People's Page... Mike Callaghan.

The Impossible Dream

I glanced down at my Grandmother’s house, adjusted my wing control, banked over to the portside (left) and was gliding in to land in the garden of Bryn-Morgan terrace. “Michael stop daydreaming”: my mother’s voice broke the spell of my favourite pastime, the savouring of a magic patch for her to sew onto my trousers which would enable me to fly just like my hero Jimmy Watson, a character in the “Beano” comic known as “Jimmy and his Magic patch.”

To say I was obsessed would be an understatement. I scoured the house, pounced on anything that faintly resembled my hero’s trouser patch that could be sewn onto my trews.  My mother was adamant that she wouldn’t sew anything on trousers that were not ripped, and that the story was not true - only a figment of someone’s imagination for a comic. I was shattered.  Here was my Mam suggesting that my hero did not exist.  I would show her how was wrong she was.  I would find that elusive patch and I would fly. Firstly, I would get my patch by befriending an old Gypsies cat (Which had been attacked by dogs) just as my hero Jimmy had done.  I walked the roads for days looking for old gypsy ladies with cats which appeared in distress, but they were hard to come by in Cwmtillery in the 1940- s and the local old ladies were getting bemused and concerned at my attempts to help, in fact some of them would scamper into the house if I approached.
A new tact was required. I would try Arthur Morris’s Scrap metal yard near the Abertillery Station. I trembled with anticipation on seeing mounds of scrap rags and material. I was sure I would definitely find the elusive material amongst this mountain of rags.
“Can I look in the rag pile Mr Morris; I am looking for a magic patch to sew on my trousers”? I didn’t understand at the time why Mr Morris decided to fall off the roof of his shed at my request but in hindsight it’s not everyday that people come into the yard looking for Magic patches “Oh yes but if you find one get one for me”.

“I could do with some help here” he replied, “OK” I answered At least he didn’t think it nonsense I searched for hours, until with trembling hands I picked up an old Scots plaid piece of material.  This was it.  I stretched it tight across the rear of my pants and rubbed vigorously just like Jimmy.  I was sure I felt a slight lifting at my feet and Mr Morris noticed it too as he was looking in the air and saying what sounded like a prayer.  I decided to take it home for my Mam to sew it on I couldn’t wait for Mam to come home from her job at the ammunitions Factory (the Dump). “Look Mam, I’ve got the patch”. “ Oh yes our Michael” she replied in a tired resigned voice, and probably thinking she had given birth to a child with serious identity problems between being  Birdman or a human.  “I will sew it on for you if it’s only you keep you quiet; now off to bed that’s a good boy.”
 I could not sleep I lay in bed visualising my first flight; it was to be down the slope at Jukes field - ideal conditions for the takeoff. The day had arrived.  I had never looked forward to going to school so much in the whole of my early scholastic career.  This was the day the doubters would eat their words, and realise that Mr Morris and I were right - I would fly and then they would be sorry they ever doubted me.
I was attending Cock & Chick School and that day I was planning my first flight.  I was to take off in Jukes field just in front of the school.  I would run down the slope until I achieved enough momentum to pick my legs up and hold my ankles and glide down over Gwyn Berthi Road and land in Grans backyard - easy!

That day Mr Thomas the headmaster seemed to pick on me for being inattentive during class. “Michael pay attention stop daydreaming boy”.   The Bondman’s tobacco tin jumped out of his pocket and fell to the floor.  I picked up the tin and handed it back and its aromatic contents had a smell of cosiness about it which seemed to offset the telling off I received   “I’m sorry sir “I replied, but what caught my attention immediately was why did that tin fly? Was it was accidental? Did he have a patch I glanced surreptitiously at his trousers as he walked away but no, only leather patches on his elbows, still this might require further investigation? The day seemed like an eternity, and as I watched the time slowly moving around to home time the excitement was building up inside me until finally it was “right children put your books away and tidy your desks that’s it file out in single file and straight home.”

I dawdled; waiting until everyone had gone.” Come on Mike aren’t you coming home today?” It was the voice of my pal Melvyn “Oh ere uhm no.  I’m going up the Tump, I will see you tomorrow.”  “Ok” Melvyn shouted and ran off down the road. This was it, this was the day that I would fly this was the day that would release me of my earthly fetters.  I to would be free to soar as the birds in the sky. I clambered over the  Gate keeping one eye on the cattle which all seemed acutely interested in my activities, but there is always one that wants a closer look “ Shoo” I cried,” buzz off” but it made its way towards me in that slow unrelenting way which only cows have. I quickly pulled my cap firmly onto my head, stuffed my nose rag deep into my pocket so that my penknife would not fall out, pulled up my socks, adjusted my Gasmask case on my chest took one deep breath to fill my lungs and I was on my way to the fulfilment of a dream

As I started my run I could feel the rush of the wind around my face, the incredible feeling of power in my legs as they pumped to an ever-increasing speed out of my body.  The mound of cow manure which was to be the take off point was advancing at an alarming rate when I realised I had things to do. I had forgotten to rub the patch.  I desperately tried to hold my Gas Mask (it was bouncing around on my chest like a demented Jack in a box) with my left hand, whilst trying to rub my patch with my right hand.Time then stood still for a boy with a dream.  My Mam was smiling, so proud of her son who could fly.  Arthur Morris telling everyone he gave me the patch and all my school friends asking could I give them a ride but also certain humility that Jimmy had allowed me to follow my dream

This was it I was level with the dung heap and the fence was uncomfortably close. It was now or never.  My right leg came up and I firmly grasped my ankle. There was something wrong.  I was tumbling forward but if I could get the left ankle it would be ok I grasped my left ankle and I was airborne.  Then I was landlocked - skidding across the grass on both knees, the searing pain that only a grass burn can inflict on unprotected kneecaps. Great cow pats stained my clothes and the final ignominy of overbalancing and scraping my chin and nose along the ground like some human manifestation of a plough

The sheer brutality of my fall descended on me like a cloak I lay there bleeding, winded and unable to comprehend the failure of my preparations but with a sickening realisation that perhaps my Mam knew something about boys being unable to fly and that it was lessons they have to learn for themselves.  I never tried to fly again, although I did try parachuting into the trucks of small coal from the bridge over the railway line near the Bridge-End Pub, with four ropes spaced equally and tied to my coat. Not a particularly recommended method of descent, all the air required to balloon the chute is lost up the armholes.  

The aftermath was an anticlimax, life seemed so uninteresting after I had been washed and my wounds treated with the ubiquitous bottle of iodine.  My mind started to wander over the possibility of building a boat out of the old grease barrels up at the level on old Blaina Road and sailing down to Abertillery from Bourneville using the rive Ebbw (or the Stink as we kids called it) but still that’s another story.

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So where does this leave me in the eyes of today’s boy? A veritable idiot that would believe that a comic character could exert that much influence that a child could believe he was able to fly, or was it the fertile imagination of a generation who lived in austere times and needed some form of escapism?  Does it make me any more gullible than the child that sits in front of the television and gazes believingly at the pictures he or she is told are coming from Mars, or is that child in any way more perceptive than me? I think not- for it was my generation and their imagination that made today’s wonders possible. All that left is the question that begs to be asked: did I ever fly? Most emphatically yes I flew in!! Hastings; Shackleton’s of coastal command, Gloucester Meteors, De Havilland Vampires, but none of these aircraft could approach the sheer unbridled excitement and anticipation of ---“Jimmy’s Magic Patch

Mike Callaghan