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  That was all ahead of me, though. Once I had the nickname of “The Quiet

  Man” I admitted defeat and I began to open up a bit, and soon I was accepted as just another one of the lads and that was that. I was surprised to find that on different days you would be working on all kinds of different cargo, and depending on what it was or the size of it, you were mixing with lots of Dockers on and off. It soon became obvious that everyone had a tale to tell about someone else on the dock. Who was up to what, and so on. The names went on and on. You found yourself forgetting their real name and using their nickname instead. Quite often you would be working with someone for years and never actually know what their real name was. You would just refer to them as their nickname. Like “The London Fog”. You’d probably refer to them as a glass back these days, but it means the same thing. London fog never lifts, you see?

  One of the Dockers I worked with all of the time was called, “The Ghost”, because he was always moaning, and me other big mate at the time hated the bloody place. He was always saying he wanted a change so he was called, “Doctor Jekyll”. We were put into a gang which was usually about ten of us, though the number of people in it tended to change from time to time. I can remember “The Plazzy Surgeon” (he was a good grafter), “The Reluctant Plumber” (wouldn’t do a tap), “The Lazy Lawyer” (he always used to struggle with cases), “The Two Bob Bouncer”, “Van Gogh” (when asked for anything he would always say, “I’ve got one ‘ere”) and “The Olympic Torch”, who never went out, allegedly.

  On most days the ten of us used to have our lunch together, and what with times being hard and what have you we tended to find that whatever we had on our butties that day was what was going to be on them all week. So we devised a system called, “The Divvy Up”. What all of us would do is to put all of our sandwiches still wrapped up on the table in the shed, or wherever we happened to be, and then we would all take turns to pick one out that wasn’t our own. That way we would all have a bit of variety throughout the week. Sometimes you would end up with jam or even marmalade, though sometimes it worked out okay and you had something that was nicer. It was a good system and it worked pretty well.

  We were sat there one day chewing over our sarnies and discussing the policeman on the Gladstone gate called “One a Day” as he used to, as you would expect, catch one a day with his “take home”. The good shepherd had been caught with a whole frozen lamb under his coat the week before, and his explanation that he was simply keeping the lamb warm didn’t count for much at all.

  “He’s lucky he didn’t bloody end up with pneumonia” said the Lazy Lawyer, to which Van Gogh just nodded.

  “Should have cut it up first” mused the Olympic Torch and there were several nods of agreement. We carried on with our food and some of us had a smoke when the vicar put his head around the door.

  “Hey men!” he shouted, “The Piano” (as everyone plays on him) has some nights going if anyone’s interested?” Most of the lads shook their heads. It had been a long week and we were all pretty knackered. Everyone except the Two Bob Bouncer who just strode along ahead of us the same as usual, he didn’t seem to be tired at all. Mind you, I did notice that even he didn’t take up the offer of doing a night shift. “The Jelly” would probably snatch their hand off, though. After all, he was always saying it would only take one night and he would be set.

  One by one we headed back to work. I was walking with The Reluctant Plumber, who true to his name seemed to be lagging behind me just a bit. “Why do they call him the Two Bob Bouncer?” I asked, realising that I either couldn’t work it out or hadn’t been told.

  “Dunno.” said the Reluctant Plumber, and turned to the Plazzy Surgeon who also shook his head.

  “No idea.” he said. I just smiled and left it at that. It probably had something to do with his size, I remembered thinking. Two Bob was in fact, enormous. Perhaps time is playing tricks with me but in my head when I think about him I have him as at least six and a half foot tall, and probably just as wide as well. What I do remember for certain, is his hands. They were like bloody shovels. Enormous. Each finger was about twice the size of mine, and I’m not a small bloke by any stretch of the imagination. Suffice to say that the Two Bob Bouncer was very popular on any gang he worked on purely for how strong he was. Sometimes it seemed as if he could manhandle a crate out of the hold on his own. A big man. A very big man.

  He had been there years, as well. Longer than most could remember. The Ghost told me that he was sure he would be coming up for retirement this year. He certainly didn’t look old enough to retire by the look of him, but generally he was that big that it was difficult to take him all in at once anyway. So I assumed because he looked like a bouncer then that was where his name came from. But it’s not like me to let anything go, and over the next few days I asked a few of the older guys on the dock if they knew the origins of Bob’s name.

  None of them did.

  It was quite funny really, seeing them searching their memory for any recollection of exactly where the name The Two Bob Bouncer came from. Especially when I was told that his real name was Martin, though I for one had never heard him called that. There were a few outlandish theories pushed backwards and forwards, but nothing that made any real sense. Most of them concluded that it was indeed, as I thought, merely something to do with Martin’s size, and simply that he would definitely make a very good bouncer. Not that, as far as any of us were aware he had ever done any work as a bouncer. In fact he was quite the opposite. A gentle soul. Rarely had anything bad to say about anyone, even when they deserved it, and he pretty much kept himself to himself.

  When we finished that night I found myself running for the bus with The Two Bob Bouncer just behind me. Best to explain that the buses way back then were not the same as they are now. The old buses had a conductor to collect the fares, and the back of the bus was wide open. A quite wide step led either up the stairs to the top deck, or through to the lower one. The conductor would let the driver (who was cossetted away in a little cabin at the front of the bus) know when to stop by ringing a buzzer or bell once, and ring it twice to tell the driver to pull off.

  As the two of us ran for the bus that day however I could see that it was absolutely chocker. I leaped on to the back of the bus just as the conductor rang the bell twice to tell the driver to move off. The Two Bob Bouncer was right behind me but the conductor held out his hand to stop him getting on as the bus began to move.

  “Full up, mate.” he said, as the bouncer stopped in the road. “No room. Not even for one more. Get the one behind.” Bob the Bouncer just looked at him, now keeping pace with the bus as it tried to move off into the traffic along the dock road.

  “Is that right?” he said. “Not even one?”

  “That’s right.” gulped the conductor noticing for the first time the Two Bob Bouncer’s size. “Not one.”

  The Two Bob Bouncer reached on to the bus and lifted the conductor off his feet and placed him effortlessly on the road. “You have now.” he said gently as the bus gathered speed. Just in time for The Two Bob Bouncer to jump on to the bus in his place. I swear I could feel the platform tilt as he got on. “You have now.” repeated The Two Bob Bouncer as the bus pulled away, the conductor now running after it, trying to catch up with the slowly accelerating bus and failing completely.

  There was a roar of laughter throughout the carriages as it moved away, the conductor in hot, but useless pursuit. The loudest cheers, of course, came from those who had yet to pay their fares. Especially “The Baldy Rabbit” sat down the front who never seemed to have his fare.

  “Hang on! Come back!” we could hear the conductor yelling but soon we were too far away and he just came to a halt in the road, shaking a fist at us as he came to a sudden breathless stop. Then we were gone. The Two Bob Bouncer just grinned at me and we took it in turns to operate the bell as the bus continued on its route, people getting on and off as it went about its way, the driver seemingly completely
oblivious to the fact that the bus no longer actually had a conductor on board at all. It was at this point that I decided to get it straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

  “So why do they call you the Two Bob Bouncer then?” I asked, but he just grinned at me and said nothing. There was an awkward silence, but it didn’t last long as shortly after that it was my stop and off I went. Half an hour later as I was supping a quick pint before returning home the conductor passed us, obviously intent on walking to the depot. He got a round of applause as he went past. I seem to recollect that “Beams On Toast” and “Golf Ball” were there that night, and we all stood laughing as the conductor continued on his way. Probably too proud to jump another bus. Beams On Toast, by the way was a right character. Used to operate the cranes. During his first few weeks on the docks he was lifting a cargo of steel girders with the crane with the wind caught the metal, causing it to smash into the canteen that was full of Dockers at the time. It was bloody lucky that the beams only caused minor damage, and the Dockers who were in there having their breakfast were bloody lucky not to be killed. Anyway, beams on toast it was from then onwards. Golf Ball used to work on the ships and he had a talent for falling down any hole that came his way. Not clumsy, as such. He just seemed to have trouble going around them. One thing about Golf Ball though was his singing. Get a few pints down him and the pub would come to a halt as he sang. His voice would lift us, soaring out into the night, and many a man there would join in too, perhaps a tear at the corner of their eyes. These were hard men. They had to be. But when Golf Ball sang, some of them used to cry like babies. That was a long, long time ago and I can still hear him singing. I think in my heart I would rather be dead than lose that memory.

  Anyway. Why The Two Bob Bouncer was called that was now beginning to eat at me. Nobody seemed to know! By now people were beginning to get fed up of me asking the question, and if anyone ever asked him directly, as I had found out before he would just grin and then carry on as if no-one had said a word. A couple of weeks later I overhead one of the foremen, “The Mirror” (“Whatever you do reflects on me”), talking to another foreman, “The Sheriff” (“what’s the hold-up” ) about The Two Bob Bouncer, and that he was due to retire at the end of June. That was less than three weeks away. I decided to step up my efforts to find out where he had got his name from.

  To no result whatsoever. Quite simply, nobody knew. It was strange really to see anyone you cared to ask draw a blank. It was almost as if something had been hidden right under their noses, and they had never noticed it. There were then usual theories, but nobody really knew. Not even the Dockers who seemed to have been there forever. Presumably The Two Bob Bouncer had been there longer than them and the origin of his name was therefore before their time. Whatever the reason, nobody could cast a light on where he got his name from. Weeks passed. The Two Bob Bouncer of course, had nothing to say about it at all. Even on his last day he stayed quiet, and slowly I became resigned to never finding out.

  That last day we were all working on a dirty cargo set for the Dunlop works. We called it carbon black, or just, “the black”. You would get a special pay rate for handling it, though God only knows what it did to us. It wouldn’t happen now. Health and safety would have a bloody fit. Anyhow, we are all down in the hold as the stuff was hauled up over the dock and into wagons parked on the quayside. It was dirty, hard work and we were all exhausted. Once we were done one by one the gang made their way back to the dock. I was fair knackered, covered from head to foot in this bloody awful black stuff, and was slower to make my way up than most of the others. We all looked as if we had been working down a bloody mine! I was slumped against a packing case trying to raise some energy to move when I realised that there was only me and The Two Bob Bouncer left. I had to laugh. He was about to retire and he looked as if he had more energy left in him than the rest of us put together! Certainly more than me, anyway! He was standing on a packing case on the other side of the hold, looking up at the bright sunlight shining through from up above. He too was black from head to foot, and he seemed lost in his thoughts.

  “Why are you so interested in why they call me The Two Bob Bouncer?” he suddenly said. He was not even looking at me. As I replied the sun hit him from up above until he looked like some kind of huge statue made of black stone.

  “Just being nosey, like.” I said defensively, and still without looking at me he grinned at that.

  “Fifty years on the dock.” he whispered, and it was almost as if he was talking to himself. “Where did it go?” Then he seemed to come to a decision.

  “Have you got two Bob on you?” He asked. Still looking up at the sun. Two Bob was a fair old bit of money back then, though. That’s two shillings to you. He must have read my mind. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it back.” and I noticed that he pulled a two Bob bit out of his pocket. I did the same. Wondering what he wanted another one for.

  “Catch.” I said, and threw it at him even though he wasn’t even looking at me. He was still gazing up at the sun, the other two Bob bit in his hand. Without looking he caught it with his other hand easily. Somehow I knew he would.

  “This.” he said, turning to face me now, the pair of us alone in the hold, both as black as the ace of spades. Him standing on top of the crate, the sun pouring down from above.

  “This is why they call me The Two Bob Bouncer.” And he threw both of the coins high into the air. They sparkled in the sunlight before they slowly fell back down and he caught both of them on the back of his hands. Then he started to move them from knuckle to knuckle, flipping them across the back of his fingers in each hand. When they got to the end he flicked them back to the start and began again. Both hands at the same time. It was an amazing thing to watch. Then he began to get faster, the coins almost a blur now, moving rapidly across the back of his hands, tumbling, bouncing from finger to finger. Flick. Back again. Faster. Flick. Faster still. Until the coins became a silver blur, and all the time he smiled. Never even looked at them. Just smiling at me. Faster still. Then the coins danced. After a minute or so as I stood mesmerised he gave them a final flick and both of the coins flew into the air and he caught them. Threw one back to me.

  “That was amazing.” I began to stutter, but The Two Bob Bouncer was already down off the crate and on his way out of the hold. I just stood there stunned as silence fell all around me. I eventually too headed up to leave, but by the time I had got my stuff together The Two Bob Bouncer had already gone.

  Do you know that was some forty years ago, and I swear I’ll never forget those coins flying across his hands. It was like a miracle. As if they had defied the law of gravity or some such thing. Even now, so many years later I can still see him in mind. As if it was yesterday. Tall as a statue up on the crate, bathed in sunlight, coins flying across the backs of his hands as he just stood there and smiled.

  But do you know the strangest bit? I have never told anyone before about it. Why The Two Bob Bouncer was called that. Sad really, if anyone other than me remembers him they have no clue why he was called that at all. Or at least that’s what I think. Mind you. I don’t suppose anyone would believe me, to be honest.

  But there you go. You heard it here first.

  SAMPLES

  There now follows a small advertising broadcast! I have included several snippets from some of my other stories for you to have a look at. Feel no obligation – browsing is more than welcome! If however you decide that you like what you see then all of the following are available either in the full version of, “Paul McCartney’s Coat and Other stories” (which contains ten short stories of varying lengths, paperback size is just over 300 pages). They are also available to purchase separately.

  The links are as follows:

  UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-White/e/B006Y7JHCK/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

  US: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-White/e/B006Y7JHCK/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

  I hope that you enjoy at least one of them and look forward to
seeing you in the future.

  Michael White

  (27th January 2012)

  Squire Bidecombe’s Tree

  I.

  ~ In the village of Tharnet, just before dawn a man sets out on a task, there is a memory of an acorn falling and rain is thought to be on the way. ~

  In the year of Our Lord One Thousand Six Hundred and fourty six in the village of Tharnet, just before dawn, Henry Bracebridge was a man in a hurry. It was a cold foggy morning and as he made his way down the lane, the covered lantern he held out before him was his only protection against the dark. A sharp wind made his progress slow, his cloak blowing around him. Across the meadows the dull sound of the shepherds bells rang dully as if muffled by the pre-morning mist.

  In his head Henry was considering the tasks set before him by the squire. All in all it should be a relatively simple chore and accordingly he had engaged a number of villagers that he thought he would require to aid him in accomplishing said business. He snorted aloud as he wondered whether Abraham Sprottle would arrive at the church yard before him. “Almost certainly he is still a-bed and here’s I out in the dark with the shepherds coming in from the hills.” he thought to himself as he picked his way over the rough stone strewn path, carefully making his way in the dark. He believed that he may have smelt rain in the air but he continued nonetheless on his way in the darkness. He knew that dawn would break soon, which should coincide with his arrival at his destination.