He Called Me Son (The Blountmere Street Series Book 1) by Barbara Arnold

with pink and white candles.   The other three of us were quick to follow him, at the same time curving and swerving in a game of “ It ”.
    ‘Where we going now - over the Spinney?’   Herbie asked, as we leaned against tree trunks getting back our breath.   The Spinney was the most thickly grown part of The Common.   Although it covered a fairly small area and the trees themselves weren’t as tall as the ones we were resting against, The Spinney was the ideal place for playing Tarzan.
    I beat my hands on my chest, shouting, ‘Me Tarzan,’ and Dennis, swinging on a branch, yelled back ‘Me Jane’.
    ‘Swing upside down, Den, like Tarzan does.   It’s easy.’   Dobsie shouted.
    ‘If it’s so easy, you do it.’
    ‘I would if I wanted to, but I don’t want to.’
    ‘If you two are going to argue, let’s play something else,’ Herbie suggested.   ‘What about pirates?’  
    Using hollows in the trees as ships, and twigs as swords and daggers we sailed around the world a dozen times, bringing back treasure which we fought over.   We killed each other and simply came back to life, ready to set sail again for faraway places.   It was Saturday afternoon at its best.
    ‘What about riding the lizzies?’   Dennis suggested when we were beginning to tire of shouting, “Ho, ho, ho and a bottle of rum”, and “Aha, me hearties”.
    “Up the Common” the playground didn’t have one lizzie, but two, and riding the lizzies the way we did wasn’t for cowards.   The last time we had ridden them we’d frightened a group of stupid girls into screaming.   The playground attendant called us nothing but a bunch of hooligans, and banned us from the playground.   ‘I’ll have you for trespassing if you so much as set a toe past the gate.’    He had poked his finger into each of our chests.
    ‘You know we’re not allowed,’ I replied.
    ‘It’s all right, the attendant’s not here.   I’ve just had a look.   Gone home to his missus, I reckon,’ Dennis said.   ‘So we can ride the lizzies in a bit of peace and quiet.’
    I grinned.   There was nothing peaceful or quiet about the way the Gang rode the lizzies.
    We jostled each other through the gate, Dobsie spitting his usual glob of saliva into the sandpit as he walked past.
    ‘Oi, you filthy little whatsit, you stop that,’ an angry mother shouted, picking up her toddler.
     
    Both lizzies were in use, gliding backwards and forwards.   They were going so slow, the half a dozen or so riders on each hardly needed to hold on to the iron handles.
    With sneering looks, the Gang watched the girls at either end of each lizzie driving them, each girl clutching two vertical bars, while they worked the rollers with their feet.   They swung the lizzies backwards and forwards, at the same time lifting the lizzies higher.   They weren’t riding them like the Gang rode them.   When we rode them they went so high, it was like flying and my stomach turned over and almost came out of my mouth.
    ‘Call that riding the lizzie,’ Dobsie shouted.   ‘You’re a lot of lily livers.   Now scarper.’   He picked up a stone and shied it. ‘Anyone of you got the guts to ride with us?’   He yelled, but already the lizzie was slowing and losing height.   The children riding it were preparing to flee.
    ‘Hop up then,’ Dobsie ordered when the previous riders were already on the other side of the playground.   ‘Tell you what, let’s race each other like they do in the Boat Race.   Den and Herb, you’re both Cambridge, so you can go on either end of that one.’   He pointed to the first lizzie.   ‘And ‘cos Tone and me are Oxford, we’ll take this one.    You’d better watch out.    We’re going to give you the hiding of your lives.’
    We began cranking up the lizzies, at the same time taunting each other.
    Dobsie shouted, ‘We’ll beat you, just like we beat you in the Boat Race.’
    ‘Beat us!   You couldn’t knock the skin