Off To See The Wild West Show Part 2 Chapter 2 (1/5) By Frank Beill

(1/5), (2/5), (3/5), (4/5), (5/5). Part 1 Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Part 2 Prologue, Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4.

It was too late in the day to visit Tweed Street school - the children and their teachers would be long gone by now. This left only the address I'd been given for George. Hessle Road was not a long walk from Princes Avenue but a tram ride was quicker or to be precise two tram rides were: one into the city centre and one back out again to get me to my destination. All the old reactions were visible again from the other passengers. Some ignored me, pretending I didn't exist. Other expressions verged on disgust at someone so different, someone they didn't want to exist in their scheme of things but I sensed some new responses too.

There was an element of fear. I'm sure it wasn't there when I was young. Some back then only saw me as cute: a brown pickaninny, to use Jolly Rodgers' taunt. Now, I was big and strong. I posed a threat - but why? Something else was new and this came from some of the young ladies. I caught their glances and they looked away bashfully. Their eyes betrayed their thoughts. Perhaps things weren't all bad.

The electric tram rattled out the town centre. (I was still unable to think of Hull as a city.) I was on the open top deck, preferring to stand rather than sit on the hard wooden seats. I wanted to see as much of my old home as possible. Were the places I visited in my dreams real? We were soon away from civic splendour of the new Queen Victoria Square, juddering past the shops and hotels hugging the sides of Carr Lane before joining narrower main roads. A tight maze of streets and courts alive with people ran off on either side. Once out on the prairie I had seen inside a broken anthill and it was just like this.

Despite a breeze the pungent smell of burning coal remained heavy in the air. The sights, sounds and smell around me evoked memories hidden deep inside me. Instinctively I knew this was the area where I lived before being abandoned in the orphanage. Nostalgia - the feeling I kept trying to suppress - broke free and it was a difficult emotion to control. 'Medley Street!' a voice called from below. For a moment, the conductor's words brought me back to my senses. This was my stop, although the name of the street was actually Madeley Street. Gradually I was getting used to the local accent again, although I'd managed to lose it myself.

Continued... Next Page (2/5)

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