Chapter Five

 

Two weeks had passed and their still had been no resolution between the unions and Kirkby Brick & Tile, and I needed to start earning a wage, I had packed in both my job at Tiffanys and my part time jobs in the hope of gaining full time employment, and my lack of finance was now becoming a serious issue. All my mates seemed to be working and if I was to enjoy the social life that was on offer then I urgently needed to find gainful employment. It wasn't long in coming. Most job opportunities in those days were on Government Schemes which paid an allowance of about £17.50 per week, which I personally thought was cheap labour, and yet another way for the Government to mask unemployment figures. Jobs seemed plentiful though and I would visit the Job Centre on a daily basis in the hope of finding a proper job and not just some poxy scheme. It soon arrived, when I was successfully interviewed for the post of an Office Junior at the Wirral Globe Newspaper based in Bold Street in the town centre. The starting salary was about 150 per month, which was a great wage for that time. At interview they had spoken of opportunities to become a Graphic Designer and as Art had always been one of my stronger points at school I envisaged a career in the media, doing design work for Newspapers etc. I was optimistic for my future and felt I had landed on my feet.

 

I can vaguely recall going to both Blackler's and Philip Son & Nephews prior to starting my new career to purchase all the necessary equipment I thought I would need like pencils, rulers, rubbers, felt tips and of course a great big drawing pad. So I was a bit pissed off when I turned up at the Wirral Globe on my first day, and was introduced to a giant of a man by the name of Garth who was the newspapers resident artist. Looking back I suspect his name was really Jimmy or Frank but Garth had an aura about it, and I realised then that maybe I would have to think of a singular name, that would become synomonous with my artwork. I thought that Garth was due to retire and I was taking his place, so when he told me that my job initially was to make tea for all the staff at 10am, lunchtime and 3pm and in between open the mail and distribute it around the offices, I was a bit deflated to say the least, and to further compound my misery, he had the audacity to say that there was a dress code which did not include Fleming Jeans, Kios Boots and Fred Perry polo-shirts!! My time at Wirral Globe was uneventful and very very boring I was capable of far more than was expected of me, and I felt uncomfortable in such an environment, everyone who worked there appeared to come from the Wirral (Plastic Scousers) and all in their late twenties or thirties, I had nothing in common with any of them, whom I all viewed as middle class pricks, and soon become bored, being their little Gopher. I would actively look to create mischief by altering the adverts that would be placed in the following weeks paper. I can recall changing the phone number on one classified advert to that of Chester Zoo and indicated that the caller had to ask for a Mr.C.Lyon (sorry Chester Zoo I was bored) and another was a classified advert where the seller was selling a Large Chest Freezer I altered the text so it read Large Chest and Massage. But such frivolity did not provide enough stimulation and within a fortnight I left, I was told that I would have to work a further month before I could leave, as I was salaried, at that time I had no concept of work etiquette and giving notice etc, so innocently informed my employer that I was leaving that very day and had only come in to pick up what was due to me in wages. After much heated discussion it was agreed that I could leave with immediate effect and my wages would be posted in the form of a cheque at the end of the month.Fuck that I thought I'm off out at the weekend I want it now, again I was told that salaries go through another office and this was not possible, I just couldn't understand this, as in my head, I had done what was asked of me, and was now leaving and subsequently wanted paying NOW. I refused to leave the office until I had received what I considered to be rightfully mine, and eventually it was agreed that I leave the office with immediate effect and return later that day to collect my wages. I agreed to this on the understanding that I be given cash and not a cheque, as I wouldn't know what to do with a bleeding cheque. Some four hours later I returned and collected the grand sum of £66.00 for my two weeks work.

 

I can vaguely recall sitting on the back of a 19A bus on my home mesmerised with this amount of cash, which I had changed into £1.00 notes in the bank at the bottom of Bold Street as it seemed I had more doing that! After I had tipped up my keep to my Nan, I was still left with a few bob to squander but I made a choice to speculate to accumulate and purchased a Mobile Disco from Freemans Catalogue on the never never complete with two massive speakers, dual turntables and enough lights to light up a terraced house. I had to pay a deposit of about £20.00 and then something silly like a fiver a week for the next 25 years! But my logic was that I would be that busy with bookings that such payment wouldn't present a problem. My business plan did not include such important factors as transport or the ongoing purchasing of records, which I suppose for a Mobile Disco is a pre-requisite. That weekend whilst I was waiting for my equipment to arrive was spent securing bookings in both the Netley and the Bluehouse as young as I was I successfully negotiated that I would do the first nights for free and thereafter charge something like £30.00 a night, Pete's Mobile Disco was in business!! That first gig in the Bluehouse Pub (The Stanley Park, opposite Everton's Goodison Park) made me realise that my disco was a fanny magnet literally overnight, I had attracted a posse of female admirers, all because I had the gift of the gab with a microphone, happy days!! That first gig will remain memorable to me for a variety of reasons. Most notably was receiving a blow job under the table from an unknown attractive female admirer, hence I felt it appropriate to play Nobody Does It Better by Carly Simon, as this virtual stranger certainly knew what she was doing. Life at this time was a merry go round of parties, pubs girls and clubs, and was without doubt one of the happiest times in my life. Unfortunately my Mobile Disco didn't have the longevity I had anticipated, having to rely on one particular friend who had transport and appeared allergic to rising out of his bed before mid-afternoon became problematic as I was unable to effectively move my equipment without his assistance, which probably served me another important lesson in later life that being if you want a job doing properly do it yourself. A new world was opening up to me now, with the advent of pubs & clubs and more importantly girls, I reluctantly made the decision to send the Disco Equipment back to Freemans but realised prior to sending it back I would have to render it inoperative claiming the console was faulty. So I duly undone the console and removed some wires whilst drafting a letter complaining of the sub standard equipment and the loss of earnings this has created for me. I was really pleased with my ingenuity, when I later received a letter of apology from Freemans catalogue and a cheque to cover any financial losses I had incurred; so resourceful at such a young age would serve me well in later life.

 

The loss of the disco equipment did leave a severe hole in my financial incomings and it was clear that if I wanted to continue to lead the life I was becoming accustomed to, of partying, weekends interspersed with football matches and maintaining a wardrobe that would continue to attract the girls, I had to find gainful employment and find it quick. As a short-term measure I was offered regular casual work as a builders labourer for a guy who owned the off licence in City Road, Walton. This involved digging footings for house extensions along with my mate Tony Hislop. Unfortunately this foray into the building trade didn't last to long, as basically I was often suffering from the previous nights partying and would rest on my shovel whilst reading the new Daily Tabloid which had recently been launched called the Daily Star. Dennis the owner of the building firm would go ballistic when he arrived at the end of a working day expecting to find the footings completed ready for the inspector to pass it so the tradesmen could commence their trades, but all he found was a couple of inches of soil that had been disturbed and me lying on some tarpaulin either reading the paper or wolf whistling at passing mothers on their way to school to collect their kids, as you can imagine I was very soon an unemployed builders labourer and my search for employment continued.

 

Around this time Everton under the leadership of manager, Gordon Lee had found themselves playing in European competition and their first game was to be away to Irish part-timers Finn Harps in Southern Ireland, I somehow scraped the fairs together and manage to acquire a match ticket and set off for an adventure in Ireland. Ordinarily this would have been a straight forward journey but due to industrial action, at the port of Liverpool the travelling Evertonians had to first travel to Stranraer in Scotland, and catch a ferry from there to Larne in Ireland. Upon arriving in Larne we boarded a coach to take us to a village called Ballybofey where Finn Harps were located. This involved travelling through Belfast and the harsh realities of the secretarian wars that would often be reported upon on TV really hit home. Checkpoints had been set up throughout the city and it was quite intimidating to be stopped whilst troops would enter and search the coaches in full uniform whilst brandishing guns and full battle regalia. It was ironic however when a couple of troops entered our coach and they were from Liverpool serving a six month stint in Belfast, they enjoyed plenty of banter with the travelling Evertonians and left the coach with trays of free booze and the good wishes of all ringing in their ears. After what seemed forever eventually a convoy of coaches arrived in Ballybofey at about 6am in the morning. I had expected a bustling city and was somewhat surprised to find a tiny village that consisted of little no more than a few local shops and a hotel and a park area, which turned out to be Finn Harps football ground. It really was quite amusing to find that the pitch was roped off and the stands consisted of old cinema seats, which had been transplanted to create a deluxe seating area. Having established where the ground was, I decided to find somewhere to get my head down, as there was still quite some time before the game commenced. I decided to head for the local hostelry Jacksons Hotel in the hope of blagging a room for a few hours. The receptionist who was aged about 20 was intrigued by theses foreign sounding visitors to her village, and clearly enjoyed the attention that was being bestowed upon her. I took her to one side and asked if she could be so kind as to give me a vacant room for a few hours whilst I showered and slept, I explained that I had no available cash but was more than willing to pay her in kind for her generosity should she agree. So you can imagine my total surprise and delight when she not only agreed but she escorted me to my room, where I not only showered but acquainted myself with the Irish hospitality that she willingly offered and I being a true gentleman gladly accepted. Upon arriving at the ground I was absolutely shattered after a long journey and a strenuous workout at the hotel, and after stepping over the rope to enter the ground I made my way to what can only be described as a concrete shelter situated by the half way line, this looked like an ideal place to get my head down, as there was still an hour or so to go prior to the kick off, so having made myself comfortable I quickly slipped into a coma like slumber. Imagine my surprise when some time later I was awoken by a bemused Everton Manager Gordon Lee who wanted to sit in the shelter whilst watching the game which was about to kick off, I thought I had died and gone to heaven, when I looked around and seen the grinning faces of my Everton heroes of the time players like Bob Latchford, Dave Thomas, Martin Dobson and Andy King all staring at me, I quickly straightened myself up and took a seat on the bench with the five Everton substitutes and enjoyed the rest of the game sat alongside George Telfer (Evertons homegrown winger), this caused much merriment amongst the travelling Evertonians and my many friends situated behind the goal, who had also travelled who periodically throughout the game would chant bring Sheilsy on and there's only one Peter Sheils. Everton went on incidentally to win the game 10-0 on aggregate and I was rewarded with my picture in the home leg in the Everton Matchday programme, which I still have to this day.

 

Shortly after my return from Ireland, I made a conscious decision to find employment and after trawling the job centres with no luck I went to the Careers Office in Great Crosshall Street where I was attracted to an advert which wanted a Slate Etcher to relocate in North Wales. The idea of moving and relocating to a foreign shore sounded really appealing (okay it was only Conwy, but it seemed miles away at the time) so I made further enquiries, and was informed that the job entailed relocating to a tiny village called Trefriw situated in the Conwy Valley in North Wales, the employer would provide a self contained flat and employment which would involve etching on slates. The finished slates would then be distributed predominantly throughout North Wales and occasionally abroad for the tourist industry. I had to provide samples of artwork and return to the careers office and undertake a test where I had to etch a rose on Welsh slate with a glass scriber, art had always been an interest of mine whilst at school and I was confident in attaining the post, so I was not overly surprised when I was offered the position alongside another lad also from Liverpool called Billy Metcalfe who originated from the Vauxhall area of the city. It was agreed that I would commence my new employment within the month; hence I made the necessary arrangements and carried on as though I was emigrating to foreign shores (the world really did seem a much bigger place back then).

 

I intended to leave Liverpool with a bang and set out with my friends on my going away party and managed to cop off with a barmaid from the Mayflower Pub which was located in Fazakerley Street, Liverpool. At the time I thought Sally was a good catch, as she was an older woman, (she was about 21) who certainly knew how to flirt, rumour had it, that her dad was a Bouncer in the Liverpool Nightclub scene and was not someone to be messed with, however I was more interested in messing with his daughter, so I envisaged no problems on that score. Sure enough Sally lived up to expectations and further expanded my experience in the sexual field after showing me a host of new tricks at her flat in Tynwald Hill in the Tuebrook area of the city. At the time I thought my little conquest with Sally was just that, another notch on the bedpost, but my liaison with her, would have much further consequences in the prevailing weeks and months. It was now a week or so before I was due to leave Liverpool and start upon my new life in North Wales and I was determined to ensure that I was not forgotten in the nightclubs and pubs of Liverpool City Centre and the surrounding areas.

 

Many great and memorable nights would be spent in venues such as, The Harrington Bar, Erics, Fridays, Rotters, Gatsbys, Tiffanys, The Continental, Rumfords Coach House, The She Club, Flintlocks, the Cokey (Coconut Grove) Uglys, Snobs, The Red Pepper and Ossie Wades and many more dotted around the city. I recall one particular night meeting a girl at the Gladray situated in Toxteth and walking her home to Smithdown Road and being invited in for a coffee, once inside she explained that she lived with her older brother who was upstairs sleeping, and she went upstairs and returned a short time later totally naked, except for a white cotton sheet which she had seductively wrapped herself in, she went on to say that her brother was sleeping and made it clear that she was up for it within minutes we were both naked underneath the White Cotton Sheet, and during some heavy and laboured lovemaking I was shocked to see that the previously pristine white sheet was now turning a bright scarlet red, it resembled blotting paper as the red crimson pattern grew by the second, initially I looked at this girl in horror and thought Dirty Bitch has come on, mid act, and told her so, she protested her innocence as this red crimson pattern continued to develop, to compound things. I heard a noise from upstairs and it was apparent her Brother had awoken and was on his way downstairs, I quickly gathered my clothes which were strewn all over the living room and wrapped the now sodden sheet around me, and hastily attempted to leave the property, whilst trying to dress at the same time, it was quite apparent her brother was indeed her husband and it was time for me to leg it complete with sheet wrapped around me looking like a Roman Toga, I hastily ran as fast as my little legs would carry me and hopped along Smithdown Road desperately looking for a Taxi, whilst trying to avoid the attention of any passing Police Cars, I discarded the sheet and stood semi-naked in a main thoroughfare of Liverpool and whilst checking my willy I noticed I had torn the piece of skin which is attached to my foreskin, hence the red crimson, it was bleeding at an alarming rate, and I thought I had broken my dick and my gigolo days were over forever. I hastily dressed and tried to discreetly saunter along a main road whilst my jeans were covered in blood it was now about 3am and I certainly looked conspicuous to say the least, thankfully I was rescued by a passing a taxi, and managed to get home with out further incident, however my Fleming Jeans were ruined.

 

Fleming Jeans were a style icon of the day and I often used to visit the Walton Road shop next to the Astoria on Walton Road. There were always lads from all over the city in there. The first thing you noticed was all these wooden pigeonholes behind the counter with the jeans in them. You used to ask the fella behind the counter for a pair of 28 inch waist, 28 inch bottoms, and without even looking he'd reach up to a pigeon hole behind him and slap them down on the counter, then wrap them up in brown paper and hand them to you like a bag of chips. Unfortunately my Flemings looked like an exhibit from a murder scene and I had to quickly discard them, to prevent further questioning from my Nan. I laugh now when I think of it, but I actually put a plaster on my broken dick, which stemmed the flow, of blood (although in hindsight I don't there was any left such was the amount of blood I lost) I was tempted to put my willy in a sling but I refrained for fear of ridicule.

 

The time had now come for me to leave Liverpool and start my new life in North Wales, so it was that with trepidation I bade my tearful farewells (my Nan was crying) and I boarded the National coach, which was to take me to Llandudno Junction in North Wales. Upon arriving there, I was met by Mr. Lawrence Price who was both the proprietor of the Slate Etching business and the Local Vet. It took about 30 mins or so to arrive in my new home village of Trefriw and it was so different to anything I had previously encountered, it was a lovely chocolate box little village nestled in the Conwy valley, and consisted of a main thoroughfare with three pubs, two shops one serving as the village post office and a Bloody big Woolen Mill at the end of the village, and of course my new workplace, which turned out to be a 10 x 6 garden shed situated at the back of the Village Vets. Mr. Price introduced me to his secretary and her husband Jenny & Wif who kindly took me to their home and made me some food and gave me a Food Hamper before taking me to me new, home which was to be a self, contained flatlet situated within the village and about 200 yards from my workplace. My Flat mate Billy was due to join me in the next couple of days. I quickly established a routine and felt quite at home in Trefriw, being unable to cook I would wander down the hill to the Fairy Falls Hotel and order myself pie and chips, it didn't take long to get to know the Landlord and Landlady of the Pub, and within a week or so I had become an extended member of their family and made friends with their son Eddie who was a bit older than myself. Billy had arrived from Liverpool, but I had little in common with him and we tended to do our own thing. Thanks to Eddie I quickly established that there was a fair bit of welsh totty around who seemed intrigued by this visitor from Liverpool and like in Plymouth all those years ago I became a bit of a local celebrity. The jobs itself was boring and very very repetitive, but I quickly learnt were Mr. Price kept his supply of previously etched slate and would reintroduce them and claim my quota of work for the day (if I recall correctly, there was an expectation that each etcher would produce 30 etchings a day) hence I was usually finished by lunchtime. Mr. Price would often take me with him when he was undertaking veterinary visits to local farms and I was privileged to watch the birth of new lambs and livestock, but didn't fancy sticking my arm up a cows arse no thanks!! However there were a few Welsh Rarebits that were willing to have a scouse hand stuck up somewhere and I had a great time acquainting myself with the local girls in Llanwrst, Dolgarrog and notably a little village called Ty-Ny Groes. Whilst out one day with Eddie we came across a couple of girls sat in a bus shelter in the aforementioned village and I can recall, familiarising myself with this welsh lass who had the biggest pair of tits I have since seen, and being so engrossed in the action that I was totally unaware of the staring passengers of a parked Crossville bus at the bus shelter. Life continued like this for some time and my visits back to Liverpool were becoming less frequent.

 

The slate that was used within the business was acquired from the welsh slate mine in Blaenau Ffestiniog and Mr. Price suggested that he taught me how to drive the company mini van, hence I would be able to complete the sixty mile round trip journey to collect the slate when stocks were running low. I thought this would benefit me and willingly accepted his offer, and started to learn how to drive, the van would be left at night parked outside the Vet Surgery with the keys still in the ignition, which coming from Liverpool I found very strange, but apparently this was how things were done in the country. One night I recall visiting the Princess Arms, which was located at the very far end of the village and after spending a night in there drinking and playing pool, I made the decision to go to Llanwrst which was about 2/3 miles away and as it was town, there was more likely to be something going on there, taxi's were an unknown commodity around here, and as I was slightly the worse for wear I didn't fancy walking all that way so I decided to borrow the Mini Van and drive over to Llanwrst, a bad decision on a number of accounts, notably I had been drinking and secondly I could barely drive at this time. However I walked to the surgery and got in the van and took off to Llanwrst, within minutes I had bounced of a dry stone wall and careered over the road demolishing another dry stone wall which surrounded a picturesque cottage, unabated I composed myself and continued my ill fated journey to Llanwrst, I was a bit confused when steam started appearing from the engine and redoubled my efforts to reach my destination, this however did not have the desired effect and I took off in the direction of a local grazing field demolishing a fence which surrounded it and ended up in a ditch, somewhat bemused and bruised, the van was a right off, so I abandoned my plans (and the van) and somehow staggered back to my flat. I woke the sleeping Billy and told him off my dilemma, he shit himself and ranted on about the Police coming to the flat, I can vaguely recall telling him to keep his gob shut and collapsed in a heap on my bed only to be awoken shortly afterwards by loud thumping at the flat door Peter Sheils, open this door now the broad welsh accent belonged to one Mr. Price who was clearly seeking retribution following my earlier misdemeanours, I stupidly recall shouting back fuck off im not in which further compounded his anger, and with that the front door flew open as he kicked his way in, he told me in no uncertain terms that I had the rest of the day to gather my belongings and to leave the village with immediate effect, and if I did not comply he would inform the Police immediately, my protests of innocence fell upon deaf ears and it was quite clear that my time as a Slate Etcher were over.

 

Feeling sorry for myself I rang my friend in Liverpool (the one who was allergic to waking before mid afternoon) eventually he came to the phone (lazy bastard was still in bed!!) and begged him to come and get me and the few belongings I had acquired, as I would be returning to Liverpool. I didn't expect his reply when he suggested I stay where I was as there was a contract out on me in Liverpool. It transpired that Sally the barmaid from the Mayflower, whom I had met prior to coming to Wales, was pregnant and her Gangster father had allegedly put a Contract out on me and was actively looking for me. Within the space of half an hour my life had turned upside down I no longer had a job, I was about to be arrested if I didn't leave the village with immediate haste, but I couldn't return to Liverpool as my life seemed in danger. I felt trapped and scared and didn't know where to turn, I went to Jenny & Wif and told them of my predicament, Jenny promised to speak to Mr. Price and attempted to stop him from contacting the Police, however he remained adamant that he wanted me gone. Wif made a few phone calls and secured me a caravan in a field in the middle of nowhere close to Betws-y-Coed, and within an hour I was sat in this damp smelling caravan without heating or electricity which was to become my home for the foreseeable future. After a sleepless and reflective night I realised that once again I had to secure some sort of employment and trudged around the local plentiful hotels and eventually secured a post as head dishwasher at a local hostelry (well I say head dish washer, there was only me), but after an hour I thought fuck this and left. I wandered around Betws-Y-Coed feeling sorry for myself, contemplating what to do next, I then had the idea of contacting Eddie from the Fairy Falls hotel and asking him if he fancied being a window cleaner for all the hotels in Betws. I had to be careful going back to Trefriw, as I was certain that Mr. Price would not hesitate in having me arrested, and so I sneaked back to the village but refrained from entering the pub in the conventional manner, for fear of some nosey bastard, informing Mr. Price of my return. I attempted to climb the fire escape of the pub and alert Eddie of my presence, however it was farcical when his dad, spotted someone attempting to break in to his pub, and not realising it was me, shot me with his air rifle, a pellet struck my arse and I fell from the fire escape at his dads feet, after explaining my predicament and nursing a badly bruised arse, Eddies dad took me inside and allowed me to stay overnight, whilst I sorted myself out, much to Eddies amusement (the bastard). The following morning I awoke with a severely sore and bruised arse, but determined to start my Window Cleaning Business Eddie had the use of his dads van, and ladders and crafty welsh bastard insisted that all takings were split 70/30 as he was providing the tools of the trade, I had little option but to agree, and within a couple of days we had secured the window cleaning contracts on quite a few of the hotels in Betws-Y-Coed (well I say secured the contracts, literally the proprietors agreed to pay us to clean their windows every two weeks). As with my previous entrepreneurial ideas this one too was fundamentally flawed as we both realised that neither of us had the bottle to climb the ladders, and after much arguing the Window Cleaning Business went into solvency having not cleaned a single window!!