BOW BELLS

A story I wrote a long time ago. It's based on the ex-convicts who were working on a hop farm in Kent. The girls were rough diamonds from the Bow Bells, and they seemed to swear every other word; the whole conversation seemed so cruel and corse almost callous which was filled with expletives. The only man working with them for the harvest was Paul, a terrified toff, an ex-barrister from the London legal bar who had fallen from grace. They scared him, and me. Big Pat took me by the throat one night a proper boozer bruiser. and then the next day, she sat her baby boy in my lap. I was a tractor driver, her adopted or borrowed baby and I spent all summer singing songs, much to the annoyance of Big Martin, the cutter in the crow's nest, who kept getting dragged into the wires, while Karlin and I sang, 'Let's all look on the bright side of life.

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