December
On St Thomas’
Day Tom Park was crossing the square in St Pierre and he was taken back to a
Christmas of his youth many years before he moved to Beaumont Island when he
lived and worked in Northchapel which was still in the 1970’s the Industrial
powerhouse of the County and although it didn’t physically occupy its center it
was the beating heart of the County.
In recent
generations its fortunes had suffered greatly but in the 70s it was still a
major employer, and one of those employers was Brompton’s Biscuit’s, which was
an old family business established in 1849 by Basil Brompton.
They had moved
to that location in Northchapel in 1928, to the broad white building which was
a prime example of the Art Deco style with its angles, curves and
symmetry.
Not that he had
any appreciation of the stylish building, it was just where he worked.
He started
there straight from school in 1969 and had been at Brompton’s for six years
when the memorable Christmas Lunch occurred.
It was four
days before Christmas 1975, and the staff had just returned to the factory
after having had their Christmas lunch at the Kings Head.
Although in
truth calling it “Christmas Lunch” was perhaps, a bit of a stretch and makes it
sound grander that it actually was, in the 1970s, even in Northchapel, pub grub
was very unsophisticated fare and invariably consisted of Chicken in a Basket
or a Ploughman’s.
The more up
market establishments might well offer Scampi in a Basket and a selection of
Ploughman’s including a variety of cheeses as alternatives to the norm.
The Kings Head
however was not an up-market establishment in any way shape or form and offered
Chicken in a Basket or cheddar cheese Ploughman’s, however in addition to that,
as it was Christmas you got a Mince Pie as well.
So, after their
“Christmas Lunch” they all arrived back at work with some of their number much
the worse for drink.
Tom himself had
perhaps over indulged to a small degree with an unspecified number of Light and
Bitters so as a consequence he was wearing beer goggles and even scabby Carole
was looking passable, as was Wonky Wendy, so called because she had a wonky eye,
in fact Wendy had one eye that looked at you, while the other one was looking
for you.
Not a
politically correct name and “Wonky” wasn't even a very imaginative nickname
but there you have it, that was the 70s and they were simple folk and easily
amused, but regardless of the appropriateness of the name, Tom thought that
viewed through beer goggles even she looked quite appetizing.
Another of the
girls he wouldn’t normally have looked at twice, had he been sober, was Valerie
East, although she had nice eyes and a pretty smile, other than that she was a plain-looking
girl about a year younger than he was.
Over the
previous year Val had made no secret of the fact that she fancied Tom, he on
the other hand did not fancy her one iota and not because she was plain or
because she was stick thin and featureless or because she was ginger, the truth
was she just didn’t do it for him, but that was without the benefit of alcohol fueled
lust.
On returning to
the factory they continued the party in the canteen, Tom’s tipple of choice
from what was available was Light Ale while for Val it was Port and Lemon and
on that day they both necked a few and with every bottle of beer he drank Val
was getting prettier and prettier, and it reached a point that when she went
off to the loo he followed a few minutes later and intercepted her as she
returned and took her into the coat room.
It was a small
room, about 20’ square, with frosted glass on two sides but with the lights off
it was dark enough in the shadows for what he had in mind, and apparently it
was what she had in mind too, because as soon as the door closed behind them
Val was all over him like a rash and her tongue was in his mouth like an Exocet
missile, and her hands were all over him.
“Blimey you're
keen” Tom thought to himself and thought he had better join in quick and yanked
her blouse from the waist band of her skirt and partly unbuttoned it before
going in search of her treasures and when he found them, such as they were, he
made a startling discovery.
Not a
Scaramanga third nipple kind of thing, what Tom found was something altogether
different.
Young Tom Park
was just a callow youth and he wasn’t hugely experienced in the ways of the
world, but he had unbuttoned enough blouses, and unhooked enough bra’s, and had
sufficient experience of their contents to know that nipples shouldn’t be
hairy, the last thing he expected to find surrounding her treasures were course
two-inch-long curly ginger hairs, although the ginger part was an assumption as
he didn’t actually get to see them.
At the time his
brain was sufficiently fogged by Light Ale for him not to care that the
contents of her bra were unconventional, so he just resumed his examination of
her form and his hands headed south, where he got his hand up her skirt easy
enough and was attempting to get his hand in the promised land when the door
flew open.
“Aye, aye”
Shaft said.
Shaft was the
Warehouse Foreman, his real name was Ted, but his nickname was Shaft, not
because he was black, or was a fan of the TV show, but because he was shafting
Beryl from picking, Tom did the gentlemanly thing and positioned himself
between Ted and Val, so she could redress herself.
“I’ve just come
for my coat” Ted said with a chuckle as he took his coat off the peg
“Carry on” he
said and closed the door.
Tom would have
liked to carry on where he left off, but Val wasn’t so keen in light of their
discovery, so they went back to the party and that was that.
He never had
another close encounter with Val and in the light of his discovery, he had no
desire to, as in the sober light of day he didn’t fancy her.
The day after
their St Thomas’ Day fumble in the coat room, when the alcohol fog had lifted,
like his namesake he had doubts about the encounter, Tom had always assumed
that Val was short for Valerie but after his discovery, he wasn’t so sure if it
wasn’t short for Valentine.
Obviously if
Shaft hadn’t interrupted them when his hand was up her skirt and he had reached
his goal he would have known for sure if his Christmas fumble was fish or fowl,
but he didn’t so he remained a Doubting Thomas.
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