by Carl Halling

Created on: September 24, 2011

Snapshots from a Child’s West London

I remember the 20th Chiswick Wolf Cub pack,

How I loved those Wednesday evenings,

The games, the pomp and seriousness of the camps,

The different coloured scarves, sweaters and hair

During the mass meetings,

The solemnity of my enrolment,

Being helped up a tree by an older boy,

Baloo, or Kim, or someone,

To win my Athletics badge,

Winning my first star, my two year badge,

And my swimming badge

With its frog symbol, the kindness of the older boys.

I remember a child’s West London…

One Saturday afternoon, after a football match

During which I dirtied my boots

By standing around as a sub in the mud,

And my elbow by tripping over a loose shoelace,

An older boy offered to take me home.

We walked along streets,

Through subways crammed with rowdies,

White or West Indian, in black gym shoes.

‘Shuddup!’ my friend would cheerfully yell,

And they did.

‘We go' a ge' yer 'oame, ain' we mite, ay?’

‘Yes. Where exactly are you taking me?’ I asked.

‘The bus stop at Chiswick 'Oigh Stree'

Is the best plice, oi reck'n.’

‘Yes, but not on Chiswick High Street,’

I said, starting to sniff.

‘You be oroight theah, me lil' mite.’

I was not convinced.

The uncertainty of my ever getting home

Caused me to start to bawl,

And I was still hollering

As we mounted the bus.

I remember the sudden turning of heads.

It must have been quite astonishing

For a peaceful busload of passengers

To have their everyday lives

Suddenly intruded upon

By a group of distressed looking Wolf Cubs,

One of whom, the smallest,

Was howling red-faced with anguish

For some undetermined reason.

After some moments, my friend,

His brow furrowed with regret,

As if he had done me some wrong, said:

‘I'm gonna drop you off

Where your dad put you on.’

Within seconds, the clouds dispersed,

And my damp cheeks beamed.

Then, I spied a street I recognised

From the bus window, and got up,

Grinning with all my might:

‘This'll do,’ I said.

‘Wai', Carl,’ cried my friend,

Are you shoa vis is 'oroigh'?’

‘Yup!’ I said. I was still grinning 

As I spied my friend's anxious face

In the glinting window of the bus

As it moved down the street.

I remember a child’s West London…

One Wednesday evening,

When the Pops was being broadcast

Instead of on Thursday,

I was rather reluctant to go to Cubs,

And was more than usually uncooperative

With

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