Up the Cross and Down the Loo: 1955 Hopalong Bill

That's me 'posing' on the corner of Hourigan Lane and 88 1/2 Brougham Street in my new Annie Oakley outfit - 1954 had been a good year for Father Christmas and he was very generous with my gifts. Mummy had cut my hair very, very, very short because chicken pox had run riot through my scalp.

Hourigan Lane led up to the rear of the Picadilly Hotel and also curved left, down behind the Terrace Houses. At night it was alive with intoxicated people of all sorts of drunks; winos and methos would huddle there slurping their chosen poison, competing with the howling 'tom cats' and screeching 'she cats' for airspace until the 'garbos' arrival chased them all away to sleep it of. During the day it was a 'hang-out' for us kids.

"Come on Peeeter, I'd yell at my cousin, they'll be here soon!"

They'll be here soon was my usual cry to the young 'uns, coaxing them into any mischief I could find. 'Sure as eggs' the garbage truck would come into sight, heralded by a team of gigantic men , leather-gloved and aproned. The huge vehicle would squeeze up the lane and turn left and career down the rear of the houses, clattering tin cans and scattering tin lids. We'd be lined up at the far end waiting for any old toys they would hand us. Mum would have been horrified if we had ever arrived home with them, so we carefully hid our stash behind a brick in the wall hidden from view by pipes. I wonder if they are still there??

The 'garbos', as they were affectionately known were much appreciated by the residents of Brougham Street and a large bottle of beer was 'presented' to the driver by each household - that's a lot of ale!!

Every evening just on dusk, Bill could be seen balancing on the side of the flats at the far corner of Hourigan Lane; supported by a wall one side and a crutch t'other, a stream of liquid would leave him via his trousers leg, winding past us leaving black streaks on the footpath. Mum would hose 'hose off' every evening at 4.50 p.m. leaving it sparling clean ready for Bill's next emission tomorrow.

We took Bill for granted, we were never 'shuffled' away from him. I guessed it was his long ago suit and posh accent that distinguished him from the homeless, metho drinking, blue-faced Norwegians lying up the back lane ?? Drinking methylated spirits gives the face a blue hue. Though I had assumed all Norwegians had blue faces.

Mum recalls that as early as 1939, Bill would straddle the tram line up the centre of William Street, directing the trams with one crutch, supporting himself with the other. The tram bell would ring and traffic would slow down to watch this spectacle.

Bill lived in number 88 with his sister Mrs Partridge, a stately old lady in her 80s. He was always immaculately dressed; he was very tall, as was his sister Mrs. Partridge. She would lean over the railing and gently coax him home, Mrs Partidge never yelled in a 'Woollooloomoo voice'.

Bill's posh accent could be detected even though he made no sense at all in his intoxicated state, one could still hear it slurring through. "Goot evennink, Miss" he'd say an attempt to doff his hat which was no mean feet for a drunk man, on a hill with one leg. I’m not sure whether he became a drunk because of the loss of his leg, or, whether it was because of Mrs Partridge’s daughter who had died tragically after running down the hallway and failing to stop at the railing, skidded off and impaled herself on the fence.