Grandad

"It was never like that was I was a lad.  I mean, in those days if you spoke to the referee like that you'd be off.  And a good thing too I say."

Grandad leaned forward and with a jab of his forefinger turned off the television.

 "Disgraceful.  That's what it is.  I'm not letting you watch filth like that in my house," he said angrily.

 "But Grandad, it's only football," said Tom with a pleading tone.

 "I don't care what it is.  I'm not having language like that in my house."

It didn't matter that Grandad hadn't actually heard what the footballer said.  He was a good lip reader and that was enough for him.  Tom had only ever heard his Grandad swear once.  That was when Germany had beat England on penalties in the World Cup Semi-finals.  Grandad had forgotten that Tom was in the room.

 "I mean if we all went on like that where would we be?  If you can't keep a civil tongue in your head you should keep quiet."  Grandad ranted on, "If I ever caught you swearing I'd give you a good thick ear and no mistake."

 "Yes Grandad, I know," replied Tom with a sigh.  Once Grandad got going there was no stopping him.  He made himself comfortable and got ready to listen to one of his war stories.

 "Now lad, during the war you know..........."



Joe

I wondered when I'd see Joe again.  Joe was my older brother and today was the day he was joining the army.  This meant not just a new job for him, but a new home too.  He was going to live in the barracks with all the other soldiers.  Everybody had come to see Joe off.  Grandma, Grandad, Auntie Flo and even next door's cat.  Mum was crying.

 "Do make sure you look after yourself love," she mumbled between the tears. "And make sure you ring me once in a while."

 "Oh do leave the boy alone Gladys.  He's going to join the army.  It's only Pudsey not Timbuktu."

Dad couldn't be doing with emotional sent offs.

I didn't really know what to think.  I mean I'd put up with ten years of his teasing.  You know the stuff if you've got an older brother: slapping you around the head, nicking your best toys and then claiming not to have them, the constant name-calling.  Joe was forever calling me squirt.  I could just about put up with that, but when he called me his kid brother, it really got up my nose.  He always managed to make sure I got the blame for everything he'd done.  Then there was his bedroom.  When he left I could move out of my tiny room and into his, much bigger bedroom.

Do you think I'd miss my big brother?  You'd think not, but in a strange way I felt quite upset.  I would miss him.  After all, who would I have to annoy?



George

George hated Wednesdays.  Wednesday was the day he had to leave early for school because that was the day dad had to leave early for work.  Wednesday was the day he had to stand in the freezing playground for an hour waiting for the bell to go.  Wednesday was the day his normal teacher went on a course and Class 7 had the dreaded Mr. Smythe.  Mr. Smythe; boring and nasty.  Wednesday was the day they all had tables and spelling tests.  Wednesday was the day the school cook always did boiled cabbage for lunch.  Worst of all, Wednesday was the day dad was late home from work, so he had to stay the night at Auntie Karen's.

George sighed.  He felt that life wasn't really very fair.  Of course, all his friends had to put up with Mr. Smythe, but he was the only one who had to stay at Auntie Karen's.

Auntie Karen was all right, but she was always going on.  "Poor wee lamb," she'd say.  "No-one to call his own in the whole world."  This wasn't strictly true of course, but Auntie Karen just had her funny ways, like hugging and kissing him all the time.

Thursdays were better, and Thursday night was the best.  Dad was back and they'd have home-delivered pizza for tea.  He stayed up late on Thursdays and dad always read to him.  It was something to look forward to and almost, but not quite, made up for Wednesdays.