working-class

The Book Bag Bonus Edition: Peeling Apples by Alan Parry

Welcome to special bonus edition of The Book Bag.

Last week I took some time out to read Peeling Apples, a novella from Alan Parry, published by Dark Winter Press. Alan is the driving force behind Broken Spine Arts, mentioned multiple times previously in The Book Bag news sections.

Peeling Apples is Alan’s debut novella about a young lad called Martyn who befriends his Nana’s next-door neighbour, Mrs Joyce.

The personalities of the two main characters is realistic and rooted in the time. Martyn’s football-mad curious mind and how his perception of Mrs Joyce evolves is deftly done.

The references to Saturday morning wrestling, which does use one character to describe the journey Martin and Mrs Joyce take is a smart device. I also liked the time-accurate wrestlers and wrestling managers and commentators including Bobby Heenan and the merchandise available at the time in the form of cards.

There is a scene in which Martyn is at the ‘pop van’ was like time travelling. We used to get a crate of 6. 2 x Lemonade, Dandelion and Burdock, Sarsaparilla, 2x Cola and a Cream Soda. Sometimes a lemonade was switched for limeade and a cola for orangeade. Every Friday. I love Dandelion and Burdock, but Sarsaparilla will always be my favourite. It’s a bit like a root beer but not. I miss it!

The narrative and prose could easily be adapted to TV. Maybe a series by Ken Loach or Mike Leigh airing on Sunday evenings. It has an almost ‘This Is England’ crossed with ‘Danny, Champion of The World’ feel which is testament to Alan’s approach. This is definitely a working-class setting expertly written by a working-class writer.

I read Peeling Apples in under 2 hours. Only stopping for a drink part way through. The pace of the narrative is focussed yet unforced making it an easy read.

This novella truly resonated with me.

I would like to see another Martin and Mrs Joyce book. Maybe a collection of short stories containing more of their adventures.

Peeling Apples is a highly nostalgic book that takes the reader on a journey of a boy reaching emotional maturity. It’s also a tale of friendship and how important bonds can be made with those we think are our polar opposites.

I’d recommend this to anyone who knows the value of friendship, even more so if you were a child of the 80’s and 90’s.

Peeling Apples is available on Kindle and in Paperback. To find out more about the book and order your copy, click here.

Sunday’s Read

  • Title: Smatterings of Cerulean
  • Poet: Susan Richardson

Take it easy and stay poetic, I’ll catch you on Sunday.

Paul

Morning Fishing Trips

A September Saturday in 1995
the four a.m. sea air is salt-sour
silicate sand shimmers
under the after-midnight-blue canopy
the waning moon a spotlight
on discarded worm skins

I dig since I’m the youngest –
because even morning fishing trips have hierarchies –
success arrives after ten minutes
of shovel and scoop
we loot the fresh bait
they can wriggle all they want
we own them now

we march in early morning muteness
preserving our energy
until we can cast off
and pour ourselves a flask-coffee
topped with a nip of whisky

destination reached we pick our spots
wisely or not
our rods are set
with hands stained with dying worm-dye

waiting for the first ripple
or bend of pole
the craic is quiet
about the things men like to talk about
as dawn passes over us

an hour passes by
then three of five rods
begin to quiver
the ancient part of our hunter-brains
spike our natural instincts

we let our rods sway
luring in the line tenderly
then reel rapidly
drawing in a decent-sized pollock
the crack of the baton
gives me the first of a few fish
caught before the nearby B&B’s
serve their breakfasts.

After some further success
we head back to the van
our shoal are all fair sizes
my pollock glimmering longest in the bucket
but hierarchies exist
and I may get landed with a small plaice
but where there are hierarchies
there are rites of passage
and it’s the first fish i’ve caught
so I get to keep it

I also get to gut all the catch
my fumbling numb fingers
dyed crimson by dead fish
find their rhythm
and I’m proud to be
on the first
rung of the hunter’s hierarchy.

I used to go fishing in Northumberland regularly, this poem is about when i first started out, I was 12. One of our neighbours took me with his friends, it was always a great experience.

I hope you like it.

Take it easy

Paul