Rainbow End

By Mark James

The Wizard of Oz was on at the Eden, it was no good asking me mother for our picture money. “Do you think I'm made of money?” she’d yell, and give us a good clout round the lug for asking. My mother, God bless her, she was made of a lot of things but money certainly wasn’t one of them. So come Saturday morning me and our young one would be up with the larks for a quick sluice under the cold tap in the scullery sink, the doorstep slice of jam and bread washed down with a hot cup of cocoa, we’d be down our back stairs two at a time. “Any old rags and jam jars”, we’d be yelling as we raced out the back gate and into the lane.   We’d both breathe a sigh of relief as the old fella at the rag shop counted the money out into our dirty, grasping hands, half for me ma and the rest for us. So no-one could rob us we’d run home at full pelt in the middle of the road, I’d grip that money so tight in me clenched hand it left an imprint in me palm. The queue was a mile long, it stretched right round the block, it was a fight to keep your place, bigger kids would push in but we’d keep our gob shut for fear of being bashed up. Aye, we might have been daft, there was no arguing with that but we certainly weren’t stupid. In the queue the excitement grew to fever pitch, when the door finally opened it was one mad rush to get in. With young one hand on me shirt tail I fought my way in. Inside the noise was deafening it was so full we sat two on a seat. Feet began to stamp, quite quiet at first then louder and louder like thunder. When the curtain finally opened, the cheer, it almost lifted the roof. We didn’t just watch the film, huh! We were in it! Me, I was the lion looking for courage and our kid, he was the scarecrow looking for a brain! You know what? I like to believe we found them both. Every kid in the place was spellbound including us. We all wanted to live in that glorious Technicolor never-never land far away from the real world outside with its belching chimneys and soot blackened houses. Me and our kid couldn’t dance to save our lives and yet, we danced along that yellow brick road and sang ‘Somewhere over the rainbow’ all the way home. Clammed with hunger and soaked to the skin we climbed our back stairs. Good clout round the lug off me ma for being so late, she brought us back to reality, but nowt, nowt at all, could take away our dreams