Liverpool Stories
The stories on this site are not included in my book.
The tales are snapshots of my life in Liverpool, the home of the Beatles, and the echo chamber of the Mersey Sound that in the sixties resonated around the planet like an acoustic Tsunami. The stories cover a period of 50 odd years and so they touch on every aspect of my life from the rites of passage to the passing of youth. I hope you enjoy them.
Wherever I lay my hat - (that's my home)
By John Williams
When my eldest son started school it fell to me to take him there and collect him. For a while that was the extent of my involvement as I didn't ever linger among the assembled haus fraus who often gathered to pass pleasantries. Then one day, as I led my boy into school, I noticed that he alone of the children was not wearing an outlandish hat.
It was then I remembered that his mother had, weeks before, informed me that there was going to be a fancy hat day for the infants. It had slipped my mind completely, buried under instructions to record the latest edition of Sooty and Sweep and other essential duties.
I took my little boy to one side and earnestly assured him that I would be back with a hat of some description before the parade at midday. As I rose from my knees he tugged at my arm and whispered that he wanted to wear Teenage Mutant Hero Turtle style headgear. My heart quailed as whatever vague millinery shapes I had in mind at that point were rather more simple in design. However, not wishing to spoil his tiny morning any more than was necessary I agreed to make him a hat that would identify him as Leonardo, his favourite mutant.
My first problem on reaching home was to determine what size of hat he would need. I searched frantically for any of hats that would give me a clue as the size of his head and could only find hats he had last worn as an infant. I was well and truly in the guessing zone and uncomfortably aware that the difference between a hat which sits snugly on one's head and one which falls over one's eyes was about the width of a fingernail.
Just then I remembered he had an ill fitting cowboy hat that someone had bought him for Christmas, quite oblivious of the fact that children of his era viewed such items as antiques, to be stored alongside Robin hood outfits and Davey Crockett rifles. Nonetheless it provided me with a better idea of his hat size than a knitted beret.
After several hours of feverish cutting and constantly consulting images of the Mutant Turtles I ended up with a hat that not only bore a striking resemblance to Leonardo but that also incorporated a mask with slits that he could see out of and navigate his way through the impending parade.
I arrived at the school just in time to see a crocodile of be-hatted children emerging into the playground. Only my child was bare headed and my nerves were shot as I approached him to place the Turtle number on his head. It fitted perfectly and I felt like punching the air, but settled instead for squeezing his shoulder and gently propelling him along.
It was then that I realised just how important this little festival was to the mothers of the other children because there were hats on display that were so ingenious in design and so lovingly crafted that they would not have seemed out of place on Ladies day at Ascot!
Some of the entries must have taken weeks to prepare and I could only stare open mouthed at them. One of the millinery marvels actually depicted a miniature version of Anfield stadium, complete with tiny corner flags!
The winner was the creation of a young woman who was a dressmaking tutor at a local college and it was a charming little affair consisting of a tiny postman opening a red circular mail box from which spilled hundreds of infinitesimally small letters all bearing stamps and hand written addresses.
Somewhat deflated, I imagined that my hastily constructed effort, designed more with durability in mind and employing the techniques of sheet metal working rather than the delicate needle strokes of a hat maker would somehow make my son question my commitment to his school social life.
As it turned out he kept that hat for years and even when we moved homes two years later it was carefully packed and for years could be seen in his bedroom next to his collection of Mutant Turtles, Power Rangers and Ghost Busters.
As I observe a recent photograph of him resplendent in cap and gown I can't help wishing that he was still young enough for me to be making his headgear.