Becoming Alfie by Neil Patterson
Alfie Norrington
was born into poverty in London’s East End in the first minute of
the twentieth century. His life was a battle. From the Brick Lane
markets where young Alfie pilfered and pickpocketed, to the trenches
of Flanders, Alfie fought every step of the way.
Almost killed by
a trench bomb he battled to recover and while in a military hospital
Alfie made a promise that dramatically change’s his life. A true
East End hero, Alfie begins his journey away from poverty armed with
a robust moral compass and an open heart.
Becoming Alfie is
the first in the Alfie Norrington series. It follows the life of a
man who positively influenced thousands of people. The world needs
more individuals like Alfie Norrington, that give much more than they
take.
It
is from chapter 3 and set in November 1913 in the tenement where
Alfie grew up, in Mile End. His alcoholic father died some months
earlier and contains a couple of revealing disclosures from family
members.
“I’ve
met a man and I am quite taken by him,” Elsie continued.
The
room exploded in questions and disbelief until Jack quietened the
family down.
“Shh,
you lot, keep quiet, give Mum her time to tell the story. Go on,
Mum.”
“Well,
his name is Tommy Smith. He has no children and his wife passed away
about ten years ago. I met him at the match factory and we have been
friendly for some time. I like him and he likes me and I’ve invited
him to ’ave Christmas with us all. What d’ya fink?”
Again,
the table erupted in opinions and questions, with no one listening to
anyone else. Jack was just as noisy as the others at this
declaration. Once the din died down, Elsie spoke again.
“Right,
you lot, bloody well hear me and hear me good. I have spent
twenty-two years giving birth to you kids, wiping your arses, wiping
your noses; feeding you, sometimes even I don’t know how; washing
your clothes, making your beds, loving you in every possible way. Now
I want a little love, and Tommy Smith offers me that. He is coming
over ’ere at Christmas and by Christ, I expect you all to welcome
him with open arms – particularly you, Fred. And try not to get too
pissed on the day, please.”
“Well,
Mum, I for one am well pleased for you,” said Alfie. “Will he be
staying the night?”
Spontaneous
laughter spilled around the room. Elsie couldn’t help but smile.
“No,
my gentlemen friend won’t be staying, as we are going back to his
flat to sleep.”
“Ooh,
Mum, how exciting for you! Do you remember how to do it?” giggled
Lily.
“’Cause
when you find out, can you tell Lily? She needs all the help she can
get,” replied Rose.
By
this time the room was full of laughter and leg-pulling. Jack stood
up, tapped his beer glass with his teaspoon, and said, “Mum, you
deserve all the happiness in the world and then some. So, speaking
for us all, but particularly for me, we welcome Tommy Smith into our
house and will take the piss out of the pair of you for most of the
day.”
“Hear,
hear” was the cry from the table. Only Fred looked less than
enthused by the concept. He downed his beer in one draught and left
the table to refill his glass from the dark bottle on the sideboard.
There
was more laughter, then more questions about Elsie’s relationship
with Tommy. Everyone seemed happy about it except Fred.
“’Scuse
me, everyone.” Fred jumped up from his chair, looking nervous. “I
have a little somefing to tell you all, too.”
“Don’t
tell me you’re in the family way?” chided Alfie.
Fred
scowled. “No, little bruvver, I ain’t up the duff. But…” He
took what seemed like minutes to say, “I… I… I’ve signed up
with the army and am off to training camp next week.”
After
more silence, a rare commodity in the Norrington house, Elsie spoke
through the tears welling up in her eyes.
“Well,
I’ll be. My luverly is going to war to fight for King and country.”
She got up from the table and wrapped her whole body around her
second-born. “May God take care of you and bring you ’ome to your
family when this ’orrible war is over, my brave, brave boy.”
At
this the family surrounded Fred, the girls crying and the boys
pumping his hands in manly shakes. They were too tough, or too
well-rehearsed, to cry.
“Well,
mate, I wish you all the very best. You know my views on the fucking
war,” said Jack.
“Watch
your language, Jack!”
“Sorry,
Mum. But come ’ome quickly, Fred, and come ’ome complete in every
way. Let’s toast our bruvver for his bravery and his courage.”
Once
the shock wore off, many questions were fired towards Fred at the
same time – mainly by Alfie, who was interested in the process of
joining up.
“Alright,
alright, alright,” Fred said. “I am joining the 1/17th London
Battalion, known as the East End Regiment. Some of me mates have
joined up as well, so I’ll ’ave familiar faces with me. We go
down to Devizes for training – that’s in Wiltshire, wherever that
is. I leave from Paddington station at eight o’clock on Fursday
mornin’. I ain’t certain as to where I’ll be once the training
is over – it takes twelve weeks. Me mates fink we’ll be in
Flanders, as that’s where the Jerries are givin’ us a bit of a
nosebleed, but I’ll write to Mum every week so she can let you all
know what’s what.”
The
shock of Fred’s impending departure for the Western Front got Alfie
thinking. He had felt a burgeoning desire to protect his country. He
knew this was a silly idea, as the age for volunteering was eighteen.
Although he looked older than his years, he was still only fourteen.
His birth certificate demonstrated that, and he had no other formal
documents that may be easy to adapt to make him seem older. He pushed
those thoughts to the back of his mind as the family gathered around
Fred, hugging him, slapping him on the back, and in the case of the
girls, crying uncontrollably.
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Born in South Essex close to the River Thames and directly East
of London, my childhood was peppered with memories of the mighty
river itself.
We would swim,
fish and discover hidden treasure in the tidal mudflats with the
fragments of clay pipes we found taking us back to another era. It
was here that my inspiration for writing was born. I began to keep a
diary of my observations from life and documented my feelings and
thoughts.
My wife was
twenty two and I was twenty four when we migrated to Australia with a
glorious expectation. The sun was shining, the people were friendly
and Sydney Harbour simply magnificent. Together we were committed to
making the most of this opportunity beginning the next step in our
lives. Everything was new which gave me endless writing opportunities
that I recorded in my diary which had spilled over into a number of
books. We travelled around this incredible country meeting people
from all walks of life and from many nationalities. We lived and
worked in a variety of capital cities enjoying each and every
experience. All this was tremendous fodder for my writing.
I began to write
short stories and poetry, none of which I sought to publish. By my
fifty second birthday I was able to finish working and focus full
time on my writing, the results so far are The Alfie Norrington
Series with Becoming Alfie the first in the series of four. I hope
that you enjoy reading Becoming Alfie as much as I did writing it.
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