Cap and gown

When I reached the magical age of 14, I'd had enough of school, so I left. It was my hope then that Dad would be happy for me to learn a trade, either as a plumber or a brick-layer, but for the three months after I'd left school I stayed at home, did the housework and grew more and more frustrated. I felt I ought to be learning a trade by then, and doing my bit to earn money. AFter a time, I realised that Dad was in no hurry to get me off to work. I'd been expecting him to arrange things and to help get me started, but when I asked him about it he said, "Once tha's started work, tha'll be at it for't rest o' thee life, lad."

He was right, of course, but a few weeks later I seized the opportunity to get things moving. Across the street from where I was going to get our weekend vegetables, I saw a sign in a shop window which said "BOY WANTED". I made up my mind to call in and ask about the job on my way back. Which I did, and I got the job.

The 'cap and gown' bit (my title) came about this way... The green grocer's shop was run by a very large lady. She came with a fierce countenance, and voice to match. Quite a formidable woman, and she'd stand no nonsense from anyone. (Certainly I never offered any.) She had the help of her brother, Tom, who was handicapped (lame in one leg), and who spoke with some difficulty. He always seemed to get the thick edge of the tongue from his big sister who spoke sharply to him as she bustled around the shop serving customers or doing this and that. "Come on our Tom!" she'd say. "Get thisself moving. This lady 'ere 'asn't got all day, you know. And get some more potatoes from't shed. You can see they're getting down!"

But he never seemed to mind or get upset by the way she spoke to him. I saw him once, pushing a barrow of produce around the streets, and I don't know how he managed to get it moving, loaded as it was and with his disability. But move it he did, with the same unruffled look on his face each time I saw him.

The one day, I heard a neighbour speaking in rather hushed tones about this fierce lady. "She's got 'er cap and gown, ya know!" And before my mind had properly begun to ponder on that one, the explanation followed. "For playin't piano, ya know. Oh yes, she plays it beautifully."

You'll understand that I was at the stage of soaking up information and storing it away for regurgitation and discussion with my mates later. The next time I went into the shop I wondered how she could play the piano with hands like hers, and I looked at her with a new respect. Then a few minutes later I heard her talking to her brother, but this time in such a caring and loving way: "Tom, 'ave made a cup of tea for you. Got into t'back and sit down for a while. You look tired out luv."

That was the only time, mind you, but I tucked what I'd learned about her that day in my mind... That the fiercest of persons can have their soft and tender moments. Which is rather nice, don't you think?

Dennis Crompton © 1998