J.J.

Jennospot 102  J.J.

John Jay is moi gang leader, only nobody don't never ever call 'im John, 'cept 'is mum when 'ee's at 'ome, an' that don't count. Ev'rybody else calls 'im J.J. even the teachers at school, 'cos if'n they jus' called 'im Jay… well it sounds a bit odd don't it, 'specially when yew fink of that stuff wot they use fer cleaning the toilets wot is called "J's fluid". It makes us laugh, wot ain't good fer discipline.

Loike Oi said, J.J. is moi gang leader, wot is called the Pepper Mill Lane Mob, 'cos that's where all the mob's members live, includin' me. There's ovver places in moi village of Widdlin'ton, but them wot live there can't be belong ter the Mob, 'cos yew got ter live along the Lane or yew can't be in it.

It ain't loike Peter's gang. The bottom of Peter's back garden ajoins (cripes, OI loike that word) the top o' moi yard where the chicken run is, only Oi ain't supposed ter talk wiv 'im across the fence 'cos fraternisin' wiv over gangs ain't allowed 'cept in neutral places loike the school; wot don't stop us talkin', only we 'ave ter be careful that nobody don't see us. Peter's gang is called the Lions Avenue Lot, wot 'as some members wot don't live along the avenue. Dunno why really, 'cept that the Lot let girls in as full members, an' some o' the village gangs don't let any girls in 'em at all. That makes fer problems: Cripes, don't it 'alf…!

 

Any'ow, Oi'm gettin' off the subject. J.J. is real big, an' 'ee's real old, 'cos 'ee'll be eighteen on 'is next birfday. 'Ee's got a dog called Satan, an' 'ee treats girls, leastways, girls loike me, as though they was dirt 'cos 'ee don't allow us ter be full members of the Mob. The boys keep all the best stuff fer themselves, an' they 'ave secrets wot they don't share wiv us. So yew c'n see that J.J.an' me, we don't really see fings eye ter eye as it were.

That's about all there is ter say about J.J. 'cept that 'ee gave Peter a black eye one noight in the blackout. There's some, even Peter 'imself, wot says it were an accident, but Oi ain't never been real sure. Still an' all, that started a roight war in Widdlin'ton, when Peter's aunt went fer Mrs Jay, callin' 'er an irresponsible 'arridan, an' J.J. a mongrel loike wot 'is dog is. Well yew c'n imagine! It took 'Itler 'imself ter sort that one out, an' J.J. ain't the kind that c'd 'elp none, well not until 'ee gets called up inter the army, that is…

Oi ain't a-goin' ter tell yew the whole 'ist'ry 'ere, 'cos it 'ad important consequences. If'n yew want more, yew c'd take a look at http://www.peterstjohn.net/index_3.htm or better still, read the book. Yeah, there's even a whole series of books about it, an' Oi'm in 'em as well as J.J. an' the rest o' the gangs…

Till next toime, luv from Jenno.

Gang Loyalty

Jennospot 101  Gang Loyalty

Peter St John's 'as written an 'istorical book wot is called "Gang Loyalty" (well, it's jus' a bit 'istorical) an' it were published on 1st July by SilverWood Books in paperback. Actually, Oi reckon as 'ow it ought ter be called Gang Disloyalty, 'cos ter moi moind it's more about bein' betrayed than about anyfink else.

Any'ow, it's the 'istory of wot 'appened in our village when Oi set up a gang wot were jus' fer girls. There's several gangs in Widdlin'ton, an' they 'ave likely been around ever since Widdlin'ton were first started by the Normans a long toime ago, only nobody don't remember that no more, 'cos that sort o' fing ain't never written down, 'cept by Peter St John, an' 'ee's only done the last recent bit.

The fing is, most of the gangs don't let girls in, or even if'n they do, loike moi Pepper Mill Lane Mob, the girls are only sort o’ second class, if'n yew see wot Oi mean. That means the girls 'ave ter keep quiet when the boys are decidin' fings. Well, after a while that really got on moi wick, 'cos girls ain't never second class no'ow, no matter wot the boys moight fink. So Oi got tergevver wiv Winnifred an' some o' the ovver girls in the village, 'specially them from up The Street wot don't let girls in at all, ter set up a gang fer girls only.

We called it the "Go-Getter Girls", or GGG. fer short, wot Molly painted on 'er soapbox cart, an' we set out ter beat the boys at ev'ryfink wot they do loike cricket, an' marbles, an' soapbox cart racin' an' all stuff loike that. Well, nobody can't expect ter be world champion at nuffink straight off, so it took a little while an' a lot of 'ard practicin' afore we was able ter do much good against the boys. Not only that, we 'ad some no-'opers in the GGG (Oi won't mention no names) as well as some real champions. So we 'ad jus' a few little problems getting' fings goin' well, ter say nuffink of that tough Heebie Jeebie Jackson, but then me an' Heebie Jeebie didn't never get on tergevver even before the girls' gang were set up.

 

Any'ow, moi racin' cart ain't called "Emmeline P." fer nuffink, 'cos Mrs Emmeline Pankhurst were a real determined lady, an' we was real determined too. Still an all, fings don't 'ardly never turn out the way yew expect do they? An' so no more didn't the GGG…

Oi ain't a-goin' ter tell yew no more 'ere, but if'n yew'd loike a bit more, yew c'd do worse'n take a look at http://www.amazon.com/dp/1781321132 or even http://www.peterstjohn.net/index_5.htm

Luv from Jenno.

Soapbox Cart Smells

Jennospot 100  Soapbox Cart Smells

Cripes, this is moi hundredth blog post. Oi'm goin' ter celebrate by telling yew a bit about moi fav'rite sport, wot is soapbox cart racin'.

Did yew know that soapbox carts 'ave got a smell? It's a particular kind o' smell an' it's diff'rent fer each cart.

If'n yew didn't know better, yew might fink that they'd all 'ave a smell like the perfume o' soap. Moi cart, "Emmeline P", is loike that, only it ain't the perfume yew moight expect 'cos she originally 'ad carbolic soap in 'er wot gives a smell a bit loike the caretaker's room at school, an' a bit loike the girls privy on Monday mornin', only less strong, if'n yew see wot Oi mean. O' 'corse, the smell got a bit less after she'd been painted, but it ain't never gone completely away yet, if'n yew sniff real 'ard.

O' 'corse, not all soapbox carts are made from boxes wot 'ad soap in 'em. Yew often 'ave ter make do wiv wot comes ter 'and, 'specially in wartime. Take Molly's cart fer instance, wot were originally called "G.G.G." an' later on "E Pacer", wot is an anagram (there's a noice word fer yew) of Pearce, wot is the real name o' Dummy wot made 'er. Molly were so grateful ter Dummy for makin' the cart she made up the name. But that ain't got nuffink much ter do wiv smells, 'cept that Dummy made 'er out of a box wot 'ee 'ad used ter store onions in.

At first, the onion smell were enough ter make yer eyes water, but it wore off a bit after a few races, because of the weavver an' the dust. Still an' all, it always reminds me o' Dummy when Molly comes wiv 'er cart; 'cos it's loike the smell wot 'ee always 'as about 'im. After all, loike most of us in Widdlin'ton, 'ee ain't got no barfroom, an' 'ee ain't got no laundry neither, so 'ee don't get ter wash all over, all that frequently; so it ain't really 'is fault. 'Ee didn't 'ave no pyjamas neither until the air-raid. But that's anuvver story.

Moi gang leader, JJ, 'as got a cart wot still pongs a bit, even after we all complained, an' 'ee eventually got down ter givin' 'er a good scrubbin'. We reckoned as 'ow JJ wanted 'is cart ter stink, 'cos the smell were so powerful, nobody wanted ter come near 'im in a race, wot gave 'im an' unfair advantage. JJ found the box fer 'is cart in summer alongside the railway line. It were a good strong box, wot is essential fer makin' a cart; the problem were, that it 'ad been used fer transportin' fish, an' we reckoned as 'ow the delivery 'ad been so long delayed, wot wiv the war an' ev'ryfink, that the train guard couldn't stand it no more an' 'ad slung it out of 'is van. Any'ow, p'raps Oi'm bein' unjust ter JJ; maybe 'ee jus' ain't got a sensitive nose. After all, 'ee is moi gang leader, that is, until 'ee got called up fer the army.

Soapbox carts 'ave got ovver smells to 'em wot come from the lubrication (cripes, Oi jus' love that word!). Yew 'ave ter put grease or oil on the wheels an' on the steering pivot, an' when yew're racin' lyin' down yew've got yer nose roight close ter the pivot an' the front wheels, so yew notice the smell more, as it were. Ordin'ry oil an' grease is okay, but it costs real money, wot most of us kids ain't got much of, so we sometimes use wotevver comes ter 'and fer free.

Fer example, moi bruvver, when 'ee 'ad is bad coughin', were given some greasy stuff ter rub on 'is chest an' there were a whole lot left over when 'ee got well again. Any'ow, it works a real treat fer lubricatin' yer steerin' pivot, but when yew've got yer nose down close in a tight finish ter a race, the pong don't 'alf clear yer 'ead.

Then take them Haflin twins up The Street. In their shed, they found a whole big bottle o' cod liver oil wot 'ad gone more than little off. Well Oi reckon as 'ow they must o' got noses even less sensitive than wot JJ as, 'cos after they'd recently oiled the wheels of their carts, yew c'd smell them a-comin' a mile off.

So, as yew c'n see, soapbox racin' is a real perfumed sort o' sport. Oi c'd tell yew more, but if'n Oi do, Peter St J'll get real miffed 'cos 'ee writes about soapboxes in 'is "Gang" books, but so far, 'ee ain't never said nuffink about the smells, so Oi'm jus' fillin' in a gap fer 'im, as it were.

That's all fer now 'cept ter send yew luv from Jenno.

 

An if'n yew want ter know more about soapbox carts, (but not 'ow they smell) yew c'd do worse'n ter visit Peter St J's website: http://www.peterstjohn.net/

Braces

Jennospot 99  Braces
 

'Ave yew got a bruvver?

Moi bruvver's name is Stanley, but nobody don't never call 'im that 'cept moi Mum, but then only when she wants ter call 'im in or tick 'im off. Ovverwise she calls 'im "Stan". Fer ev'rybody else 'ee's "Braces", wot Oi reckon suits 'im pretty well. Any'ow, it's a whole lot better'n "Stinky" or "Itchyprick", wot are the names of 'is closest friends wot also belong ter the Pepper Mill Lane Mob, wot is where we live. "Stinky" is fer Chambers and "Itchyprick" fer Hitchcock; an' if'n yew don't get the connection, Oi ain't about ter tell yew wot it is.

Any'ow, Oi don't really want ter tell yew about Itchy an' Stinky 'cos Oi reckon as 'ow Oi've already told yew more'n enough than wot's necessary. Naw, it's moi bruvver wot Oi want ter talk about.

'Ee's older'n wot Oi am by a year, wot don't give 'im the roight ter order me about loike wot 'ee tries to. An' any'ow, it don't wash wiv me, not no'ow. Yew'd've thought 'ee'd've learned that by now, but bruvvers are loike that wiv their sisters, 'cos they jus' ain't too quick on the uptake, if'n yew see wot Oi mean. F'rinstance, nobody wot lives along Pepper Mill lane, loike wot we do, 'is wot yew'd call rich; not loike them posh folk wot live up Lions Avenue. Cripes, they got water closets an' all instead of an outside toilet down the garden. Any'ow, Oi'm getting off the point, the fing is, we ain't got much money, wot means that me an' moi bruvver, we only get sixpence a week pocket money between the two of us. That's okay really, 'cos Oi unnerstand 'ow it is fer moi Mum, wot wiv Dad away in the army an' all. But wot ain't fair, is that Braces gets 'is sixpence two weeks runnin' ter moi once, wot means 'ee gets twice as much as wot Oi do.

Moi Mum says as ow 'ee's older, an' that why 'ee gets more, but Oi can't 'elp finkin' that it's also because 'ee's a boy, wot ain't fair at all. The worst is, that 'ee don't know 'ow ter save 'is money, an' as soon as 'ee gets it, 'ee spends it on somefink wot 'ee don't really need. Yeah okay, that's 'is own stupid fault wot Oi can't do nuffink about. The trouble is that when all 'is money is gone, 'ee comes ter me fer a loan.

Well, after all, 'ee is moi bruvver ain't 'ee, the daft spendthrift, so 'ow c'n Oi refuse? D'yew know, 'ee already owes me more money'n wot there is in all the Bank of England. Anybody sensible would fink that that would make 'im at least a bit considerate (there's a fancy word fer yew) towards me, but there ain't nuffink doin'; 'ee still treats me loike as though Oi owed 'im somefink, when the truth is, it's 'im wot owes me.

At 'ome, 'ee ain't so bad, mostly; but when 'ee's tergevver wiv Stinky an' Itchy, 'ee gets real insufferable. Oi suppose it's ter show off ter them as 'ow 'ee's the boss. But loike Oi said, it don't wash wiv me, an' 'ee always gets back as good as wot 'ee gives, even though 'ee's a year older. Boys (wiv a few rare exceptions) are mostly jus' more immature than wot girls are; an' that's about all there is ter that…

Still an' all, although 'ee don't deserve it, Oi love 'im, the stupid twit. Oi 'ope yew love your bruvver an' all, supposin' o’ corse that yew've got one. Lot's o' people ain't got no bruvver, an' that's a pity. Any'ow, even if'n yew ain't got no bruvver, Oi c'd lend yew moine, temporary loike, 'cos it'd be good ter 'ave a little 'oliday from 'im, but yew c'n chuck 'im out roight quick smart if'n 'ee starts gettin' uppity an' asks' fer stuff wot yew ain't got.

That's all fer now 'cept ter send yew luv from Jenno.

 

By the way, if'n yew'd loike ter know a bit more about moi bruvver, (though Oi don't much recommend it) yew c'd take a look at Peter St John's website: http://www.peterstjohn.net/index_20.htm

The Island of 'Ope

Jennospot 98  'Ope

Ain't dreams peculiar? Oi 'ad a dream the ovver noight where Oi visited an island. It were an island wot yew can't always see, 'cos, loike a submarine, it c'd go down under the water so's yew couldn't see it no more. When Oi first come towards it, Oi was feelin' pretty miserable, 'cos only the very top of it was showin', an' it were slowly goin' under. Oi 'ad ter open my eyes real wide ter keep on seein' it (only Oi din't really open 'em, 'cos Oi were asleep, weren't Oi?)

Any'ow, the more Oi opened moi eyes, the more the island came up out of the water. An' as Oi got closer, I saw a notice on the beach wot said as 'ow the island was called 'Ope. An' then underneath, in little squitty writin', it said as 'ow, unless yew opened yer eyes real good, so's enough light c'd get in, yew wasn't allowed ter come ashore, 'cos wivvout yer eyes bein' wide open, the island would sink down agen.

An' so Oi 'eld my eyes open wiv moi fingers, so's the island wouldn't sink down, an' Oi went up on ter the beach. It felt real noice ter be there. So Oi lay down on the soft sand ter 'ave a little rest, an' o' 'corse, Oi shut my eyes.

Well, Oi was real disappointed when Oi woke up again, 'cos the island weren't there any more, an' that's when Oi knew it were a dream.

Still an' all, Oi reckon as 'ow ev'ry day, we need ter 'ave a little island of 'Ope, so's we c'n 'elp ter make the world a bit better ter live in, don't yew fink? An' that's real important, 'cos if'n we ain't got that, then it's dead easy ter accept a whole lotta dismal fings wot would make us very un'appy indeed. Oi reckon as 'ow it ain't a good idea ter be un'appy, an' so it's better ter fink of the island of 'Ope.

An' then, if'n Oi shut moi eyes (but real wide open inside loike), Oi c'n see the island again. It's a roight broight emerald green, an' the sea around is all sparkly an' blue, wiv calm ripples. An' there's jus' a little soothin' breeze a-comin' in, wot yew c'n feel above the eyebrows. Cripes, that island 'as got a real lot goin' fer it.

Oi reckon as 'ow, if'n yew got 'Ope in yer 'eart, yew gotta take good care it don't sink away, 'cos 'ope is somefink wot is real necessary fer everyone, if'n they want ter see fings clear.

 

Wiv 'ope, it's possible ter be positive, an' ter believe in love. Wivvout it, yew c'n get all down, loike daft ol' Dismal 'ere. But then Oi reckon as 'ow Dismal does 'is gloomy act a-purpose, jus' fer laughs; but Oi ain't sure… In any case, 'ee ain't really amusin', just annoyin'. Any'ow, Oi'm full o'f 'ope fer 'im, an' fer yew, an' fer me an' all.

'Ave yew too got yer little island of 'Ope? Oi 'ope so…

Luv from Jenno.

 

By the way, don't ferget Peter St John's website: http://www.peterstjohn.net. It's got Dismal on it an' lot's of uvver stuff an' all..

Yew c'n go there if'n yew want, but it ain't as important as wot moi little island is, natch.

Emmeline P.

Jennospot 97 Emmeline P

Moi English teacher reckons as 'ow, when we write, we ought ter write somefink wot we're passionate about.

That's real in'trestin', 'cept Oi ain't real sure wot Oi'm passionate about, unless it's soapbox cart racin'.

Moi soapbox cart is called "EmmelineP" after that there famous Mrs Pankhurst; 'cos there ain't nobody more famous than wot she is. She lived in the olden days when women wore long skirts an' 'ad big 'ats covered all over wiv flowers an' fevvers. The fing is that women, even though they're mostly more intelligent than wot men usually are, weren't allowed at that toime ter vote, an' so they weren't represented in the most important place wot makes our laws. Cripes, can yew imagine…!

Any'ow, Mrs Emmeline P reckoned as 'ow that weren't fair, so she got tergevver wiv a whole lot of ovver women wot also thought it weren't fair, ter make a fuss about it. But the men in the Government weren't impressed, so nuffink got changed. Well, the women, decided they 'ad ter do some real heavy publicity stuff, so they chained themselves ter railin's outside Parliament 'Ouse an' ovver important places; they interrupted political meetin's wiv 'ecklin' (cripes, ain't that a good word?); some of 'em even went ter prison fer breakin' winders an' settin' fings on fire; an' they called themselves "suffragettes" (ain't that an even better word? I 'spose it means suff'rin' fer the suffrage).

Mrs Pankhurst 'erself went ter prison an' all. (Mr P must 'ave been quite a bit miffed about that, 'specially seein' as 'ow 'ee were a barrister wiv five children ter look after. Stll an' all, 'ee supported Emmeline, wot is good fer 'im). Mrs Pankhurst an' some ovver suffragettes wot were in prison, refused ter eat. It were orrible 'ow the prison authorities tried ter force-feed 'em, but it didn't do 'em no good. When the women got real ill from not eatin' they was let out until they got better, and then they was arrested again. It were an 'orrible painful game o' cat an' mouse.

Any'ow, Mrs P an' 'er suffragettes won in the finish, but it weren't until just after she died in 1928, that an Act o' Parliament were passed givin' the roight ter vote ter all adults, includin' women. An' then a statue of 'er was put up in Victoria Tower Gardens, jus' by Parliament 'Ouse. That were just a few years afore Oi was born. Oi went ter see 'er once, wiv Peter. Yew c'n go ter see 'er yerself if'n yew're down that way, 'cos she's still there. An' yew c'n read about our visit, if'n yew want, in "Gang Petition" (http://www.peterstjohn.net/index_6.htm).

Any'ow, that's why moi cart is called Emmeline P; only my English teacher didn't seem real impressed, even though Oi'm passionate about it mesself. Cripes, p'raps Oi'd better go an' chain mesself ter the school railin's…

Luv from Jenno…

Jenno's Gangs Rampaging

Jennospot 96 Jenno's Gangs Rampaging

 

Last week Oi wrote fer yew about as 'ow there are some gangs in moi village o' Widdlin'ton, an' as 'ow Peter St John was makin' a picture book about 'em. Well the book is out now, so Oi c'n show yew 'ere wot the cover looks loike. Actually P St J 'as 'ad the cheek ter put 'is noime on the cover, but jus' between yew an' me, if'n it weren't fer moi 'elp there wouldn't 'ardly be no book, 'cos Oi 'ad ter keep a-tellin' 'im wot ter put. Besides, if'n yew took me out of the book there wouldn't be much left, would there; if'n yew see wot Oi mean.

Any'ow, the book is out an' rampagin' around now. Leastways, if'n it ain't rampagin', it jolly well ought ter be, 'cos it ain't ev'ry day where yew get a whole lot o' village gangs all tergevver under one cover, so ter speak. Cripes, there's enough rough stuff goin' on where they're separated inter their territories, never moind when they're squashed tergevver in a little book.

Wot's more, it ain't moi fault if some of 'em don't get along. People are jus' loike that: They're perfec'ly able not ter loike one anovver fer no good reason at all. But when yew fink that in Widdlin'ton there are lots o' real good reaons fer not getting' along― well wot c'n yew expect…?

O' 'corse Oi get on pretty good wiv most ev'rybody, 'cept "Slug" Snaylor natch, an' that there Heebie Jeebie Phoebe at the Post Office. Yew can't count Bill Bates, wot 'elps 'is dad at the butchers, Oi mean, 'ee's jus' thick, an' 'is two off-siders are pretty much non compos mentis an' all. Oi ain't a-goin' ter mention J.J. 'cos 'ee's moi gang leader in the Pepper Mill Lane, but Oi reckon as 'ow fings would be better between us if'n 'ee 'ad a bit more respect fer girls, 'specially fer girls loike me. Any'ow, Oi reckon as 'ow Oi've made moi point, 'cos Oi'm real easy ter get on wiv if'n yew treat me roight. See wot Oi mean…?

 

Any'ow, if'n yew'd loike ter know a bit more about all that, yew c'd take a look at moi book "Jenno's Gangs" (even though P St J 'as put 'is noime on the cover). It only costs 99 cents, wot ain't dear seein' as 'ow it's got lots o' pictures in it.

 

It's on Smashwords (cripes, makes me fink o' people arguin' over a traffic collision). All yew got ter do is jus' click on http://www.smashwords.com/b/315767 an' then yew c'n be rampagin' along wiv the best of 'em.

'Appy rampagin'.

Luv from Jenno…

 

http://www.peterstjohn.net/