Hunter S Thompson, Richard Nixon and ghosts in the sunshine of Toy Town (part 2) (redux)
“My Ironbridge Summer” Vol.4
Chapter 26 (from a total of 56) in my December 8th self-published book “My Ironbridge Summer” is part 2 within a mini-trilogy of writing from one of my longest days spent this summer in my spiritual home of Ironbridge as I chased the sun, ate many and varying assortments of old fashioned sweets and watched the world go by as I re-read my collection of books from the master, Hunter S Thompson.
Here is Part 2 in full, the original article too, as well as the cover from my recently released book which is reasonably priced both in paperback and hardback and free to read should you have an Amazon Kindle “Unlimited” membership.
Go on! Treat yourself to the book!
You’ll be helping out a struggling indie author.
Thanks.
"My Ironbridge Summer" - link to Amazon
Hunter S Thompson, Richard Nixon and ghosts in the sun of Toy Town (part 2)
“Jesus Christ! Why are we going to work on a day like this? We must be Goddamn crazy. This is the kind of day when you want to be belly-to-belly with a good woman, in a warm bed under a tin roof with the rain beating down and a bottle of good whisky right next to the bed”
“Jesus Christ! Why are we going to work on a day like this? We must be Goddamn crazy. This is the kind of day when you want to be belly-to-belly with a good woman, in a warm bed under a tin roof with the rain beating down and a bottle of good whisky right next to the bed”
Hunter S Thompson (from “The Great Shark Hunt”)
With my friend Jeremy sailing off the coast of Wales and Samantha no longer a mainstay of toy town’s always popular chip shop I saw no reason to visit either Jeremy’s “Old Fashioned Sweet Shop” or indeed the salt and vinegar emporium next door. I’ve visited these caves of delight many, many hundreds of times and they could both wait for another day I mused as I crossed the oldest iron bridge in the world for the peace and tranquility of an illegal cigarette whilst perched in the best seat toy town has to offer. This is a port of call not to be missed, with shade from the intensity of an early afternoon sun and time on my side to giggle and laugh at the absurdity of last summer and, come rain or shine, sitting precariously on the edge of this seat beside the river and talking to myself, passers by on paddle boards and canoes and of course a video camera for the Youtube videos that, despite my best efforts, are as popular as a chocolate fireguard at the Gates of Hell.
I could lay a twisted tangent on you here by admitting I sang “Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad” by Moby at this stage in the day’s proceedings (true) or I could also admit to reading this opening paragraph aloud to my son who needed me to explain my lame gag about chocolate fireguards (also true) but what the hell, right? Let’s keep this ship sailing in a positive direction and thus, let me introduce you to “Ironbridge George”.
“It’s a belter outside today” I rather absent-mindedly conveyed to the poor soul cooped up inside toy town’s “Toll House Museum”.
“No sun for me today” he laughed in response. “The front of The Tontine Hotel sure is a beautiful sun trap on a day like today”.
“I learned to play chess there many summers ago with “Ironbridge George”. Did you know George?” I tentatively enquired.
“Know him? Of course I did!” he cackled in response and through laughter that made my day.
“Everyone knew “Ironbridge George”.
It was the summer of 2016 and my last full summer of living on the high side of life in Ironbridge. George was a neighbour of mine in a centuries old public house turned into 21st Century flats with 19th Century amenities and beautiful views of the River Severn from the kitchen and both bedrooms. Periodically we’d say hello in passing with a running in-joke between us being that as George was French (I’d later discover he was actually Polish but that’s a tangled story for another day) and as he admired my English diction and my way of speaking met kindly with his ear, we became loose friends. I ferried him to and from a local scrapyard for essential, knock down priced materials for his artwork and one day he presented me with a chessboard and the obvious question of do I play? My lame answer of no first caught him by surprise and unawares before he broke into a beaming smile and through broken English he laughed “Well then, I have to teach you!”
Summer afternoons were spent in the sun trap in front of The Tontine Hotel and when the sun set, we decamped inside, often dragging a small crowd with us. I was forever learning the intricacies of the game but from a patient Grandmaster who chided me for my repeated mistakes and loved to play my side of the board by way of instruction to me. Two half pints of lager for George (never, ever, any more than that) and two pints of Coca-Cola for me (and rarely anything stronger) and we were playing for European pride and for top dog status in our picturesque little toy town beside the river. I beat George just the once, a sunny evening just before sunset and just before I departed Ironbridge for good. I hear my old friend has also left toy town for pastures new now, and after being a resident fixture for well over a decade. Everyone (and I mean everyone) knew “Ironbridge George” and it was my honour too for an albeit brief time, to get to know that beautiful gentleman artist from Poland/France within the crazy world we all share.
So from memories and ghosts we hop from one museum to another and after watching a small family feed two swans (named Fred and Mary) through the crisscross glass of a room with a view from centuries past it was through nearby “Dale End Park” and my second of third reading destinations for today: Ironbridge Rowing Club. Here, you’ll be unsurprised to learn, are several steps leading down to the riverside and with the river currently riding at a low summer tide a perfect height to dangle my legs into the river for a read with the Good Doctor Thompson and a smoke he would have approved of. To my right was a disused, overgrown bridge from the days of the Industrial Revolution but that wasn’t what caught my eye or indeed ears. What grabbed my attention, first, was a young man and young boy on paddle boards having the time of their life on the river and a slightly older man but even younger boy, who joined me briefly for a conversation I couldn’t help but overhear as well as marvelling at the echoes and memories of a similar conversation with my son, so many years ago.
“So we’re going for a walk along the river”
(So we’re going for a walk along the river)
“We’re going to get a drink”
(We’re going to get a drink)
“We then have to find Mummy”
(We then have to find Mummy)
“And then we’ll get ice-cream”
The young boy was clearly autistic (though I loathe such labels) but I only note it here as his sing-song repetition of his Father’s words were so beautiful, as was his shriek of delight at “And then we’ll get ice-cream”.
A Father and Son sitting on the steps of Ironbridge Rowing Club.
It could have been my Son and I.
It was my Son and I. Many ghost storied years ago.
“Real Life” can be so beautiful at times, can’t it?
Part 3: Coming Soon
Thanks for reading. I hope this message in a bottle in The Matrix finds you well, prospering, and the right way up in an upside down world.