 
# The Fate of Adam North

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Promethean

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and some incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any direct reference to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Copyright © by Hylton Smith 2020

Smashwords Edition

# Prologue

This story was written during the Covid 19 lockdown period. Whilst the characters are fictional, most of the events actually happened. The parallels with the current situation are drawn merely to express the belief that although societies were very different between now and the immediate post war period, we are in a better position to face the threat in front of us.

What has always defined Homo Sapiens over hundreds of thousands of years is adaptability. Unlike every other species on the planet, we have evolved to the point of being able to recognise such extinction threats, and how we must develop medicines, procedures and social needs in order to prevail.

The post war years were different insofar as we, the world, had been rescued from life under fascist domination. It was achieved only with incredible personal sacrifice. At that time there was no plug-in economic structure to assist. The embrace of freedom was tempered by having to press the reset button of the essentials of life. The bare bones. Contrary to a commonly used phrase, they were definitely not the good old days. What they did portray was the ability to forge homogeneity from diversity. Hope from despair. Tolerance from entitlement.

This book is made free on all platforms other than Amazon, who I've asked to do so by price match. As the book was written in under 22 days please forgive any typos. Thank you.

Hylton Smith

# Chapter 1

Newcastle 1946

The residue from victory over the Axis forces in the second World Conflict was beginning to take shape. The price of freedom had to be met and the nation had to coalesce behind the many and varied government edicts. There were no alternatives. For some this was extremely difficult, for others it was something they'd been living through for as long as they could remember.

Scotswood, which is almost an adjunct of the city, had played a key part in the production of armaments for the military campaign. The flagship example being Vickers Armstrong, a factory almost a mile long if one counted the supporting supply chain. Along with shipbuilding on the River Tyne, the coal mining in the region, and Consett steel works, employment level was quite high. It could also be said that it drew a mask over the less privileged, the beggars and homeless who never seemed to complain as much as expected.

Despite the inequality in society, one particular measure was to define the recovery period more than any other. It can be referred to in lots of ways but the reality was embodied in the name itself – ration books. It was a serious attempt to bridge the gap in living standards between the haves and the have nots. Beginning in 1940, the second year of the war, it was envisaged to be a medium term austerity programme, followed by a restructuring of the entire manufacturing industry and society itself. Five years was thought to be a tough but achievable target. It wasn't disputed too much because the country had been brought to its knees in every respect. However, it didn't feel like a reward for the sacrifice given by the fallen, and the maimed who had been demobilised from the armed forces. Still, there was the 'never say die' spirit to climb this final hurdle.

Ration books covered all of the essentials of life, and in any case there were no luxuries within the reach of those who didn't inhabit the ethereal world of the elite.

*

William North hadn't been rescued from Dunkirk for more than a month before being assessed for his new posting. He considered himself to be one of the lucky ones who'd survived the horrors of the desert, in his case El Alamein. The counterbalance of losing so many friends was a continual reminder of the fragility of life. Perhaps this was a factor in Mary conceiving during his month's furlough. Uncertainty over where he would be posted, and whether his luck would survive a second theatre of mass extermination had to be faced. They had decided to name a boy Adam and a girl Rachel prior to his recall. Whether this was a steadfast belief in holding on to the creation of a better world could only be speculative, because Bill North did not return, perishing at the hands of Stuka dive bombers on Sword Beach.

Mary stuck by the name Adam and never married again. Adam, having never met his father, understandably wanted to know why other boys had two parents. This was to shape his young life and hone him to deal with the struggle Mary had to embrace.

School was almost a distraction in this respect, but educational in a sense, albeit about survival as much as arithmetic, poetry or science. Mary was plagued by health issues as well as guiding her son through the maze of a deprived childhood.

*

During World War II all sorts of essential and non-essential foods were rationed, as well as clothing, furniture and petrol.

To make the British weak, the Germans tried to cut off supplies of food and other goods. German submarines attacked many of the ships that brought food to Britain.

The Ration Book became the key to survival for nearly every household in Britain. To make sure that everybody got a fair share of the food available.

The government was worried that as food and other items became scarcer, prices would rise and poorer people might not be able to afford things. There was also a danger that some people might hoard items, leaving none for others. The country was effectively still in a state of national emergency. We relied upon the whole population playing their part from 1940 onwards until when? Nobody knew.

The only perceived positive aspect of such draconian measures was that the scourge of fascism had been purged and the sacrifice of those who gave their lives for us must not be in vain. Suffering had many spectral hues.

*

Mary and her son were housed by the council in a cramped one bedroom flat which had been converted from a two storey terraced house. Rye Hill was set in an elevated position overlooking the River Tyne and Scotswood Road, the main western approach to Newcastle itself. The population density was high and still growing. Thankfully the flat was at the end of the terrace, so they shared a tiny garden with the people downstairs. The garden space was already reduced by the outside toilet which was emptied weekly by council employees. At least the gable wall could serve as a practice facility for Adam to kick his football into the goalposts whitewashed on to the brickwork. Despite Mary's concerns, Adam landed a job delivering papers. Officially he should have been older, but the newsagent, Mr Toward, knew he was a reliable lad and Mary needed all the money she could lay her hands on.

At school, Adam was exposed to the lucrative lure of petty crime, but didn't yield to such temptation largely because Mary constantly reinforced his father's message of social cohesion, helping elderly people and making every effort to be a good neighbour. Never having seen his dad was difficult for someone approaching only their sixth birthday, but he managed somehow to take such values on board.

There was another issue at school. Bullies vied for all manner of recruits into their little cliques. Even though Adam was smaller than many of these predators, he managed to avoid falling into their clutches. Primarily because he never shied away from a fist fight with bigger boys. Being slender, he lacked visual threat, however, he was so tenacious, agile, and fearless that his reputation grew steadily. Fist fights with individual bullies after school were watched by many other pupils and the word spread. There was a downside to this, groups of three or four boys planned to confront him without warning. Mary was distraught when he came home bleeding from his face and torn clothes. Adam dismissed her pleading and sought out each individual of the group and returned the favour one after the other. This reputation eventually morphed to protection of timid boys. Mary often said, "You know where he gets that from."

*

Four Years Later

Adam, having just passed his tenth birthday, looked the new boy up and down. Transferred from a school in Westerhope, just a few miles away, Frank Tait was taller and more imposing than those even one year above Adam's class. The other pupils obviously saw this as well. Malcolm Quinn leaned over and whispered into Adam's ear, "I bet he'll get into the football team straightaway, look at the size of his feet."

"Aye, hope his head isn't as hard as it looks. He seems quiet though, he hasn't been shoutin' his mouth off much. We should talk to him at playtime."

The morning break was only fifteen minutes but that was enough for kids to split into boys and girls, to play football and netball.

Margaret Elliot passed by Adam and Malcolm Quinn, unable to resist a jibe. "The new boy is nice, I can see us girls having a crush on him. He's got great hair."

Adam ignored her but Malcolm took the bait. "Shut up Margaret, we aren't interested in girls anyway. Lads are more interested in football, not stupid netball."

"Just a minute, Quinny, you can't even get on the football team, you should try table tennis, that's for softies. Anyway, I was talking to Adam."

Finally Adam responded. "Maybe you forgot, Frankie is from Westerhope. We can at least help him to settle in. I know I'll probably be a bit quiet when I to go to a new secondary school next year. I'm goin' to ask him if he plays football, he looks like a canny lad."

Margaret put her tongue out in a gesture of nonchalance and went on her way. Meanwhile, Adam spotted three of the bullying types pointing and swearing at Frank, albeit from a distance.

The most troublesome one of the trio, Brian Ridley, strode ahead of the other two, and stopped a couple of yards in front of Frank. "You, ya from Westerhope. Where's that like? Hey, I'm talkin' to ya."

Frank ignored him and turned away. Adam knew what was going to happen next, and before the three bullies jumped on him, Adam stepped in.

"Leave him alone. Malcolm, stay here while I get Davy and Brett to come over."

"We're not fightin' yous, man. Bugger off.," threatened Brian Ridley, "stop pokin' ya nose in."

Adam was now standing between Frank and Ridley's group, and he was about to deliver a final warning when things gathered pace. Frank Tait turned around, eased past Adam and smashed his fist into Ridley's face, causing a nosebleed. In a flash the other two dumfounded bullies had their heads bashed together and began to cry.

Frank then smiled at Adam. "Thanks but it's ok, I'm a boxer and these cowards won't be any more trouble."

"Right, but listen, Frank, do you play football?"

"Sometimes, I used to be centre half at me last school, cos I can kick the ball a long way."

Adam smiled at him and said, "I bet you can. See you later."

It was the beginning of an important friendship which was to flourish in the years to come. Not least of all because Frank's father had a thriving cobbler's shop. In these times local footballs were made from pieces of waste leather, stitched together and around a pig's bladder which was inflated to attain some approximation to a spherical object. It had to be laced up with more waste strips of leather, again courtesy of a cobbler.

# Chapter 2

A new era. Adam and Frank both passed their eleven plus exams and entered grammar school. Mary had dedicated a lot of time to guiding her son with his education, particularly in subjects for which there were many job opportunities. Sadly, Malcolm Quinn hadn't joined them, being sent to a secondary modern version. It wasn't far away so at least they remained good friends, and Malcolm had filled out somewhat, catching the eye of several scouts from local youth teams. He was quick, tenacious and had a natural football brain.

Adam and Frank had to re-adapt to being the youngest students all over again. Some of the sixth form boys were in reality young men and the female equivalents began to catch their eyes.

However, the most important task at hand was to blend with kids entering from other primary schools in the area. The year group was divided into three categories and their names were to be read out.

The headmaster's piercing voice silenced the gathering. The first thirty names were for class 1A, containing those students with the highest pass marks from their exams.

Both Adam and Frank were anxious, just wanting to be in the same class. "And finally," barked the headmaster, "Adam North."

They were crestfallen, Frank had missed the cut, then hearing that he was seventh to be placed in class 1B. When the headmaster had processed all of the new intake he added a cautionary message. "These classes represent a starting point. Reviews will occur each year and outstanding performance could well mean promotion to a higher class. So, for example – a student who shows abilities which were not seen in exams can be moved from class 1.C. to 1.B, and similarly from 1.B. to 1.A. This will then mean students who do not show improvement may move in the opposite direction."

*

Adam followed his mother's advice and chose science subjects to study. Chemistry, Physics and Biology. There were also compulsory subjects for everyone – English Language, Mathematics, Physical Education, Two Foreign Languages, and Scripture. She also told him to lose his Geordie accent.

Unlike many of his age he had a very clear idea about what he wanted to do when he left school. The school careers advisor was quite taken aback by Adam's declaration. "I want to do what my dad did. I want to be a soldier but I would like to be an officer. My dad was a corporal and my mother said he should have been promoted after he went back to the war on D-Day."

"Well, Adam, did your father say which rank you should aim for?"

"No sir, I can't remember him because I was born after his return from Dunkirk, but he was lost on one of the beaches in Normandy. I just want to do what he wanted to do himself. My mother says he always wanted to help people who were poorer than us and he would have been a good officer."

"In that case Adam, the subjects you have chosen will stand you in good stead if you can gain passes in all of them. Good luck."

"Yes, sir. My mother says I'll have to work very hard, because I don't know much about science. If I can't pass my GCE exams in these subjects I can be a football player. I'm pretty good at that."

*

The accumulation of stress was beginning to affect Mary's health. Keeping the house in order, still living with ration books for more than five years, having a part time job at the Cooperative Wholesale Society, and keeping Adam on the right track proved to be difficult. Just as well she didn't know of her son's latest 'leisure' involvement. Thinking he was going to football practice two evenings a week gave her peace of mind. But he wasn't actually doing that. Going straight from practice with some of his clothing which Mary thought he'd put in the refuse bin allowed him to branch out. He had muscled in on part of the pavement on Grey Street in Newcastle. Right next to the plush Theatre Royal were the best spots. Adam could have been an actor if he didn't make it in the forces or the football pitch. His good looks could be manipulated to attract unconscious sympathy from the relatively well-off patrons. With his makeshift metal tray and some dirt all over his face from the football pitch he painted a pretty convincing picture. Little boy lost, it didn't take up much of his time yet it enabled him to put these contributions into his mother's hiding place without her realising it didn't add up. But it did help relieve the stress. In a strange way it also helped Adam to see into the world of abject poverty, one which he was determined not to inhabit.

Frank went to football practice and his physical presence in the team was a psychological advantage over the opposition. He asked Adam one evening if he'd like to come to his house. "Yes, ok," said Adam, "do we have to get the bus?"

"Yes, we can catch the next one at eight o'clock."

"Not tonight, Frank. I need to tell my mother I'll be late. Next week?"

"Right. My parents asked if your mother would like to come as well. I wasn't sure, so what do you think?"

"Brilliant. She's never been out for years. I'll ask her and tell you whether she'll come when we go to school tomorrow."

*

"Hello, Mam? I'm back." There was no reply. "Mam, where are you?"

Adam opened the bedroom door and saw Mary lying diagonally across the double bed. He knelt down and stroked her hair away from her face. She was breathing deeply but woke up with a confused facial expression.

"Adam, where have you been?"

"To my football practice. It's Tuesday."

"Oh yes. I'm just worn out, I can't seem to think straight. How long have I been asleep?"

"I don't know, Mam, I left at five o'clock."

"Of course. I must have fallen asleep after you left. I haven't made our supper."

"Don't worry, I can go to the chip shop around the corner and get a packet to share. We've still got some bread in the bin. I'll make some chip sarnies."

"Good boy, you're a good boy darlin'. Get some money from the jar in the kitchen. By the way, I noticed we had more money again this week. When you come back from the chippy, you can tell me how that can be true."

He knew this question had been coming for a couple of weeks, and he had to level with her, but the invitation to Frank Tait's house might distract her from chiding him out of posing as a homeless, orphaned urchin.

Hello, young Adam, what is it you want tonight?"

"Just a packet of chips please. My mother isn't well enough to make our supper."

"Well, we can't have that, can we? There are plenty of chips ready for tonight and I'll put some batter in with them."

Adam offered the threepenny piece to the shop owner.

"Howay now, you can have these to help your mother feel better. Put your money away and tell Mary we're asking after her."

"Thank you, Mr Robson. I'll get wrong for not making you take the money, so you can tell her when she's better."

"There's no flies on you, son. I wish there were more kids like you. I've put a sausage in there, it wouldn't get sold tonight anyway. Now run along, it's dark and you should be at home."

He trailed back home wondering what to say to his mother about the money jar. When he came through the back door she had already spread a couple of stale crusts of bread with margarine. "Oh, Adam, you got batter with the chips, lovely. Hurry up, put the chips on the bread before they get cold. How much did you pay for them?"

"Nothing, Mam. I tried to pay but Mr Robson said they were just batter scraps and wouldn't take any money for the chips because I said you weren't very well?"

"What? Telling fibs is wrong, Adam. I'm not unwell."

Adam was on the verge of tears. "You are, Mam. You are tired and asleep a lot during the daytime. And you have a nasty cough."

"Oh, well, that's just a cold, I'll shake it off. Anyway, I'll have to thank Mr Robson. It was very nice of him to give us a helping hand. Now, how do we still have the same money in the jar when we're spending so much on food at the moment?"

"Mam, can we eat the chips first? You told me to do that because they would get cold."

"Yes, you're right, son. It's a good job I've got you to do some of the things which are getting hard for me."

The two of them demolished the chip sandwiches in short order. Adam tried to keep the next subject equally brief.

"I found a patch near to The Theatre Royal where I could ask people to help us out with a few coins."

"I knew something like this was going on. At least you weren't stealing anything. But, I don't want you in the centre of Newcastle begging for money. As bad as things are at present, we'll get through it. Money is very important but not as much as you are. There are a lot of bad people roaming around the city centre, looking for children to exploit. You must stop this, Adam. It's nice that you try to help me in every way, every day, but how would I manage if one of these nasty people took you away from me?"

His lip trembled as he tried to find the right words.

"Ok, Mam, but we have to do somethin' cos you're wrong, we never have enough money. I'll stop begging and think of somethin' else. Anyway, I've got a good thing to talk about. I didn't tell you about it straight away because you haven't been yourself the last couple of days. My best friend, Frank, asked us to their house. Can we go?"

"Oh, where does he live?"

"He used to live in Westerhope, but he changed to our school when his dad set up a new cobbler's shop closer to here. We would have to get the bus, but it's just two stops."

Mary's eyes misted up. "That's very nice of Frank, but does his mother know he invited us?"

"Yes, they want us to go for Sunday tea."

"Really? We'll have to wear our Sunday best then. It's exciting isn't it?"

"Yes, his mother works in the council offices or something, and his dad makes model aeroplanes and cars. So, I'll tell Frank we can come."

*

The day before the visit to the Tait household, there was a football match on the Saturday. Scotswood Juniors were playing at home to Montagu & North Fenham Juniors. As the pitch had high crossbars on the goalposts for senior games, there were detachable lower crossbars fitted for the junior matches. Montagu didn't just have a phenomenal reputation, winning the league year after year, they had a strong scouting staff. It was a daunting task for the Scotswood boys, yet Adam relished the chance to make a mark for himself. They held out for all of twenty minutes then the avalanche began, due to fatigue of chasing the ball rather than having it. Half time saw the score at 0-5 to Montagu. Adam asked his teacher to play him further up front. "Sir, we had a few chances to score but we couldn't. You picked me to play left half, but their players are so big I can't get to head the ball when it comes to me. I'm a good dribbler and I'm faster than their centre half. Please, sir?"

Mr Edwards smiled. "Good attitude, North. Ok switch with Wilkinson."

The second half looked to be going the same way at 0-6 when Adam received a long clearance from Frank. He latched on to it and pushed it through the legs of the first tackler, scooped it over the head of the oncoming centre half. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Wright, his left winger making for the opposition goal. Glancing right he saw nobody from his team. In a split second he dummied a pass to Wright but went right with the ball himself. He was through on goal. The execution of his lob over the advancing goalkeeper's head was nothing short of sublime. The unbridled support from the few hundred in the crowd was palpable. Adam scored another goal near the end of the game with a rasping left foot rocket into the top corner of the goalpost. The final score was an unflattering 2-7 but the second half represented a 2-2 draw. The cherry on this invisible cake emerged when his teacher told Adam that a Montagu scout wanted him to go for a trial with them, and he'd said a Newcastle United scout would be present at that practice match.

# Chapter 3

The gathering at the Tait residence was a true eye opener for both Adam and his mother. A detached bungalow with a rose garden to the front, a vegetable allotment at the rear, and a wonderful view over the river Tyne and its boating traffic going beyond the staithes at Dunston.

All Mary could see was tranquillity and the abundance of home comforts. Adam's takeaway was a single-minded conclusion that such a way of life was down to self-employment. If a cobbler could obtain this relative opulence, it was also within his reach. He was so struck by what he saw that he knew, even at his tender age, following in his father's footsteps would never deliver standing out from the crowd like this. Regrettable as it would be, he had to reset his ambition.

The talk covered many topics for the adults, including what had happened to Mary's husband. Once that was out of the way the conversation moved to how much longer rationing would last and the prospects of their boys. Meanwhile, Frank showed off his shed at the end of the allotment. It was actually a shed which had been modified to become a pigeon loft. Frank was extremely proud of the dozen racing pigeons he had, but for Adam it seemed like a sheer extravagance when so many people in his own street had a poorer diet than these birds. When they returned to the house, Mr Tait congratulated Adam on being asked for a trial at Montagu Juniors. A flicker of logic emerged from the boy's mouth when he asked if Mr. Tait could make him a football of his own. Before the man could reply, Mary admonished her son. "That's bad manners, Adam. Mr and Mrs Tait have given us a lovely tea and here you are asking for favours."

"Not at all, Mary. He's a bright lad. I have lots of waste leather which I have to get burnt every week. It should be easy enough to get the butcher to give me the odd pig's bladder, and then use my bicycle pump to blow the ball up. Great idea. Instead of paying to get rid of the waste I can use it to make and sell footballs to local schools."

Adam basked in this praise and volunteered to take a ball from Mr Tait to all schools in the area to test. If they liked them they'd be much cheaper than getting them from sports shops. Adam could see his first sales job on the horizon.

*

The practice match with Montagu had an edge to it, not least because those playing could visualise themselves getting on to a recognised step on the ladder of junior football. Also, the presence of scouts from professional clubs were on the lookout for young talent which could be moulded into real prospects for the elite clubs.

Adam was fortunately selected to play up front rather than a defensive midfielder. His mother reluctantly agreed to stay away, thus not adding pressure for him to perform. The way things worked in these trials was brutal but effective. Those selected to start the game would stay on only if they seemed to be making a positive contribution to their side. If they failed to do so, they were summarily replaced by others hungry to impress. Adam guaranteed playing the entire match by scoring from a free kick which struck the crossbar and bounced behind the goal line. In the second half, with better support players coming on he smashed in another goal with a bullet header. What really took the eye of a scout from Leeds United was how Adam demonstrated the confidence to coax players on his team to find him in space he'd created for himself. This was unusual for kids of this age.

After the final whistle he was surrounded by half a dozen men representing clubs from all over the country. The manager of Montagu Juniors took it upon himself to offer a shoulder to lean on. These scouts had a reputation for overstating what might be on offer from their respective clubs. Howard Johnson yelled at them to leave the boy alone until he'd showered and changed. He told them to form a queue outside his office and deliberately kept them waiting for over half an hour. Two gave up and disappeared. Howard was able to weed out the rest, culminating in Burnley and Sheffield Wednesday staying the course. Adam sat quietly in the untidy office without uttering a word. After the two remaining scouts left, Howard asked Adam about his parents and suggested he should speak to them on his behalf. As soon as he heard that Adam lived with his mother and never really knew his father he said, "I see, in that case I'll come to see your mother tomorrow and explain why you need to be careful in dealing with scouts who were paid to feed promising kids into their clubs. You and your mother need to get things in writing before committing yourself to anything."

"I have to go to school tomorrow. I don't get home till half past four."

"That's fine, son. I'll be there at five o'clock."

*

Mary had to get through her chores at the Co-op in order to be ready to meet Howard Johnson. It was no easy task. The library section and adjacent reading room were accessed via a nine foot wide staircase with thirty two treads and risers. They all had to be mopped every day, and the tables, chairs and cabinets in the reading room had to be wiped, disinfected and polished. At the other end of the building another staircase, a replica of the one in the reading room was harder to keep clean as it was the way in to a concert room with a much bigger footfall than the library. In addition, the mass of seats and stage equipment had to be stacked and stored safely. In reality, this would have been a daunting task for a fit young man, never mind a slender middle aged woman with deteriorating health.

It was approaching 2pm and just to complicate matters a lorry turned up with props for the next evening concert. It delayed Mary more than forty minutes. On her walk back home she had to rest on a public bench for a few minutes, feeling dizzy and unsure on her feet. Luckily, Adam knew her routine very well and decided to walk his mother's route in reverse. When he spotted her he broke into a jog and became very concerned that she was actually lying down on the bench.

"Mam, are you alright? What's wrong?"

Mary had lapsed into sleep within seconds of closing her eyes. "Oh, Adam, what time is it? Has Mr Johnson been and gone?"

"No, he isn't here yet. Come on, I'll help you back home. It's not far. It doesn't matter about Mr Johnson, that's only about football."

"Thank you, son, but I don't want to miss him. He's kindly offered to help us so we must respect that. I'm feeling a bit better now. Can you just steady me by holding my bag and I can lean on your shoulder?"

"Ok. Should I go and ask the doctor to come and see you?"

"If I'm no better by the weekend. We don't want to waste the doctor's time if it's just a dizzy spell from lifting all those seats at the Co-op. Let's see what Mr Johnson has to say."

He arrived just as the kettle began to whistle. The place was unusually cluttered and the firebox full of ashes. The waning sun cast dark shadows over the home-made clipping mats and the linoleum was worn through in numerous places as he was asked to take a seat.

"Mr Johnson, this is my Mam. Her name is Mary."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs North."

Mary coughed briefly and offered a cup of tea and a slice of her famous sponge cake. "Thank you, a cuppa would be nice. I'll not bother with cake though, my waistline is getting bigger by the day."

They spaced themselves around the table and Mr Johnson got straight to the point. "I'm here to persuade you to be cautious about any offers you will surely get after Adam's outstanding display in our practice match. It's very common for these big clubs to rake in as many promising young boys as possible, but until they reach eighteen or nineteen they won't be given a professional contract. So it's not a good idea to surrender your options until about that age. You see, they tend to treat kids like a factory treats spare parts – needing to have stores of them, only to disappoint most of them. You'd be far better advised to let them wait for Adam before signing anything which gives them first option on him when he's still developing as a player. Sometimes, when boys mature in stature by sixteen they require them to live near to the club training ground. That would mean Adam leaving you here on your own."

"Oh dear," said Mary.

"I'm not going to go away, Mam. Never."

"What can Adam do then, Mr Johnson?"

"Well, I have to be honest with you, he won't be able to earn money by playing for a few years yet. The best way in my opinion is to make a name for himself in local junior football, not school football. The junior boy's club league is a far higher level and the teams look after their boys very well. He would have his pick of the best ones."

"Which ones?" asked Adam.

"I'm biased of course, but the three top ones close to where you live are West End Boys and Montagu & North Fenham Boys. Wallsend Boys are good but a bit further away. I represent Montagu of course and we would love to have him, but you should visit each one before you decide, check the facilities, the coaching structure and the costs which can and cannot be covered by each club. I can tell you that Montagu would make sure Adam wouldn't have any expenses to find. We would pay for any bus fares for training and matches at home and we have private buses for away games. You would be able to come free of charge Mrs North. So, don't decide now, visit all three clubs first. I'll leave you my phone number if you want to arrange a visit to our ground and offices. I hope this has been helpful, your boy is a real prospect."

# Chapter 4

Mary hadn't worn a long dress for years but needn't have worried about whether it would still fit her. Being caretaker of the Co-op halls ensured she was even slimmer than a decade ago. Adam giggled when she complemented her red garment with an extravagant dark blue hat.

"Mam, we're goin' to Montagu football ground, not to see the Royal Family."

"Now, now, Adam. You only get one chance to make a first impression. We don't want to embarrass Mr Johnson for inviting us to see what they have to offer you. Anyway, they might have organised a lunch for us, and we should be prepared for things like that, not turning up in work clothes. Speaking of that, get those socks changed, they're full of holes. Mr Johnson will be trying to impress us, and we have to do the same to them. You already did that on the pitch, now it's time for them to tempt you to choose which team you want to join. And watch your table manners if we do get a meal. And stop talking with that accent, it won't land you in a good job."

This all went out of the window when they arrived. Adam unconsciously shifted the official welcome plan by producing one of his footballs made by Mr Tait, the cobbler. "Sir, can we try out this ball in a practice match?"

Mr Johnson was intrigued. "Well, it looks good, where did you get it?"

"My friend's dad is a cobbler and I asked him if he could make a football with some of his leather scraps. He said he could and this is one of them."

"Right, so let me get my spectacles on. My, my, it looks very good, now what do you mean by one of them? Didn't he just make the football for you and his son?"

"No, sir. I asked if he could make them cheaper than the one my Mam bought me for my birthday. When I told him how much that one cost he said he could make them a lot cheaper but he would have to work out how much he could sell them for."

"I see," said Mr Johnson, "and who exactly will he sell them to?"

"He will be getting me to sell them to boys clubs."

"Really? Well in that case I'd like to give you an order for a dozen today. That would be enough for us to test them out and maybe let other junior football clubs check them out. Can you ask Mr Tait when twelve can be available?"

"Yes sir, I will. I played with the other one he gave me, kickin' it against our wall and it's better than the one my Mam bought me. Mr Tait said you could have this one to try out for yourself."

"That's very kind of him. So, let's show you and your mother around our changing rooms and pitches. I can tell you that they are the best in the whole of the Newcastle area."

This was a good moment for Mary to intervene.

"I don't understand any of this stuff about pitches so I would like to listen to what Adam needs to hear about your plans for him in the next few years as he grows bigger and stronger. Is there a proper structure for him to work through until he can be ready to attract big professional clubs?"

"Good question, Mrs North. Indeed we have three levels of competitive teams. The first level, which is the present one for Adam, is to work on many other things than just playing matches. We believe in diverse training programmes and helping out where we can in the personal development of our talented young people. So we have days away for camping in the close season and educational trips in the northeast region. We are also flexible about promoting players from one level to the next. There's no point in rushing boys through to youth level because they could suffer a lack of confidence when they find how much harder it is than the lower level. In contrast to that, if any boy seems to bridge that gap without extra stress, we would let him play regularly at that level but not every week. Burnout has to be avoided. In any athletic sport there is a danger of overkill before the boy is really ready. Patience is a cornerstone of our development plan. So, if that answers your question, let's go to the new pitches for the coming season."

They were guided through changing rooms, showers, leisure areas and finally the pitches and trophy room.

*

On the way back Adam was rather pleased with himself, but Mary kept wittering on about the lunch.

"Adam that was a fabulous meal we just had, Mr Johnson is trying very hard to sign you up. Wasn't the homemade soup delicious? I particularly liked the ham and egg pie, I wonder where they got ham from. We can never get it from our butcher. And those scones with our cuppa, well I wish I could have taken a few home with us."

"Yes, but Mam I need to see Mr Tait as soon as we get back. He'll be very happy with an order of twelve footballs."

"Oh yes, of course. How much is he charging?"

"I don't know yet but he said he would give me a shilling for each one I could sell."

"Really, well why don't we get the bus to his place before we go home. Aren't you just the clever one? So, when do we visit the other boys clubs that want you?"

"I want to go with my footballs first and when I'm there I'll be able to find out when we can go together. There are lots of boys clubs and schools which will be interested in these footballs. I should be able to get some new boots from what Mr Tait gives me, oh, and he might make me some boots."

There was a real sense of luck turning the way of the family at last. Mary reflected on how her son could so easily have been lured into a gang of troublemakers. Many kids of his age were already in Borstal. She felt an enormous rush of pride.

*

When Mr Tait heard that Montagu Juniors wanted 12 footballs he almost did a somersault. Opening his second shop had always been risky. He had told the man he hired to run the original shop, which was doing well, that he had to earn enough to keep the both of them in work. At least until the second shop built up its own trade. Potential orders for these footballs was a godsend. So delighted was Mr Tait that he told his son, Frank, that he should double up with Adam to sell them. The two boys agreed to split up the sales campaign with Frank doing the schools and Adam the boys clubs.

They were so successful that Mr Tait had to take on an apprentice in the second shop to keep up with the ramping in orders. However, their burgeoning reputation brought with it a problem. The leading retailer of this merchandise in Newcastle objected to the local council on the grounds that these footballs were not up to standard. He claimed that the useful life of the ones he'd tested were very poor. Mr Tait discovered later that this retailer had a friend in high office at the council, but not before the negative publicity had seen the orders decline. It took some time to prove these claims were false, largely due to the region's football teams, juniors and seniors, unanimous condemnation of the claims.

*

Adam had created a bit of breathing space for the two of them. He even managed to save a small sum of money for rainy days. Mary had insisted that they didn't relax self-controlled austerity measures at all. The word she used was prudent, not frugal and not wasteful. Adam had never known life any other way, but the realisation that there were opportunities to make a difference if one stayed alert to gradually changing times on the horizon. There were many moments of reflection, primarily that he'd never really had a father figure, his mother was drifting into a period of poorer health, and self-pity was the road to ruin. He'd managed to swerve past the quicksand of delinquency so far, but vigilance couldn't be relaxed. Despite the overall population pulling in the same direction, minorities of cynical, manipulative adults lurked in the recesses of social fabric. Like most predators, they would strike at the most vulnerable. Adam was too young to interpret such a complex mosaic in this way, yet he possessed mental fixations and moral discipline in abundance compared to most others his age. The invisible threat of bad influence had been enhanced by his relative celebrity due to the rocketing success on the football field and particularly selling the means to play the game – the ball. He was about to confront greed, jealousy, and ruthlessness the like of which he could never have imagined.

The first sign of what was to come was the trashing of Mr Tait's shops. The one in Westerhope was set on fire even though he wasn't producing the balls in that location. The second shop carried a warning in the form of his essential cobbler's equipment being wrecked. The rumours began to trickle through as to who might have been responsible. It became clear when Mr Tait received the offer of a helping hand. The very person who'd tried to block him from undercutting the price he sold footballs in his city shop appeared at his home. Mr Tait, despite being so angry had to consider what might happen to his family if he tried to restart his business. This man not only offered to purchase all of the product he could make, he promised to hunt down the culprits and ensure the police did their duty by arresting them.

"As you know, Mr Tait, I used my connections to try and prevent you from selling a product which hadn't been tested thoroughly, but that has now been done. Every one of my previous customers has endorsed your product. Also, you may wish to consider how I can protect you if you resume manufacture of these balls. I've been through exactly what has happened to you when I opened my first shop in Walker high street. It's the world we live in, where those who succeed become targets for thieves and vandals. They won't go away unless you beat them at their own game, and the first step is for the police to use their informants to find them. What happens next is crucial. Unless there is solid proof and they are found guilty, people like us will bear the brunt of their revenge. I had a hard time getting on top of the repetitive sabotage of my shops, but it's now under control. What becomes necessary isn't very palatable, but paying for protection has to be looked at as insurance, and it does work, unlike actually claiming on insurance. If you want to hear more from me about this, we would need to set a price at which we could sell your product, and it would include the protection. So, you and I enjoy a reasonable profit for our labours and the felons are either dealt with by police or have a visit from our own enforcers. If you'd prefer to go back to shoemaking and repairing only, I'd understand. However, if you felt you could instruct me in the method to make them myself, I'd come to an agreement to pay you a handsome lump sum. Please think about it and you can find me at my shop most days."

Mr Tait was utterly confused. It wasn't in his nature to give in to pressure like this. Even if this man was genuine, he'd be involved in the wrong side of the law by funding retribution, and this he could never countenance. He thanked the man for his offer and promised to think about it.

# Chapter 5

Mr Tait was nothing if not decisive. He was never going to stoop to paying money to criminals in order to make his own living. He claimed for the loss of his two shops with his insurance company, and once having had the claim accepted, began to restore them. His plan was to renovate and sell the premises at a fair price.

Despite having invested much of his working life in his house, he convinced his wife to move to a small market town instead of remaining hostage to city based violence.

He was fortunate in having no mortgage and the sale would finance his new business. Hexham was their choice, nestling in the western side of the Tyne valley. A rural lifestyle had always been an attraction for him; the prospect of a new beginning was just the motivation he needed.

This of course had a knock on effect for Adam and his mother. The little nest egg they'd accumulated would no longer grow. In addition, Frank would be moving some distance away, putting a strain on their close friendship. Mary tried to cheer him up by saying he should concentrate on his football.

"Listen, darling, you've been picked to move up to intermediate level with Montagu. You're a year young for this promotion, so that means they really want you to stay with them and continue to progress."

"I know, Mam, but you can't keep working for ever at the Co-op like this, it's too hard for you."

She was on the verge of tears and hugged him closely.

"I've been thinking about that. Your little business with Mr Tait got me trying to look at making things myself that would sell locally. I'm good at making special cakes for Christmas and weddings. And, I made all of our mats for the house, we call them proggy mats, because they are made from cut up clothes which people throw away. I have all the equipment and I could work from home. What about that?"

A broad smile spread over Adam's face. "That's brilliant, Mam. I wanted to tell Mr Johnson that I didn't want to go for trials at either Burnley or Sheffield Wednesday. The only team I want to play for is here, Newcastle United. We're Geordies, and my Dad might have wanted me to do that. So, I should stay at Montagu until a Newcastle scout comes to watch our games. Then we don't have to spend our savings. And I don't have to leave you just to play in another part of the country."

"You're the most precious thing in my life, son, and I'm going to tell the Co-op I intend to retire as soon as they can get a replacement."

"No, Mam, tell them you are not well, and you're leaving next week."

"Ok, you win."

*

They had a plan for the longer term. In the short term Adam had to deal with losing Frank to another school. To mark this sad aspect for their children, the Tait parents and Mary had arranged a picnic about halfway between the two locations after the move. Wylam was ideal, a small village on the Tyne, with a bridge and a railway station which was part of the Newcastle to Carlisle service. There were many picnic spots on both banks of the river and a few known places where it was possible to swim. Wylam was in fact the birthplace of George Stevenson, the man who built the first steam engine known as 'The Rocket'.

The boys were more interested in swimming than what was a splendid spread for a glorious Sunday afternoon. Although Adam was a considerably better football player, Frank was on a different planet when it came to swimming. Adam had only one style, the crawl, as it was known. By contrast, Frank was a veritable one man team capable of competing against four individuals in a medley event. Unknown to the authorities the recent rainstorms hadn't just caused flooding problems for many residents, they had altered the eddy currents significantly. The boys were throwing a beach ball to each other with the intention of the receiver heading it back. Everyone on both banks enjoyed this activity and it tempted more people into the water to join in. Adam, headed one of Frank's deliveries well beyond the target. Retrieval of the ball was attempted by someone from the opposite bank. A middle aged man swam to the spot and suddenly disappeared below the water line. He seemed to have dived, hoping to come up right under the ball. But he didn't reappear. Frank saw bubbles emerging close to the spot where the man had submerged, and he shouted at Adam to knock off their game, then dived under the water himself. Adam was about to follow but Mr Tait shouted for him to stay where he was.

"Adam, no. I can see from here there is a vortex where the man went down. If Frank can't rescue him nobody can, he's much stronger than you."

Adam froze, as did people on both banks who realised there was no lifeguard service in this area. Despite Mr Tait yelling to others they kept diving into the water to help. The bubbles surfacing from the vortex patch kept increasing. It was agonising for onlookers, as if time stood still or at best it was in super slow motion. An explosion of bubbles preceded Frank surfacing gasping for breath. He became frantic with those who were converging on the vortex, telling them the man below was trapped by the current pinning him to a huge fallen tree trunk, which in itself created the vortex.

"You can't get him free, get back, you'll get dragged down yourself. Get back now!!"

The majority heeded his advice but a few either didn't hear him or ignored it. Only when two more men got sucked under at the side where the vortex was stronger did the others turn around. Frank and Adam stood statuesque as the bubbles increased again and seconds later faded away. Frank shouted to his Dad to inform the local constable to alert both Fire and Ambulance services via 999. Mr Tait ran off to find either a policeman or a telephone box. It was to no avail, the two men who'd been pulled under surfaced further downstream. One was already dead and the other was given lifesaving procedures by Frank, eventually spluttering back to consciousness. The entire banks were dense with onlookers now that the Fire Engine had arrived. Frank took centre stage, reporting where the first man had gone down and that as far as he knew had not surfaced at all. Then he indicated where the corpse of one of the would-be rescuers was, and finally where the other was recovering and shivering constantly.

The police were taking statements from various other witnesses, most of whom had no idea what had actually happened, just repeating what they themselves had heard from others. They ultimately gravitated back to Frank and recorded every detail he gave them. Mr Tait gave his name and address so that he could be contacted again if necessary.

The day out had ended in a very dark place. None of the members of either family had spoken on the way home. Frank eventually vented his feelings. "Dad, I thought I had him free, but I couldn't understand what he was trying to tell me, that his left leg was broken and still tangled up in a fork in the tree trunk. I kept trying but his eyes went still and his mouth wide open. I should have pulled him in the other direction instead of grabbing him under the arms and trying to lift him clear. That would have saved him."

"No, Frank, don't you talk like that. You did everything you could. Sometimes we just can't save people from themselves, the poor man didn't see the vortex, and neither did any of us until you went under. You must not blame yourself."

*

The incident had a profound effect on Frank, so his father delayed his plan to move to Hexham. He was quick to recognise how Frank and Adam helped each other to deal with adverse situations.

The two boys were happy that the move had been paused and began to talk about the fragility of life, not in terms of ever present danger, but of regretting things they could have done better. Frank in particular harboured dreams of seeing the pyramids, fascinated by ancient Egyptian stories. Pharaohs who took worldly possessions to the afterlife and embalming their bodies in preparation for the journey. Adam was far more in the here and now, aching to own his first motorcycle and compete in the Isle of Man T.T. All of this projected ambition kept the trauma of the drowning at bay until the victim's name and family were revealed by the newspapers. Frank was portrayed as a hero. This catapulted him back to that day, and he became distant again. The man had a wife and two young daughters, and this touched Adam in particular as he didn't know many children who'd lost their father at such a young age. Elizabeth and Patricia were seven and five years old respectively, a very real reminder that he was that age when he was first told his father was amongst the fallen in the fight against fascism.

There was a dichotomy brewing. Adam wanted to convince Frank to accept an invitation from the family so they could meet the person who risked his life to save another. Frank insisted he wasn't up to something like that. In a verbal table tennis match, the ball came back a microsecond after having been despatched. It got heated. Adam began to walk away, leaving Frank to chew on his parting remark.

"Why can you not think about the little girls who now have no Dad? Nothing can be done to bring him back, I know what it feels like. You have a Dad. You're one of the lucky ones. You stopped me from helping you to save this man, even though I wanted to, you can help the girls, and they need to meet you. I wish I could meet somebody who tried to save my Dad, but I don't have any idea how he was killed, I just have a medal. Can you think about it, Frank? Please."

"I have thought about it. I don't want to lie to them. I pulled his ankle further into the tree fork and that was stupid. I helped to kill him. It was my fault."

"Come on, Frank, the water was cloudy, how could you know that was a mistake? You just did your best."

"Adam, stop it, I know I was doing my best, but even if the girls don't know I made a mistake, I will always know."

"You are my best friend. The girls want to believe you nearly saved their father. Nothing else is important to them, and it will make you feel better, not now but later. I want to meet them but I can't go without you."

"I'll ask my Dad about it."

"Thanks."

They wandered off in different directions, leaving an uncomfortable close to the conversation.

*

Mary could sense that Adam was troubled about something, but she couldn't tease it out of him. All he would say was that he needed to concentrate on his promotion to the intermediate football group. "I don't want to miss out on any of the games. Mr Johnson says it will be hard and wants to give me advice about who I'll be up against in each game. He's a really nice man, and it's like having my Dad back when I'm playing football. I'm going to play for Dad's favourite team when I'm older."

# Chapter 6

Fiscal Oxygen

Fourteen years represented both Adam's entire life and the end to rationing. It was about to set in motion real recovery of the country's economy on the back of the sacrifice and austerity of the war itself and the cohesive support of the people. The final surrender of the fascist countries known as the Axis had been achieved with absolute doggedness and a large slice of luck. Until the United States entered the fray because of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour, a blunder generated by miscalculation and overconfidence, the German machine was effectively engaged with only Russia and Great Britain. It is often argued that if Adolf Hitler had invaded the latter first, he would have been capable of subduing the Soviet Union at a time of his choosing. Once the might of America was mobilised the tide of the world war turned slowly but surely.

The British people knew very well they had dodged a fatal bullet and things could only get better. If the government had told them at the outset it would take fourteen years of having nothing but keeping their nose to the grindstone, comprising five years of war effort and nine years of deprivation, the cohesion may well have fractured.

Many decisions had been inflicted on families, other than our young soldiers at the front line. They came in all shades of ruthlessness, and these edicts are often overlooked by historians. Children and mothers were evacuated from cities and towns to rural locations to assist with the agricultural effort to feed the nation. The land army, as it was known, embraced the challenge. So did other key workers, a lot of whom were single women requisitioned and retrained to help manufacturing companies with production of weapons and domestic items. It could be argued that being truthful with the population about facing almost a decade and a half of depression would have been preferable to saying nothing. Perhaps saying nothing was deemed to be the best way of avoiding mass public unrest. We will never know, all we can really say is that we were united by a common enemy. Hindsight apart, what we do know is that the decade to follow, from 1955 to 1965 was retrospectively labelled as the return of liberal values or the **decadent** indulgent years. Either way it represented macro change in people's attitudes. There was no better example than abandonment of Winston Churchill, the iconic war warrior, in favour of Clement Atlee, a visionary of a different kind.

Gradual erosion of the past and transmutation of focus on individualism accelerated in the late sixties at an astonishing pace.

*

Adam began to view this announcement by retracing what he could from those last nine years. His mother had, from his sixth birthday, relentlessly ensured he knew the value of these ration books. Buff coloured ones were for most adults, green ones applied to expectant and nursing mothers plus children under 5 years old, and this group had first choice of fruit, one pint of milk per day, and a double supply of eggs. Blue books were his favourite, as they were for children between 5 and 16 years of age, and were due to fruit, half a pint of milk and crucially a full meat ration.

There were always lively discussions over the fairness of this categorisation, however, Adam's fond memories were born out of his mother's strategy of sending him with the coupons in place of herself, when there were luxury items available. British grown fruit and vegetables were usually obtained without much fuss, and Mary always collected her order when she left work at the Co-op. The staff knew her well and kept things back for her under the counter. When there were more exotic items on display there would be queues halfway down the street. She lectured six year old Adam to the point of obsession that he must never smile, rather parade an anxious expression, and recite out loud what his mother had told him to buy.

He fondly replayed the usual response of adults in the queue, which was one of pity for little boy lost. They gradually moved him up the queue, guaranteeing him being served before stocks ran out. His favourites were bananas and pineapples. He recalled one instance of running home, looking backwards to see whether other kids might intercept him and steal his haul. It caused him to trip over a kerbstone, the brown paper bag burst and his cache rolled down the road. A skinned knee was nothing compared to the tirade Mary would unleash on him if he didn't recover their allotted second course for evening teatime. That particular day it was squashed mixed fruit salad. Strong memories, yet gladly put behind him at midnight on the 4th July 1954.

*

Adam had filled out dramatically in the last couple of years. It had been a concern that his stature, or lack of it might eventually rule him out of moving up the achievement ladder. Some lightweight players could push their way through this invisible barrier, but Adam's game had been characterised by his ability to give defenders the run around and deadly marksmanship in front of goal. Height and power were big assets for corners and free kicks, later to be called set pieces. He was currently a regular in the intermediate team. He was impatient to rise to youth level, yet resigned to not being pushed too hard too soon.

Mary was now attending every match her son played in. Their respective nest eggs had stagnated in terms of accumulation, partly down to buying more nutritious food and kit to enhance Adam's progress on the pitch.

At school he was beginning to attract glances from pubescent girls. His head wasn't turned, with one exception. Sophie Porter was either credited or demeaned for being a 'swot', depending on the achievement level of who was doing the assessment. Unlike those who found Adam's sporting prowess fascinating, Sophie never so much as gave him a smile. She was a challenge, he had total respect for her work ethic and was drawn by her absence of lipstick and other cosmetic applications. The prospect of any kind of relationship at this point could not be allowed to interrupt his dedicated football progression, especially as he knew he was on the verge of making the youth squad, even if getting on to the actual team would be sporadic. He began to wonder if he would already be in the youth team if he'd chosen to sign for West End Boys club. Mary chastised him for even thinking about it.

"Adam, for goodness sake, Mr Johnson has helped us so much. It's not like you to be disloyal."

"I know, Mam. It's just frustrating that I know I can be better than the centre forward who is playing in that team at the minute."

"You mustn't get big headed. Look, just think about the whole picture. Mr Johnson has made sure we don't have any expenses to find, he even brings us the odd box of leftovers from their management meetings. He's always telling me that he wants to help you realise your dream to play for your Dad's favourite team."

"I know he comes around a lot, is he trying to get his feet under the table?"

"What? Don't be so childish, he's a very good friend, nothing more. Anyway, his help has allowed my health to improve because I don't need to go back to work for the Co-op. I know that means a lot to you, so can we have a bit more faith in his judgement? After all, he has watched and developed hundreds of boys during his time as a coach. Have you forgotten that he said you were one of the best prospects he had seen in a long time?"

"Yes, sorry Mam, I just want to play. You're right, I will get my chance. Maybe soon, we play Wallsend Boys next week. We need to beat them to go back top of the league."

*

The weather forecast was for showers and high winds. The match was not in danger of being abandoned, but controlling the ball would be crucial. There was an expression among northeast fans, 'he couldn't trap a bag of cement'. It referred to players who were prone to misjudge the trajectory and speed of the ball which was coming toward them. At head height it wasn't so critical, but when at waist level or below, timing was everything. The best players were able to caress the ball to the direction they wanted with one touch. Trapping the ball really meant not letting it get away from the player's first touch. A bag of cement would obviously be so heavy it would never require coercion by the player.

After a first half comparable with two packs of dogs squabbling for the ball in a very small fraction of the pitch it was 0-0. The wind was responsible for this herding of the teams, neither of them had any shape, consequently the ball didn't really play a major role in producing a breakthrough. What could favour Montagu was that it was now their turn to benefit from the gusting gales punctuated by sudden short but tranquil intervals. Mr Johnson had given Adam instructions in the first half to conserve energy and help out their defensive line. Now he took him to one side with both left and right wingers.

"Listen up, now they have to batten down the hatches, so this is our big chance." He forcefully repeated to the wingers to stay wide all of the time, inches from the touchline. "As soon as you get the ball get it straight into their penalty box. Adam, you have to be there and ready for any tricks the wind might play with the ball. No matter how many times you might fail, just keep doing the same thing, because their centre half is definitely dodgy in a crowded space, he will make mistakes."

It was good advice. Adam saw the ball coming but hanging in the air due to the wind. He ran across the defender and fooled him into thinking he was going to play the ball. Instead Adam dummied and let the ball run to the right wing. He then pulled back a couple of yards from the defender as the winger curled the ball toward the far post. The goalkeeper came, stopped and tried to come again, but Adam was too quick, nipping in front of him and glanced the ball home. Once their defence had been punctured, Wallsend lost morale and gaps began to open up. Unbelievably, the wind mellowed just a fraction, and crucially from a crosswind to one in the direction Montagu were attacking. The left winger scored two quick goals with his head, followed by Adam scoring a scorching volley and a penalty kick when he was brought down by the lumbering centre half. Back to the top of the league.

Mr Johnson had that knowing smile on his face, congratulated the team and winked at Adam. Mary had almost lost her voice, sounding like a man when they all got back on to the team bus. Singing was the order of the day on the journey back. Adam was hiding his delight pretty well, but was jubilant that they had more points than any other team despite having played three less games than their nearest rivals. However, Mr Johnson introduced a word of caution. "Enjoy a great performance boys, it wasn't pretty but very effective. But...No, listen please, we have cup games coming up and we need to just concentrate on the next game. No dreaming, just discipline. We also have to use our reserves where we can, so there might have to be some players rested whenever appropriate. Do not read anything into this other than it's the best way to keep the pressure on other teams. Now, because of this glut of fixtures we won't need training sessions for a while. Match fitness is critical and staleness is the enemy.

# Chapter 7

School was becoming more difficult for Adam. It wasn't a case of academic ability, there was a tug of war between demands for him to play in the school team on Saturday mornings, which would leave him short of energy for Montagu in the afternoon. There was no conflict when he was in the Montagu squad but not actually playing in the games. A victim of his own success. His immediate reaction to pressure from the physical education teacher was to decline to play for the school team. This generated a backlash from fellow students, some of which were close friends. Then he said he might be able to play the first half of morning games and was told that was not an option.

Mary encouraged him to speak with Howard Johnson about his dilemma. "Mr Johnson will have surely faced this problem before and will have experience in dealing with it."

"I might spoil my chances if I ask him about it, he doesn't know that I played some school games in the last few weeks. He might think that's why I wasn't doing so well in Montagu training games."

"He's a wise man, just be honest with him and ask his advice. What you can't do is stay away from school."

Adam promised he would follow her advice. In the meantime, back at school his popularity was still being questioned. A prefect in the sixth form barged into him between lessons, and a large plant pot rolled over before breaking into dozens of terracotta shards. Adam was still in year four and despite not being the provocateur he apologised.

"Sorry."

"You will be. Just watch it."

"Excuse me, what's your problem? You walked into me, not the other way around."

"Got any witnesses then? My friends here saw it and agree that you weren't looking where you were going."

"I'm not going to argue with you, it wasn't my fault."

The prefect, Alan Burns, flashed his badge.

"Who do you think the headmaster is going to believe?"

Burns turned to his sycophants and appealed to them. A noisy chant ensued which attracted the attention of a teacher on her way to a lesson. When she enquired about the commotion, Burns merely asked his cronies to explain, then added his embroidered statement.

"I shouted to him before he bumped into me but he took no notice. I put my hands up to protect myself, telling him he shouldn't be running in the corridors. But it was too late, we collided and he spun away. He could easily have avoided the plant pot, but when it did fall over he started kicking it. That's why it broke into so many pieces."

Adam tried to protest, but as his own so-called friends evaporated from the scene, the teacher noted that Burns was a senior prefect. "Very well, what's your name, boy?"

"Adam North, Miss. What he said isn't true, I..."

"Well, what is obviously true is there is a broken pot containing a beautiful Japanese maple bush. I can't imagine it broke itself. If you did what Burns said you did, it is a wanton act of vandalism. Both of you come with me. The headmaster will be livid."

Adam's protests were subsequently ignored and he was given what would normally have been a heavy punishment. He was to stay in detention that afternoon, during which he would write out 'I must be more respectful of school property when walking through the quadrangles and corridors' one hundred times. He was also prevented from participating in physical education classes or representing the school in any sporting event. He couldn't care less about an hours' detention. And it just dawned on him that being banned from all sporting activity solved his football dilemma. What he didn't like was the letter being sent to his mother stating that further instances of such behaviour could lead to his expulsion from the school altogether. Because of this injustice he decided to confront Alan Burns out of school hours. He had to wait for the right opportunity and it took all of two weeks, tracking him walking home until he was alone for the last half mile.

"Hey you... yes you."

"Now what, you stupid prick?"

"You lied about me. I'm not bothered about what the teachers did, but my mother got sent a letter saying I could get expelled because of your lies."

"So, what are you gonna' do about it?"

"I'm gonna' give you your chance to say sorry."

"You don't get it do you? I'm a prefect, you're nothing."

"Ok, then you won't worry about me picking a fight with you."

"You, you want to fight me? You're more stupid than I thought."

They put down their school bags and squared up to each other. As if it was choreographed, Adam had persuaded some of his friends who weren't from school, but from Montagu, to appear from nowhere. Alan Burns began to see this wasn't going to be straightforward.

"You need reinforcements eh? Too much of a coward to fight me one to one?"

"No, they are here as witnesses, not like the ones you got to lie for you at school. These are here to make sure the fight is fair, that's all."

"Ok, come on then."

Adam's friends formed a circle and the contest began. Despite being smaller and lighter, Adam was agile and quick. Burns missed with several punches which hit only thin air. He taunted Burns about being ponderous and clumsy, 'a fat slug' were the exact words. Burns tried charging at his opponent, only to become a victim of his own lack of mobility. Adam stuck out his foot, tripping Burns, whose momentum caused him to collide with a boy in the cordon who pushed him back into the centre of the ring. Adam could sense Burns had virtually no stamina to draw upon. It all came to a conclusion when Adam landed a rehearsed martial arts kick, landing smack between his adversary's legs. Burns curled up on the grass clutching his testicles and screaming at the top of his voice. Fear spread across his face when Adam grabbed his coat lapels and shouted in his face. "Don't ever come near me again or I'll really hurt you. Stop squealing and answer me."

There was the meekest of 'yes, yes, please leave me alone'. The Montagu boys dispersed after being thanked by Adam and Burns was left lying on the ground moaning that he was in severe pain.

*

When Adam got home Mr Johnson was already there. Mary made sure her son knew she'd read the letter from the school headmaster. Howard Johnson quickly turned the discussion to why Adam had approached several of his players to meet up with him.

It was painful for him to tell the truth, nevertheless he was in a hole and he had to stop digging himself deeper into trouble. "My Mam only got a letter from school because a bully from the sixth form lied about an incident which he had blamed me for. I wanted to teach him a lesson because the teachers believed him and didn't give me a chance to tell exactly what happened."

"What did happen?" asked Howard Johnson.

"He deliberately walked into me and pushed me against a plant pot which fell over and broke. His friends lied for him, but mine walked away even though they knew it was his fault."

"Ok, but why did you ask some of my boys to meet you?" said Johnson, "They couldn't have known what happened at your school."

"No, nobody believed me. So, I asked some of the lads to come when I challenged this bully to a fight. He thought he could give me a good beating. I wanted boys who would be there to make sure it was a fair fight, that's all. Ask them."

Mary was close to tears and Howard Johnson stepped in again. "I understand, Adam, completely. But if something like this was to happen again you can come to me. You couldn't know if any of my boys would do something stupid in such a situation. They are my responsibility. I would be a more reliable witness if any further dispute was to arise. Anyway, from what I've heard you gave this bully a good hiding."

"Yes, he was a big softie. He won't bother me again."

Mary breathed a sigh of relief and her smile returned. Howard chose this moment to offer his services and speak to the headmaster himself.

"What good would that do?" queried Adam.

"Well, I have a good reputation with all headmasters in the area. They trust me. Furthermore, this bully should face some reprimand from the school himself. And your mother says you are suspended from playing football for the school. Maybe I can get that changed."

Adam squirmed as he revealed the pressure the sports master had put him under to play for the school.

Howard Johnson's stern face turned to a broad smile.

"I know all about that. It's my business to know these things. I already had a word with this teacher and that we should discuss it with the headmaster. He backed down when I said I had already kept you out of the intermediate team so far this season so that you could play for the school. He's a reasonable chap and he no longer wants to make you feel guilty about this. I told him we need you for the rest of our games in order to win the league, and reminded him that you are playing in the school senior team when you are just a junior. He could be criticised for that and agreed to wait until next year to select you again."

"Great, thanks Mr Johnson. Will I be playing for Montagu on Saturday?"

"Can't say. You know I never announce the team until an hour before the kick off. See you then."

Mary hugged Adam and then shocked him by doing the same to Howard Johnson.

*

Life had an uncanny way of placing another hurdle to break our stride almost immediately after having cleared the previous one.

Mary opened the letter with some trepidation as it was postmarked with the council logo and stamped as urgent. She put her hand over her mouth, sat down and shook erratically as she read through the text. It began with a declaration that several properties in the terrace had shown evidence of subsidence. The stark reality then emerged insofar as the entire terrace had been condemned and would be demolished in the near future. The next step was to identify other properties which could serve as temporary accommodation for residents, and it was unlikely that they would be in Scotswood. Every family had to vacate the premises within a month, and be housed in permanent homes where possible, or temporary homes until permanent ones became available. The implication was clear – some families would end up in known troublesome locations and be trapped there indefinitely. She wept uncontrollably, trying to find the words which could convey a positive spin when she told Adam.

Events overtook her dilemma. The newspapers made this the daily headline for the next few editions. Adam didn't read the papers but he overheard groups of teachers discussing the issue. By the time he got home he was joined by Howard Johnson. They walked the last hundred yards talking about the upcoming game on Saturday.

They were met at the door with Mary's awkward smile, but before she launched into the contents of the letter, Howard Johnson interjected. "Let's go inside, I've spoken with a friend at the council and there may be a better prospect for you and Adam."

"Oh, well, right...I'll put the kettle on, I need a strong cup of tea."

As yet Adam seemed to be unfazed by any potential fallout in moving to some other location. Indeed it felt quite exciting. Greener grass, rose tinted spectacles, but mostly the prospect of going to another school. He hadn't yet shed his undeserved reputation of choosing Montagu over Scotswood. In his mind it was an irrelevance born out of jealousy regarding regular articles in the local football newspaper, the Evening Chronicle Football Pink. He'd always been told that local achievements deserved encouragement rather than denigration.

# Chapter 8

Howard Johnson's solution was initially met with a stupefying silence from both Mary and her son. Adam was bewildered, whereas Mary blushed with embarrassment. He didn't expect this and tried to put the proposition to them another way.

"Look, you both need to consider the short and long term situation. If you don't act yourselves you could be re-settled in an awful location for years. My offer to help you, is to bypass that pitfall by having an acceptable short term option with you deciding if you wanted to stay there or move on at a time of your choosing."

Mary responded while Adam maintained his silence.

"So, you're saying we could change our mind at any time?"

"Of course, and you would need to see the premises before you would need to sign any formal agreement. But you should do this quickly otherwise you could be rushed into something the council paperwork would oblige you to comply with. Why don't you both come and look at the place I had in mind?"

Mary looked at her son and guessed at what his concern was. "Well, Adam, I think we should look at every option because it's such a big step wherever we choose, and we don't want to be forced to grab at something which sounds good. We have to spend a lot of time finding out what it would be like to live there every day, not just for a few months. The council said we have to move out within a month and that won't change, so we must use this time to be really sure which option is best for us."

Adam remained silent. Mary asked Howard Johnson to give her a couple of minutes with her son. He left the house, sitting on a bench at the other side of the street.

"Adam, you have to help me here, and the first thing is to tell me what exactly is troubling you."

"It seems that he wants to be my new Dad?"

"I thought so, and that would worry me as well. But I think we need to remember that he has done nothing but good for you so far. I would never allow you to forget your father, and I will never get married again. Don't you think I miss your Dad every single day, and that I can remember so much more about him than you can? You were so young when he was recalled to the front line, and yet I know how bad it was for you when we heard he'd been killed. Let's just take one step at a time. This property Mr Johnson has in mind might not be right, but we have nothing to lose by looking at it. Can we do that?

Adam simply nodded and hugged his mother.

*

It wasn't quite what Adam and his mother had pictured. Howard Johnson had suggested they come and live with him until they had a better offer from the council. He hadn't got to the detail of what that meant. His house was in a very pleasant area, wide streets and tree lined footpaths on each side. The house was massive, but it was only when he showed them inside that they fully grasped what was being offered. He introduced his wife, Martha, and explained that his mother had lived with them in the later stages of her life. They had modified the property to give the old lady support and independence. The extension covered three floors, with Howard's mother residing on the ground floor. Extending outwards into the generous rear garden had effectively doubled the living space. They were being offered a self-contained dwelling of very high standard.

Mary immediately shook her head. "It's lovely and thank you for the offer but we could never afford to live here, I can imagine what you would get for this property in rent."

Mrs Johnson spoke for her husband and herself. "We've spoken about this together and we are more than happy for you to stay here beyond the month the council have given you to move out. If you found that you'd like to stay longer my husband can sketch in the options."

"Mrs North, and you as well Adam, could do things in the house and garden to help us keep everything tidy. However, we have to pay council tax on the whole house in any case, so I spoke to my friend at the council and they would save money if they don't need to house you somewhere else. They would be grateful for you to live here and save them these costs. If you did want to stay longer then we would only ask you to pay for your share of heating and cooking costs, everything else we would have to pay as we do now. I know it sounds strange but my friend is willing to consider you as relatives, and we would never ask our relatives to pay rent. Anything you would want to contribute, but only if you can afford, would be welcome."

Mary was utterly humbled that these people would welcome them into their home in her moment of need. Adam now realised that he'd misunderstood Mr Johnson's motive and his beaming smile required no further articulation. This allowed Mary to accept the offer. It was a life changing scenario in a world shackled by people scrambling just to survive. For the first time since the war she began to feel safe. Fifteen years was a hell of a long time to suffer without knowing there was hope on the horizon. Adam and Mary insisted on making their own way home, warmed by the evaporation of the threat of being corralled into some unspeakably violent neighbourhood. On the bus they couldn't stop talking about it. Until Adam brought up his awful school situation.

"I don't want to stay there."

"Well, I don't know for sure darling, but I think you should be able to transfer to a school in the catchment area of Mr Johnson's house. In fact it could be a much better school. We should ask your headmaster to look into this. It's too far for you to travel on your own every day."

"Great, I would be nearer to the Montagu training ground as well."

*

Mary dragged Adam to school the next morning. Adam, like all kids his age didn't like the idea of being brought to school by a parent. Sissy came to mind. Nevertheless she was undaunted. Arriving in the main entrance she demanded to see the headmaster. A wait of over five minutes produced his secretary.

"No, no. I want to see Mr Sedgwick. Only he can answer my question."

She disappeared and the man himself confronted her.

"You have to realise..."

"No, sir. I have some documents here which show I don't have time to realise."

She showed him the council notice to demolish her home.

"I see," said Sedgwick, "but I fail to understand why you're showing this to me."

"Because my son can't attend this school after this deadline. He needs to be transferred to another grammar school, and quickly. We are moving to a new home and I can't afford the bus fares to come here."

"Oh, right, but these things take time."

"I understand that there is an existing form to be completed by yourself and Adam's parent, that's me."

"Yes, but it has to be signed off by the school board executive."

"Fine. Let me fill my side of it now and you can do the rest after I leave."

"Really, Mrs North, it doesn't work like that and...

"No? Well that's not what my neighbour said and he's a solicitor. Actually, when it slipped my tongue, babbling as I do, he became concerned about this letter you sent me about Adam being threatened with expulsion for an act of vandalism which was never proven. When he asked if Adam had been given a chance to make a statement of protest that the allegation was false, and I said not, he told me to complain to the education authority. I suppose I still could. Unless of course you can justify the threat of expulsion by trying to stop me from relieving you of an undesirable such as a vandal. I think those were the words of the solicitor. Anyway, just give me the form and I'll fill my part in. If I don't hear from you in two days I'll speak with him again. His name is William Robinson, he'll call you I'm sure."

"Look, Mrs North, there's no need for all of this red tape. I'll fill the form in while you're here and send a copy to the authorities. Do you know which school Adam will attend in future?"

"Not yet. Why?"

"No reason, I'll get this sorted out today."

"Thank you."

Adam didn't want to wait around any longer and walked out of the school with his mother, seemingly not bothered about being seen with her now.

"Mam, you really roughed up old Sedgy, and I didn't know we had a solicitor."

"We don't."

"Ha, ha, brilliant."

*

At the next Montagu training session Howard Johnson asked Adam if he would still be attending school in Scotswood.

"No, sir. My mother has told the headmaster I need to leave."

"Oh, then you might want to think about the grammar school down the road here. It has a very good reputation and is only about a quarter of a mile from here. And, it's a feeder for Montagu, we have a very good relationship with them and raise money through charities to help some of their poorer families with books and other things."

"What is a feeder, sir?"

"Well, their sports programme is more geared to rugby than football, and we coach promising football players from the school who prefer football. You've met some of them already. Michael Barnes, Derek Andrews, and Harry Dawson come to mind. Ask them about the school, and there is another benefit – because the school focusses more on rugby there is no pressure to play for their football team as it only plays friendlies, not being in a league."

Adam fastened on to this and said he'd talk to his mother about it, prompting another offer from Mr Johnson.

"Tell your mother that I can have a word with the headmaster so that you can both visit the school to see things for yourselves. If you're living in the catchment area there's a good chance you would be accepted, especially if I can vouch for you."

When Adam relayed this to his mother, they agreed it was the way to go. Mary in particular began to feel as if their lives were entering a new era. One free of battling against deprivation and relentless struggle to keep their heads above water. It was the first time since she was about fifteen years older than her son that the freedom fought for against Nazi oppression was within reach. She visualised her husband's ultimate sacrifice finally being put into perspective. If only he could be with her right now. He would have been so proud of his boy, and so grateful to Mr and Mrs Johnson. After all, that's the kind of compassion and solidarity the war was supposed to be about.

She asked Adam to tell Howard Johnson to arrange the visit to his recommended school as soon as possible.

"It would be a real shame if we missed this opportunity, Adam. As your Dad always said to me on many occasions, 'dithering is not for the brave'.

# Chapter 9

Three Years later

Adam was now fractionally taller than six feet, and had bulked up because of work in the gym every other day. He'd moved seamlessly from the intermediate squad to the youth equivalent. This step up had been his most difficult so far. He was only beginning to realise just how many of his contemporaries would be vying for selection in matches. There was no doubt in his mind that he was among the most talented in the squad, but now there were other attributes required to achieve the high level consistency demanded to nail down being one of the first names on the team sheet. In his preferred position as a striker, judgement would rest heavily on scoring goals. In some other positions, performance could be rated on 'having a good game', 'winning the ball', 'creating space for others', and 'tracking back to defend'. However, there was no getting away from it, goalkeepers and strikers, at the opposite ends of the team were inextricably linked to conceding or scoring goals respectively. Fumbling crosses from the opposition, or squandering a good shooting chance were counted as mistakes which could not be rectified. Whereas, players in the midfield could make an error and be rescued by a team mate, thus masking the damage. He pondered this and although he was very fluid with ball control, he was finding it more difficult to sprint away from defenders. His pace, or rather the lack of it, could become an issue. There was a limit as to how much it could be honed.

On the other hand, his stock had risen dramatically in terms of educational achievement. Not only was he near the top of the penultimate leaving age class at seventeen, the rehearsal exams showed he could well obtain two or three advanced level GCEs. This came as a great relief to both himself and his mother, auguring well for entrance to university.

The lift Mary in particular had benefitted from was primarily the social interaction with their live-in neighbours. The Johnsons not only helped to neutralise the financial concerns, they provided a much valued friendship in every respect. Mary had never really had female company which was free of expectation. She actually felt both Adam and herself were an integral part of one family. She enjoyed the balance of free time and her growing reputation from 'proggy mat' sales. She'd also branched successfully into designer wedding cakes, but on a small scale. One of the more delicate challenges she faced was to ensure Adam continued to recognise that professional football was always a very short career, and therefore he must never neglect the value of good education. There were vague hints that he was becoming the awkward teenager, like most other boys, but a couple of years delayed.

He'd waited a long time before spilling the beans. Howard Johnson had resisted approaches from top club scouts many times. They were exclusively from locations a great distance from the northeast. He could never understand why Newcastle, Sunderland, and Middlesbrough had overlooked so many local boys for the last ten years. The region was a veritable hotbed of football, or as it had become known more formally as 'soccer'. There were multiple examples in the region of the best talent heading south. He compared it with the coal miners, shipbuilders, and steel makers all working in London. The decision in front of him was crucial, not whether he would encourage Adam to proceed, more one of how.

The Newcastle scout typically acted as if no boy who was 'right in the head' could decline his offer. Howard was thinking as two people – as he and his wife couldn't have children, Adam was like a son he never had. He'd buried this longing successfully from his wife and Mary. If he'd been approached about one of the other boys it would have been more straightforward. But he knew just how ruthless professional football clubs could be. They didn't have time for broken-hearted failures. That mess was someone else's problem.

"Adam, sit down, lad. I've had an enquiry from Newcastle United about you."

"What? Is it a joke?"

"Certainly not a joke, no, they want you to have a trial with their youth team."

"Bloody hell....oh sorry, Mr Johnson. I get wrong from my Mam about swearing. When is the trial?"

"I think we should talk a little bit about what they might expect of you. Are you still happy to take my advice?"

"Yes. I always did."

"Ok. Sometimes they make their minds up after one or two games. And if that happens to be negative, it would probably be the end of the line for the boy in question. My experience tells me that we should make it clear from the start you are still a year young and have exams coming up pretty soon. Accept the trial but in order to keep them hungry, say beforehand that you must complete your education as a first priority. If you had a bad game this wouldn't be important, but if you impressed them it becomes very important. Now, I'm going to say something I've been considering for a while. We should hedge our bets by saying you're a forward, not just a centre forward or striker, able to play anywhere in attack. That might get you a second game if the first one was disappointing. More importantly they could move you to a different position within a game. How do you feel about that?"

"Don't know. I like scoring goals."

"I know that, but you'll find professional teams give you instructions before and during games, it's called the game plan and you would annoy them if you didn't follow those instructions. You've always been able to sense when the team isn't playing well, often choosing to wander on the pitch. That won't do with them."

"So, what do I do?"

"Say you have to finish this season with us, you can't let us down even if they wanted you to sign any forms. But you can fit in one trial per month after hearing my advice. They know how I work and protect my boys from having their dreams dashed after just playing ninety minutes with team mates they've never met before."

"If we do what you say will they still want me to go for a trial?"

"Absolutely. It's what happens after the trial that will determine what we do next."

"Ok, can I tell my Mam?"

"Of course, but I wouldn't tell anybody else before the match."

*

It was Adam's single-mindedness which had got him so near to his obsession of becoming a Newcastle Untied professional football player. It had nothing to do with money. That was of no consequence, the wages earned by players at the apex of First Division clubs was comparable to bricklayers, carpenters, car salesmen and some scientists. There were no signs of it being anything other than a decent occupation, they weren't superstars. They were revered by their fans, but still viewed as working men. Adam knew he could earn more as a doctor, a solicitor, an engineer or a factory manager. Yet this was his burning ambition to inspire crowds of many thousands of local people by defeating rival teams from all over the country. His pinnacle would be to score a goal in the Wembley Cup Final. As Jackie Milburn had done in the first minute of the final against Manchester City in 1955.

The match began with him starting at inside left, a position he'd played before. He was naturally left footed, a rarity amongst attacking players. It also gave him the scope to play a little deeper if needed, unlike being centre forward. The opposition, West Bromwich Albion, were a much bigger team, giving them the advantage of illusion, but still needing to prove they could play as a team rather than just physically imposing individuals.

Adam didn't relish his mother being in attendance. For normal games he appreciated her presence, but this wasn't a normal situation. There were only about a hundred paying supporters but they managed to make quite a noise singing typical Geordie songs. Unknown to Adam there were a few sporting journalists in the makeshift terraces.

The referee checked with his linesmen and blew the whistle to start the proceedings. It became evident immediately that West Bromwich only had one tactic, hit their opponents fast and hit them hard. It was a hectic first ten minutes with Newcastle on the back foot. Adam received an elbow to the jaw when ready to pull the trigger in their first foray on goal. The referee was unmoved by all appeals for a penalty and the chance evaporated. He took a little while to get his composure back, but the lull wasn't wasted. He dropped a bit deeper, luring his marker with him. He motioned for one of his own defenders to dink the ball over the heads of both of his marker and himself into a space, at the same time signalling his centre forward to move to the right. He controlled the pass, easily leaving his marker behind and then curved the ball into the centre forward's path. An accurate first touch enabled a return pass to Adam. He took it in his stride and sent the goalkeeper the wrong way to open the score.

The West Bromwich coach immediately changed his setup, hoping for a quick response. Howard Johnson smiled, he'd seen this many times before. Gaps appeared where they hadn't previously, and were ruthlessly exploited by Newcastle. This time the referee did award a penalty. The Newcastle captain was called to the touchline and instructed to let Adam take the penalty, citing that his confidence would be high, having scored already.

He despatched the penalty into the postage stamp where the post and crossbar met, unstoppable yet demanding supreme accuracy.

The second half was far less hectic and the game was pretty much won with five minutes to go. However, a lapse of concentration in defence allowed West Bromwich to pull a goal back, spawning a worrying finale. Newcastle recovered their poise and saw time out but the coach was furious about defensive complacency.

Mr Johnson was summoned by the Newcastle coach.

"This lad of yours is quite promising. I hear we only have him for one game."

"That's not set in stone. I told your scout that we had to make sure that Montagu clinched the league title again. So, we could need him for every game, but as soon as it's mathematically impossible for anyone to catch us he 'd be available."

"Right. Well, that's understandable. Let me know when we can use him again. Not via that bloody scout, call me directly. Can you do that?"

"Certainly. Can I ask whether you intend to play him in the same position?"

"No, you can't, but I will say he has the ability to lead by example and just as important he has a football brain."

*

When Howard Johnson told Mary what the coach had said she was overcome with pride and couldn't wait to congratulate her son. As he exited the changing rooms, Howard got in first.

"Adam, well played lad. They want you back again and we should talk about what happens next. But, I think it's an appropriate moment to celebrate the state of play so far. I know a lovely café where we can do so. It will be a treat from Mrs Johnson and myself."

Mary protested that they had done enough for Adam already but he wouldn't hear of it.

"My wife and I always go to this café after Montagu has a good win, and this is certainly a win for Newcastle as well as Adam. Are you ok with this, Adam North?"

"Can I get a sausage sandwich at this place?"

"No problem, and you can follow it with a large ice cream. How about that?"

"Come on, Mam, it would be ungrateful to refuse Mr Johnson. I wouldn't be here if he hadn't coached me."

"You talked me into it. Let's go and pick up Mrs Johnson."

# Chapter 10

Montagu won the league in a canter and this released Adam to play more games for Newcastle youth team. It was near the end of the season but he was still hungry, wanting to cement their interest in him.

The close season, normally considered as a rest period from football enabled him to spend time with a friend he'd made at his new school. Dennis Macpherson could best be described as a bit of a handful, especially by his parents. He had already established himself as captain of the school rugby team. Adam couldn't even understand the rules, never mind the tactics. What they had in common was an adventurous spirit. In Adam's case it had been somewhat bottled up when he was younger, dedicated to help with his mother's juggling of running the household, keeping her part time job, and instilling him with pragmatism in the face of life's uncompromising nature. With the financial side being comfortable, Mary being blissfully happy for the first time he could remember, and his Newcastle United dream on track, he was open to a little self-indulgence.

The two of them were being scrutinised by a few girls, however, they were more interested in music, motorbikes, and camping in rural retreats away from any kind of authority. Having returned from one such jaunt they visited Dennis's grandmother. Apart from sampling her famous homemade broth, they wanted to explore a relic in her garden. A sunken air raid shelter, built by her late husband to repel Hitler's Luftwaffe, was crammed with artefacts which were no longer needed. There were 'poss' tubs and mangles which were needed for washing clothes and bedding, old weapons more suited to the Boer war than World War 2. The boys focussed on the old furnace on the wall opposite the entrance. Beside it were several bags of kindling and coal. As the shelter was built from corrugated galvanised steel, the chimney pipe required an aperture in the ceiling. Unfortunately it had been made slightly too big, causing rattling in today's high wind, but also blowing back smoke from outside. They clambered on to the roof, not really taking account of the bolts joining the overlapped corrugated sheeting. In this case the bolts had been put in the wrong way, the nuts were on the outside. As Dennis was attempting to stuff a few rags into the space around the chimney, Adam started to cough. Visibility was poor, and the smoke seemed to follow him in every direction. He began flailing his arms to waft it away when his heel caught one of the nuts and protruding bolt. He staggered backwards, completely unbalanced and fell into the neighbouring garden.

It was a burning sensation, not yet too painful. When he tried to stand up his right arm wouldn't respond, then the searing pain spread rapidly. He'd hit a half buried wooden post obscured by unkempt grass. This vertical four by four inch truncated obstacle was the only remaining clue that a fence had been here in bygone times. Adam suddenly felt sick, shouting at Dennis, who'd not seen him fall. Adam was by now lying supine, holding his damaged arm and on the verge of becoming unconscious. Dennis leapt to his side and tried to lift Adam to his feet, but aborted when he saw his friend's arm dangling at an impossible angle. It had snapped just above the elbow and was bleeding profusely. Dennis ran and knocked on the neighbour's door. Arthur Lee appeared and immediately told Dennis he had no right to be in his garden. Without saying a word, Dennis pointed to Adam, who was still unable to stand up. When Arthur Lee finally conceded to come and see Adam for himself, he recoiled at the bizarre picture of his lower arm having no kind of connection to anything. Merely flapping about when Adam still tried to get up.

Mr Lee ran to the telephone box which was within a hundred yards and called 999. An ambulance was requested. By the time he got back to the boys Adam had passed out. Dennis's grandmother was until now totally unaware of what had happened. She reprimanded her grandson until Mr Lee intervened.

"It's done now, Sadie, let's keep calm and wait for the ambulance. Why don't you make the lad a cup of hot tea? He's going to be in a hell of a lot of pain when he does wake up."

The ambulance arrived and the crew got Adam on to a stretcher while he was still out for the count. The ambulance driver addressed Arthur Lee.

"We'll take it from here. He's going to the Fleming Hospital. This is a serious break and time is important. Are you his father?"

"No," intervened Dennis, "Adam lives with his mother, I'll go and tell her he's being taken to hospital."

"Right, you do that, son. Now, step back out of the long grass, we don't want another accident, do we?"

*

By the time Mary, Howard Johnson and his wife arrived in A&E at the Fleming Hospital, Adam was under sedation and was still being assessed. Finally, a doctor came to see them.

"We are preparing Adam for surgery. He has broken his humerus, which is the bone in the upper arm that joins to the scapula. It's a very bad break and will need a long time to repair itself after surgery. It obviously isn't life threatening, but we can't be certain that his arm will recover full capability."

All three of them sat down in total shock. This prognosis was applicable to more than his football career, it could affect his whole future. The sombre mood held its grip throughout the five hours which passed before the doctor re-emerged.

"Well, Mrs North, Adam is now conscious and out of surgery. He knows what has happened to him and what we've done to repair his broken arm. He also knows that it will be a slow healing process. He's now comfortable and you can see him shortly, but he does need rest and will be in hospital overnight, maybe two days."

There was no consoling Mary. Howard put a brave face forward and tried to steer Mary away from thinking the worst.

"He's in good hands. He's a strong-willed boy and I'm sure he'll come through this. Adam most certainly isn't going to take it lying down, and I think we'll all have to remind him to be patient."

The two women nodded and hugged each other. Mary trailed off to see her son.

*

Adam was annoyed with himself and wasn't cheered up by his mother's efforts to interpret the doctor's prognosis. He was on morphine to minimise the pain, but that was the physical pain. His mental torture was acutely centred on why he'd been doing something so stupid, climbing on an old shelter to rid themselves of breathing in smoke when putting out the fire would have been more sensible. Furthermore, why did they need to light a fire in the first place?

"Adam, what is done is done. You must put this out of your mind, because you'll need all of your energy to get better. You've always looked forward and there's no more important time than now to think about how you're going to recover. You need the same dedication as you've shown with your football dream. No more tears, it's nose to the grindstone again, and I'll be there to make bloody sure that happens."

"Mam, that's the first time I've heard you swear."

"Oh well, some occasions need reinforcing, and if swearing does the trick I'll swear several times every day. Now, the doctor says you must get lots of sleep so you can begin your recovery."

"Ok. Mam, you're right, I did this to myself and only I can get it sorted out. Goodnight then."

Mary resisted the urge to cuddle her son and returned to reception.

*

Two weeks after discharge, and sporting a monster plaster cast, Adam was getting restless. He had to avoid going to school in case some idiot impacted the healing process of his new bone joint knitting together correctly. He was chomping at the bit to begin the relevant exercises to aid return of at least some of his capabilities. He was still feeling twinges of pain shooting up to his shoulder.

His next appointment for evaluation of his condition was due. The doctor looked perplexed. Adam's arm wasn't illustrating what was expected, particularly tiny improvements in movement. The pain was all coming from his shoulder when he tried his best to rotate his wrist. The doctor said his plaster should be recast. This was done and when the old one was removed the clinician was shocked at the amount of bruising still there and expressed concern about the colour below the break position. The doctor was adamant that a new plaster was needed, claiming the original had been too tight.

Mary was disturbed about this disagreement and pondered whether she should seek a second opinion. This was endorsed by Howard Johnson and they took Adam to see a bonesetter. These people were considered to be 'quacks' by the medical profession.

The diagnosis was sinister in its implications. When the recommendations were outlined both Mary and Howard Johnson were horrified.

The gist of the concern was that Adam's arm was becoming calloused, in layman's terms, being gradually locked into a fixed position. Left unattended, he would lose the use of it in a short period of time. If this wasn't bad enough the bonesetter outlined the alternative.

"I won't lie to you, Mrs North. I might be too late to save his arm, but if I can, we have to do this now."

Mary looked at Howard Johnson, he uncharacteristically shrugged his shoulders. Adam was still sitting in the examination room.

"I can't dress this up and you have to know what exactly is required. I will have to break his arm again. I'm not licenced to administer anaesthetic, so it will be traumatic for Adam. However we need a clean break so we can correct the join. You may want to take a walk while this happens, it will be very upsetting."

Mary felt like vomiting was inevitable, but she fought against it. The bonesetter's surgery was in North Shields high street and at least the traffic noise might dampen any screaming from Adam. Howard Johnson took her arm and guided her down the stairs. A couple of minutes later it hit her, it was horrendous, this was her son needing her to help. Howard prevented her from running back to the surgery. "We need to wait, Mary. The bonesetter said he would summon us back from that open window."

The wave eventually came and they both hastened to the upper floor. Adam was so pale it was in itself very frightening. When asked if he was in pain he shook his head. "Not much now, the man gave me something to suck, and my shoulder pain has gone."

"That's great, darling. Do you know what has happened?"

"A little bit, mostly what I have to do now."

"Ok, I'll go and see the bonesetter and find out if we can go home."

She was told the new plaster was being cast. More to the point, the initial resetting of Adam's arm had been atrocious. He compared it to his own daughter fixing a doll with sticky tape. He also said the plaster mustn't stay on too long before being replaced with a brace.

"It's critical that we can begin physiotherapy as soon as possible. Gently at first but not the silly kind like the hospital recommended. I mean, carrying a full bucket of coal to straighten their clumsy handiwork? Now, then, one thing at a time."

Mary shuddered. "I'm afraid to ask, really, but I must. Will his arm ever get back to normal?"

"We've done what should have been done in the first place. In my experience we caught this in time, but do not underestimate how long it will take. For instance, he might take a month just to keep a cup of tea steady without spilling a drop. Small steps, Mrs North. I do believe he will recover use of his arm and I'll be able to be more precise when he comes back for a check-up next week."

"Thank you so much, doctor."

"You'll get me into trouble addressing me like that, I'm told I'm not a doctor, merely a last resort for people abandoned by doctors. See you next week."

# Chapter 11

A week seemed like a month for Adam. The plaster was beginning to itch and he found it very difficult to avoid turning over in bed, which caused very sharp pain in his upper arm. Mary felt helpless but kept his spirits up by bringing him treats from the local shops. Chocolate was the favoured delight now that it was not rationed.

It was an anxious time, the plaster had to be removed this morning and it would be accompanied by some kind of prognosis on whether the latest reset of Adam's fracture had achieved the desired effect. The bonesetter moved the patient's arm through a number different positions and asked Adam to indicate if the pain was severe. Adam winced a few times and said it felt very stiff but not terribly painful. The plaster was cut through gradually until the entire cast could be peeled back and discarded. The discolouration from the brutal re-fracturing procedure was still very prevalent yet the bonesetter seemed to be happy with what he saw.

"Now, Adam, I want you to flex your fingers, close your fist slowly and then open it carefully."

There was no evidence of loss of movement so the next step was to swivel his wrist. Again no cause for concern.

"Right, well, that's a relief. Now lift your arm using only your shoulder, don't move your elbow at all, keep it in its current position."

Adam had no pain until his arm got close to being horizontal, and was told not to push it further. "I don't want to stress the join itself. That's fine. We won't start the exercises I have in mind for another three days. So, I'm now going to fit the brace. This will allow for a small amount of movement but you must not begin lifting things or turning your elbow joint just yet."

Mary couldn't resist expressing her concern. "Does this mean we have to come back in three days for another examination?"

"It does, why?"

"I don't know if we can afford it, unless I'm wrong about what you are going to charge."

"I don't expect that to be an issue. Mr Johnson told me he would settle the bill. He told me that I had to do whatever was necessary."

"Oh... my god, I don't..." stuttered Mary, "I'll have to discuss this with him."

The brace was much more comfortable for Adam, apparently more comfortable than Mary's anguish about being so indebted to Howard Johnson.

*

She found it hard to raise the subject but it had to be done. Howard was hardly ever separated from his wife when they were both at home so she decided to confront him when Mrs Johnson left to do the food shopping.

"I need to ask you something."

"What about? You have a stern look on your face, are you feeling ill?"

"You could say that, it's more a worry than feeling poorly. It's to do with Adam's treatment. How much do you think it will cost?"

"Well, the bonesetter told me that would depend on how much work it would involve. From what he's told you yesterday everything seems positive."

"That's right, but when we go back on Thursday it will be the third visit. Then he said he would give Adam an exercise plan which could be done at home."

"Seems reasonable, so it will cost whatever three visits amount to."

"Yes, but he told me that you said you would settle the bill, but we can't let you do that, Howard. You've done so much for us already. It embarrasses me."

"What I actually said to him was that I would pay him and you could pay me back so much per month."

"Oh, he must have forgotten that. But it will still cost quite a bit for you in one payment."

"Perhaps, so I had already thought about that myself. I told him that we always had injuries in the team and I wasn't satisfied with our amateur physiotherapist. I put it to him that I'd be willing to give him a shot at treating some of our boys, not for niggles, but for more serious tendon and ligament problems. He said he was a bonesetter not a physiotherapist, but when I told him some of the tales about our chaps he laughed out loud. He does have a lot of experience with rehabilitation of soft tissue wrenches and torn muscles. Now, I had to clear this with our committee, and they jumped at the chance to give him a try. I sold it as Montagu having a better care package for the best boys in the future. They loved it, not only because we don't have to pay our physio by the week, and the bonesetter only when we have an injury, but none of the other boys clubs have such a forward thinking policy. Anyway, the bonesetter offered a discount, to only charge for the first visit of Adam's treatment. A nice gesture for giving him more regular business in the long term. So just relax, you can pay me back ten shillings a month."

"Well I never, aren't you the cunning one? Anyway, I truly appreciate your care for my son, the kind which isn't about money."

"What are friends for? So, we shouldn't speak about this to anyone else, especially Adam. I don't want the committee to think this was linked to anything other than Montagu's reputation enhancement."

"My lips are sealed."

*

Adam slept much better with the brace than the plaster and he was now looking forward to his final visit to the bonesetter. Howard Johnson suggested that he went with Adam this time as he knew more about these kind of injuries than his mother. Mary also accepted that he was a far better negotiator regarding the final cost.

It was a huge relief when Adam was told everything was heading in the right direction. He was able to perform the same exercises as last time without incurring any pain whatsoever.

"Well, that seems to be it, Adam, no more appointments required. I've prepared your exercise regime and I'm going to demonstrate precisely how each one has to be done. Before we go any further, I must stress that you must not do more sessions than prescribed nor should you do less. This is very important, especially at times when you think you can do more and heal quicker. I can assure you that would risk your overall recovery of all motor functions. We want your arm to feel as if you never had a problem within four to six months. So, good luck to you, young man. I hope you never have to see me again."

Despite this good news Adam was disappointed. He was hoping to be back in football training for the start of the new season. Howard Johnson put his arm around Adam and mentioned the fairy tale of the hare and the tortoise.

"Stay calm, son. You've been given good advice. Just last week you could have been told your career was over. Trust me, I've seen what happens when players return from serious injuries too soon. I can manage the situation with Newcastle United. They don't need to know about this just yet. I'm going to spin them a bit of a fib, by telling them you've had interest from four other first division clubs. And when they ask which ones, all I have to say is it's no business of theirs. We can turn this injury from a problem to an advantage if we play our cards right."

*

With the constant support of those around him Adam was making extraordinary progress whilst heeding the wise words of the bonesetter. Those around him had increased by one. Dennis Macpherson became a regular visitor to the house, but then he was already a friend. His new acquaintance was one of the opposite sex. He could never have predicted it in a thousand years. The efflux from a pop concert at the City Hall he'd attended with Dennis was moving unusually slowly due to some of the exits being temporarily out of use. He heard his name being called from somewhere behind. He turned, scanned the densely packed crowd but couldn't pick out a familiar face. He saw a waving hand, it was Sophie Porter. He asked Dennis to wait up at the main entrance. It still took a few minutes before he could speak to Sophie.

"I didn't know you were a fan of the band, in fact I don't know any other fans in person. I thought this kind of music was too heavy for most people. Sorry, I'm talking rubbish. How are you doing, at school I mean?"

"Pretty good, I had heard why you left our school but it didn't seem like what I remembered about you."

"Oh that, yes, Alan Burns. He lied about me breaking that stupid plant pot. He pushed me into it, but lads who I thought were my mates were shit scared of him and clammed up. Then the football teacher tried to pressure me into playing only for the school and quit Montagu."

"I thought it might be something like that because I couldn't understand why so many thought you had let the school down. So, where do you live now?"

"Close to Montagu football ground, in Fenham."

"Ah, so not too far away then. Is there something wrong with your arm? You seem to be protecting it from the crowd."

"It's a long story. I'll tell you sometime, it's very gory and it could have knocked my football career on the head."

"Ooh, I can't wait to hear, I love gory stories. So, when will you tell me?"

"Do you fancy going to the pictures some night?"

"Yeah, but not during the week, too much revising for exams. Saturday or Sunday?"

"Saturday would be good. Which cinema?"

"The Odeon in Town."

"Great, I'll see you about six o'clock outside of the cinema. Oh, wait, there's my friend Dennis. It was his grandmother's house where the bloody story started."

"You've got me intrigued now. See you Saturday."

She pecked him on the cheek and re-joined her two girlfriends. Adam was taken aback by the touch of her mouth on his face. He didn't want to answer Dennis when asked who the girl was.

"Just a pal from my last school."

"Just a pal, piss off, Adam. You want to move in there mate. She's mine if you hang about."

"Not your type, Den. She's refined and intelligent, and she's not interested in ruffians like rugby players. Anyway, she'd see through a gobshite like you in ten seconds. Come on let's get the bus back home."

He slept well that night. He couldn't figure out the odds against meeting Sophie like that. He did realise that there'd always been something special about her. When he mentioned his date to his mother she smiled.

"I wondered if any girl would ever get enough attention from you never mind you taking the first step in asking her out. Are you going to...?"

"Mam, it's just the pictures, she's nice and the first school friend who said she didn't believe the story put across by Alan Burns."

# Chapter 12

It had been one of Mary's main concerns. Adam was, despite his resolute belief in his own ability in the theatre of football, not a particularly gregarious boy by nature. However, he did attract others because of some kind of magnetism for which she had no explanation. She'd witnessed many of his team mates exhibiting discomfort in his presence, perhaps feeling hesitant to challenge him. Adam seemed blind to such relationship characteristics.

She had also observed, in non-football scenarios, her son tended to take a back seat, deferring to the life and soul of the party types. She actually visualised a reversal of roles insofar as his discomfort was evident, but as one of boredom rather than peer respect. She struggled to predict how this might play out when the context was strictly one-to-one bonding with a female. However, she suspected Adam did not suffer at all from an inferiority complex, unlike some of the talking machines who craved living up to the mantle of being interesting. Looking at this as a female exclusively, she was more or less resigned to her son heading for something well beyond his comfort zone.

"Did you enjoy your evening at the cinema?"

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Nothing, I was just asking a simple question."

"Uh huh," said Adam, frowning in a slightly annoyed manner, "I gave you a simple answer."

"Ok, I can take a hint."

"Mam, what do you want me to say? I went to the pictures with Sophie, we had a good laugh, and we went home. That about covers it."

"Will you be seeing her again, then?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, that depends on whether we both want to. You never ask me if I'm going to see Dennis again. Sophie has a mind of her own and I'm sure we'll keep in touch now that we bumped into each other at the concert. We like each other's company. I always thought she was different from other girls when we went to the same school. I was right, and I like that. Is that enough to get you to sleep tonight?"

"Don't be so touchy, Adam. I won't ask in future if that's what you want."

"Why would I want that? I'm sorry if I didn't realise you'd be so interested, Mam. Let's forget about it. Is there anything nice for supper?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Go and make us a corned beef sandwich, and I'll have a cup of tea with it."

"That's better. But I don't know why I should have to make the supper."

"Just do it. And only half a spoonful of sugar. A mother deserves a treat once in a while."

*

Adam was back in training, albeit only running and cardiovascular programmes. It was too early to risk practice matches, needing to avoid accidental contact from other players. He'd accepted not being fit enough for the start of the season long ago, but he still worried about becoming a forgotten man at Newcastle United. Howard Johnson had some news about that.

"I've been contacted by the Newcastle youth coach. He wants you to sign for them immediately. He asked why you hadn't attended their pre-season sessions."

"What did you tell him?"

"Only what he needs to know. He pretended that he hadn't heard about the other teams wanting to muscle in on the action. I said you were considering the other offers and it seems to have lit a fire up their backsides. When he asked what was taking so long to make up your mind, I told him another little white porky. I reminded him that Newcastle had only said they wanted you, not offered a detailed written contract. I could tell he was bluffing when he said that would only come after they had been given exclusive availability of your playing time so that they could structure the right contract. I pointed out that the other clubs had already seen you play numerous times and had moved in early. He didn't have an answer to that, so I told him to get back to me when he did. I'm confident they will come up with a basic offer, and that gives us more time to see how long it's going to take for you to play in matches."

"Can we not just say I'm getting through my injury?"

"We could, but that would need you to be outstanding in your first game for them. Adam, you have to understand how top clubs are run. They don't carry passengers, especially at youth level. Their attitude is that there are plenty of fish in the sea."

"Maybe, but can we not just ask for a contract offer now?"

"Are you sure you want to take that risk? Rewards often come to those who have patience."

"Surely they would make allowance for my arm injury?"

Howard was becoming exasperated. "It's your decision, Adam. I can only pass on my experience of the politics involved. I can understand you want to seal a deal with your local club but I still urge caution. Tell me what you want to do."

"You've helped me a lot, Mr Johnson. I just want to play football. I'd like you to ask them for a contract as soon as possible. I'll be ready. I couldn't face moving away to another club when Newcastle want me. And these other clubs don't exist."

"Fine. Do you want to speak with your mother before I contact the Newcastle coach again?"

"No. I don't want her to worry about my future any more. She's done enough for me already."

"Ok, I'll get back to you after the contract is on the table. If you change your mind in the meantime let me know."

The unspoken disappointment flowing through Howard Johnson's mind led him to talk to his wife. She'd been here before, and yet found the capacity to tell him that there was only so much he could expect from immature lads who were moths attracted to the light of potential fame. "It's not unnatural, Howard. You always do your best so just carry on and have no regrets."

"You're right, dear. I'll sort it out tomorrow."

*

Howard took his wife's advice and agreed that he shouldn't interfere in the lives of the North family. Telling Mary he felt her son was making a mistake which would have repercussions way beyond football. The contract was wishy-washy to say the least, lacking in details of when Adam would be upgraded from amateur to professional status. It required him to remain as a youth level until the club decided otherwise. In other words, nothing much was changed except Adam would forfeit signing any kind of contract at the fictional clubs Howard had mentioned to the Newcastle coach. It was also a take it or leave it offer.

When Howard put this in front of Adam, the boy was confused, then angry with himself, and finally apologetic. Howard was now in two minds, specifically because he had been genuinely contacted by a real first division club as to Adam's availability. Not one of the fairy tale four concocted by Howard, nevertheless a progressive club. Howard's dilemma was plagued by Adam having steadfastly and repeatedly refused a move away from the northeast. He would keep this alternative up his sleeve a while longer.

*

Adam was in more philosophical mood. The Newcastle contract was still on the table, as they had little to lose. He began to think about contacting Sophie again. A return to his old stamping ground appealed. He asked some of the boys whose address he knew if they had any idea where Sophie lived. It took a few shots before any of them were willing to help. He knocked on the door to the semi-detached Edwardian property. It was in a sought after neighbourhood, with lots of green space, and some distance back from the main road. A lady answered the door.

"Oh, I'm sorry to bother you. My name is Adam North, I was a friend... I am a friend of Sophie Porter, and I just wondered if I have the right address?"

"Yes you have. She's not in at present. She's at her best friend's birthday party. Would you like to leave a message?"

"Err, no...well I could actually. I can leave my address with you. I wanted to ask her advice on something important. I have to reply to someone and Sophie has always been better than me at this sort of thing."

"Very well, I'll just get a pen and paper."

"Thank you, thank you very much."

*

Mary answered the doorbell chime. She thought it was someone selling household goods. "I'm in the middle of washing bedsheets, love. Can you come back in an hour?"

"Are you Mrs North?"

"Yes, how did you know that?"

"I'm a friend of Adam. My name is Sophie, and Adam left a message that he wanted to ask me about something."

"Oh...well...come in, pet. He's studying at the moment, I'll tell him you're here. Would you like a cuppa and a biscuit?"

"Lovely, that would be nice."

Mary almost sprinted to Adam's bedroom. "Hey, Adam get yourself tidied up, Sophie is here."

"Right, why are you fussing so much?"

"Just go and see her, I'm going to make a pot of tea."

"Thanks, Mam."

He did glance in the mirror and combed his dishevelled hair. He picked up a text book on the way out of his room.

"Hi, Sophie. I didn't expect to see you so soon."

"I got a message saying you wanted to ask me about something."

"Oh yes, I was lost for words when your mum answered the door. The message was just an excuse to see you again. I wondered if you wanted to go out again sometime."

"That wasn't my mother, she ran off with some bloke when I was five."

"Snap. My Dad died in the war when I was about that age. I don't have any memories of him really, just photos."

"That's terrible. Do you know where he died?"

"Roughly, my Mam said he was on Sword Beach at Dunkirk when dive bombers attacked. Hundreds of our soldiers were killed at that time. There is a monument somewhere in Normandy to commemorate those who died, but we never had the money to go there, and anyway Mam doesn't think she could face up to standing where he died. So, who was the woman I left the message with?"

"My stepmother. She's ok, unlike my mother. I don't go to see her even though she asks on my birthday every year. Good riddance to her. Jenny is kind and makes Dad happy, so I appreciate that. What's that book you're reading?"

"Chemistry. I'm revising for the exams. I've had plenty of time since my injury so I haven't got any excuse if don't pass. Are you swotting as well?"

"A bit, yes. I don't seem to need much revision, I seem to remember things for long periods. I hope I'm not getting too confident. Are you applying to university?"

"If I get the passes I need, you?"

"Yes. I want a good job when I leave school. I want to get a PHD after my degree."

"Ha-ha, you don't have a degree yet. Bighead."

"I'm not a bighead. I'm just confident, like you with your football."

"I suppose. Where the hell is Mam with the tea she promised?"

"So, if we go out, what did you have in mind?"

"I thought we could go to the coast. Tynemouth or Whitley Bay. I've never been on a train before. We could go for a swim in the sea."

"Sounds good. Should I help your mum with the tea?"

"No way, I'll do it."

Adam came back and said his mother wasn't in the kitchen. "She'll be gossiping to Mr and Mrs Johnson. This is their house and we have part of it. Mr Johnson is the coach of Montagu, my football team. And he's trying to get me a contract at Newcastle United."

"Wow, so you might not get to university?"

"I have to get there. Even if I make the grade at football, I wouldn't be playing when I was reaching forty. It's a very short career. So, when can we go to the coast, this weekend?"

"Yes, should we meet at the central station?"

"Ok, one o'clock in the afternoon."

# Chapter 13

With their exams completed, Adam and Sophie now had to hold their breath waiting for judgement day. Sophie was handling the vacuum better than Adam. She said she hadn't found them particularly difficult, confident she would obtain three Advanced GCEs with distinctions in at least two. She was more uneasy about which universities would offer her a place. Adam had two things on his mind – his first game for Newcastle Youth in the new season, and his performance in the biology exam. On checking his text books after the exam, he found several questions he'd got wrong.

Howard Johnson was conspicuous by his absence. Mary asked his wife if there was a problem.

"I don't think so. Why do you ask?"

"Adam just seems to be very nervous about the game tomorrow. It's not like him at all."

Mrs Johnson said she'd ask her husband to have a word with Adam when he came home. Howard hadn't mentioned anything to his wife about Adam signing the contract against his advice.

"Howard, it's his decision to make. You can't do more than give him your honest advice. You can't make him do what you want him to all of the time. He's a sensible lad."

"Yes, of course he is, but he is also a naïve young man. He has his heart set on only one thing, but he doesn't realise how draconian big clubs can be. They don't have time for nursing players who don't live up to expectations. They can be downright ruthless. Look, I'll have a word with him but I have other boys to think about."

Howard suggested to Adam that they should take a walk around the local park. "I've been told you're nervous about tomorrow. Any special reason?"

"Who told you that?"

"Mrs Johnson was talking with your mum and it seems she was concerned about something. Nervous was Mary's choice of word apparently."

"I'm not nervous about my arm, just about my overall fitness level. In training I haven't been as sharp as I'm used to, and it doesn't seem to be getting better with each session."

"Well, it will take time, Adam. The bonesetter told you that many times."

"What if I can't get through to the final whistle?"

"Have you told them about your arm?"

"No. I thought that would make them leave me out of the squad."

"Look, I don't want to rake over the same coals again but I did suggest holding off on signing the contract until your arm wasn't an issue. They didn't need to know and letting them stew on the contract would have bought us time to get you up to the right fitness level. You can always tell them you have the flu and the doctor says you have to rest. It's a white lie but they wouldn't want you there to infect other players."

"Ok, can you tell them for me?"

"No, I have a few problems at Montagu to sort out, and I can't let them down."

"Are you saying this because I signed the contract against your advice?"

"Not directly. Whenever you signed a contract with any club, I would have been happy to advise you, but once you have signed, whether you took my advice or not, my responsibility reverts to Montagu. You have to decide what to do from now on. I'm happy to keep offering you guidance but that's all I can offer. If you asked me to represent you officially, Newcastle would be very unhappy and could even nullify the contract. I'm still extremely interested in your future, Adam, and I could have made sure there was a clause nominating me as your representative written into a contract, at some time before you actually signed, but I'm afraid that ship has sailed."

"I've messed things up, haven't I?"

"Of course not. Your only weakness has been to show your hand too soon. It's laudable that you might play for your local first division team at some time, but you have to be aware that hundreds of boys want the same thing. At youth level you are just one in a hundred. Let me know how you get on, and chin up, you'll encounter worse problems than this before you finally play at St. James' Park."

*

Adam pondered over what Howard Johnson said to him. He became more and more regretful about signing the very contract he'd craved for so long. He needed to speak to his mother.

"Mam, I heard that you were worried about me and spoke to Mrs Johnson. I'm sorry, I should have listened to Mr Johnson's advice. From now on I'm going to concentrate on playing football and listen to him like I used to when he first invited me to play for Montagu. So, you don't need to worry about this again."

"Oh, Adam, I didn't know Mr Johnson had suggested you might be making the wrong decision about your contract."

"It wasn't the contract itself, just the time to sign it. I didn't know it would take so long to get fit again after doing nothing for a few months. I was too impatient to sign even though I wasn't impatient for my arm to recover. It's all my own fault. I'm going to pull out of tomorrow's game. I'll go to the phone box and ring the Newcastle coach."

"What will he say?"

"Nothing, according to Mr Johnson, if I say it's just flu."

"In that case, maybe I should call them, if you've got the flu, you should have a sore throat, blocked up nose and in bed. They might not believe you're poorly."

"Ok, thanks, Mam. I'm going to talk with Mr Johnson again about this."

"Well, I must say I'm pleased to hear that. He's always tried to help you. There aren't many people you can trust in this life, but Howard Johnson is certainly one of those you can rely upon completely."

*

He hadn't seen Sophie since their outing to the coast. He felt guilty yet knew he had to ramp up his training, and quickly. It was therefore a surprise when he received a letter from her. She'd been busy sending off applications to universities of high repute. They were based on her getting all of the passes she expected and the results were due in a few days. Her thinking was, that there would be an avalanche of applications once the results were published and she wanted to be at the front of the queue. She had made this clear on the forms she sent. Adam reflected on the choices she listed. Oxford, Cambridge, two London universities, and one in Paris. She was plainly aiming to leave the northeast. Adam could identify with seeing what was out there, but that wasn't for him right now.

The letter concluded with her saying she thought he should go and see where his father had fallen. 'I know I would have to make that connection, in my mind, even if I wasn't going to see him. If you ever decided to go to Normandy and want some company, let me know'.

This came across to Adam as some kind of farewell letter. He had to go and see her.

In the meantime, after his mother had informed Newcastle Youth coach that her son was bedbound, Howard Johnson gave him the good news. "They lost 0-3 to Nottingham Forest Youth team at their home ground, Hunter's Moor. They must be licking their wounds. I know you didn't ask about the genuine interest shown by a real club, not the ones I made up. What a coincidence, it was Nottingham Forest. I went to the match because Montagu didn't have a game to play, and I must say Newcastle were bloody awful. They did ask about you again so I told them you'd signed for Newcastle on an amateur contract. I then suggested we had some other promising young lads at Montagu, but that didn't put them off. They would like to talk to you."

"Can I do that? Would I get into trouble?"

"Not if you tell them upfront. That's only possible because Newcastle didn't offer you a professional contract. The amateur one still remains in force, but only for amateur football. If you tell them you want to speak to Nottingham Forest about next season, they can't stop you. But remember, Adam, you are still considered to be too young for a professional contract no matter which club we're talking about. However, the options are, one - you just stay as things stand, two \- you tell them you want to listen to Nottingham Forest but you'll honour the existing contract, three - you would like to hear what Newcastle would offer next season, whether or not other clubs want to speak to you. Then you're being honourable to both teams. Do you want to hear what I would do?"

"Yes. My head won't take in all this kind of stuff."

"I can understand that, but let's simplify it for you. In this sport you should always be prepared for the unexpected. You can never predict the position you'll finish in the league or cup. If the club does well, people relax, if they get relegated the fans complain and this can affect their income and plans for the future. The best thing you can do is make the best of the time when **they** want **you** , not the other way around. You have to keep proving yourself every game. So, always try to keep as many options open as possible. My advice would be to go for number three. Get Newcastle to think about altering your existing contract so you can see how much they really want you next season. Then you're in a better position to decide. Playing hard to get can reveal a lot to you about their intentions. That has to be useful even if you decide to do nothing. At least you'll have a clearer picture to think about."

"Ok, I'll do that. I should have done what you said before I signed up."

"Doesn't matter anymore, Adam, no harm has been done."

*

This was as clear as mud for Adam, but he was relieved by the final comment that no harm had been done. He resolved to let Mr Johnson's advice become what he would follow, allowing himself to deal with the important stuff on the pitch. It also gave him the space to think about Sophie's logic regarding university applications.

The results were now available. He had indeed procured passes in all three A-levels, with 71% for chemistry, 63% for physics, and scraping through biology with 54%. Putting this together with his nine O-level passes met the university entry requirements. He skipped a training session to fill in and post the forms. Newcastle, Durham and Leeds represented his desire to stay local and define Leeds as the limit of a commuter radius.

An air of regaining control of his destiny flowed through his veins and he set off to see Sophie. He was intrigued by her offer to travel with him to Normandy. How would his mother react? What kind of relationship was he looking for with Sophie? How would that be affected if she went to Oxford for the next three years? Had she had any response from her applications? When would he hear from Mr Johnson what the next step would be? When would he be sure he'd be ready to play again?

# Chapter 14

Denial

Entering a new decade is a delineation which is arbitrary but a convenient way of pigeon-holing society. The roaring twenties, the swinging sixties, the millennials etcetera are but a few examples.

Adam's everyday life had undergone a tectonic change in the last three years. First and foremost there was his mother's health and the indirect consequences. When Mary had declared she couldn't keep down any kind of food she'd eaten, the doctor arranged for tests to be done in hospital. It didn't take long for the bad news to be drip fed to her and her son. The diagnosis was stomach cancer which may have spread. The ensuing prognosis was equally bleak – three to four years at most. Treatment would delay the advance of the disease but was in itself likely to make Mary feel unwell. Radiotherapy could be brutal depending on where and at what dosage it was to be applied. She found it extremely challenging to discuss the subject with Adam. His natural reaction was to try and convince her to begin the treatment. But he hadn't been privy to the entire picture which had been described by the consultant. She chose to let things take their course unless the pain became unbearable.

This prompted Adam to forget university and look for employment so that he could support both him and his mother. This flipped their disagreement completely. Mary begged him not to do this, a job could wait. Adam persuaded her that if he could land the right job he could still get the same qualifications by enrolling for his chosen subjects at evening classes. She was placated to some degree.

When Sophie had moved into student accommodation in Oxford they could only really communicate by post. She was genuinely sorry about the predicament in which Adam found himself. She became his only real contemporary he could go to in his struggle to manage the ever deteriorating domestic situation. Many relationships founder when such geographic separation is involved. There was only so much Sophie could do to brighten Adam's day with a letter or infrequent telephone calls.

The dream of playing top level football had been the backdrop setting to all this, having taken a turn in 1959. As Howard Johnson had predicted, keeping his options open as long as possible would allow him to see for himself how things work in the arena of professional sport. He had secured, with Howard's help a letter of intent regarding his amateur status for the next two seasons. It wasn't an enforceable contract, but enabled him to speak with other clubs about his future. The way events unfolded it was of no consequence. The first game he played for Newcastle Youth team once his fitness was up to scratch was a disaster. He just couldn't go into a tackle without a reflex action to protect his right arm. He had no restriction in its use, but couldn't seem to banish the horror of the day the bonesetter literally snapped his arm. The pain was like nothing else he'd ever known and the rehabilitation period had put his life on hold for so long. This mental flashback became a habit-forming response, not a conscious one. Similar to blinking beside a fire which was belching out smoke. The club did exercise patience with him, but the following season saw a change of manager at the top. The new man was of 'a new brush must sweep clean' brigade. One of his first decisions was to scrap all part time professional contracts, which handed Adam a conundrum. Sign a binding professional contract, if indeed he could overcome his arm issue, or remain on unpaid amateur terms. Because of his mother's prognosis he could not even consider signing a professional contract. He found a way to block the recurring flashbacks, strangely by something worse, looking beyond a tackle and contemplating life without his mother. However, it made little difference to his Newcastle United prospects, as he was told he wasn't required any longer than the end of the current season. A graphic way of confirming Howard Johnson's warnings.

Amongst this mosaic of circumstances, he landed a position of research assistant at British Paints Ltd, a family owned giant of the industry. The bonus with the job was that he could attend evening classes three nights a week. And the company would pay his wages to allow the mandatory one full day per week in order to fulfil the theory and practical elements of the qualification being equal to a university degree.

It also meant he could play football for any local club as an amateur. In this way he could address all three problems, namely making the best of the time his mother had left, being financially independent, and playing the game he still loved.

The one situation he had little control over was Sophie.

He reasoned that there were two types of denial. One was a state of mind and the other was deprivation of essentials. The former, in his new found contentedness, was largely overcome by a vaccine called willpower.

*

Looking at Adam's personal transition over the last three years and trying to set it in a national and global context, showed a sharp contrast. The early sixties saw new protests over austerity and a demand for a more liberal society. The label of 'liberal' in itself covered multiple aspects of being a human being. The establishment came under attack from more fronts than either of the world conflicts of the early and mid-points of the century. Politics, music, sexual attitude, work ethic, inequality, opportunity, school curricula, were but a few. Perhaps that was why the decade was labelled as the swinging sixties, not just societal reset, but accretion of a pendulum-like momentum, as opposed to stability and stoicism. Trading expressions such _as 'stiff upper lip, don't worry keep calm, everything happens for a reason' for 'do your own thing', let's freak out', and 'take a trip, man'._

Taking the music scene as an example, the shift from Blues, Soul, and Rock and Roll to the umbrella term of Pop oversaw the rise of Liverpool to rival North America as the epicentre of that genre. The Beatles, Rolling Stones, The Dave Clark Five all sold incredible numbers of singles and long playing records. The entire U.K. embraced this trend but Liverpool in particular produced dozens of bands which made it to the charts. It seemed like there was no end to what people power could achieve. It would be a hard act to follow in succeeding decades, but for now it really did help Adam to adjust to his immediate trials and tribulations. He became more aware of the distinction between the words 'human' and its derivative 'humane'.

*

Adam had switched his energy almost exclusively between his mother's needs and his degree course. Football had taken a back seat but became surprisingly more enjoyable. Mary's condition was deteriorating quickly now, and she was mentally rehearsing for that awful talk one has to have with their family at such a time.

The doctor was now making two visits a week, mainly to see if he could make her more comfortable with morphine. She wanted to get this off her chest before she became too weak to get through it, and at the same time ensure Adam could stay positive while letting her go.

The Johnson's were there as a support for both mother and son, as well as feeling devastated themselves. Mrs Johnson in particular was able to be with Mary during the hours when Adam was keeping up with his degree course requirements. Mary's diet was now strictly medically oriented, due to the constant rejection by her alimentary system. The appearance of blood was regular enough for the doctor to say her time was very short, a matter of days. Adam was struck by his mother's courage and acceptance regarding the inevitable.

"Darling, you've been my rock since you were a little boy. Now you're a big boy, I know you will try to remember the good times we have had, especially the recent years. I want you to understand that even though I would love to be here when you graduate, I'll be there in your thoughts. The quality of my life now isn't able to compensate for the continuous pain. It's time for you to let me go. It's time to say goodbye. My body is telling me I'm slipping away from you, but I know you'll make me proud of you. My final wish is that you'll have a family of your own, including someone who would have been my grandchild."

"I promise, Mam. I promise, I won't let you down."

Adam's eyes misted up as he held her hand and her eyes closed. Her breathing was faltering as she drifted to sleep, eternal sleep. Mr and Mrs Johnson remained at the back of the room until the boy recovered some composure and then gave him privacy for as long as he needed.

*

The funeral was a sad affair. It was only attended by about twenty-five people, most of whom were Adam's friends and staff from Montagu. His thoughts wandered to the Normandy beaches. He would definitely go there at some time. He was now alone, severed from those who had gone before. The imagining of his Mam and Dad together gave him a new impulse for him to obtain his degree and maximise his onward career prospects. In a perverse way, despite that awful moment when a person becomes a corpse, it served to stiffen his resolve to put his prior dream of playing professional football well and truly behind him.

*

Another milestone day. Adam stepped up to receive his L.R.I.C (Licentiate of the Royal Institute of Chemistry) certificate. If only his parents could have been there. This qualification would now be instrumental in changing his life. He had become a section leader at British Paints, but the industry itself was steeped in tradition and lacking in opportunities of the nature he had in mind.

His patience paid off within a few months. An advert appeared in the jobs column of the Newcastle evening chronicle. It was seductive, a period of training in Holland for staff required to get a new factory in Cramlington up and running. The location of the plant was only a few miles from Newcastle and the more important consideration was the technology was new and innovation potential of individuals was underlined as being a critical requirement. He received the invitation to attend an interview in two weeks. It proved to be a major fork in the road.

The training period in Holland was initially six months with refresher sessions nearer the start-up date. The interview went very well and he was offered a position in the new laboratory. It was one step down from Technical Manager, and lots of room to work in different countries. He accepted the offer, which was almost double the salary he currently earned. He said his temporary goodbye to the Johnsons and stepped into unknown territory.

He landed at Amsterdam airport, took a train to the university town of Leiden, and checked into a family run guest house on the outskirts and standing next to a small lake. A perfect retreat to meet a whole new team of people who were going to be charged with the birth of a very large state of the art factory. His first intention was to learn some of the language, at least enough to be able to make rudimentary requests to Dutch citizens, after all, he was a temporary resident himself. He met his fellow crew members at the guest house and the manager of the Dutch factory picked them up and whisked them off to a nearby restaurant. They sampled the delights of Indonesian cuisine, which had to be washed down with a typical pilsner beer from the region.

# Chapter 15

Trajectory

The ensuing two years were characterised by a steep learning curve in both a direct technical sense and the more obtuse path to upward mobility. The company had come into existence less than a decade ago but was now at the leading edge of the technology on the planet. Automation in many industries was entering a new phase. Computers were at the fountainhead of this drive, spawning opportunities in all directions, except one. Human labour was under attack, being supplanted by invisible 'machinery'. Examples such as John T Ford's car production lines were easy to understand even if they were clearly going to cost jobs; that was the principle they were founded upon. Humans were pricing themselves out of the market. Computers held a much bigger threat under the bonnet. Binary code in one form or another was infesting industrial processes from the offices of the business, not just the factory floor. Closed loop programming stampeded through every aspect of the workplace like a silent killer.

Adam's new company had come into being from one such concept, one for which we have now developed immunity. No longer as it used to be. Barcoding entered the Oxford dictionary, not by stealth, but by fanfare. At the other end of the scale, Adam gradually realised that both simple and complicated processes would fall under the spell. A mundane job such as labelling bottles of shampoo could be revolutionised overnight. Humans applying the labels by hand would of course become more adept and productive, achieving say, two thousand a day. In the same time, labels carrying a barcode at the behest of retailer checkouts, could be labelled at well over one hundred thousand without breaking sweat. The age of indirect efficiency multiplier was born. Resistance was futile, not least because automatic applicators were light years more accurate in placement of the labels. Not only did they dwarf human output, they never called in sick because of the flu. The wider industry in which Adam found himself was on an exponential curve. Tamper-evident packaging, pharmaceutical small diameter vials, robotic replacement of rivets by purpose designed adhesives, to name but a few. There was also the marketing aspect to consider. The company didn't have to invest huge sums of money to look for new applications, the world was flocking to them with all kind of challenges with practical merit. The marketing department needed to change its emphasis to maintain the curve.

After two years in their employ. Adam's immediate boss took a job in Brazil, and he was promoted to technical manager. It was quite a challenge, but one he relished. He knew his predecessor had simply been a 'go with the flow' believer, now he had the chance to bring the technical department from a quality control function only, to one of marketing development opportunity as well.

The management of the entire corporation had the foresight to recruit mainly hungry fledgling staff in all departments as they anticipated the requirement for such adaptability. The demands of this arena could easily become a new obsession for him.

*

Correspondence from Sophie had slowed to a trickle. Prior to leaving for his six months training in Holland, Adam had contacted her to let her know his new address abroad. It took some time for her to reply, which provoked misunderstanding on both sides. Adam felt their relationship was becoming a burden for Sophie, whereas she appeared to see his letter as him moving on in life. Despite several attempts of clarification from both of them, they were in total agreement that what they had was a friendship based upon having the same values. It was unlikely that it would ever progress to a physical stage. Initially, this felt like a body blow to Adam, however things took a different turn when he began to attend regular technical liaison meetings in Amsterdam. Olivia Franke often took issue with his recommendations regarding conclusions drawn from experiments for increased sales volume. As she represented the German sales office, they always stayed in the same hotel. After dinner conversation often centred on resumption of airing their differences, sometimes in a heated fashion.

The flow of wine usually lubricated the disarming process, ultimately resulting in Olivia kissing Adam on the cheek after he conceded that he was looking exclusively at technically driven aspects, whereas she still had to sell the product to customers who were real people and not theoretical ones. It didn't take long for them to book separate rooms as usual but sleep together in one or the other. It became clear that if the situation was to endure, one of them would have to consider living in another country.

Olivia made the first concession. She asked for a transfer to the London sales office under the objective to improve her English and complement the technical liaison meetings with 'Sales only' topics in London. It was a reasonable request with the Corporation headquarters residing in America and the company language being English.

*

Everything was suddenly thrown into chaos. The U.K. factory was plunged into a health conundrum. At around two hours after a customer order had been declared complete there was a strange odour in the air. Another hour later most of the product had changed from white to a deep yellow. There was approximately two hundred thousand square metres of self-adhesive paper stacked in the warehouse, waiting to be cut into various widths. The process was halted and all factory workers told to repair to a safe distance. Nobody could find evidence of any pollutant having accidentally or deliberately been incorporated. It was a critical moment. If the offending smell was capable of turning paper from white to amber, what was it doing to people's lungs? A temporary halt to all production machines had to follow.

The investigation clearly fell into the remit of the technical department. Adam's first response was to check if material from the two machines not making this product was affected. The answer was yes and no. It was only affected at the edges of each roll, unlike the quarantined two hundred thousand square metres which showed the 'infection' was all the way through the roll. So, the clean stock was being affected by the polluted stock by airborne transmission. His next move was to break down the formulae of each component of the quarantined stock. The white paper itself was stocked at the other end of the factory and was clean; it had been there for weeks. The silicon coated paper (the carrier layer) stock was also clean. By this elimination process the finger of guilt pointed to the adhesive layer. Adam immediately contacted every supplier of the ingredients, as each raw material was compounded in very large mixers under stringent shear stress, like a giant egg beater. When the replies came in from the various companies, they detailed quite a lot of propriety knowledge he had to respect with strict confidentiality.

The work went on through the night and at last the culprit was identified. An antioxidant, which had been purchased from the same supplier, was found to have a volatile component which was harmful. The producer was contacted and made aware of this. Being a market leader in such chemicals, the big brother attitude came into play and a denial was put forward – it couldn't happen. This in turn closed the factory for three days while Adam flew to the supplier and demanded to see all retained samples of the antioxidant batches which had been supplied in the current year. The supplier baulked at this. After inscrutability, came the blinding with science phase, and finally capitulation. If they had nothing to fear they should indulge him by providing the samples. It was ordained by the CEO and a simple reflux test showed clearly that one batch involved was itself contaminated with the offending volatile material. A compensation package was offered but rejected. Adam stated he would be looking for resupply of clean antioxidant, full recompense for the ruined material back home, and loss of production time incurred. This was agreed quickly. Then his final demand was that the supplier was responsible for involving the health and safety executive to produce judgement on whether worker's lungs could be seriously compromised by this neglect. He gave them the information regarding the time the workers were exposed to the risk before evacuation. The CEO of the supplier eventually recognised that this would be preferable to forcing Adam bringing in the health and safety executive himself. That would possibly cause serious damage to their reputation.

With the panic over, he finally caught up on his sleep deprivation and reflected on a potential disaster having been averted. However, the episode had done no harm to his own reputation. Getting on top of the problem quickly was one thing. But, by leaving the final sting in the dialogue, worker safety implication, as a separate issue from the commercial or technical thrust, his stock rose significantly. It didn't go unnoticed by top management when the entire case was committed to print in a report. He'd done it with a conscience and not as a tactic.

However, the story wasn't over. The report from the health and safety executive stated that the volatile content of the antioxidant was not particularly threatening to those affected in the time taken to isolate them, but that a recommended precautionary measure would be to have those working closest to the location of the adhesive to be screened for signs of chest infection. The last sentence thanked him for taking exemplary action.

The four operatives on the machine which made the amber product came back with all clear reports.

*

The next two years were uneventful work wise, but had moved on at pace with respect to Olivia. The proposal wasn't really a conventional one, more of an impulse on Adam's part. "I was wondering if you'd like to come to the place where I lived with my mother. It's not too long a journey by train from London."

"What else is there to see?"

"Well, the northeast is one of the most productive industrial parts of the country?"

"Not like Venice then. I grew up in the industrial heartland of Germany, and when you've seen one you've seen them all. No, I'll pass."

"Ok, Venice it is then, but only if we get married first."

"Shit, Adam. How can you spring that on me? I meant only a romantic holiday."

"Is that a refusal?"

"Well, not exactly, but I need time to think about something like that. It's a big question."

"Fine, how long do you need?"

"Another few days or maybe...oh to hell with it, I have thought about it and I say yes. So I will come to see Newcastle another time. Venice first?"

In the meantime there were rumblings about some re-organisation within the company. Olivia was almost due to return to Germany and the entire European structure was under scrutiny as to the next strategic plan which had been ordained in America. One element which had been earmarked as urgent was the building of a new factory in France. This alone sparked speculation as to whether it would follow suit from Adam's own training programme in Holland. When flesh was added to the bones, that very model was rubber stamped and the U.K. factory had been designated as the training base for the French recruits. It would place an additional burden on Adam's shoulders, yet he saw it as a wonderful opportunity. It was planned to begin in four months unless any stray event derailed it.

He suggested to Olivia that they took advantage of that time to holiday in Venice and plan their big day from there.

"That's a wonderful idea. Just book it and give me the date, then I will register that period as my time off work."

"I already booked it. Do you have a pen and paper?"

"Am I really going to marry such a person? Maybe not, but I will go with you to Venice, then we will see."

"You always said you like surprises."

# Chapter 16

Adam was still living in the same house with the Johnsons, and when he informed them of his intention to get married they were surprised. Then hearing that her name was Olivia, not Sophie brought bewilderment, followed by concern when they heard the bride to be was German.

After a lengthy explanation of how he and Sophie would always remain friends and how he first met Olivia, they put aside any preconceived judgements and genuinely congratulated him.

"I know there are still strong feelings among pockets of people over equating Germans with Fascism, but the same applies to our own imperialist era. Olivia has experienced this kind of blanket prejudice in many European countries and she's become immune to it."

Mr Johnson asked the question which Adam knew was coming at some time. "So where will you live?"

"We don't know where we'll eventually settle down, but for now I have to remain at the factory. We have to train a French team just as the Dutch people had to train our team. That's going to take six months, then we'll discuss what our options are. Olivia is keen to have children, she's eight years younger than me but she sees having a family as more important than her sales job. My income is now more than enough to cover our immediate needs, so she doesn't need to work. So, I have to thank you both for allowing my mother and myself to be part of your family. And I'm really indebted to you for just being there for me even when I was an awkward cuss. Howard, you've been the father I never had. You managed to do this without actually being my Dad, if that makes sense. The only regret I have is that I couldn't quite fulfil my football dream and your faith in me. It has definitely stood me in good stead with regards to my professional career, even though it has cost me my Geordie accent. Olivia doesn't understand a word whenever I unconsciously lapse into that twang."

"It's been a pleasure for us," replied Mrs Johnson, on behalf of her husband, who was overcome with emotion, "having you and your mother here most certainly enriched our lives."

Adam had never witnessed any loss of emotional control in Howard Johnson. It brought a lump to his own throat. They all embraced and Mr Johnson delivered one of his typically acerbic throwaway comments.

"The years of hard work must have been successful, you just called me Howard, and you've never done that before."

*

The vacation in Venice seemed to be over in a flash, indulging in not having targets to reach in their respective occupations. A mix of culinary exploration and cultural pursuit. And there was Olivia's hormone driven desire to become pregnant. They vowed to return one day.

Back to the grind. Adam cramming his French and Olivia attending an exhibition in Dusseldorf. Adam's opposite number was actually half French and half Italian. Claud's English was basic, but he had a way of inserting the odd French word when he was missing the English equivalent, a bit like a verbal crossword puzzle for the listener. On a technical level they meshed seamlessly with respect to knowledge, however, there were some very different ways of structuring management of the various sciences. One consequence of these 'customs' was the intricate relationship between production personnel and their laboratory counterparts. In this training phase Adam would have the production manager sitting alongside Claud. It did prolong the initial training phase courtesy of the pedantic nature of Georges. Monsieur Lavelle queried whatever Adam presented at every opportunity, to the point where Claud secretly advised that he should simply ignore what Georges said.

"How will that work, Claud? I can't think of any other way to convince this guy that the system originated in America and is not up for discussion."

"Bien sur. That is why I give you the solution."

"But he just keeps asking the same questions."

"Yes, so you just move to next presentation."

"You mean literally ignore him?"

C'est la vie. It is always like this in France. You will learn from us that we agree to everything and then decide whether we will do all of it or any of it."

"You can't be serious."

"Georges is from Paris, they are all like that in the Capital, talking machines. He will get tired if you ignore him. You will get used to it. Believe it, I have to work with this guy for the rest of my life. If I don't ignore him the men with the blanc coats will take me away."

He was right. Georges' voice gradually faded to imperceptible irritability and the training gathered pace again.

*

The official opening of the factory in southern France was a flamboyant affair. Dignitaries from the municipality abounded in their number and verbosity. Adam and the rest of the U.K. management team were glad to retire to a riverside hostelry once the obligatory speeches had expired. Claud was the only local manager who elected to join them. He was subsequently labelled an Anglophile, not exactly derogatory but certainly not imbued with 'vive la France'. Adam had agreed to accompany Claud to Italy after the Lord Mayor's Show to help set up supply chains with two paper-making companies.

The journey by car, driven by Alain Claud Prost, took them over the border to the first stop on the outskirts of Torino. It was apparently where his mother's side of the family originated. They found a cosy hotel so they could enjoy a relaxing evening, and get a solid night's sleep before meeting the prospective supplier representatives. Adam ended up merely a confirmatory voice concerning each point raised, as Claud was actually just as fluent in Italian as he was in French.

They set off for the Italian lakes region, something Adam was really looking forward to. They debated where they should decamp and Claud made a suggestion which in hindsight was to be a fantastic decision. They were lucky to find a small family run hotel in an elevated position overlooking Lake Garda. They began to explore the charms of Malcesine, the most beautiful place Adam had ever visited. It was possible to jump on water taxis to get around the entire array of other resorts which were scattered around the lake. He remarked to Claud that the appeal of the place kind of submerged the next day's discussions, which were about something as mundane as rolls of paper. Claud ordered one of his favourite red wines and they drank to that sentiment. Adam already counted Claud as a close friend as well as a colleague.

*

The wedding was a strange experience for Adam. First, it was in Dortmund, and he didn't feel like passing a cost burden to any of his small circle of friends, so he didn't invite any. Secondly, having lost both parents, and being surrounded by German conversation, he couldn't really contribute anything but a smile, which became quite difficult after an hour. Olivia's brother had stepped into the breach to be his best man, delivering a speech which the gathering could at least understand, compared to his pre-prepared crib sheet. And his grasp of German pronunciation was about as good as his ability to oust Luciano Pavarotti as the lead vocalist in Nessun Dorma. Nevertheless, the less formal evening felicitations were a joy. Olivia's parents made him feel so welcome and expressed genuine interest in his work. They weren't afraid to raise the darker concern about any anti-German feeling in the U.K. Her father cited multiple examples from other European countries, but reassured him that Olivia was a remarkably resilient woman. Adam thanked him for not running away from the issue, especially from Jewish communities. "I can tell you that Newcastle is nothing like many other parts of the country in all kinds of social attitudes. It might not appear to be a good example, but in the case of football, most of the rest of the country think we are delusional in our passion for the team. It stems from how the war effort benefitted from our industrial contribution and after the armistice the lack of reciprocal contribution we received. There won't be a problem. However, if Olivia ever feels threatened we would move to wherever she feels safe, that I will promise."

*

The honeymoon was just a modest week in the highlands of Scotland. Olivia had always been fascinated by the many photos she'd seen of the country. The location was convenient because Adam had been told he had to attend an unscheduled meeting in Holland. Try as he could there was no getting out of it. The upside was another short period of Scottish remoteness to absorb before returning to responsibility.

When he arrived in Amsterdam, Adam was met by someone one rung up the ladder from his boss in the U.K. He thanked him, shook hands and said, "I'm sorry but I didn't receive the agenda."

The answer was ominous. "There is no agenda."

They proceeded to the multi-storey car park without another word being spoken. Once out on the motorway the man revealed that they were headed for a restaurant in the city. The silence resumed; it was only a few kilometres to the restaurant, where a man in uniform asked for the keys in order to park the car. They walked inside where they were shown to an already set table. Invited to sit, Adam was becoming worried, thinking that he must have done something wrong – broken a company rule or inadvertent disclosure of intellectual property.

At last he spoke, "Adam, I hope you don't mind but I made an advance order for both of us. If what I have to say requires us to go to the office we will need to spend quite a period of time to discuss the consequences."

"Fine, yes, no problem for me."

"Good. What I have to say must stay between us for another two days. Certain events have resulted in your immediate boss accepting a new position in the organisation. This obviously requires urgent attention and you have been added to a shortlist of candidates. Now, sometimes prospective promotions are not comfortable for candidates for a variety of reasons. So, the first question I must ask is whether you aspire to become the new CEO of the U.K. factory?"

"Well...if I'm being honest I wouldn't have expected to be asked such a question. But, having been surprised and recovered some composure, I'm honoured to even be considered. So, if your question is am I happy to have made the short list, then I most certainly am."

"Excellent, in that case may I take it that such a position wouldn't hold any reservations on your part?"

"Yes. I mean yes without that sounding arrogant."

"We can now progress to the next question. If you were offered the position would you be able to commit the next three years as a minimum to running the U.K. factory? I have to ask this because we want to avoid any discontinuity in such an important role."

"I would say so, and if I was successful – being offered the opportunity I mean, I wouldn't sign up to it if I couldn't honour that pledge."

"Very good, then I suppose your first question would be - how long is the short list?"

"Maybe."

"At this point, it is very short. That could change if any party comes up with doubts. You don't seem likely to be in that category."

"In that case – the short list not being very long - I would appreciate having my name being retained on it."

The meal was top quality and beautifully presented. The bill was paid and they headed to the exit.

"Now, Adam, we will go to the factory where some of my colleagues will meet with you and perhaps have different questions."

The grilling was intense but he held his nerve partly because he became convinced this was simply a routine way of identifying upcoming talent. So, he was totally blown away when told the short list was not required any more. He was offered the post.

"You must not speak about this for two days so that we can make arrangements regarding other moves in the pipeline. We wish to announce all the changes together."

# Chapter 17

The search for a new home coincided with Olivia believing she was pregnant. Having looked around and discussed where and what they were looking for, they weren't able to make a decision. Taking Adam's new contract into account they began to gravitate towards renting until after the birth. The three years he was committed to could only be altered by being fired or leaving by mutual consent.

The search for rental properties was more fruitful. Adam's salary as CEO enabled them to view houses and apartments which would require a heavy mortgage, and they didn't want to tie themselves down in the event of unforeseen problems. Also, they wanted a rural or semi-rural setting rather than more city suburban life. Another consideration was the proximity to Newcastle airport, due to the increased need to attend meetings in the European headquarters of Amsterdam. They finally settled on Corbridge, by its name a Roman town. Nestling on the banks of the river Tyne, it was a thriving community with a broad choice of shops and restaurants. Situated twenty minutes from the airport, city, and only five minutes from the neighbouring market town of Hexham, with its imposing abbey, dating back to AD 674.

The separation from the Johnsons was an emotional wrench, but compensated by them being able to visit their new home by bus, car or rail. It was the beginning of a new era for Mr and Mrs North in many respects. Adam was certainly not prone to underestimation of the new work challenge ahead. He was resolved to become fluent in the German language, not only to harmonise communication with Olivia's family, but to negotiate with German companies in their own language. This was important because the country had, since the destruction of its infrastructure post war, become the juggernaut of European industry again. Not least of all, he wanted to be able to participate in the familial ancestry of their unborn child. Everything was converging to an extremely promising road map. A projection he had seen before, when he was considerably less mature.

His very first task as CEO was to appoint his successor as technical manager. It wasn't a tricky prospect, but it had to be compatible with a raft of new developments already working their way through the system. Standing still in such relatively new industry could be equated to going backwards. Rising to the challenge was mandatory if as market leader they weren't going to be picked off by either scavengers or breakthrough technology as yet undiscovered.

*

Adam was in a heated discussion with the Swedish sales manager over a complaint raised by a customer in Malmo. The gist of it was rooted in 'the customer is always right'.

"Preben, that is one of the stupidest anecdotes I've ever heard. Your man in Malmo is convinced he's right, but it has yet to be proven. You asked for me to come all the way here to rubber stamp a claim for compensation?"

"He is a very reliable and important customer for us. Competitors are just waiting for their chance to get his business."

"In that case, it's even more crucial that we run the tests and look at the facts before judging the outcome. Simply approving such considerable amounts of money without due checks is open to corruption."

"How dare you say that about this customer? He's been loyal to us for over ten years."

"For god's sake, I'm not talking exclusively about any customer, I'm merely suggesting that nobody is immune to temptation whether their business is struggling or not. It was a generalisation not a specific accusation. Look, we can argue all day about this, but unless he agrees to run the tests I asked for I will reject the complaint."

Preben shook his head and was about to react when Adam intervened. "Why did you ask me to come and look into this? The technical service department in our factory would normally handle this type of complaint."

"Because we have a huge order hanging over us from this customer and we don't want to lose it to another supplier who have quoted for the business."

"You've just confirmed my argument. If we don't know the cause of the problem, how can we be sure we can deliver anything different?"

"Ok, I'll call him now and see if he can run the tests for us tomorrow."

Feelings were still running high when they all gathered around the production line. After watching the repeated failure of the label dispensing section, Adam inspected the accuracy of the cutting device. He had brought with him a kind of doctor's stethoscope to give a clue as to overall health. Using a green dye, he quickly established that the cutting plate was either maladjusted or partially blunt. This provoked a lecture by the business owner regarding the well-known industry guidelines for change of cutters. Adam responded by saying he would authorise payment for a new cutter if he was wrong in his assertion. The machine was reconfigured to his recommendation and the problem was solved. Instead of gloating about this he offered a sympathetic judgment. "It's always difficult to detect an elusive problem when past production was trouble free. It's happened to me many times, and that taught me to keep an open mind about how all suppliers of equipment and materials approach complaints. They, just like ourselves, can unknowingly allow defective items to pass their quality control checks. None of us are immune to it."

Preben thanked him for his conciliatory response as they returned to the sales office. As they headed for the cafeteria Preben was hailed by his secretary. Adam had to make a phone call urgently. He recognised the number and immediately became concerned.

"Hello, Olivia? What is it?"

The unsteadiness in her voice was ominous. "I've had a miscarriage."

Adam slumped from the desktop to a chair. "Olivia, I'm so, so, sorry. Are you in any danger?"

"No, I'm not bleeding anymore. I just feel alone and useless."

"Please don't say that. Can you promise me to rest until I get back? I'm getting the next flight out of Sweden. I'll call you when the plane is ready to take off. I'm going to phone my old football club, Montagu, right now and ask if Mrs Johnson can come and stay with you until I get back."

"Thank you, darling. I'm so sorry."

Preben drove him to the airport and apologised en-route. It was a tense moment, but one which was the foundation of an enduring friendship.

*

At last Adam's taxi pulled up outside his home in Corbridge. He rushed into the property to find Mr and Mrs Johnson already there. They both went to the kitchen to make the obligatory brew of tea, and give Adam and Olivia privacy.

"It's been a nightmare journey back from Sweden. Delayed take off from Malmo and London, and then a pile up at customs. Mad, mad world."

They engaged in a prolonged hug. Olivia weeping throughout. She had found it difficult to speak to her mother about it. However, she was extremely grateful to Mrs Johnson in particular. "She's a very good listener. I was off my head when she came. So, she sent her husband out for some groceries and comforted me. I was as angry as I was upset, until she revealed that she'd had two miscarriages herself. It was good to hear that I wasn't unique, and she told me not to wait too long before trying again. She seems sure that was the mistake they made, her and Howard. She is such a gentle lady, and I owe her a lot."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me. I've been in their debt for a hell of a long time. So, is there anything I can do? What about a nurse or the doctor?"

"No, the doctor said I just had to rest, but try to find a distraction until I feel up to going back to a normal life. I don't need a nurse, I've got you back now."

Adam was humbled by the Johnsons yet again. They left after Mrs Johnson told Olivia that she'd call around every couple of days unless she wasn't needed. Olivia assured her that she was welcome at any time.

*

They were finally beginning to come to terms with the recent trauma when Adam became embroiled in a global company problem. Every production facility across the world was afflicted by their version of 'post it' notes falling off the wall or other surfaces.

The _plague_ as it became known was characterised by a slow change of colour followed by critical failure of adhesion, ultimately becoming as non-sticky as Teflon. It required all technical departments input and subsequent development of diagnoses. The only positive aspect for Adam was his reunion with Claud, who was still running the French technical department.

The starting point was redefined, instead of targeting theoretical suggestions, it was considered safer to opt for elimination of culpability with respect to the common ingredients of the affected adhesives. This ruled out products which were not ubiquitous across all factories. That cut down the pack to a remainder of only seven. Overlaying this with a filter of which locations had multiple suppliers of approved raw materials rather than a single supply chain narrowed it further. That showed Australia and California as crucial. If they could compare products with their different sourcing in the final formula it should tell a story. As it turned out it eliminated nothing, which meant the story was now clearly pointing at ingredients which were common to a single supplier, leaving only three suspects. Because it took time for the product to fail, Adam had been instrumental in finding a way to accelerate the ageing process. Peculiarly, the accelerated ageing offered an additional hint. It precipitated a powdery substance early in the accelerated test, which then blended back into the mass slowly. It could therefore only be related to solubility versus insolubility of one item. A lucky break, but not the whole answer. The solvent involved was not by its nature homogeneous, it consisted of many isomers of the same basic chemical. Adam formulated tests of each isomer and the offender surrendered itself. The whole saga had cost hundreds of thousands of dollars overall. Adam suddenly realised how much he missed technical mysteries.

The post mortem was picked over by the emergency team who'd been involved in the investigation. It wasn't a blame game, but it was necessary to perform an overhaul of procedural specifications. This posed a question so far unasked. It had been a bugbear for Adam since the very first days he joined the company as a lowly technician. The adhesive mostly involved in the 'falling notes' had an ingredient of which he'd never understood its purpose. It had bothered him because it was a highly toxic material requiring specialised handling. He had been given answers as to its function but they had never satisfied him. Essentially, it was said to increase crosslinking of another ingredient to promote strength, similar to vulcanising rubber. He decided to challenge the wisdom in this post mortem. It was shown to be the myth that he'd suspected, but the best compromise he could garner was that it could be eliminated from the formula if the tack measurements remained within their specification. He immediately altered the U.K. formula to delete the corrosive material. It wasn't a headline technical achievement, that wasn't the point. It removed a potential carcinogen risk for those employees who'd had to dispense the substance on a daily basis. It was in his terminology a lung-corroding time bomb. He was, however disappointed that only France and Holland took the same action. A decision which would have consequences, serious lung consequences which would in all probability be missed. It would certainly have future implications in his own career.

# Chapter 18

As the weeks rolled by Adam became aware of rumours that the company was going to be restructured following a root and branch review. He just kept his head down and ignored the daily bush telegraph output.

What was definitely not subject to rumour was Olivia's joy. She was pregnant again. They had discussed whether she should return to Germany for the birth. Adam made sure she knew he wanted her to decide. "After what happened last time you mustn't ever be alone. Simple as that, Olivia."

"But you want to be present at the birth."

"Of course, but that is secondary to your wellbeing. I only wish I had a crystal ball to enable me to take time off at the right time. I can't predict what the hell is going to happen regarding these reorganisation rumours, but I definitely don't want to be abroad again when you need me to be with you."

Olivia mulled over the dilemma again and again, finally saying she would go and stay with her parents if and when she experienced warning signs of a problem.

This settled Adam down somewhat and he decided to initiate a project he'd been considering for some time. Specifically from when other factories chose to ignore eliminating the culprit which caused the 'post it' notes epidemic. He was utterly dismayed that the possible link of that toxic substance was effectively brushed under the carpet. His own attitude was 'to hell with what the problem had caused in monetary terms, human lives could be at stake'. Others obviously believed the reverse. It made him think that the people at the very top of the organisation were weak at best and morally immune at worst.

Having wrestled with this he chose to air a proposal which would actually answer the moral question in a different way. The U.K. factory had always been run on the concept that there would be a yearly vote by the employees on whether they were satisfied with the Works Council way of dealing with issues affecting everyone, rather than inviting a recognised trade union to negotiate on their behalf. Adam had always been impressed by the company's way of going about its business by offering conditions well above the trade unions stipulations. The representatives on the Works Council had never encountered any sign of unrest in this arena. Why fix it if it ain't broke?

With changes in personnel at the very top being mooted, he was nervous about any tablets of stone being handed down to replace genuine discourse. The global economic trend was heading south and optimism was a scarce commodity. He wanted to be prepared for any shift to an era of edicts. In any walk of life timing is paramount. Many worthwhile ideas have perished on the vine because the moment was missed.

He sent a report to his immediate superior outlining a programme of sequential austerity measures in order to minimise the impact of further downturn. Most of these items were involved with cost saving estimates by either reduction or suspension of a particular activity. At the very bottom of the list of priorities was the feared word – redundancy. Other factories had this option at the top end of the list. It was easy to administer and offered considerable savings, but Adam warned about its impact on ramping up production when the tide turned.

His boss phoned him to say that he wasn't going to pass on the recommendation to the inner sanctum. His declared position was that it would put the U.K. out of step with the rest of the corporation. Then Adam reminded his boss that nobody had been dragooned into eliminating the toxic substance after solving the 'post it' fiasco, the various factories were given the choice.

This insubordination unexpectedly unearthed an 'off the record' secret. "Don't rock this particular boat, Adam. I'm going to visit the U.K. pretty soon to discuss a new opportunity for you."

Adam was shaken but resisted expressing curiosity as to what the opportunity involved. Rather than take the bait he merely reinforced his desire to have redundancy at the bottom of his austerity measures. "Johan, what I'm trying to get across is the folly of having to shape a redundancy policy during a period when we are right in the midst of making people redundant. I remind you that we've always done these things through our Works Council, and if we don't have a policy, we formulate one ourselves. I also have to say it would trigger inviting a trade union in through the back door, and they would certainly be much more of a challenge to deal with. And it would lead to a one way street, we would never return to the cooperative nature of what we have at present."

"Ok, Adam. Do nothing until I come to see you. I'm going to bring that forward to tomorrow."

*

Of all the rumours doing the rounds, Adam couldn't visualise any of them involving himself. Having said that, he ascended to his current role completely out of the blue. So, why this urgent need for Johan to change his schedule, and why was it being handled in such a clandestine manner? Furthermore, why would the Works Council issue be linked to his own future?

Johan made small talk between the airport and the factory. Adam decided to let the uncomfortable banter continue, merely nodding his head and repeating his affirmation without any conviction.

Once they'd made themselves comfortable in Adam's office, the bullshit switched abruptly to a barely comprehensible revelation.

"I know you're going to be surprised Adam, but as you've done such an impressive job here, the Corporate Board want to offer you a new challenge. They see you as the ideal candidate. It's part of the open secret of company restructuring of course and is subject to keeping it under wraps for now. They want you to oversee bringing the Indianapolis operation to fruition."

"Is this serious, Johan? I mean, come on... I err...no way. It is a joke, right?"

"Absolutely not. It's going to operate solely on brand new technology and your track record puts you top of the list in that regard."

Adam was thinking on his feet and said nothing.

"You should grab this with both hands. It couldn't have been a better script, it has your name all over it and lots of Americans will be pissed off that they didn't land it."

"So, when we spoke yesterday, why did you change your plans and come here?"

"Well, everything is gathering pace and I wanted to make you see that this Works Council thing will be someone else's problem."

"Ah, I see. Well then, I'm going to need to think things through. My wife is expecting and she's currently back with her parents in Germany. I'll call her tonight."

"Good, now let's get out of here and celebrate with a nice lunch before I catch the evening flight back to Amsterdam."

"Lunch will be fine. But, I don't think we should celebrate just yet, Johan. I've got a lot of thinking to do. It's a fabulous offer but it's also a big step."

"It's a no brainer. You do realise that the purpose of your three year contract is to make sure our best talent is mobile. We must move in order to allow grooming of promising people to show their worth. You would be considered for a move regardless of this opportunity."

"Yeah, but I do have to speak with Olivia. I can call you tomorrow."

"Right. So where should we eat?"

*

Adam had no intention to call Olivia. What he had heard from Johan was a company sermon, a policy of moving pieces around a chessboard. The new technology which was dangled in front of him didn't have to be exclusive to America. In fact he had already spoken with European suppliers about installing equipment to do exactly what was proposed in Indianapolis. The drive to this type of production covered many aspects. Energy savings, user friendliness, faster conversion speeds, and eliminating the need for the unpredictable process of solvent recovery plants. He also felt he'd be letting down his northeast workforce if he walked away from the redundancy issue. So, it wasn't a matter of whether he would decline the Indianapolis role, more of how he would achieve success with both the new technology and derivation of an equitable redundancy policy, before his three year contract expired. One of the inevitable consequences of such strong-headed renegade behaviour would result in him being moved aside. Therefore he had to make sure that the confluence of all three came into place at the same time.

The call to Johan was the starting pistol being fired. He addressed the redundancy challenge first. There was already a government statutory system in place, so that was to be the lower benchmark. He then undertook a survey with local businesses on the same industrial park, finding some had no scheme, others had only the government version, and the more progressive companies had a more generous basket of alternatives. He aimed high, but not to outdo the most expensive examples, rather cherry picking the modules of the better run organisations. The final document was held in reserve.

The water based new technology was dedicated to a pilot coating machine so as not to interrupt ongoing production. In cooperation with two major players in their respective chemical and engineering industries, he laid out his blueprint for the trial programme to begin. The initial work to be done off site so as not to attract too much attention. A major problem he would face with this approach was always going to be budgetary expenditure for any hardware. However, if the process could be proven to work by customers who were already using the old technology products, it would become a demonstrable way of proving the point.

The third strand to his plan, his own future, was beginning to form. He'd come full circle in one respect. His boyhood single-minded dream of fame as a football player was indeed an insular ambition of an individual. It had ended in failure and could have dragged him to dark places. In contrast he'd never dreamt of being a competent scientist or even more unlikely, a chief executive officer, with responsibility for people other than himself. And he'd been extremely successful into the bargain. Not bad for a citizen of Great British Austerity. He was also to become a father, and it was incredibly important to avoid being an absent father. Hence, his upcoming conversation with Olivia had to explain his plan, targeted to this objective and reassure her that this was a chance for a new beginning, and not to mourn his incompatibility with corporate politics.

The next six months were going to resemble a giant rollercoaster ride. However, Adam had experienced all the highs and lows of life's pendulum, and this was no different. His thoughts turned to Howard Johnson, a modest man who'd spent most of his life encouraging young boys to grasp elation from the clutches of depression. Adam felt he was ready for a completely novel project in which he would not be burdened with deluges of mission statements written by men in suits.

Olivia was due back in a few days, and there were apparently no medical issues. She was in good spirits and her parents were coming to stay for the bank holiday weekend. With so many astrological planets needing to be aligned for his grand scheme to work, he had to keep the faith, but then he wasn't an astrologist, he was a scientist. He hadn't always been a scientist but he had always been a boy who needed proof.

# Chapter 19

Things were moving fast now. Johan had taken Adam's refusal to take the Indianapolis post as a betrayal of his trust. It was obvious that there would now be an agenda to remove him from office. He had to accelerate his triple pronged blueprint into turbo mode.

It was complicated by a joyous event. A baby boy fuelled his motivation to get in his resignation before they fired him. The company would fabricate a reason to convince the workforce it was in the best interests of the factory for a new CEO to be appointed. He figured this as an opportune moment to trigger the redundancy package discussion with the Works Council. This way the representatives would know for certain that he was prepared to negotiate on their behalf. It also stymied the company's ability to claim otherwise. It did have the disadvantage of bringing forward their next move. So, he kept that confrontation on hold.

He gambled on introducing his own joker a week earlier than planned. He arranged for a team from the suppliers of chemicals and hardware to meet at the factory and set up a demonstration of how it was possible to repurpose the existing equipment to run the new products. The hand-picked group from his own workforce were to be instructed in the experimental techniques. Written reports were to be compiled by this group as to its success or failure. Thus they would provide proof that the U.K. factory was in a position to increase its versatility and at the same time pose a question to the decision makers in America as to why they'd been asked to fork out the astronomic cost of dedicated new machinery running into millions of dollars. It would hopefully be his final legacy to protect the people he'd fought for in his three years as the advocate of their cause.

*

A dilemma closer to home reared its head. Choosing a name was coming close to turning a decision into a problem. The to and fro was eventually resolved by settling on a hybrid which could be seen as either Deutsch or English. Maximillian, when abbreviated to Max, satisfied both camps – Max North, only two syllables had a bit of a ring to it, even though Adam said it could be confused with various sound-bites such as Max Power, Maxed Out, GPS coordinates near the north pole, etcetera. Olivia dismissed such trivia and informed her parents that the dithering was over despite objections from Max Planck!

Adam had until now kept the Russian roulette surrounding his impending parting of the ways from the company on what he considered to be a need to know basis. It was time to come clean as the moment was fast approaching.

"I've been offered a position in America, or to rephrase that, I've been told we must accept this offer as it is a key part of the grand design of our corporate vision. What do you think?"

"Is this another one of your juvenile jokes?"

"I'm afraid not, they reminded me that my three year contract was coming to an end and this was the next step in my career. You've worked for the company, Olivia, you know how they work; it's an ultimatum not a joke."

"Well, tell them they can't treat you like this."

"I have done that already, they're unmoved."

"Surely you can make them understand you just want to stay in your existing job. I mean it's unreasonable to force you to work in another country."

"That should be the case but I'm expecting them to find some trumped up reason to terminate my contract early and just get rid of me. I won't let that happen, I would rather jump before I'm pushed."

"But how will we be able to survive with no income?"

"I don't know, Olivia. I could invoke a tribunal for constructive dismissal, but that would leave a sour taste if it dragged on."

"That's all very well, however, you could work in this country for a competitor; you do have a very good reputation."

"I've thought about that as well, but it would feel like hypocrisy, abandoning the people I've worked tirelessly to help, only to find myself in a different straitjacket of company politics."

"So, what do you suggest?"

"We do have a decent sum of money in savings because we decided to protect our capital by renting this house. Ideally, I like to think I could set up my own small company."

"What? In the same industry?"

"No. My contract has a no compete clause, which includes going solo. It lasts for three years. I would like to find a niche which would give us a decent income but also the freedom to take decisions in the best interests of Max as well as ourselves. I don't want to miss out on his childhood development, as you know, that happened to my father."

"Mm, so how will you handle your resignation?"

"This is something I have given a great deal of thought to."

He explained his thinking to Olivia but it didn't gel with her immediately. It became a little clearer when he said he'd run the scenario past his lawyer. There appears to be a very good chance, if my two projects can be completed in time, the movers and shakers back in America would offer significant compensation to head off a legal challenge by claiming constructive dismissal."

"I thought you said that a tribunal would take a long time."

"I did, but if these projects had to be taken into consideration, it would strengthen the case immensely. My lawyer believes the company would likely feel more uncomfortable with potential strike action by workers and still lose the case. Compensation gives them the chance to approve the redundancy scheme and the low cost route to install the new technology and thank me for my services with a bonus which I believe I deserve. There are no guarantees, but it's better than them driving a wedge between us. Neither of us want to go to Indianapolis. We can do this, Olivia, if we have faith in each other."

They embraced and fought back thoughts of gathering dark clouds, supplanting them with concentration on the future of Maximillian North."

*

As with many tight timelines, gremlins seem to emerge for the strangest reasons. The chemicals had arrived, the Works Council were given copies of the proposed redundancy scheme, but the very last piece of kit needed to complete the new technology demonstration had somehow got stuck just **North** of Doncaster, quite poetic in one sense. The truck carrying the goods had broken down and was marooned on the hard shoulder of the motorway. Adam told his logistics manager to purloin one of their vehicles which was ready to depart. "Get it unloaded and on its way with a small fork lift to this junction of the A1-M. We must get the bloody equipment today because tomorrow the vultures are going to descend upon us to try and derail the redundancy policy. It's critical that the engineers get the machines modified and tested before they are here, otherwise it will make the redundancy talks redundant themselves."

He rang Olivia to say things were hanging by a slender thread. "Oh dear, is everything turning bad?"

"Not everything, just my little scheme. It's not easy for me to relax just now, but we've come this far and I'm not going to cave in. There's always a choice. I'll have to be here during the night, so don't worry. Just focus on Max Fortune and see what tomorrow brings one way or the other."

The choices he referred to were extremely limited yet frustratingly within a mayfly's mating ritual in the context of a ticking clock. He rang one of his major customers situated between Doncaster and Hull, much closer than the factory. At first he wasn't taken seriously, but eventually prevailed. They arranged to get the stranded truck off the motorway on to a slip road where there was more space to unload the equipment. Adam had chosen to do this because the police were likely to block an unloading from such a position, and then cordon off the vehicle. The driver of the truck leaving the factory was made aware of the slip road location and set off.

He heard nothing for over two hours and it was already after 4pm. Finally, the call came through from his customer, confirming the switchover of the equipment and it was on its way back to the factory. Adam briefed his engineering team and apologised that they would have to work overtime, but they would be compensated generously for their sacrifice. His handling of the tough decisions of the last three years had garnered much goodwill from the majority of employees, and they backed him up, knowing that if he said it was important, it would be.

The truck managed to avoid any further crises and rolled up at 9.30pm. The engineers were prepared and began to look like a well-coordinated ant colony in delivering the gear to its optimum location for installation. The engineering manager then conducted his team as if he was involved in Tchaikovsky's 1812 overture. The next incoming production shift was due at midnight, a nerve-wracking half hour away. Miraculously the trial became viable by 1.35am. This really was the moment of truth.

*

He had come so far and yet his experience told him that new concepts, even ones proven at other locations, rarely worked without a considerable number of tweaks. This leap of faith conformed to that model. A niggling gremlin had halted the breakthrough celebrations. Convening a last ditch raking over the coals with the chemists and engineers threw up an obvious oversight. The successful trials abroad were analysed once more and revealed a minute but crucial variation in differential speed of two interacting rollers. The divergence in speed became exponential as the machine was steadily ramped up in overall terms. A simple modification of the connecting ratchet mechanism delivered unbridled success. A true example of how disparate groups of people could come together and discover the mutual respect to overcome the perceived impossible.

Adam had often thought he had been cursed with a masochistic gene, now it was being dispelled by sheer determination of like-minded people from three different nations. The production of adrenalin when achieving success within a team was of a much higher order than as an individual. He was exhausted, but anticipating the next day with surprising calm.

*

He hadn't figured on the visiting party being more than two people. He knew one of them would be Johan, but couldn't guess who the others would be. There were actually five personnel disembarking from the taxi come people carrier. Had he underestimated how serious this was, or had Johan decided not to tell him something?

In view of this he welcomed them, got them seated and waited for each stranger to be introduced. The febrile atmosphere was further extended by two of the guests being labelled as employment lawyers. That left only one to be announced. Ralph Woodward was described as Vice President of Innovation and Entrepreneurial Science. A hell of a mouthful and patently a new position in the overhaul of corporate culling.

Johan therefore remained the most senior operating officer directly involved with European management. Adam listened, preferring to keep his input to questions thrown at him for now.

The charade commenced. Johan asked Ralph Woodward to outline the wonderful opportunity in front of Adam. He droned on about the esoteric objectives of spearheading such an important plank of the new era. Adam began to realise his refusal to accept the move had got Johan into deeper shit than first imagined. He still kept his powder dry.

The next drops of verbal lubricant or diarrhoea, depending on one's viewpoint, was the first legal person wading through what the new contract would look like.

Adam spoke for the first time. "It's not the attractiveness of the job or the lucrative contract which made my decision. And that remains unchanged."

This provoked lawyer number two to explain the consequences of Adam's intransigence. Adam had to intervene.

"Look, Johan, I can save you the agony aunt charade by offering my resignation, but there are conditions."

"I don't think you understand what the lawyer just said."

"I don't need to. I prepared copies of a redundancy policy you can choose to ignore or discuss. And as a special farewell, I would like to demonstrate how the new technology can work with a fraction of the proposed investment allocated. That should be of interest to Ralph in his new role."

Ralph jumped at the chance to observe the trial. The lawyers stayed with Johan to peruse the redundancy proposal. They reconvened within the hour.

Ralph Woodward was first to puncture the balloon.

"Johan, this needs to be discussed back in Indianapolis. This demonstration does have potential repercussions."

Johan turned to the second legal man, who spoke to Adam.

"What is it you want to speak about regarding conditions for offering your resignation?"

"I haven't really defined them but I'm willing to listen to what you make of the redundancy policy blueprint."

Johan chirped in again. "Adam, could you give us a couple of minutes of privacy?"

"Of course, take as long as you need."

When he was summoned back there were smiles all around. Johan began his monologue. "We will evaluate the proposed policy with some urgency. And we would like you to fulfil the rest of your contract by working with Ralph to sculpture the optimum route to the new technology. That way there is no need to resign."

"That all sounds kosher from where you're sitting. A few refinements would be necessary. I insist on my resignation being accepted. Here is the letter confirming it. I'm happy to work with Ralph as you suggest as a paid consultant until he's happy with our new technology concept. In the remaining time of that consultancy I could be kept up to date on the redundancy policy. No interference, just as an observer. The only other route I can envisage is a tribunal for constructive dismissal, something I do not wish to trigger."

The deal was struck. To be documented and signed before they left. The only missing number to be inserted was the consultancy fee. Adam was relaxed about it as they had the rest of the day to come up with a face saving number.

When they met again the following morning the legally binding paperwork was presented for Adam's scrutiny. He had never intended to ask for an unreasonable amount of compensation for essentially agreeing to become the scapegoat of the saga. He was therefore quite surprised that the offer was in excess of his nominal expectation. It was obviously influenced by Ralph Woodward who was acutely aware of the yawning gap between the Indianapolis and U.K. options. He'd be pretty safe in his revelation of the gross misjudgement of the American version. After all this was precisely the kind of reason he was brought in. The lawyers were irrelevant now and that left Johan. Adam signed without contesting any aspect of the proposal and it passed into the hands of Corporation Central.

It was only two days later when he was apprised of Johan's demise with immediate effect. He wasn't particularly sympathetic, nor was he overly happy about the news. He had carved out a situation whereby his family was protected for the foreseeable future and with a little to spare for his new venture.

# Chapter 20

The consultancy passed slowly but without controversial elements. It did nudge Adam's future plan slightly. He'd seen first-hand evidence of a trend in America which he was keen to adopt. Because of significant increases in average weight gain in the U.S. there'd been a drive by medical opinion that it should be addressed in a variety of ways.

He felt this would inevitably translate to the U.K. and there'd be a surge from embryo to full societal response. Rather than waiting to see how the NHS would tackle this, he decided to open a gymnasium in which the emphasis was social recreation.

Producers of multi-gym equipment had already cottoned on to this idea and offered a wide range of bespoke kit. He envisaged tailored programmes, compiled to the individual aims and capability. There would be a recreation lounge for meeting others who could share their ambitions and even become close friends. There was also the unseen tendency for romantic relationships to flourish over a cup of coffee.

He found the ideal location. A Co-op hardware store which had been mothballed. It also had a connection with the place his mother had worked for so many years. The gym opened in 1981 and his expectations were exceeded within weeks. One of his mother's favourite sayings came to mind. 'Always be happy, never be satisfied'. So, he added a section which sold workout sportswear, from shorts and vests to training shoes. There was also a new section for the diehard grunt and groan weightlifters in a separate annexe.

His family life was transformed beyond his wildest dreams. Max was now approaching ten years of age and Adam had been able to witness his development during and after the consultancy which had financed the gym.

Despite his disappointment with football dreams, he had to regain that level of fitness, an obvious requirement. His enduring positive memory of those days was his lack of flat out pace; it was more than compensated by prolonged speed endurance. He'd always had reserves of stamina to burn. He joined a local harrier club and within a year formed a running club at the gym. This served two purposes, one to encourage people of modest ability to enjoy social running, and the second to encourage proven club runners to add weight training to their programmes. It became yet another facet of the thriving business.

These were some of the best days of his life. Especially having Max competing in junior races as part of the same programme he himself could enter. Max had already run in several inter-school championships and county standard events. He had natural talent allied to the Corinthian ethic of – 'participation matters more than winning'. The best example of this was at a race within the grounds of Featherstone Castle, a stately building between Hexham and Carlisle. The mad rush of over a hundred boys to the first narrow corner saw Max tripped from behind and roll into the crowd. By the time he could resume, the field had disappeared some seventy yards around the corner of the castle. After the first of four laps was completed he'd made up some thirty yards. Olivia kept shouting his name, while Adam tried to advise him to keep something in reserve. Coming to the start of the last lap Max was in about tenth place, looking stressed. The undulating course had sapped the stamina of every competitor, nevertheless Max continued to overtake runners one by one. Head down as the final quarter mile beckoned, he found something Adam had never seen in him before - aggression. He dipped on the line to snatch third place.

When he got his breath back, Adam was ready to console him, saying how unfortunate it was that he was tripped. The reply floored both parents.

"It was the most exciting race I've ever run in. After I fell down nobody passed me, I just passed other runners. It was awesome."

*

Adam had set himself a new challenge and Max could join in from time to time. He had run in many events from ten kilometres to marathons. Although his marathon time had improved steadily, he wasn't satisfied. Taking Max with him on the shorter training sessions helped the discipline of ensuring they were 'recovery' runs.

He entered the 1984 London Marathon, over the iconic 26 miles 385 yards. His best previous time was 2 hours 48 minutes. His training was all on track when it happened.

Olivia had noticed Max was constantly thirsty and was telling lies about the serious amount of fizzy drinks he was taking from the refrigerator.

Adam took Max to the doctor and within two minutes he was diagnosed with type one diabetes. Adam and Olivia were distraught. Max didn't understand what it would mean. He was hospitalised immediately to stabilise blood sugar levels and learn how to inject himself with insulin four times per day. It took several days for this to reach the point where Max could come home. When the little boy was told that Adam wouldn't be running in London, his response was remarkable.

"But you've done all that training, Dad. I helped you. You mustn't waste it. I wanted to come to London with you. I want to go."

After much agonising Adam took the view that his son, despite not realising that he would have this condition for the rest of his life, had such a positive attitude to fight this disease. After this declaration he had to run for Max.

As the starting pistol was fired Adam had only one thought in his mind. 'Do not deviate from the six minute mile target to avoid hitting the invisible wall of lactic acid overload'. He couldn't face returning home if he failed to set a new personal best. This fight was nothing compared to the perennial battle Max would have to endure.

At seventeen miles, he had his first knee-jerk reaction to up the pace. Head over heart prevailed and the moment passed. Turning in to the Mall, he knew the job was all but done. He crossed the line in a time of 2 hours 39 minutes, destroying his previous best. The willpower had anaesthetised the physical pain and he now began to stagger to the medal queue. His first thought was to phone Max and Olivia. Regardless of his exhilaration he knew that he would never run another marathon. At the age of 44, and being classified as a veteran, it was mission completed. He could turn the rest of his life to Max's daily struggle.

*

They sold the business in 1985 and visited Olivia's parents regularly. But what next? He had a long way to go until the parasol of retirement would kick in. During a week in Germany, the family enjoyed the summer weather with Adam's in-laws. He couldn't resist taking a couple of days out to attend the famous DRUPA exhibition in Dusseldorf. The prime event of the printing world. It became another life-changing coincidence. He had nothing in mind other than seeing how technology was developing in his old bailiwick.

He approached a sparsely attended booth because the sign indicated some new adhesive chemistry on the cusp of mass production.

"Can I help you," asked Hans Muller.

"Just browsing," replied Adam, "I used to be in this business. Long while back. So, how does this adhesive differ from the norm?"

"Well, firstly it's a radiation curing process. A liquid is turned into a sticky mass by electron beam energy instead of high temperature polymerisation. This stuff cures in a millisecond whereas the conventional heat process takes hours. Also, this liquid can be cured in tiny quantities compared to batch sizes of normal adhesives only being economical at around one thousand litres."

The hook was set. Adam's head was brimming with ideas, likening his cerebral traffic to emulate the swirling chaos of the asteroid belt. Hans could feel Adam's level of interest and invited him to lunch where they were joined by Torstein Jacobsen.

The short time the three of them spent together was littered with examples of what this technology could achieve. Unfortunately, the German chemical company was far too big to take Adam seriously as a one man band.

"Thank you Dr Muller, I'll be in touch."

*

It took one hell of a lot of effort to attract a reputable investor. He clinched it by arguing that a printing company had the unique opportunity to cut out a middleman in the form of his own former organisation. The flexibility of reducing the scale of an average order by the radiation curing technology was key. He went back to Germany to show the financial stability of his investor. There was still scepticism. Then there was a Eureka moment circulating through Adam's mind. It was the pivotal hinge which gave the green light. He asked Hans a question which initially provoked laughter.

"Hans, these branched chain polyesters you're trying to sell, can you reduce the tack?"

"Ha-ha, we've spent the last five years trying to increase the adhesion levels. Why do you ask?"

"I'd rather not answer that yet. Can you make these polyesters cure and have no tack at all?"

"Of course, but I don't see the point."

"Just bear with me for a little longer. Can we produce some samples of both the sticky and non-sticky types?"

"We can. When are you going to explain your thinking?"

"Probably after your company signs an agreement for some exclusivity we would need to launch our solution to an ever growing problem."

"Good luck with that, Adam. You will need a very good story to obtain such an agreement with our directors. Let's make your samples."

The two of them gained access to the movers and shakers. Adam took the opportunity to ask a question prior to revealing his hand. He wanted _them_ to ask the question which he believed he had the answer to.

"Could you ask yourselves, before you ask me, what can be done about the growth of single use plastics please?"

The huddle took a few minutes to respond. "We, as suppliers of such products, are concerned that there will come a tipping point but we are not sure when it will come."

"Thank you. What would you say would limit further growth?"

"The most senior man replied. "The roadblock will likely be satisfactory recycling capacity and cost."

"That is precisely my point. In every self-adhesive company, including my former employer, separating the plastic layer carrying the printed message from the adhesive is not currently possible. This is due to the disparate chemical composition of each. With your polyesters that is no longer a roadblock. They are identical in recycling terms and can be re-constituted easily. I'd be surprised if this didn't open a route to increasing the value of your technology. However you need a conduit. I took the precaution of registering a patent for producing such protection. If it is granted I'd be happy to re-assign ownership in order to make us equal partners."

The avalanche of altered perception became contagious. A binding agreement was hurriedly drafted for Adam's investors to scrutinise.

# Chapter 21

The new company was registered and rolled their first products out in late 1987. Exponential demand over the next two years attracted attention of hitherto non-participants in the self-adhesive industry. Notable examples were passports and sewerage systems. Passports were increasingly prone to tampering and the product scope allowed unseen tracking of a sort in combatting this kind of felony. Repairing leaks and dislocated underground sewerage pipes was a disruptive and expensive process. Sending a mole through the pipe with an internal application device fitted with an ultraviolet light source, could carry out the repair much more quickly and cheaply. In both examples the potential volume requirement was massive.

*

Lightning, if it doesn't strike twice in the same place, will definitely strike in another place. The new company had done so well that it attracted predators as well as new market opportunities. Out of the blue, such a threat surfaced. A large organisation made a buyout offer which tempted Adam's investor into accepting a substantial multiplier of their original stake. Adam resisted but was outvoted.

It heralded the beginning of the end. To an outsider it may have looked like a perfect match. It was an unmitigated disaster. The new owners went into administration within eighteen months and as a result Adam's brainchild was closed.

He couldn't stop it, despite trying to buy back the shares. He had to concede he was ready to embrace retirement at the age of fifty-two. The upsides were that he was going to spend the rest of his life with his wife and son, and in the process of his unwanted payoff from the sale he'd become financially secure to do so.

*

Adam had never been big on the concept of fate. This would be an interesting test of that belief. The restless phases of his various forays into making a difference were over. Olivia pressed him to engage in some kind of hobby or creative occupation. "I can't adjust to you being here all of the time, Adam. It would drive me crazy."

He'd always wanted to free his imagination. He cautiously chose to write a science fiction book. It enjoyed only modest success,

But he was undeterred. Although his marathon days were in the distant past, he turned to cycling. Riding twenty to fifty miles per day kept the wolf from the door. His writing leapt forwards and backwards through crime fiction, political satire, and themes involving global issues.

Max was living with his fiancée, not far away from Olivia and himself. As yet there was no cure for type one diabetes. Max was now forty-eight years old. He had injected himself four times a day over the thirty-eight years since his diagnosis. Adam had limitless respect for how his son had prospered in the face of such a limiting imposition. Max was an inspiration for others to follow. A kind of Dunkirk spirit.

*

Adam wondered how that spirit could be moulded to combat the scourge labelled Covid 19. His instinct told him that it allowed everyone to take stock of both the macro and micro predicaments simultaneously. The lockdown as an opportunity to look in the mirror and decide if you're able to infect friends with motivation or in desperate need to hoover up hope from others. Society, to him had an invisible reservoir of optimism and creativity which can be tapped to spread to those most in need of reassurance. The innovative majority seemed to have found a plethora of ways to help us through the pandemic. He ascribed this with the tag 'Covid Elixir'.

Comparing this situation with the post war austerity caused Adam to reflect on the similarities and differences. The obvious ones were in identifying the common enemy, how to draw on the resolve of the population, the mechanics of restoring normality, and perhaps the most important of all - carving out a more caring society.

Q: What is inspiration?

A: Who knows? But humanity is pointless without it.

We can beat this virus.

A.N. 1940-2020.

#

