Awful names

One of my earliest memories was playing in the street. Thats where I met Auntie Sue.

Susan was a bit exotic, she lived with her Nan and single parent Mum, Maureen along with 2 of her uncles, Graham and Dennis. Susan had a Turkish father but he wasn't around anymore. The first thing anyone noticed about Susan was her long long hair. It came past her knees and was a mass of perfect ringlets, plus she was quite dark skinned.

In the early 60's it was quite alright to play in the street as there were hardly any cars driving up and down the road, in fact most of our games were played in the middle of the street along with all the other kids that lived there. There were the Pikes, the Marriots, the Mansfields, us, the Christians and Susan, who at that time was an Ahmed.

Susan and I always seemed to be having fights, she was 3 years older than me and didn't take any rubbish from anyone!!

One day, my Mum went over to see her Mum as the nit nurse had been and discovered I had nits. My Mum went over to warn Maureen to look in Sue's hair as I might have passed them on but Maureen got the wrong end of the stick and though my Mum was telling her I had CAUGHT them off of Susan. A big row started, Maureen had a shrill voice and so did my Mum and it took a while for it to sink in to Maureen that my Mum was telling her to look at Sue's hair cos I had them. Eventually it all calmed down.

Unfortunately though, those nits earned me a nick name. Fleabag!!

I was about 5 years old and really used to get upset when Susan and I argued as the first thing she would call me was FLEABAG. I had to hurt her just as badly so I started calling her a really terrible name: W-G.

One day we were shouting at each other, Her Fleabag and Me w-g and my Mum came out to see what was going on. She came out just as I was calling Sue a w-g! Boy I was in trouble (And quite right too) My Mum dragged me in by the scruff of the neck and gave me a really good hiding for using 'that disgusting word'

When I think of that now, I cringe. Neither of my parents had ever used that word and were in fact not the least bit racist. I stopped calling her that immediately and had to say sorry. But then she never called me a fleabag again either.

To this day, Susan and I are still great friends. She comes up to see me when she has a free weekend and I am part of her family and she is part of mine.

She gave me a photograph a few years back. She had found it and had it blown up. I was 15 and she was 18 and on the back she had written on it : To Fleabag, friends forever love W xxx