Don't know whether this should be here or in extended. Advice on this or anything else, much appreciated.

AN INTRODUCTION TO STATION ROAD AND THE GRIMSONS: INCLUDING ROVER.

In a pretty normal town, not too far away from here, was a pretty normal street.  The street was called Station road because at the bottom was the old railway station.  It isn’t used anymore.  In fact trains just shoot through without stopping.
Anyway, besides the noise of the trains it was a pretty quiet and tidy street.  All the people who lived there were very proud of their street.  That is, they would have been if it wasn’t for the people at number eight.  Number eight, the Grimson house, was terrible.

“Look at the state of that garden!” Mrs. Pugh would say.  Mrs. Pugh was a bit of a gossip; but it was true, the house was in a terrible state.

“Have you seen the filth on those windows?” said Mr. Johnson.

“I’d hate to think what their kitchen’s like,” said Mr. Samji.  (Mr. Samji was the school cook.)

“I wish they’d keep that dog locked up,” said Mrs. Douglas.  “You can’t go anywhere for stepping in dirt.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Douglas.  “And I’m sure it’s vicious.  The way it howls all night.”

Actually, most of the complaints from the neighbours were about the dog.  It howled all night (or so they claimed), it certainly left its little messages here, there and everywhere and it truly did look vicious.  In fact Rover wasn’t fierce, he was a very gentle dog, but he did look like he might eat anyone who so much as looked at him.

The Grimsons, who lived in number eight, didn’t fair much better with the neighbours.  Mr. Grimson was known as a scruffy lay-about.  You see, he didn’t have a job.  Mrs. Grimson was also called scruffy, but perhaps even worse than this, the neighbours called her a bad mother.  This brings us nicely to the children.

Michelle was eleven and in the top class at school.  She never wore a dress if she could help it and had her hair cut very short.  There was always a thin film of dirt covering her freckly face.  She was always climbing the one tree that stood at the corner of Station Road and Corporation Street.  The neighbours called her a tom boy and if anything went wrong, like broken windows for example, she always got the blame.

Billy was a year younger.  He was the one who the neighbours disliked the most.  Mrs. Pugh said she’d seen him smoking on the railway embankment.
“And he’s only eight!” she exclaimed.

Mr. Pugh said Billy used foul language and wouldn’t let his children play with him.  Actually, none of the people who lived on Station Road let their children with any of the Grimson children.  Of course, that didn’t stop it happening.

Lastly, there was Little Al.  Al was only three and didn’t go to school yet.  The neighbours didn’t actually dislike Al, they felt sorry for him.  He was always dribbling down his chin and never seemed to wear anything unless it had part of his last meal spilt down it.

“Poor little soul,” said Mrs. Bartholomew.  “He can’t even talk yet."

“I’m not surprised,” said Mrs. Samji.  “I’ll bet they never speak to him.”

“They,” of course, meant Mr. and Mrs. Grimson.

So now you’ve met the Grimsons and some of their neighbours.  You know what their neighbours thought about them because I’ve just told you.

However, not everyone who lived on Station Road was quite as rude about the Grimsons.  Mr. Brown’s my name.  Ted Brown.  At the time this all happened I lived at number ten.  I’d not long been retired and only just moved in. I moved to Station Road because I couldn’t face staying in the house I’d shared with Elsie for forty-two years.  When I moved in I didn’t know anybody and I wasn’t one for listening to gossip.

Anyway, this isn’t really my story, I’m only telling it for a friend.  I’ll tell you more about that at the end.  I must admit, I’ve added a few bits here and there and missed a few bits out, just to make it more interesting.  Anyway, if I wrote everything down, it would go on forever, and I can go on a bit.



Chapter one

Mr. Brown’s story.
OLD ENDINGS AND NEW BEGINNINGS.

I retired from work last year.  Thirty-eight years I’d worked there and only three days off sick.  That must be quite a record, especially these days.  By the time I’d finished I’d risen to chief store-keeper.  Instead of unloading lorries and stacking shelves, filling forms and then carrying all the bits around the factory when people needed them, I had three young men to do it for me.  All I had to do was check they did it right.  I was responsible, so if anything went wrong it was me who got into trouble.  “Old Ted” they called me, the three young blokes.  But they didn’t mean any harm by it.  Anyway, I was old.

After thirty-eight years in one place you’d think I would have been glad to be leaving, but I wasn’t.  You see I’d grown so used to going to work that I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.  I was looking forward to spending more time with Elsie my wife, but I wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of having me home all day.

When I left they had a whip round and bought me a gold watch.  There wasn’t much of a pension but Elsie and I had never had much and I knew we would manage.
I needn’t have worried about Elsie.  She loved having me at home and I must admit I enjoyed it too.  Every Thursday we’d go to Suncliff-On-Sea.  It’s not far on the bus and it didn’t cost much because we both had our bus passes.

One Thursday, it was early summer, we were strolling along the prom when Elsie said, “Harry love, let’s have an ice cream eh?  It’s such a lovely day.  We can sit here and watch the world go by while we eat them.”

Elsie sat down on a bench and I went off to buy the ice cream.

“Elsie love, I’ve got your favourite. Vanilla choc ice,” I said when I got back.  But Elsie couldn’t hear me.  She sat there looking beautiful and happy, but when she didn’t answer straight away, I knew she was dead.

After the funeral I kept on doing the things Elsie and I used to do together.  Every Thursday I’d go to Suncliff-On-Sea and walk along the prom.  I’d even sit on the bench where I’d left Elsie to go and buy ice creams.  At least, I thought, she was happy when she went.

It wasn’t the same when I came back to an empty house though.  I’d remember all the things we’d done and just upset myself.  So after a lot of thought I decided to move.  When I sold the house I had just enough money to buy a small terrace in a nice street called Station Road.  It was closer to the bus stop for my visits to the seaside and within walking distance of the cemetery.  I went there every Sunday after church and laid flowers on the grave.