About the author

The author was born in October 1918, just before the end of the
First World War. He lived through a century of tremendous
change and turmoil, and his life was shaped by some of these;
most notably the Depression of the early 1930s and the Second
World War.

He led a full, varied and colourful life and threw himself

into things one hundred per cent. Even at the ripe old age of
93, he was still keen to try new experiences and learn new
things. He did not take up writing until the age of 92.
Along with his life story, the following collection draws
on his life experiences and the people he met along the way,
with just a dash of imagination added.

A J Spedding

Short Story Collection

Copyright A J Spedding
The right of A J Spedding in to be identified as author of this work has
been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without
the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this
publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for
damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is

available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 1 84963 293 5

www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2015)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Printed and bound in Great Britain

I cannot make the disclaimer popular with writers of fiction who declare
that the persons coming to life in their narratives are entirely imaginary
and bear no intended resemblance to any person living or dead. Some of
my characters were real, others were... not quite, and a few, mainly the
unpleasant ones, are made up from whole cloth or patches from the
same.

Ded ic at io n

To my loving wife Anna, without whose care and constant

attention I would not have been able to exist.
Also, my grateful thanks to my step daughter Sue for her
unending support.
TO MY FAMILY,
PAST AND PRESENT

Contents
My Life Story
Zagreb
Best of Friends
The Bouquet
Poor Pussy
Flying Lesson
The Mugging
Army Reservist
Mans Inhumanity
Teacher
Summer Cottage
Bank Job
Investment Scam
Investment
Marriage Break-up
Painting
Skegness
Next Trick
Gambling
Divorce
Pickers
Not Stupid
Charity
Charity 2
Fall
Fishy
Dating Agency
The Safe

8
19
22
23
24
25
26
27
30
32
34
36
38
40
41
43
44
46
47
48
49
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
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Dried Out Pony

Cows
Hens
Alsatian
Gas Explosion
Smoking
Pony Rides
Manslaughter
Aunt Nellie
Australia
A Proper Horse
Chief Inspector S.O.S.
Afghanistan
Cockroaches
The Wine Waiter
Boxing
Floosy
Football Fever
1939
Silver Teapot
Hen Party
Battle Drill
End of the War
Stilton
Motorcycle
Faith Healer
Cowardice
Piggy
1939 1945
Shep

60
61
62
64
65
66
68
69
70
71
74
75
77
78
80
82
83
85
86
87
88
89
91
93
94
96
98
100
101
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M y Li fe Stor y
I was born in 1918, just at the end of the First World War; the
bloodiest conflict the world had, or has, ever seen. I had an
elder brother, Jack, and a younger sister, Gladys. My mother,
Elizabeth, was a loving, caring woman, my father a brilliant
design engineer and, at the time, Managing Director of a blast
furnace company. Later, he would take over one of the rolling
mills that he designed at Penistone, near Sheffield.
We moved into an elegant bungalow complete with
central heating; a rarity in those days and, also another rarity,
a live-in maidservant named Nancy, who was a jolly Irish lass
and an excellent worker.
At the local grammar school I had experienced a pleasant
way of life, being the house captain for both the cricket and
football teams. My father himself was an excellent cricketer,
and was accepted to play for the Yorkshire national team. This
was to be short lived, however, after they discovered that he
had in fact been born in Cumbria; to play for Yorkshire, you
had to have been born in the county.
As a family, we lived a satisfying, comfortable life, until
catastrophe struck.
The late 1920s and early 30s were disastrous, for
everyone. There was massive, country-wide unemployment,
with close to three million people relying on the government
for hand outs. Lack of demand for steel caused my fathers
company to close. He was given no support from the country;
if you had been earning more than 5, you were expected to
live off of your savings, if you had any at all.
I was 15 and about to take the school certificate, even
though I had just spent ten weeks in hospital with the scarlet
fever. I had already gained two credits from my schoolwork; a
top grade of five credits or more could put you in line for a
high-end university such as Oxford or Cambridge.
During a rather boring history lesson, I was summoned by
one of the teachers. Youre required in the Headmasters
8

study, was all that I was told. Hurriedly pushing a couple of

exercise books down my pants (a necessary precaution for
anyone who had felt the weight of the Headmasters wallop), I
entered the study.
The next words from the Headmaster were brief, and
would change how my future lay before me.
Bad news, young man, they began. Your father hasnt
paid your fees this term. We must, therefore, part with you as
a student. Good luck.
The year was 1933, and my father had been out of work
for more than two years; during which time, in order to
survive he borrowed on the houses mortgage and we lived on
a meagre diet of bone stew and dumplings. Eventually, a job
turned up with a firm in Derby, where we rented a small
house. My mother stayed behind in our bungalow.
With the assistance of a neighbour, I managed to find a
job in the chemistry department at Brown Bayley Steel
Works, famous for having discovered stainless steel. I was to
work six days a week, for 5 shillings a day.
The position, if you could call it that, entailed cutting up
steel bars into thin, sample sections. These tiny sheets would
then be ground even thinner and then polished up to a mirror
finish, and then passed on to the rest of the department for
examination under the microscope.
Another task of mine was to collect orders from my
colleagues and fetch sandwiches from a nearby bakery; a
popular chore, considering how delicious the large bath buns,
topped with a thick slab of spam and a generous serving of
piccalilli were. When not on the lunch run, I would be
collecting betting slips and passing them over to a shadowy
figure who lingered in one of the nearby alleyways, who, in
turn, would pass them on to an illegal bookmaker lurking
nearby. This was back in the days when bookmaking was
frowned upon by the law.
It was eventually decided, because I was considered to
have received a high standard of education, that I should study
for an Associate Degree in Metallurgy at the Sheffield
9

University- evening classes, 6:30 to 9:30pm, three nights a

week. I would take a quick wash and brush up, and then head
down to the canteen hut for a snack; at one end of the table a
pile of white bread and at the other a large bowl that contained
the fat that the cooks had saved from the lunchtime meal. Not
having had more than a sandwich since my 6:3-am breakfast,
it was certainly a heaven-sent meal.
Things suddenly changed with the arrival of a bully-boy; a
nephew of one of the firms chief executives. He found me an
easy target from day one. I would fetch things for him- do
this, bring me this, no, not that you fool. I suffered it until the
one day that he went too far.
I had been promoted to assistant in the heat treatment
department. The main furnace in the department heated up to
1500 degrees- a necessary temperature for testing the steel
that we produced. We all knew it was dangerous, but on cold
days, we would use it to warm ourselves up on. One day, the
executives nephew was stood before it, warming his back and
making vicious remarks about me and my family. I couldnt
take it any longer- grabbing him, I brandished my fist in his
face and warned him that if he didnt desist, I would smash his
head in. Luckily, for the both of our sakes, it went no further
and no tragedy was caused by just how close we were to that
furnace.
However, a couple of hours after this incidence, I was
summoned by the head of department. With a grim
countenance, I heard those words that I dreaded.
Ive had a serious complaint from one of our senior
executives. We have to part with your services; please collect
your cards, and leave immediately.
It was a sad journey home to tell my mother that I would
be joining the ever-growing numbers of unemployed. Luckily,
my wage had never been sufficient that the family had relied
on my income for support; I was met with sympathy, and told
that a letter had come for me in the post. Perhaps it would be
some good news at last.
10