Tuesday, 18th March 1975
I still remember the day we left the countryside for the cityit was a turning point for our family. That year, my parents bought a house on the outskirts of Manchester, a little way from the hustle and bustle, never sensing what was in store for us.
Back in the village, neighbours would never hesitate to lend a handmum and dad were the same, always up for helping someone in need. So, when the previous owners, the Smiths, asked if they could stay on for a fortnight to settle a few things, my parents agreed without much thought. After all, it seemed the decent thing to do.
But the Smiths owned this enormous, unruly doga hulking black beast called Duke. None of us liked him, but it was clear he wouldnt obey anyone but old Mrs Smith. They didnt bother to keep him on a lead or watch over him. Hed tear through our garden, leaving mess everywhere, and I was frightened even to step out for fear hed lunge at me.
The one-week arrangement turned into two, then three, with no sign the Smiths planned to leave. They slept until midday, rarely ventured out, and generally carried on as though our home was still theirsespecially Mrs Smith, who lorded it over us at every opportunity.
Mum and dad kept reminding them of the deal, but every time, the Smiths found some new excuse to delay their departure.
Duke, meanwhile, became a daily terror. Dad went off to work, my brother and sister to school, and no sooner were they out the door than Duke would be let loose in the garden, snapping at anyone who came near. My father asked them, again and again, to tie him up, but they didnt care.
It was Duke, oddly enough, who brought things to a head.
One afternoon, Annabellemy younger sistercame back from school. She opened the garden gate, not realising Duke was out. Like a bolt, he knocked her flying. By some miracle, she escaped with barely more than torn clothes and a nasty fright. They had the audacity to blame her for coming home early, as if it were her fault!
That evening, when dad got home, hed clearly had enough. Without so much as taking off his coat, he strode into the parlour, grabbed Mrs Smithstill in her slippersand marched her straight out the front door. Her daughter and son-in-law came running after, shouting, but dad was having none of it. Their belongings went sailing over the fence into the cold, muddy puddles by the pavement.
The Smiths tried to set Duke on dad, but, seeing the situation, Duke slunk into his kennel, refusing to leave. He was as fed up as the rest of us, I think. Within an hour, everything they owned was outside, the gate was locked, and there stood Duke and the Smiths on the other side, staring back in disbelief.
Even now, I sometimes catch a whiff of wet dog and remember those first mad weeks in our new home. It was a most peculiar welcome to the city, but it taught us well: never let good manners be mistaken for weakness.
