truth of it!’
Their attention was duly diverted to watch some children scampering over the wide stone steps leading to the sea front and to the ice cream shop. ‘It’s a wonder the little devils don’t get seriously hurt … fighting and shoving like that.’ Shaking his head, John looked away and moved on.
Danny took a moment to watch the children. ‘It’s like a Christmas sale at the Co-op!’ he chuckled. ‘Hordes of frantic women knocking seven bells out of each other, fighting like cat and dog in order to reach the bargains before anyone else. It’s downright mayhem, so it is!’
John laughed, ‘Is that so? And how would you know that, eh? Unless you were there in the queues yourself?’
Grabbing Danny’s shoulder, he pushed him forward. ‘Stop your idling now, and employ your mind to something useful. Come on, eyes front, before the boss catches us wasting precious time.’
Having said his piece he increased his pace and strode steadily onward. Danny measured his step so as to walk alongside the big man, who appeared to have slipped into a silent world of his own. But Danny continued to chatter along.
‘We’ve had some good years haven’t we? Lived for the moment, with our boozing til dawn, backing the horses good and bad, mostly losing our shirt into the bargain! Enjoying ourselves come what may, never giving a thought to the consequences.’
Their wayward antics over the years had now begun to hit them hard as age caught up with them, but each man always looked at the bright side, no matter the woe or the weather.
John nudged his pal, ‘We were good at the game though and still are. When we’re not worn and knackered from a hard day’s work, that is.’
That’s what Danny Boy could do to him, always put a smile on his face. The twinkle in his eye grew bright as his thoughts wandered back to good times.
Ever practical, John remained a straight-talking fellow. In the main a hard-working man, he liked to work and earn a wage, and he enjoyed the treats that money could buy. Now in his sixties, he was thankful to be healthy and able, although he deeply regretted the years passing by so quickly. A man could still dream his dreams, but he did so now with a heavy heart.
He was as huge and as handsome as he’d been in his prime and his heavy-booted feet still made the walkways tremble as he thumped along.
Danny Magee and John Ferguson had been close friends and workmates for more years than either of them cared to remember. By now, they were more like brothers than workmates. Each man had earned the respect of the other, having been tried and tested through good times and bad. They rarely rowed, but when they did – usually about work and women – it was fast and furious, then soon forgotten. In some ways theirs was an unlikely alliance, each man having strongly held views and differing opinions on many subjects, though they shared a powerful passion for the after-work leisure, especially football. If George Best was their hero, Stanley Matthews had been their god. More often than not these days, this leisure time would find them growing increasingly rowdy and comical as they relayed stories of their heyday, while they supped their pints of beer, played their shots at the billiard table, and still made time to ogle the good-looking women.
Danny Boy, grown slighter and shorter with the years, his hair now thinning, turned back to address his mate in the musical, Irish lilt he’d retained. ‘John, me old friend, will ye move yerself! Don’t forget, we planned to sneak away early tonight and there’s work to be done.’
‘D’you think I don’t know that?’ Big John spat on the ground. ‘You don’t need to tell me how it is and I know we should be grateful to have work to go to. I understand that.’
‘Good. And let’s not forget Blackpool in summer does have its compensations,’ Danny gently reminded him. He gave a wide grin as he stole a peep over the railings and down to the beach. ‘Hey!’ He pointed excitedly. ‘Take a look at that little beauty stretched out. There, the one against the wall on the pink towel!’ He made a whooping sound. ‘It’s a crying shame we’re not down there, taking it easy and chatting up these dolly birds.’
John treated himself to a peek at the blonde and gave a cheeky wink. ‘Let’s not forget that we’re a bit long in the tooth for chasing the young’uns. It might improve our chances if we had money to throw about, but neither of us has ever been fortunate in that respect.’
‘That’s very true, more’s the pity,’ Danny sighed. ‘The sad truth is we’re meant to work till we drop.’ There was real regret in his voice as thoughts of various women who had passed through his life, and one in particular, crowded his mind.
As his mood lowered, he forged ahead, calling back to his mate, ‘Move yourself, will you? And don’t think I can’t see you sneaking another glance at the half-clad women down there. We’re agreed we both need this job, at least for a few more years. So let’s get on with it …’
John tried to raise the mood with some banter. ‘As for you, Danny Boy, you try to keep your eyes ahead, too. Forget the beautiful women, ’cos they’re not looking at you, are they?’ He gave a snigger. ‘While they would happily spend a night with a fine man like myself, I’m not altogether sure they would really appreciate a crinkly-faced little squirt like you.’
Danny took the harmless dig in the spirit in which it was given. ‘I’ll have you know there’s a heap o’ life in this old dog yet. I’m nowhere near ready for the knacker’s yard.’
John gave a mischievous wink. ‘Me neither. And though I say it myself, there is still a good tune left in this old fiddle.’ Giggling like two naughty schoolboys, they each recalled the wild and naughty antics in a misspent youth, when their manly prowess and lust for the girls was at full throttle. Life had been theirs for living to the full, and pretty girls had flocked round them like bees to a honey-pot.
Eventually the big man broke the mood with a great sigh. ‘Well, Danny Boy, we really did have some great times back in the day, didn’t we, eh? How desperately I wish we were young and virile again!’
Danny gave a sorry little snort. ‘You mean when we had more hair on our heads, and naughty tattoos proudly across our chests and a woman on each arm?’ He sighed at the memories. ‘Now the girls have moved on, and the tattoos are sagging.’ His voice dropped as he added sombrely, ‘Just like everything else if you know what I mean?’
‘Oh, but I do.’ John lapsed into silence. ‘I really am worried about the future,’ he admitted eventually.
‘How could we have been so stupid? We should have made plans for our old age. We’ve been enjoying ourselves too much, that’s why!’
‘We’ve only ourselves to blame. We’ve never earned much but what we had we spent. Still, what’s done is done and we can’t ever turn the clock back. It’s no use grumbling about it! Instead, we should be thanking our lucky stars that we’ve been able to enjoy life and still be as healthy as we are. Look on the bright side, we’ve got good jobs and a regular wage. And though we’ve left it a bit late we are now, at last, starting to think about the future.’
‘Not every working man is as fortunate as us. Look at poor Len Waterman. He’s a year or two younger than us, but he’s so crippled with arthritis he can hardly get along. Fate can be so cruel. If he hadn’t fallen off that roof, he might have been working alongside us even yet. But he seems to get worse as the days pass. More’s the pity.’
‘But by God, don’t the years just fly by. Even when we were
