Made In England

By Glen John

An unexpected illness turned a seasoned hotel hospitality professional into an author with a compelling story to tell. After dedicating over thirty-five years to ensuring memorable guest experiences, a rare hereditary disease changed every

• Language: English
• Publisher: 216206-6-56
• Release date: Jun 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798330247660

Book preview

Made In England

By

Glen John

Disclaimer

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Unauthorized use or distribution of this book is strictly prohibited and may result in legal action.

Registration No: TXu 2-428-023

ISBN NO: 979-8-3302-4766-0

© 2024 Glen John. All rights reserved

Contents

Chapter 01

Chapter 02

Chapter 03

Chapter 04

Chapter 05

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Author's Biography

Chapter 01

The Beginning

It's funny how such seemingly mundane details can hold the weight of a lifetime.

In the quiet, cobblestone streets of Rochdale, where time seemed to linger like an old memory, my story begins. My first recollections as a young boy started at about two or three years old: the smell of the sweet factory at the end of our street, where broken pieces of mixed sweets could be bought for half a penny per bag. Dad always said we had two smells in our street - sweets, and horse manure from the rag man's horse. Paul would laugh like it was the first time he'd ever said it. Mum told Dad what she had seen: the masses of people that ran out with a bag and shovel. Even though I knew horse poop was great for roses, a few people on our street grew rose bushes, which had sharp thorns that really hurt if you got scratched. Mum said one day she was ironing in the front room when there was a knock on the door; she saw a young kid standing at the door with a bag. Wanna buy some horse manure? Mum jumped in before he could get the last word out. Let's look then, he opened the bag.

Mum blurted out, That's dog poop! No, no, the kid replied, I mixed some horse poop too. Mum closed the door and carried on ironing; a few minutes later, she suddenly burst into laughter, mumbling, I must tell your father about this, tears streaming down her face.

Paul, was my stepfather, he continuously checks in throughout the day for any messages for his chimney sweeping business. Paul would often come home late. Once, when I had stayed up, Paul wobbled through our front door.

I noticed a strange odor and asked him what he thought the smell was; without hesitation, he said, Best beer and farts. He added that it would clear any congestion. Mum told Paul about the young boy. Dad thought for a minute and said, "The kid will soon be a millionaire. Most people in our town worked in the local cotton mills, but my Mum, Maureen, was an exception; she worked as a barmaid in the Red Lion Pub. Ann and I were adopted, and Paul became our stepfather. Over time, our family grew to include Mum, Dad, two younger brothers, John and Michael, an older sister, Ann, and me, the first-born son. With three years between each of my siblings, our family life flowed smoothly.

The rag and bone man would call out, Old rags, old rags, as he clattered down the cobblestone street with his horse and cart. Some women would bring out old clothes to exchange for a step-cleaning donkey stone, and sometimes balloons were available for the kids.

Through my young eyes, I recall how impressionable I was as I leaned on a wall, watching people as they rushed by.

Seeing only glimpses of some traumatic and impressionable events that began to shape my life, race was never a problem in our town of Rochdale, where people of different backgrounds mingled. Black folks mainly hailed from the Caribbean, while Pakistanis and Asian Indians also formed part of our community. Chinese residents predominantly owned fish and chip shops. Mum explained that some families had moved to England for better opportunities.

Mr. Petal owned a shop on the corner of our street; he was a kind man who always wore a smile. Although I couldn't understand everything he said, he often gave me a lollipop, and in return, I handed him notes Mum had written. I'm certain Mr. Petal could read, as he carefully packed the groceries into my bag. Mum said she liked Mr. Petals shop as it was nice and handy and was open late.

I remember the excitement of playing in the street, popping tar bubbles under the hot sun. Sometimes, the weather behaved strangely, with rain falling while the sun shone—a peculiar sight that puzzled me. Rain was common in the northwest of England, and the grey sky often threatened more bad weather. Occasionally, it was just windy.

Mum would craft kites for us out of paper and string. November 5th was always memorable, commemorating Guy Fawkes' failed attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament in 1605. We celebrated with bonfires, fireworks, and tasty treats like black peas, treacle toffee, and jacket potatoes. My friends and their families would invite the whole community for a spectacular free firework display lighting up the night sky.

Everyone was excited at Christmas time it was the best time of the year. Mum told us stories of Father Christmas, who would descend the chimney to deliver presents to good boys and girls. She whispered the importance of behaving well all year, as Santa Claus was ever watchful. Ah, Santa is Father Christmas's brother, Mum would say with a smile, adding, he's watching you. Despite my protests about the seemingly endless stream of mishaps, Mum would calmly attribute them to accidents, like when I tripped my sister, causing her to fall down the stairs. See, she'd say, accidents do happen all the time.

I wasn't a fan of winter, although we built snowmen in the middle of our quiet street. We had to wait forever for a car to run our snowman over. My friends and I didn't stay out long; as we only had short pants.

The snow was always deep and came up to my waist. Our toilet was located outside in the back yard. At night, it was terrifying if you needed to go pee. Going alone in the dark was always scary; I would put on my dressing gown and slippers, go downstairs, and open two bolts, which were sometimes hard as they often stuck. The toilet seat was always warm, even in the depths of winter.

Once, I wanted to help Mum paint our living room; she said no, I couldn't help. When you're young, everyone knows no means yes, somewhere else. So, while her back was turned, I went into the kitchen and painted the side of the fridge yellow. Years later, I found out that the fridge was a rental. Trouble seemed to follow me around; getting in trouble, I thought hard about deciding what was trouble or not, but most of the time, I got it wrong.

After receiving several painful reminders handed out by my parents, I was hit by a blinding flash of light, a great idea came upon me; in the future, I could ask my sister Ann what she thought first. My good idea turned out terrible. Ann would mess up and blame me. She would blackmail me into doing her jobs around the house.

The big day has arrived. When I was four and a half. It was my first day at school; I walked through the doors and knew this wasn't for me. It seemed like a terrifying place. I remember a man waiting at the door with a frowning face and giant glasses. Wiggling a stick, I was shaking. I heard him telling another kid the name of his stick was Excalibur. He pointed to the gymnasium. Go in there, he snarled. At four years old, my life was over. With a kiss on the head and I'll see you later, I hurried down the hall into the gym for morning assembly. Mum and Dad had lied about what a wonderful time I would have at school.

Looking towards some crying kids I thought making new friends could be a problem. Day One. Dining Etiquette. Using a knife, fork, and spoon correctly. Disaster reared its ugly head as I watched a young lady named Lisa Talks put a sizeable, hard green pea into her nose and blew the pea clear across the room. Everyone laughed and cheered.

How cool was that? No problem thinking out loud. I'll do it in class after lunch; I can easily hit the blackboard. At the beginning of the afternoon class, my moment was here; I carefully placed the hard pea into my nose, thinking I couldn't miss it. I felt a slap on the back from my new friend; I suddenly felt a green pea shoot up my nose. Oh dear, this was bad; all the commotion of kids laughing and me choking brought the Teacher running over to my desk.

The Teacher, Jones, instructed me to cover the opposite nostril from the pea and blow, but the pea did not pop out after several attempts. Mrs. Jones called for the Nurse, who we'd named Nitty Nora, the bug explorer. Nurse Nora ran to my side with a box of white pepper. She insisted that I breathe through my nose as she put a pinch of pepper in my nostrils. After a couple of loud sneezes, the students laughed so loud I was escorted out of the classroom and into the Nurse's room.

As she opened the door, I recall feeling a wash of fear coming over me as the headmaster, Mr. Savage was waiting; the look on his face said it all. The Nurse suggested a trip to the local hospital; as we arrived at the emergency room, a smiling doctor greeted me and took me to the X-ray department. As if by magic, my Mum turned up extremely concerned. After my x-ray, the doctor explained he couldn't see the pea