STORY EXTRACTS | chris-gibson-books

Extract from The Happiest Days of my Life. From the book 'I'm Just The Cat' and other Tales.

Do you remember? Remember your days of childhood? Remember the days when summers were long and always so very hot and then after summer it was winter and it snowed for days and days and you went sledging and snowballing? I do and you do too I’m sure! Where every day was an adventure and each morning filled with the excitement of anticipation. Every dream at night was filled with the treasures of the day gone past and a new promise awaiting. That was my childhood and these were

‘The Happiest Days of my Life.’

Let me remind you…

It began with a catapult. There were metal ones made from aluminium advertised in the Victor comic. I hadn’t the nerve to ask my parents for the 7/6d Postal Order to send for one of these (they could apparently hit a bottle on a wall from 100 feet). I spent many weeks searching the local hedgerows for a forked branch that would mimic the design. When I found it, a piece off a Chestnut tree, I worked for three days with my trusty penknife to get it cut-off. My penknife had a thing on it that was like a miniature saw. I persevered since I was a determined kid. I got my forked branch home but then had to find material for the sling. This problem occupied me for several weeks. I experimented. First it was with some elastic bands. They broke after several test firings. Then I tried lots of the elastic strands that you could unravel from golf balls which had been lost on the local course. These were better but it took me all day to unwind and then re-weave the strands. My third plan was the most successful. I went into my mother’s knicker drawer. I was intimidated by these garments but stole some anyway. Borrowing the kitchen scissors I carefully cut the top off a pair and ‘twanged’ them experimentally. I had the solution but made a serious mistake in asking my mother to sew the elastic to my catapult. I was grounded for a week without pocket money. Apparently this forfeit was to pay for some new undergarments. My mother did however appreciate my inventiveness and provided a small piece of leather for the sling shot from her sewing bag.

Extract from The Vase. From The book Inside Stories

‘I’ll give you a fiver for it. Last offer.’

‘No deal Mate; look at the quality, no chips, glazed beautifully so it is. Do I look daft? See if you was to buy this at one of those posh antique shops you’d be looking at fifty notes. Look at the ticket, twenty-five; see! The way I look at it you’re taking me for a mug.’

He sniggered at his pun; ‘Look, if you’re missus wants it that much then do the right thing by her; he paused for emphasis, ‘an’ me an’ all.’ Both stared at the ceramic vase that the man carelessly tossed it from one grubby palm to the other.

‘Seven quid then, but you need to throw in that little digital camera.’

‘Ten.’

‘Eight-fifty.’

‘Nine.’

Derek took out a small leather purse and very, very slowly counted out nine pound coins.

‘Suppose likes of you’ll be wanting a bag?’

He tossed the vase in a creased carrier and handed it over.

‘…and the camera?’

‘Nearly forgot mate; I got carried away with all the dosh you handed over.’

Extract from 'Sir, Please Sir!' From the book 'I'm Just The Cat' and other Tales

‘Old Waggy’ got his nickname because of a habit of extending his index finger to make a point to boys and girls. He never actually ‘wagged’ it but this was immaterial to his pupils who were in the business of assigning of names to teachers. ‘Gutsy’ didn’t have a problem with his digestion either but had once been observed taking ‘Alka-Seltzer’ at his desk. That had been enough; the name had stuck. ‘Old Waggy’ wasn’t old in chronological terms. He was just an ‘old’ thirty-eight year old.

‘Sir, Please Sir!’

‘Old Waggy’ lifted his index finger but not his head in order to emphasise that he was busy and that the boy who had interrupted him should wait for a more appropriate moment before bothering his teacher. ‘Old Waggy’ was selecting the horses he was going to back at the lunch- break. Fifty Shades looked like a good runner on firm ground in the 3.45 at Cheltenham. He had another horse in his sights at Aintree in the 4.15 with equally good form called Long Haul. If Fifty Shades came in at 16:1 and Long Haul at 33:1 then his accumulator bet carried over from the day before would be worth??…He shuddered to think! He circled both with his pencil and looked up inquisitively. ‘What is it now Peter?’

‘Don’t matter…Sir.’

‘It-doesn’t- matter!’ Waggy corrected him, his finger rising just a little.

Christopher J F Gibson

Chris Gibson Books