“Mum and Dad told me they want to meet Molly,” said Albie, “I’ve gotta invite her to dinner next Sunday – but will she come – or is it too soon?”

www.albiestales.co.uk part four

ALBIE’S PARENTS were not at all happy when he breezed in late that Sunday night upon his return from Blofield Heath! Just where had he been all that time they demanded to know. He could have been laying face down, freezing to death, in a ditch down some deserted lane for all they knew, he was told. Deciding he’d had quite enough excitement for one day, and feeling a trifle weary after his epic journey, he took himself upstairs to the sanctuary of his bedroom and began writing up the account of his latest adventure in his diary.

ONDAY, 12 AUGUST 1963, dawned bright and sunny, with scarcely a cloud in the sky, though Albie was in blissful ignorance of the day’s weather as, by mid-morning, he had yet to emerge from the comfort of his bed. After all, he was on holiday he told himself, turning over and gathering the eiderdown tightly around his neck. His mother, however, had other ideas and, deciding it was high time he got up, went upstairs and burst into his bedroom.

“Wearke up, yew learzy waarmin!” she shouted, invading his dreamworld, at the same time roughly shaking him by the shoulder. “Dorn’t yew know what time that is?”

Albie hadn’t a clue, wasn’t at all bothered and, tugging the eiderdown up over his ears, went back to sleep.

“ALBIE!” shouted his mother pulling the covers back again, “do yew git up this instant – tha’s almost eleven! I en’t hevin’ yew stinkin’ in bed all day, even if yew are on haarldy!”

“And another thing,”she continued, getting a clean pair of socks out of his tallboy and laying them at the foot of his bed, “when yew cearme hoome learte larst night, yew jist left yar scoota standin’ in the backyard an’ tha’s dropped oil all over the concrete that hev. When yew git up yew kin mop that up fur a staart – do yew doan’t that’ll tread indoors that will, an’ I en’t hevin’ that, I en’t!”

ALBIE TELLS HIS MOTHER ABOUT MOLLY

Just before lunchtime, Albie put in an appearance and, half dressed, came downstairs and went through into the scullery. Filling the kettle with cold water from the tap over the old stone sink he put it on the stove to boil.

“I reck’n Molly’s the one for me, Mum,” he said, standing over the sink lathering his face before having a shave, “she’s really nice – not at all like that other lot!”

“Doan’t live in no council house, do she?” his mother asked, handing him a freshly-laundered towel out of the cupboard. “That’d never do that wun’t... anyway, yew hen’t said what her father do, hev ya?”

“Oh – he’s a farmer,” Albie replied, drying his face and buttoning up his shirt, “an’ they live in their own house they do, an’orl!”

“Is that a big, posh house on his farm then?”

“Well, no, that en’t quite that big – more like a nice, cosy little cottage – but he’s gotta small-holdin’ on’y just down the road,” Albie told his mother, wisely avoiding the mention of ‘a tied cottage’.

“Father an’ me would hoolly like to meet your Molly,” his mother told him, making a start with the lunch. “That we would...”

“Why doan’t yew bring her home for dinner this Sund’y?” she continued, washing a lettuce in the sink and giving it a good shake dry in a tea towel. “Then we could git to know her prop’ly.”

“I’ll be seein’ Molly tonight,” Albie replied, opening the back door and glancing at the oil stains under his Lambretta scooter. “Maybe I’ll ask her then... but first I s’pose I’d better get stuck in an’ mop that oil up for a start...”

“Do I doan’t that’ll tread indoors that will,” he laughed, walking down the path to the garden shed for a tin of Gunk to dissolve the oil, “ – then I’d never hear the last of it, would I?”

I KNOW A MAN WHO CAN

First thing after tea, Albie set off on his scooter again and headed towards Blofield Heath to see Molly. Following the route of the previous day – by now well-rehearsed in his mind – he made speedy progress through the Norfolk countryside, and looked like reaching Blofield Heath well under the hour. It proved a fairly uneventful journey apart from an enforced stop due to a whiskered spark plug near the Tunstead dual-carriageway, the first of its kind to be seen in Norfolk on a minor road!

Pulling the Lambretta onto its stand, Albie took a plug spanner out of the toolbox from under the seat, knelt down and began undoing the spark plug.

“Are you having some trouble, sir?” called a man on a yellow and black motorcycle combination, pulling up beside Albie. “If you can’t fix it, I know a man who can!” he laughed, getting off his motorcycle.

“Thanks, but tha’s on’y a whiskered-up plug...”

“If you joined us, at the AA, we could do that for you, whenever or wherever you break down... you’re bound to see our yellow and black telephone boxes just about everywhere you go, y’know!”

“I’ll think about it, thanks,” replied Albie, taking a penknife out of his pocket and picking away at the little piece of black carbon bridging the gap of the spark plug, before putting it back in his scooter again. “I can manage at the moment – but, thanks for stopping!”

As he continued on his way, Albie kept an eye out for the ubiquitous yellow and black boxes, however, on the roads he was using, they seemed to be conspicuous by their absence!

SORRY – NOT AT HOME!

Arriving at Blofield Heath, just after seven that evening, Albie parked his Lambretta in the road outside Holly Cottage, opened the green-painted picket gate and walked the short distance to the front door.

“Molly hev jist gorn out,” her mother, Mavis, told him, as she answered his knock on the door. “She’s on’y jist gorn – carn’t be no more’n five minute since...”

“Oh, dear,” sighed Albie, feeling rather upset at having missed his girlfriend, “did she say where she wuz goin’?”

“Yis, she did,” replied Mavis, “but I dorn’t know if I’m at liberty to say...”

“But I am her boyfriend!” Albie told her, somewhat irritated by the breakdown in communications.

“Oh – spuz that on’t hurt – she’s gorn to see our Robert – tha’s har brother,” she replied, stepping outdoors and wagging her finger towards the end of the road. “He live down the rud near Snellings, he do – they’re reardio an’ telly people, y’know...”

Thanking her, Albie turned on his heel, sprinted back to his scooter and roared off down the road.

“That en’t far,” Molly’s mother shouted after him, “yew’ll soon catch’er up if yew hurry!”

A SURPRISE FOR ALBIE

Molly was strolling down the lane, just past the Two Friends public house, when Albie caught up with her, screeching to a halt kicking up a cloud of dust.

“Huh – you certainly took your time!” his girlfriend snorted, standing in front of him, hands on hips. “I din’t think you wuz coming t’night.”

“Sorry about that, Molly,” he replied, mopping his brow with the back of his hand. “I got held up by some AA man at Tunstead...”

“Tha’s your excuse – I wuz just off t’ see me brother and Wendy,” she replied, climbing onto the pillion seat of his scooter. “You can take me there, tha’s on’y jist down the road near Snellings...”

“Your chariot awaits, sweet maiden!” laughed Albie, taking a pair of sunglasses out of his zip-up jacket and putting them on. “Anyway, do you like my new ‘shades’?”

“Tha’s no small wonder you can see through ’em at all,” she snorted, “let alone see where you’re gorn. Keep ya eyes on the rud will ya – I watta git there in one piece!”

When they arrived at Robert and Wendy’s cottage, quite close to Snellings’ television shop, there was no sign of life. Opening the gate, Molly told Albie to ride his Lambretta up the rutted driveway and park it behind the house.

“And, gi’ them a hoot on your horn while you’re about it,” she shouted, closing the gate behind her. “They’re bound t’be here somewhere!”

“Wha’s orl the bluddy racket about?” shouted a man’s voice from the little yellow- and green-painted shed down the garden. “Carn’t a fella hev a bitta peace an’ quiet when he’s attendin’ to his ‘doos an’ demands’?”

Eventually, the door opened and a man – who Albie took to be Molly’s brother, Robert – emerged into the light of day. As the door swung back, Albie caught a glimpse of a roll of Izal dangling from the back of the door, with a large rusty-coloured bucket standing in the darkness! It then dawned on him this was the outside toilet. An earth closet! And he made up his mind, there and then, he would politely refuse to take advantage of the facilities, if offered, that is! In fact, he would wait until he got home if necessary!

“Wuh – tha’s yew then, Molls,” Robert said, giving his sister a big sloppy kiss on the cheek. “I wondered what all that conflopshun wuz about – so who’s this young fella-me-lad then?”

“This here’s my Albie,” she announced, grabbing her boyfriend by the hand. “I thought I told you all about him, din’t I, Rob?”

“Is he the car salesman I’re heard yew talk so much about?”

“No, ’corse that en’t – I don't know what you’re gorn on about,” Molly replied angrily, anxious to avoid any mention of her ‘colourful’ past. “The on’y blook I know what sell cars is that four-eyed git where I work – an’ I wun’t give him the time a day in a month o’ Sund’ys, I wun’t!

Robert then turned to Albie, wiped his hands on the backside of his green corduroy trousers and offered the young lad an ‘earthy’ hand of friendship.

“Tha’s a moighty foine scoo’a yew’re got there, bor,” he said, shaking Albie’s hand with all his worth. “Heh ya come far onnit?”

“Sheringham,” Albie replied, attempting to release his hand from Robert’s steely grip. “I’ve come from Sheringham on it – tha’s where I live – tha’s on the coast near Cromer...”

Robert laughed, a loud, guffawing, almost hysterical, laugh, leaning back as he did so with hands clasping his sides.

“Wuh, bor, I know where that is,” he chortled, “cabbidge-lookin’ I may well me, but green I en’t – I knows me Norfick, I do, an’ tha’s a fact!” Then, turning to his sister: “Tha’s jist down the rud from our caravan, en’t it?”

“What caravan’s that then, Robert?” inquired Albie, not actually seeing Molly’s brother as a member of the ‘travelling’ fraternity. “Somehow I can’t picture you, goin’ from door to door selling lucky heather and clothes pegs!” he joked.

Molly turned to Albie and laughed.

“Nothin’ of the sort, silly!” she said, digging Albie in the ribs, “Rob and Wendy – tha’s his wife – are hevin’ a week in a caravan at Runton, startin’ this Saturday, at Bullimore’s campsite near Wyndham Park.”

“Well, I’ll be blowed,” laughed Albie, “d’you know – tha’s where my grandparents live – en’t that a rummen?”

“Anyway, Rob – where’s Wendy?” Molly inquired, looking up the garden towards the house. “Is she in?”

Her brother shook his head. “No – she en’t hare, she en’t!” he replied, “Gorn to git a jug o’ bare from the pub, she hev – an’ I spuz she’re got mardlin’ o’ someone!”

“Rob – I’ve just had a thought,” said Molly, sidling up to him, “perhaps I could come with you and Wendy on Saturd’y an’ stay for the weekend, wha’d’ya think?”

“Wuh! Yew doan’t hatta arsk, Molls,” replied her brother, putting a weather-beaten arm around her waist and pulling her off her feet. “Corse yew kin, gal, then yew two lovebaards kin see each other orl weekend, carn’t ya?”

“And Albie can pick me up at the campsite,” said Molly, turning to her boyfriend and giving him the sweetest of smiles. “Then I could come to yours on Sund’y for dinner and meet your Mum and Dad!”

HELLO CAMPERS!

The following Sunday morning, at the end of the first week of his summer holidays, Albie was up bright and early, which was unheard of for him! Rushing his breakfast, he just couldn’t get out of the house fast enough and was soon tearing along on his Lambretta heading for Wyndham Park to meet Molly as arranged.

As he accelerated out of East Runton, rounding the left-hand bend at speed, he could see a solitary figure standing at the ’bus stop opposite the row of houses that led from the coast road almost to the clifftops. It was Molly!

“Hi, Albie,” she said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as she climbed onto the pillion seat of his scooter, steadying herself by holding onto his shoulders before sitting down. “You’re in good time for once – I’re on’y just got here.”

Setting off down the road they passed Bullimore’s campsite. Molly grabbed Albie by the shoulder and began waving frantically in the direction of the field sprouting a mass of white-painted caravans.

“Look, Albie!” she shouted, above the noise of the scooter, “there’s Rob an’ Wendy.”

Sitting in deck-chairs by the side of their caravan, they were already soaking up the early-morning sunshine, whilst on the camping table beside them a little kettle was whistling away to itself on the primus stove.

“YOO-HOO!” shouted Molly, continuing to wave and standing up on the scooter’s footboards, the shift in weight throwing it off course and sending it veering all over the road. “See ya later, you two!”

“Hang on, Molly!” shouted Albie, wrestling with the handlebars in an attempt to regain control of his scooter, “Sit down – and keep still will ya!”

As they entered the narrow street in East Runton – with holidaymakers blithely ambling across the road to the beach paying little regard to Albie or any other road-users for that matter – a yellow and black motorcycle outfit came towards them from the direction of Sheringham.

“Wha’s that bloke wearvin’ at us for?” asked Molly, as the AA man executed a fine hand-salute.

“He means tha’s all clear ahead,” replied Albie, opening the throttle hard and quickly exceeding the speed limit, “an’ there en’t no coppers about!”

So Molly promptly waved back with a ‘yoo-hoo’!

No sooner had they ‘hossed’ through East Runton, and up the hill past the Methodist chapel, than the familiar landmark of Beeston Bump appeared on the horizon like some giant carbuncle bursting out on the clifftops. With so much to see, Molly looked this way, then that, constantly wriggling about in her seat, craning her neck over Albie's shoulder to get a better view.

“Wha’s that flippin’ great ole hill over there?” she said, pointed to the ‘bump’ on the landscape. “En’t Norfolk s’posed t’ be flat?”

Albie just laughed, then slowed the Lambretta for the notorious ‘Beeston bends’ where many a luckless motorcyclist had come to grief over the years.

“We’re nearly there, Molly,” he said, as they cruised past Beeston Common and took a right-hand turn that passed under a railway bridge. “Not far now...”

“Tha’s good – ’cos, I’m gittin’ famished,” replied Molly, then, leaning over his shoulder to glance in the mirror on the handlebars, “afore I go indoors I’ll hatta do me hair – jist look at it – an’ I’ll hatta put on some lippy, otherwise what’ll your Mum and Dad think of me?”

THE PARENTAL SEAL OF APPROVAL

Bumping up onto the pavement, Albie rode his Lambretta down the little alleyway between Regis Cottage and the next-door neighbours’ house, and parked his scooter outside the back door.

Inside the scullery, his mother had seen them arrive and was at the window making frantic hand signals, which, roughly translated, meant: ‘USE THE FRONT DOOR’!

At the front of the house a welcoming committee had already formed. Albie’s mother, without pinafore, was putting the finishing touches to her latest ‘perm’, dabbing and patting each wispy, flyaway hair into its right and proper place. His father – woolly cardigan buttoned tightly to conceal his braces holding up his trousers – stood smiling with outstretched arms ready to embrace his new ‘girlfriend-in-law’!

“Well, hello, Molly, my dear,” said Albie’s mother, throwing her arms around the girl and kissing her several times on both cheeks. “So very nice of you to visit us, I’m sure! Our Albie has told us so much about you...”

“Tha’s nice to meet you an’orl, Mrs Gray,” Molly blurted out, quite overcome by the affectionate embrace – or was it the overpowering fragrance of Lily of the Valley?

“Do come in, my dear,” said Albie’s father, putting his arm around Molly and leading her into the front room, leaving Albie standing on the doorstep, surplus to requirements! “Any friend of Albie is most very welcome in this house – anytime!”

Anytime? thought Albie, surely not, still remembering the last time he invited a young lady home when his parents weren’t there. And the repercussions that followed, ending with the final ultimatum ‘never to bring anyone home to an empty house, ever again, for fear of neighbourly gossip!

“If I could... just... freshen up a bit...” blushed Molly, needing time to regain her composure.

“But, of course, my dear,” replied Albie’s mother, “no doubt you’d like the ‘lav’ after such an uncomfortable journey on a scooter – you’ll find it just out the back door and down the yard!”

“Thank you, Mrs Gray,” said Molly, quickly opening the back door and going outside.

“Wuh – boy Albie,” said his mother, the moment the door had closed behind Molly, “Yew hev done well, this time, hen’t ya? What a lov’ly little mawther she is, an’ dorn’t she talk proper an’orl. Whaddaya think, Father?”

Albie’s father was also most impressed with Molly – secretly admitting a yearning to be ten years younger!

“Yis – that there Molly’s hoolly nice,” he agreed as he began laying the table for Sunday lunch in the front room, usually reserved for Christmas. “Best knives an’ forks terday, I reck’n, dorn’t yew, Gladys?”

“Yis – an’ I’ll hatta put a new clorth on the tearble,” she replied, taking a crisply-starched tablecloth out of the drawer. “An’, for Gawd’s searke, pull ya cardigan down – you’re showing orf ya braces!”

NEXT: Albie and Molly have a ‘day to remember at Great Yarmouth’.

SOME OF ALBIE’S FAVOURITE WEBSITES A Norfolk Entertainer A Moment in Time Enjoy North Norfolk Enjoy Norwich Flint Holiday Cottages Norfolk Churches Norfolk Dialect Norfolk Village Signs Norwich City Hall and the Lions Picture Norfolk Remember Norfolk Sid Kipper

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