A TREE GREW IN POND STREET Pat ClaxtonPond Street was the perfect auditorium to eavesdrop on people, all human life was there. The back of the Young's household overlooked an open courtyard, surrounded by houses, and there was always something going off. Tiffs over children would erupt into a full-fledged slanging match, with the housewives hurling abuse at one another.
The raised voices always attracted a crowd of on-lookers, like a magnet. Curtains twitched, heads appeared above the yard's dividing brick walls, while other spectators openly leaned against the door Jamb to watch the spectacle. Sometimes, an even louder voice would break through the shrieks and screams shouting, "Na' then, tha'll wacken babby, nark it," but it usually fell on deaf ears.
The finale would arrive with the menfolk joining in, each supporting their quarrelling wife, and the yard would be turned into a boxing ring as the angry prods and nudges developed into heavy handed blows.
Silence would follow these skirmishes. Sometimes the warring parties would ignore each other for weeks, or even moths at a time, while the children who had started it all played happily together, all ill-feeling forgotten.The front of the house looked onto Pond Street itself; almost facing the Royal Oak public house. The pub was open all hours, its lights streaming from the windows and a constant sound of laughter and chatter drifted out. Sometimes, buskers would tour the pubs, singing the latest songs from the music halls.
Outside in the late evenings, children would gather. Some to watch the drunken brawls, others to guide their father's home, should they have had a drop too much.
Now and again an irate wife would march up to the pub door and, with a stoney-faced look. beckon her husband. If he meekly joined her, a chorus of voices could be heard singing, "It's a great big shame and if she belonged to me, I'd let her know who's who," accompanied by drunken laughter.
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