This is a story that involves sex between males. If such a story is offensive, or illegal for you to read where you live, then do not continue,
go and surf elsewhere.
This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. If there is any similarity to any real persons or events it is entirely coincidental.
The work is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
My thanks to John and Michael who have read this through and made a number of corrections and suggestions. Any remaining errors , grammatical, spelling or historical or whatever are entirely my fault.
If you want to comment on the story then do contact me on Jeffyrks@hotmail.com. I aim to reply to all messages.
Two Jubilees and a Spitfire.
This story which opens in the 1930's will tell the story of one person from some of his first memories in the 1930s through to his seventieth birthday in 2002. There is little description of explicit sexual encounter in this first part, but give the lad a chance, he does grow up.
Trevor comes from the East End of London and he and his family speak with a cockney accent. This involves a total non use of an 'h' at the beginning of the a word. Also 'th' is frequently pronounced 'v' or 'f'. I have always used a 'v', even where the sound would be an 'f'. I have not done so when the 'th' occurs in the middle of a word for obvious reasons. i.e.'Other' as 'over' gives a completely different meaning. I hope this does not make reading too difficult, but helps to give colour to the dialogue.
Part 1
One of Trevor Russell's earliest memories was of sitting on his father's shoulders and watching the Jubilee procession on its way from Buckingham Palace to St Paul's Cathedral. Much later in his life, when reading Harold Nicholson's biography of King George V, he discovered that the date was May 5th, and the year 1935. That would have made him nearly three years old.
He was certainly young to retain such a memory, but it was a very hazy one.
Memory and subsequent pictures of the Jubilee procession were confused in his mind. He always presumed that he must have actually seen the King Emperor, with his grey beard, riding in the carriage with the always straight backed figure of Queen Mary beside him. Also in the procession were David, Prince of Wales, soon to be the flawed Edward VIII, who reigned for less than a year. Also Prince Albert, Duke of York, with his beautiful and gracious wife soon to be King George VI and Queen Elizabeth. But she was later to be affectionately known for almost fifty years as the Queen Mum. Also there were the young Princesses, Elizabeth and Margaret Rose. But the who and what of such glittering royalty were certainly totally unknown to the young Trevor Russell.
Trevor lived with his parents in a very small terraced house in the crowded back streets of the East End of London. It was a small two up and two down house. It was better than some, in that there was a tiny back yard with its own toilet. Many houses in the neighbourhood shared toilets with neighbours. There was no bathroom. The tin bath that hung on a hook in the yard was brought into the house once a week for the family ritual of bath night. The Russells did not own the house; it was rented, and the landlord sent a rent collector for the rent every week.
Trevor's father was a docker. This was a hazardous occupation in the 1930s.
Britain was just beginning to struggle out of the great depression. Trade was beginning to pick up, so there was more work than there had been a few years before. Dockers in those days were employed by the day. They would assemble early each morning outside the dock gates. It was only those who caught the foreman's eye that got the work. It was a case of no work, no pay. Very many dockers' families in those days lived on or below the bread line. Trevor's father was slightly more fortunate than most. He was a big strong man, and known to be a good worker and no trouble maker, so he caught the foreman's eye more often than some, and so was taken on.
Trevor was an only child. In those pre-war days, though it was a poor household, it was a happy one. He always retained memories of playing with his father. He remembered clambering on his father, or being carried by him. He also retained memories of playing with the few battered wooden toys that he possessed.
It was a great disappointment that there were no other children. Trevor's birth had been a difficult one, and his mother had been told she would not bear any more children. So in some ways he was slightly spoilt by his parents.
The young pre-war Trevor grew through those early childhood years in Limehouse totally unaware of the storm clouds that were brewing that would change his life. He was unaware of the abdication crisis when Edward VIII gave up the throne for 'the woman he loved,' and became the Duke of Windsor instead of the King of Great Britain, Emperor of India and all the other grandiose titles. He was unaware of the crisis over Czechoslovakia, when Europe stood on the brink of war. Britain's Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, flew to meet with the Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler. Neville Chamberlain betrayed Czechoslovakia by handing over a large part of 'that distant land' to Hitler, but it enabled him to return with a piece of paper and proclaim 'peace in our time'. Trevor was unaware of the sickening feeling of so many when in March 1939 the Nazi tanks rolled into the remnant of Czechoslovakia. To most adults it seemed that war was now inevitable.
In the autumn of 1937 Trevor had started school. It was a dingy council school where the pupils sat at long desks and learnt to count and spell, to read and write. Trevor was bright, he enjoyed school. He learnt quickly. Then just after his seventh birthday in June 1939 international events began to impinge on his life. Gas masks were issued, and instructions given as to how to wear them and when to put them on. The local police station had a metal gadget sticking out of its roof, and the wailing sound of a siren was heard for the first time. That was to be a warning of an air raid. It was believed in those days that the bomber would always get through. Many forecast the wholesale destruction of London within the first few days of any war. Plans were made for the mass evacuation of children from London in the event of an outbreak of war hostilites.
Most news seeped into the Russell household. They did not have a radio, or wireless, as it was called in those days. They could not afford a daily paper, so news was passed by word of mouth, not always accurately. But young Trevor was almost completely unaware of all that was threatening his way of life.
On the first of September the Nazi panzers swept into Poland from the west, and within a few days the Russians swept in from the east. But Britain and France had made promises to Poland, and to the surprise of many, the promises were kept. At 11.00am on that bright sunny morning of Sunday the third of September the doleful voice of the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain announced that a state of war existed between the United Kingdom and Germany. There was no hint of enthusiasm, or rousing call to action.
The day the Germans attacked Poland saw the first of the events that were to alter Trevor Russell's life. Instructions had been given some time before.
The whole of his school assembled in the school playground. Trevor's father carried his small brown cardboard case to the gates of the school play ground. Inside the case were two changes of underwear, pyjamas (which were something new for Trevor) a change of socks, a spare pair of shoes, a bar of soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, a towel, a comb and brush. It had cost Trevor's parents a lot of their hard earned money to find him even this basic list of requirements. Trevor carried the cardboard box containing his gas mask with its strap over his shoulder. He also carried a bag with enough food in it for one day. On his coat front was securely pinned a label, 'Trevor Russell'. Trevor, like the other young children, wondered what was happening to him. Explanations had been given, but not totally understood, and as this was something new, completely beyond imagination or previous experience.
Parents were not allowed into the play ground. Goodbyes were said at the school gate. There were hugs and kisses, and many tears. 'The bomber will always get through.' Many parents thought that this might well be the last time they ever saw their children. The parents expected death and destruction from the skies for themselves; for their children, heaven only knew.
The parents gazed through the iron railings of the school play ground. They saw their children's names taken. They were formed into classes. They were counted and counted again. Then they moved off in single files across the play ground and into the buses waiting in the street. Some children managed a final wave to parents. Parents tried to be brave for the sake of their kids. Some of the children wept at being parted from their parents, others wept out of a fear of the unknown. Others were excited at this new adventure. Trevor was silent, and fought back the tears that were forming behind his eyes.
The buses took them across London to Paddington Station. Their names were checked and they were counted before being led into the station. Class by class they got into the waiting train. Names were checked and numbers counted yet again. Then whistles were blown, flags waved, and the train pulled out of the station.
The school teachers had their work cut out. For many of those East End children this was their first train journey. There were children to be comforted, and all needed to be shown where the toilet was. Fights between some of the boys had to be stopped.
The changing scene through the carriage windows provided a distracting interest. First there were the close huddled houses of the inner city, the factories, and workshops. Then as the train gathered speed they were into the outer suburbs. More trees. Houses with gardens. Parks and churches. Roads and stations flashed past. Then they were into the country. Fields and farms. For some children their first sight of green fields, and of living cows and sheep.
They had been told to bring some food and drink with them. Some ate quickly and were soon hungry. Some waited until the teacher told them that they could eat their sandwiches.
Then the excitement waned and the journey began to seem interminable. It seemed to go on for hours and hours. There were delays while the train waited. The railway timetable was put under the greatest strain of peacetime. Theirs was not the only special train running. The mass evacuation of the children of inner London, and the major cities of the United Kingdom was in itself a triumph of organisation. But there were troop trains as well as the regular traffic that had to be fitted into the schedule. So throughout that long day Trevor's train, full of its evacuee children, made its way west into the county of Somerset. He was one of 21000 children evacuated from the cities of England to Somerset.
Eventually it began stopping at each station, and one carriage load of children would get out. When it stopped at the small station for the village of Binchcombe, it was Trevor's turn to leave the train. He and those in the same carriage made their way on to the platform. Some men took their cases and took them out of the station and packed them on to the back of a truck. The truck drove off and the children followed on foot.
They were a sorry sight. They were tired, and dirty from their journey. Steam trains dirtied the cleanest of travellers with smuts from the smoke. Each child clutched his or her box containing a gas mask, and stared around. Several people came out of their cottages and watched the bedraggled procession.
They only had to walk about half a mile, up to the village hall. There they were led inside and given cups of lemonade and a bun. There were many villagers around surveying them.
Then the vicar, who was the man in charge, started getting everybody in order. He made the children stand on one side of the hall, while the villagers stood on the other. Fortunately there were sufficient homes available for all the children who were present. The vicar began to work through the list.
"Mrs Adams, you offered to take one girl."
A woman stepped forward, and then walked across the hall and took by the hand one of the evacuee girls. Together they walked up to the vicar. The girl's schoolteacher from London confirmed the girl's name, and the vicar wrote it down. Mrs Adams, with her girl in tow, went out of the hall.
"Mrs Brown' you said you would take two boys."
A big strong woman stepped forward. "I see we have some twin boys. I'll take them. Keep 'em together. Though how I'll tell one from the other I don't know." The same procedure followed, and the three left the hall.
Slowly the numbers on both sides of the hall decreased. Trevor was not the last to be chosen. A Mrs Hearn chose him. She was a tall strong woman. Soon she was leaving with Trevor alongside.
Outside the hall they found his case. Mr Hearn was waiting nearby, and he took the case.
"So your name is Trevor, then?"
"Yes, Mrs 'Earn," said Trevor almost in a whisper.
"Have you been in the country afore?"
Trevor was having difficulty in understanding the rich Somerset accent, slightly more difficulty than she had understanding his cockney accent. "No, Mrs 'Earn."
"How old are you then?"
"I was seven in June."
"I've got two boys. One, Harry, is thirteen. Billy is almost your age. He'll be seven at the end of the year. You'll be able to play with 'im. I'm afraid we live a couple of miles away, so we've got quite a bit of walking to do."
Trevor had never walked so far in his whole life. It seemed to take ages.
"You'll have to walk all this twice a day when school starts," said Mr Hearn.
"We'll soon build you up, and get a healthy glow in those cheeks of yourn."
Trevor trudged on in exhausted silence.
The Hearns lived in a small farm labourer's cottage. It had a thatched roof,
and there were roses round the door. It was picture post card pretty, but the conditions were primitive. It was two up two down, much like his home in London. It was different in that the staircase had a door at the bottom and twisted as it ascended. Mr Hearn worked on the nearby farm. There was no gas or electric light such as he had been used to in London. There was an oil lamp and candles for light, and the cooking was done on a coal or wood burning range, often called a kitchener. Deprivation and poverty were to be found as much in the countryside as in the great urban centres of population.
When they arrived at the farm Mrs Hearn gave Trevor a glass of milk and called for Harry. There was a clatter as the thirteen year old bounded down the stairs. He stood looking at Trevor.
"This is Trevor, Harry. He's come from Lon'on to get away from the war. I want you to look after 'im, show 'im where he'll be sleeping, and where the privy is. If he's not too tired you can show 'im the farm, but that could wait for tomorrow."
"This way." said Harry to Trevor, and led the way upstairs. Harry nodded at the door of one of the bedrooms, "That's Mum and Dad's room." He led the way into the other bedroom. There were two beds crowded into the room. One was a double and the other a single. "That's going to be your bed," said Harry pointing at the single bed. "It used to be Billy's bed. 'E has got to sleep with me. 'E kicks in bed. I hope you don't snore. Dad snores and sometimes we can 'ear 'im."
Mr Hearn brought up Trevor's case and placed it on the single bed.
"Come on," said Harry. "I'll show you the privy."
Trevor wondered what on earth was the privy. It was not a term he used. Harry led the way down stairs, and out of the back door into the garden. A path stretched down the garden past a few flowers, and then past some vegetables to a small wooden hut. The door was the far side. Harry opened it, and showed it to Trevor.
Trevor was used to flushing sanitation. "Vere's no chain to pull."
"This is the country, Trev."
"What 'appens to the shit ven?"
"Once a week I have to dig a big 'ole, and Dad comes and empties the bucket. I 'ave to fill in the 'ole. It don't 'alf stink sometimes."
Trevor thought there was something very much to be said for town life.
"You don't 'alf talk funny!" said Harry
"So do you," replied Trevor.
"Do all people in London speak like you?"
"Yep!"
Further conversation was stopped by Mrs Hearn calling from the back door. "Harry, Trevor, tea time."
They hurried back to the cottage and there sitting at the table ready to eat was Billy.
"This is our Billy," said Mr Hearn. "He's just a bit younger than you Trevor. I expect you'll be playing together."
"Wash your hands, you boys," said Mrs Hearn. There was no tap at the sink in the kitchen, only a small pump. Harry pumped some water into a bowl, and handed Trevor a block of life buoy soap. Trevor looked in puzzlement at the pump.
"Ain't you seen one of those afore?" asked Mr Hearn.
Trevor shook his head.
"That's 'ow we gets our water," explained Mr Hearn.
They ate a meal of bread and jam, and there was a slice of cake to finish. It was now quite late, and Mrs Hearn said it was time for the younger boys to get to bed. Billy was the first. Mrs Hearn washed his face, hands and knees. [ Knees in those days of short trousers always needed washing. ] Then Billy was sent off upstairs, to get undressed and into bed.
Then Mrs Hearn stood arms akimbo looking down at Trevor. "Well, young man,
how do we deal with you? Does your Mum usually wash you, or are you old enough to wash yourself?"
"Mum usually washes me, Mrs 'Earn; but I can wash myself."
Mrs Hearn smiled. "I think. I'd better do it. At least for tonight, especially after the long journey you've 'ad. And I think we'd better drop the Mr and Mrs Hearn. You cannot call us Mum and Dad, I think you should call me Auntie, or Auntie Mabel, and let Mr Hearn be your Uncle Eric."
"Yes, Mrs....Auntie Mabel."
When the washing and teeth cleaning was over, Trevor stood for a moment. "Goodnight Auntie Mabel."
"Come 'ere lad. I might not be your Mum but I reckon I've got to treat you like one of my own. Let me give you a goodnight kiss." She grabbed Trevor and hugged him, and gave him a kiss. "I expect you'll be missing your Mum." He gave her a hug, and there were a couple tears in his eyes.
He went to go upstairs.
"What about me?" asked Eric Hearn. "Billy gave me a kiss."
Trevor went over to where Eric Hearn was sitting. They gave each other a kiss. "If you do what you're told, you could have a good time here." He ruffled Trevor's hair, and sent him off to bed.
When the washing was completed Trevor was sent upstairs to get undressed and into bed. Billy was already in bed and almost asleep. Trevor undressed, and got the pyjamas out of the case. It was a new experience for him to sleep in any clothes. Soon he too was into bed and fast asleep. He neither saw nor heard when Harry came up to bed three quarters of an hour later. Next morning he saw that Billy and Harry had slept in [under]pants. His pyjamas were not worn again. He wanted to be the same as the two Hearn boys.
There were a couple of days before school term started. In those few days Trevor discovered many things. Mrs Hearn was a kind fair woman, but she expected to be obeyed. She rather favoured Billy, and was at times hard on Harry. Mr Hearn was a quiet man, who seemed to work many hours on the farm, especially at that time of the year, as the harvest was in full swing.
Harry took Trevor over the farm, where he was introduced to the dogs. He saw the cows being milked, and that was an education for him. He vaguely knew that milk originally came from a cow, and not from a bottle, but he had never realised just how, when, and where on a cow the milk came. He was shown the bull, and warned that the animal was dangerous, and never to go into a field if the bull was in it. He was introduced to the two working horses that pulled the plough, and the carts. He was shown the chickens, and collected some eggs for the farmer's wife. That too involved learning something new. He was introduced to Mr and Mrs Joliffe, the farmer and his wife. He was given a glass of warm milk almost straight from the cow. But the most important thing he discovered was that he liked Harry. The older boy showed him round, told him things, and let him help on occasion.
Harry and Billy did not get on well. Trevor did sometimes play with Billy, but given a choice, or half a chance, he would be with Harry anytime. Harry was the older brother he would have liked to have had; Billy was the younger brother he was glad to be without.
So Trevor settled into a routine. On five days of the week there was school. The two and a half mile walk there and back seemed very long. But it was September, and the days were warm and bright. When it came to his long term welfare the school in Somerset was not good news for young Trevor. The school in London was considerably better than the school in Somerset. The upheaval of the influx of evacuee children from London strained the very limited resources of the local school. He found himself doing things he had already done. The result was he became inattentive, and started forgetting some of the things he had already learnt at his Limehouse school. Each week at school he and the other London children had to write letters home. Each week his mother wrote to him. Each letter from his mother was a poignant reminder to him of home. It was then that he missed his parents, especially his father, and the home in Limehouse; but otherwise he enjoyed his new life in the country.
Saturday was the best day in the week in Trevor's eyes. There was no long walking involved. He soon got to know the farm well. Mr Hearn's employer, a Mr Joliffe, was a cheerful man. His own children were grown up, and had left home. As long as they did not damage anything, or scare the animals, the three boys had the run of the farm. Harry had various jobs to do. Often to Trevor's delight, Harry asked him to tag along, or to help. Frequently Billy was left out, much to his chagrin. Mrs Joliffe was a big friendly woman, with rosy cheeks. Often she would give treats to the boys.
If she was baking, as she usually was on a Saturday morning, there were always tit bits available if they were within sound and sight of the farmhouse kitchen. One Saturday Trevor stood at the door watching the cows being milked. Harry and Billy had seen it so many times before that they were not interested. Mrs Joliffe who always helped with the milking called him to come closer.
"Would you like to have a go, Trevor?" she asked.
Trevor nodded. "Yes, please."
"Let me look at your hands." He showed her his hands. They were no more dirty than the usual hands of a seven year old boy. "Go and wash them properly in the bucket of soapy water over there. There's some disinfectant in it. There must be no dirt to be on your hands at all."
He went across and washed his hands very fully and carefully. "Will that do, Mrs Joliffe," he said, holding out his hands for inspection.
"Watch carefully what I do." Trevor stood watching as Mrs Joliffe explained
what she was doing. "It's something of an art, Trevor. Some people do it easily, others never learn. Let's see which are you."
She got Trevor to sit on the stool. "Go on, put you hand on the teat, as I showed you."
It felt strange to hold the cows teat. Trevor snatched his hand away. "It feels funny," he said. "Warm and softish."
"Try again and do it like I said."
Now Trevor put his hands on a couple of the teats. He began that pulling and slightly squeezing action. At first nothing happened and then to his wonder and delight there was a spurt of milk into the pail below.
"There you are. You're a natural."
From then on, every Saturday afternoon Trevor helped with the milking. After several weeks Mr Joliffe gave him a tanner [6d in old money, 2 1/2p new money] "That's for helping with the milking." It was the first money that Trevor had earned in his life.
Saturday evening was also bath night. The metal bath was brought in from the outside shed. The built in copper in the kitchen was fired up, and the water heated. The boys bathed in front of the kitchen range. Billy was the first, then Trevor and finally Harry. The bath was then emptied and when Harry had gone up to bed Mr and Mrs Hearn had their bath. On the rare occasions when any of the boys were still awake they would hear laughter from below. It was obviously a relaxing and fun time for the adults.
Sundays were a very different day. In the morning there was the walk to Church. Mr Hearn took the boys. They were dressed in their best clothes and did not have the freedom that they had when they made their unsupervised way to school of a weekday. When they got home there was a roast dinner. Sunday treat came at tea time. Scones had been baked Mrs Hearn in the morning, and every weekend Mrs Joliffe gave Mrs Hearn a pudding basin full of clotted cream. This was eaten for tea, with the scones and strawberry jam. In the evening Mrs Hearn went to Church and the boys were expected to play quietly. The three boys often played ludo or snakes and ladders. Occasionally, and this made the evening very special, Mr Hearn would play with them.
Trevor had been in Somerset about two weeks when he made two discoveries. One afternoon when Billy was doing something with his mother, Harry beckoned to Trevor to go with him. He took him to a small shed at the side of the cottage. They went in and Harry shut the door. He then reached up and brought down a model of an aeroplane. It had been whittled out of a couple of pieces of wood with a pen knife and stuck together. Then it had been painted in camouflage colours.
"Did you make vat, 'Arry?"
"Yes. Mum and Dad know I make them. Billy doesn't though. He'd want to play with them and would break them. I'm allowed to play with them after you two have gone to bed."
He reached up and brought more planes down. "This is a Blenheim bomber. This is a Hurricane. And this one, I finished last night, is a Spitfire."
He placed the latest model in Trevor's hands. Trevor took it carefully. He was still too young and unfamiliar with the distinctive wings of a Spitfire. "They must 'ave taken you ages to make."
"Yes. I work on them when I can. Sometimes I come in here and work alone."
Harry took the Spitfire out of Trevor's hands and placed the models back on the shelf. "You won't tell Billy will you?"
"No. I promise. Thanks for showing me."
From then on about once a week Harry would take Trevor into the shed and show him his planes. Each one took a couple of weeks to make.
The other discovery was of a different nature. The bed going pattern was that Billy went to bed first, then Trevor and then after three quarters of an hour Harry would come up to bed. This allowed Billy to get to sleep before Harry climbed into bed with him. If Billy was still awake when Harry came to bed there was always trouble. The two Hearn boys would end up fighting, and either Mr or Mrs Hearn would come storming up stairs to sort them out. That usually meant that Harry got blamed for the fracas and sometimes he was strapped.
On the evening in question when Harry came to bed Trevor was still awake. Trevor turned to look at him and smiled. Harry gave a returning wink. Harry proceeded to undress. Trevor idly watched. Harry was in no way embarrassed by the audience. He pulled off his pullover. Undid his shirt and removed it. Then he undid his belt with the S shaped snake fastening. His trousers were removed, and then his pants. He sat on the edge of his bed to remove his socks. He stood up and stretched, enjoying the freedom of nakedness. This gave Trevor a clear view of his crotch. For the first time Trevor caught sight of a young teenager's penis, with its surrounding patch of pubic hair.
"You've got hair down there," whispered Trevor in surprise.
"Yea. All men have hair there. Haven't you seen it before?"
Trevor shook his head.
Harry pulled his pants back on, and then bent over, and much to Trevor's surprise gave him a kiss. "Goodnight, Trev."
This became something of a ritual on those nights when Trevor was still awake. Harry in silence, would undress, deliberately allowing Trevor a full view. He would briefly play with his penis and testicles. Then back on would go his pants. He would give Trevor a kiss, which on the third occasion was returned. They soon came to enjoy this part of their bed going ritual. Then Harry would slip into bed. When the darker nights of autumn arrived, the last thing was Harry blowing out the candle.
Footnote:- There is some personal memory in this chapter. My mother and I went down to Somerset at the outbreak of war. But we lived with relatives.
jeffyrks@hotmail.com