WORM'OLE

Milky's only friend was Wormhole. What a Banana Split ! They went on bike rides together like girls on their ponies, all sat upright and ringing their shiney bells on each corner. Direct from the first term at college they'd stand detached at the coach stop, the only two boys with leather briefcases. They were last to board, seats at the front. We all slung our dufflecoats on the shelf and pushed to the back. Milky and Worm'ole kept their briefcases on their knees like old bags taking their cats in baskets to the vets. They were first off at school, running to class, so enthusiastic to do their fragments.
The Worm'oles went to the Family Methodist Chapel down near the hamlet off-license where he lived. I went round there once. One of those things mums arrange when they meet up the shops and waste a whole saturday morning of their son's lives because of it. You know, go and play with Worm'ole, 'e ain got no-one to play wiv... This was before Milky took him in. You can't tell them why he's got nobody to play with. Well, this is why : their miniscule house was the sort they put on the lids of Lego sets, green pebbledash, a front garden three steps deep behind a fancy, knee-high wall, crazy paving pink and white, a bay window big enough for two faces and a dog.

Mrs Worm'ole opened the door. 2 broken front teeth made her voice phut her words, her tongue landing in the wrong place.

Hi Thedric. Her'th Thedric, Gwayam.

Bo-Peep Cottage. There was even a fishtank like a jam jar with minnows and a three-foot high granddad clock. I was almost as tall as Mrs Worm'ole even then. Full-size Gwayam was at the kitchen table with his model galleon kit in pools of glue all stuck to newspaper which followed him round the house because Mrs Worm'ole maintained he took my shoes out the back and fetched some felt slippers for me to wear. She'd cut them in one piece from felt underlay and sowed them with waxed string. Gwayam was in a daze.
Well thun ? His mummy asserted. Are not you pleathed ? Thedric's come to help glue your thip.

I was given a glass of Lemon Barley water and a chocy digey, unstuck part 7 from 49 and pushed it to part 6. This was all I could manage against Worm'ole's adonoidal sulks.

Let me do it, I wanna do it, Marm, it's not fair, why'd 'e aff to come an' force 'is nose in...

Well, I never went round there again. Once, at the coach stop, possibly from guilt, the memory of that saturday when his galleon likely petrified into a wreck once the glue went hard, he looked at me and said : watcha Thedric.

Daz gave me a gay look and said : watch yerself, Wormface.

The Cow's Gate Gang frequently held conferences on Milky White. One favorite topic was : What Milky and Worm'ole Do At Bo-Peep Cottage. Thin reckoned they played snap with those 2 inch long cards you were given in Pullins. Daz stated that they played miniature travel draughts. Dodge said they played football with a marble.

Only a technique to check I said.

1/2 the issue with this pair was that there was virtually no chink in their perfection. Once we followed Milky down there, a huge box of Scalectrix under his arm. The Worm'oles were stern Methodists too and denied themselves pleasure or anything not considered educational. No TV or electric games. No cartoon comics, no tea or coffee or beer. They all went to bed at 9 o'clock and Mr Worm'ole got up at 5.30 to work at the dairy. We were lucky that afternoon. The largest room was downstairs so they set the Scalectrix up in the Parlour. It was full of Bibles and prayer books. We made a decision Mrs Worm'ole was like some of our mums who took it in turns to wash the town soccer team strip after the Sat. matches. Mrs Worm'ole must've brought all the Prayer Books home after the sunday Service to give them a dusting. Well, heathen Milky made tunnels and grandstands out of them while Worm'ole kept going to the door to make sure his mummy failed to find out .

Milky had a Rolph Harris Stylo-phone too and a Junior Drum Kit. When we sneaked along the cinders trail back of Milky's house and heard them jamming, Milky roaring :

No you clot, just go bum, bum-bum...bum, bum-bum. You go bum, I'm going I, you go bum-bum, I am going was born, you go bum, I go under a,bum-bum, star.

It was barely the victory we sought, but next time at the bus stop Daz recounted :

We all know where you were born, White.

No you don't.

And we all joined in and told him : You were born, under a bum, bum-bum...
He was impervious, just straightened his school tie, pretended to shine his school badge with the back of his hand and looked away. Yuletide was a fortnight off, so in a loud voice he asserts to Worm'ole : when i get my electric guitar for Yuletide we'll rehearse our concert for the Scouts Xmas Party. It'll be a big hit and we'll be on Top of The Pops.

The Cow's Gate Gang was going to do miles better to get one over Milky White.

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