The continuing story of the two Liverpool brothers growing up in postwar Liverpool.
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The mayhem and humor continues in this sequel.
I gave him a look of death. “Yer little turd, go and fetch bucket water.”
He left the room smirking, knowing that I would probably get the blame for all this. I’m surprised he hadn’t sprouted wings by now.
The chimney still roared, the clock on the mantelpiece vibrated. Outside soot fell like snow
covering everything in a black greasy film. Neighbours were beginning to appear on their steps watching our billowing chimney. They stood on their front steps talking and pointing.
Willie came rushing in with his slopping bucket; he flung the water onto the fire. The blowback was horrendous, a loud rumble sounded followed by clouds of wet soot, black smoke and smutty steam. We were covered from head to foot. A giant ball of black sooty steam suddenly puffed out of the chimney and curled up into the sky and the fire was out.
We both fled into the backroom looking like something from the back of beyond. I flung open the window and sucked in massive amounts of fresh air. “Yer arse Willie is going to be red raw when Ma gets home.”
I grabbed his arm. “If I get the blame for this bull fart then I’m going ram yer head right up yer bum end!”
“Yeah I can see yer doing that!”
“See, yer say? You’ll have tunnel vision by the time I’ve finished with yer!”
The smell of burning rubber had quickly spread through the house like one of Willies silent farts.
We spent all day trying to clean the walls, ceiling
and almost everything that was covered in black smuts. Even the bay windows and curtains were covered in greasy flecks. We did our best in trying to clean up the mess but I was afraid it wasn’t going to be good enough. Willie didn’t seem too bothered about our situation.
We secured the house and wandered into the shed and waited for Ma to come home. We sat in silence, shivering and pondering our fate. Even Michael was quiet for a change. We heard the Metti’s come home from school, and then the devil dog scampered around their garden looking for something to kill or maim. Our world was suddenly coming alive again. Our back door slammed almost rattling every window pane in the house.
“I think Ma’s home.” I grimaced.
Willie rubbed his chin. “I think we’d better go in, maybe things will be alright now.”
“I’ll tell yer what Willie; I’ll follow yer through the door.”
“Yeah, I bet yer will! But warra about our faces, we can’t go in looking like this, can we?”
“Come on I have an idea.”
I crept into the outside toilet and ripped a few pieces of newspaper off the nail and wet them in the pot. I gave one to Willie. “Here wipe yer face with this.”