
“The only people you meet are old widows looking for a mug like you to wine and dine them.”
“I met a lovely looking woman last year in Benidorm, she was only fifty-nine and very attractive.”
“What the hell was she doing with you then?”
“She liked my stimulating conversation. She thought I was rather charming for a Brit.”
“Where was she from, like?”
“She was from Thailand.”
“Are you sure it was a woman? It could have been one of them; what do they call them again?”
“What?”
“You know, those lady boys.”
“Don’t be daft, I would know?”
“You wouldn’t know, unless they had a 5 o’clock shadow the next morning.”
The waitress came and placed two plates of food on the table and then left. Jimmy picked up the salt cellar and put some on his fish and chips then proceeded to make a chip butty with his hands. He filled the slice of bread with chips without cutting it then picked up the red sauce and smothered it before folding the sandwich and flattening it with his hands before taking a huge bite.
“Do you have to do that? Can you not eat like a civilized person?”
“Like what? What’s wrong with the way I eat?” replied Jimmy with the remnants of crumbs and tomato sauce in the corner of his mouth.
“God, it shows your breeding doesn’t it.”
“Oh, pardon me little Lord Fauntleroy.”
The waitress brought the pot of tea and two cups, placed them on the table and Tom thanked her.
“This is the Waterfront Cafe in North Shields Tom, not bloody Buckingham Palace.”
“I’ll pour the tea, shall I?”
“Don’t forget to lift your pinkie then!” Jimmy laughed.
Tom picked up the metal teapot and poured out two cups then added milk.
“You don’t take sugar do you Tom?”
“No, I’m type two diabetic.”
“Shame that, I’ll have to eat an ice cream on my own then.” Jimmy picked up the sugar bowl and spooned four heaped teaspoons into his cup and noisily stirred.
“Four sugars, how on earth do you drink it like that?”
“I’ve always drank it that way.”
Tom proceeded to take the skin off the fish whilst Jimmy cut a large piece from his and rammed it into his mouth and chewed it noisily.
“That’s a nice piece of cod, is it not, Jimmy?”
“Cod? You’ll be lucky, that’s more than likely to be pollock.”
“Pollock? But it says cod fillet on the menu.”
“Does it? Well, I would go and complain because if that is cod, I’ll stand tapping mate. I served my time as a filleter, and I tell you, that’s not cod.”
Tom got up from his seat and went over to the waitress and made a complaint. The young woman was remonstrating with Tom, but he was adamant and pointed out what was on the menu. The waitress came and took the plates away and apologised profusely.
The men were kept another twenty minutes before the waitress returned. This time the pieces of fish were decidedly larger than they had been given originally and the fact that Jimmy had eaten half of his pollock from the other plate.
“Well,’ said Tom holding his hands outward.”
“Well, what asked Jimmy?”
“Is it cod or not?”
Jimmy cut into the fish and the white flakes and milky taste told him straight away that this was indeed cod. He nodded then began to eat the fish with gusto. The waitress brought a fresh pot of tea and then said that there would be no charge for the meal by way of an apology. Jimmy waited until the woman had left before speaking.
“Well, since I got us a free meal,7 you can pay next week.”
“Me, your joking, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m bloody serious.”
“You’ve got a nerve.”
“Are you going to eat that last slice of bread or what?”
Tom just shook his head and shoved the plate in Jimmy’s direction. Jimmy poured out the fresh tea, added milk then spooned in another four sugars. He took a large slurp from the cup and made an aah sound before slapping the cup down.
“You haven’t finished already, have you?”
“Nearly, I was hungry.”
“You never stopped for breath.’ I don’t know how you’re so thin.”
“Built for speed, I told you. Look, whilst you are finishing off your meal, I’m going to the van over the road for a sugar-cone ice cream. I might even treat myself to a flake as well.’
Tom just shook his head in disbelief. Jimmy left the cafe and Tom was left inside on his own. The waitress came back to where he was sitting sometime later.
“Are you enjoying your meal?”
“Yes,’ it’s very nice, Susan’, said Tom, taking note of the name tag on her overall. I love the pictures on the wall here.”
“Yes, they are all locally painted.
“I love that one over there with the moonlight that is reflecting upon the lake.”
“That is a painting by Ivan Lindsey, it’s the boating lake in Tynemouth.”
“It’s really beautiful.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
“It’s alright, I have only been here a few days.”
“I thought, because we hadn’t seen you before.”
“It’s only minimum wage but it’s a job.”
“Given the choice, what would you like to do?”
The girl thought for a moment then said. “I’d like to work abroad as a holiday rep. I’ve never been abroad before, and the weather is better than here. Tom went into his pocket and took out his wallet and gave the girl five pounds.
“The meal was free.”
“That is for you, put it towards getting a flight and a job abroad.”
Jimmy returned and sat down at the table.
“Did I see you give that girl a fiver?”
“Yes, do you know that she’s only on minimum wage.”
“I’m only on a state pension but no one is giving me fivers.”
“I don’t believe you Jimmy, have you no compassion at all.”
“Not when it comes to food, and by the way, you’re still paying next week.”
“Come on, let’s get out of here. I want to go to see the Lord Collingwood’s monument before I go home.”
“What for, it’s only been there since 1845.
“Because I like to look at it.”
Come on then, you sentimental old bugger.”
“Who are you calling old, you’re older than me.”
The two men left the café and made their way past Clifford’s fort and along the pathway, past the Black Middens towards the monument. It was the scene of many a shipwreck and tales of Jiggle Geordie, who was said to have led ships to their doom. Jimmy stood momentarily as he watched a trawler making its way back into the harbour. He took out his baccy tin, swiftly rolled another cigarette and placed it into the side of his mouth, then carried on walking.
The End
