Home: The Boy Returns
As the Humber Bridge rolls past the train window I know, I'm home. Hull is not the end of the earth, but you can see it from there. This spot is where the lonely country meets the sea, or at least the estuary. Beyond is David Hockney country, with the big skies of Holderness and then the North Sea.
It's 1983, so Hull is still in its "crap city" phase. The fishing industry has collapsed, while rejuvenation is decades away.
At home, a few things had changed. My sister and brothers look grown-up. I should have seen that coming. When I'd left home, my brothers were entering their teens, and now both were on the way to being young men.
I made the rounds of relatives, took a trip to Scotland and had a few boozy days in London with friends. It's great to see everyone; the banter is flowing, and the laughs. Yet, there is a niggle.
I've got an itch that needs scratching. Alas, I don't know where to scratch. I'm running 10 miles a day and lifting weights to keep in shape - a distraction that keeps me occupied.
My gratuity is burning a hole in my pocket. Eventually, I placed the lot in a government bond and forgot about it for ten years.
A bloke in London bores me with his assertions about the MacLennan case. He drones on and on about how MacLennan was killed because he was gay. Apparently, the Commissioner of Police ordered the killing to cover up some dark deeds.
He is confident that a secret police hit squad had climbed up the outside of the building. Then these ninjas used MacLennan's gun to kill him. They then exited by abseiling away.
Finally, I get a word in edgeways.
"Have you ever been to Hong Kong? Have to even been to the block of flats where the body was found?"
"No, I don't travel much, except to Wales on holiday. But I read the papers."
I'm thinking, do I belt the bloke? But, common sense prevailed, so I left him to his conspiracy theory.
I'm soon bored and ready to get back to Hong Kong. My UK based mates have moved on, with most in various stages of domestic life. The common ground that bonded us has evaporated. I soon learnt not to tell my Hong Kong stories. Initial interest waned as eyes glassed over; then the conversations soon went back to football or the chances for Hull Kingston Rovers.
One encounter sums it up. I visited my local pub to find three mates at the bar. As I recall, they'd been in that same position when I left three years ago. An animated discussion is underway about a rugby league game.
"Long time no see. Where've you been? Gibraltar or somewhere was it?"
"Three years in Hong Kong", I volunteered.
"Mate, I knew it was overseas." And with that, it was back to discussing rugby league.
I'd changed—more than I realised. Except for a few close friends in London, I couldn't relate to my former mates. With family, it was different; the bonds that tie are much more profound.
Yet, I was soon ready to be going back to Hong Kong. I was longing for something to do.
It's 1983, so Hull is still in its "crap city" phase. The fishing industry has collapsed, while rejuvenation is decades away.
At home, a few things had changed. My sister and brothers look grown-up. I should have seen that coming. When I'd left home, my brothers were entering their teens, and now both were on the way to being young men.
I made the rounds of relatives, took a trip to Scotland and had a few boozy days in London with friends. It's great to see everyone; the banter is flowing, and the laughs. Yet, there is a niggle.
I've got an itch that needs scratching. Alas, I don't know where to scratch. I'm running 10 miles a day and lifting weights to keep in shape - a distraction that keeps me occupied.
My gratuity is burning a hole in my pocket. Eventually, I placed the lot in a government bond and forgot about it for ten years.
A bloke in London bores me with his assertions about the MacLennan case. He drones on and on about how MacLennan was killed because he was gay. Apparently, the Commissioner of Police ordered the killing to cover up some dark deeds.
He is confident that a secret police hit squad had climbed up the outside of the building. Then these ninjas used MacLennan's gun to kill him. They then exited by abseiling away.
Finally, I get a word in edgeways.
"Have you ever been to Hong Kong? Have to even been to the block of flats where the body was found?"
"No, I don't travel much, except to Wales on holiday. But I read the papers."
I'm thinking, do I belt the bloke? But, common sense prevailed, so I left him to his conspiracy theory.
I'm soon bored and ready to get back to Hong Kong. My UK based mates have moved on, with most in various stages of domestic life. The common ground that bonded us has evaporated. I soon learnt not to tell my Hong Kong stories. Initial interest waned as eyes glassed over; then the conversations soon went back to football or the chances for Hull Kingston Rovers.
One encounter sums it up. I visited my local pub to find three mates at the bar. As I recall, they'd been in that same position when I left three years ago. An animated discussion is underway about a rugby league game.
"Long time no see. Where've you been? Gibraltar or somewhere was it?"
"Three years in Hong Kong", I volunteered.
"Mate, I knew it was overseas." And with that, it was back to discussing rugby league.
I'd changed—more than I realised. Except for a few close friends in London, I couldn't relate to my former mates. With family, it was different; the bonds that tie are much more profound.
Yet, I was soon ready to be going back to Hong Kong. I was longing for something to do.
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