had an active social life.
In 2002, he read an obituary in the Grimsby Evening Telegraph, of a Mr Ronald Croft-Baker who had passed away. ‘Croft-Baker, that’s it,’ thought Wayne, ‘Julie Croft-Baker.’
Excited, he read the list of those who attended the funeral. Wayne noticed the daughter’s name, Mrs Julie Braithwaite, nee Croft-Baker. Wayne knew that it was his Julie. He tracked down the only relative who remained in Cleethorpes from the Croft-Baker family, Ronald’s elderly sister. She confirmed Julie Croft-Baker was her niece who had spent time in America. The old woman told him that she had seen Julie at the funeral along with her husband, but that was the first time in many years she’d had any contact with her. She told him that Julie only came, paid her respects, and then left. She had no other information. When Wayne heard that Julie had re-married, he gave up his search.
Wayne lived alone until the latter part of 2008. He bought a set of drums and a small Yamaha keyboard to entertain himself. He composed a few songs, although he had trouble performing them. Even though he wore a hearing aid, some days he couldn’t hear the lyrics. His deafness became a burden and he was robbed several times, as word spread that a deaf old man lived alone. He became afraid to stay at home and felt too old to return to Canada or the States. Cleethorpes was now his home, so he sold his house and moved into the residential home.
“And that’s how I ended up here,” said Wayne and smiled.
“We only found out by accident that he played in a band a few years ago. He said he was a taxi driver who played the drums and keyboard for pleasure after coming ‘ere to look for his missus,” said Elvin.
Wayne smirked and said, “Well, I did only play for pleasure... then.”
“You are a dark horse, Logan,” said Steve and chuckled.
Charles looked puzzled and asked, “I thought you dropped the name Sticks. So how come they call you Sticks now?”
Wayne looked at Steve and frowned. “It’s that slap-heads fault,” he said. “That’s how they found out I was in a band. I kept a few mementoes from my younger days and one was an old framed poster from my time with 'Johnny and the Jeepsters,' hung in my room.”
Steve giggled as the story unfolded.
“One day, I was getting ready to go to the recreation room. Steve knocked and just walked into my room.” He scowled at Steve still smirking, and continued, “He went over, looked at the picture, and asked about the band. He said he had never heard of the Jeepsters, which was great, as I didn’t want them to know about my past. I told him I played with them for a short while in the ’60s, but he wouldn’t let it be and kept asking more questions. He then read the band’s line up, and saw Wayne ‘Sticks’ Logan.”
“And Sticks was reborn,” said Steve smirking.
Wayne mumbled and sighed.
Much to Charles’s relief, the three did not play anymore after hearing Wayne’s tale, and Wayne, Steve, and Elvin packed away their instruments.
“It’s early,” said Steve. “How about we go for a couple of pints in the Pavilion?”
“Yeah, good idea,” said Elvin. “It ain't far Nobby, only a ten-minute walk.”
Charles wasn’t in the mood, but after the three persisted, and wanting to hear more about them, he agreed.
––––––––
THE PAVILION, A PUBLIC house near a large shallow boating lake with two small islands at its centre, was a sanctuary for the colourful bird populations inhabiting the area. Surrounded by trees and hedgerows, the Pavilion was a popular watering hole during the warm summer months, with the daylight sun lasting well into the evening. With the lake in view and the flora and fauna in full bloom, the outside seating area looked picturesque.
The four sat outside on a bench enjoying a cold beer, watching ducks idling along the glistening lake, and listening to wood-pigeons repetitive, coo-coo-coo-cu-cu. Familiar fragrances of flowering hawthorn bushes drifted on the light breeze
Steve took out a packet of cigarettes, lit one, and with a satisfying grin, blew out a cloud of smoke and said. “I like sitting here, and I can smoke,” he leaned over to Charles. “But don’t tell Chewy.”
Charles nodded and asked. “So Steven, how come you ended up at Fossdyke?”
Wayne and Elvin groaned. They knew Steve’s life story because he had told them many times.
“I’m from Scunthorpe, thirty miles away,” said Steve, “When I left school, I worked in the steelworks alongside my old dad,” said Steve and smirked, “I got caught up in the swinging sixties and wanted to be a rock star, so I bought an acoustic guitar and learned to play.”
Steve did a quick air guitar demo, smiled and continued, “I saved my wages and upgraded to an electric Fender Stratocaster, adopting the stage name, Strat... because it sounded cool,” he smirked, giving another air guitar demo, before continuing. “Me and two mates from the steelworks formed, ‘Strat and the Steelers.’ We performed in several pubs and clubs in Scunny,” he sighed. “We could have been famous if we weren’t crap... and I wasn’t married to Jane. After we disbanded, I settled down and worked long hours at the steelworks to support my family.”
He coughed, took a swig of beer, and said, “We had a beautiful daughter, Lucy.” Steve looked proud and told Charles. “Lucy’s smart, unlike her dumb old Dad. She was always an intelligent and independent young woman. She’s now a successful Doctor and she and her husband Bernard own Fossdyke,” said Steve, took a photograph from his wallet, and showed Charles his middle-aged daughter. Charles felt relieved that she wasn’t bald like her father, as Steve said. “That’s my little girl, Doctor Lucy Fossdyke.”
“Oh, so that’s why it is called Fossdyke?” asked Charles.
Steve nodded and took another swig of beer. “Anyway, after Lucy went to University, Jane and I drifted apart. I worked long hours to pay for the university medical school, and Jane got a job in a bike shop.”
He chuckled and said. “The manager wasn’t only riding pushbikes, the bastard. I should have realised when she trowelled on her makeup to go to work. When I found out, I went to the shop and punched his lights out, and later divorced Jane,” Steve sighed. “I felt gutted and spent the next few years skipping work and spannered.” He looked at Charles and said. “In my forties, I realised my life was going nowhere and my dad, even though retired, gave me grief because he heard rumours that the steelworks were about to sack me. One morning I woke up and thought, Fuck it! So I booked a flight to Australia. Lucy was then a qualified Doctor with a well-paying job, so I took my savings, a bag of clothes, my old Stratocaster, and flew to Oz.”
“Oh,” said Charles, impressed by Steve’s audacity.
“Yeah, it was great. The years flew by, moving from town to town, city to city, and job to job. I played rock ‘n’ roll in local bars for drinks and food and lived the carefree life I always wanted, with no ties. I severed all links in England.”
“What about Lucy?” asked Charles, “Didn’t you at least stay in contact with her?”
Steve
