MORNING SERIAL

BULL climbed on to the galvanized iron roof. Charlie, Reg and Titus scrambled up after him.

“Hey, Thomas, come on up. Bring Iron with you to see the sights.” The two boys got on to the roof. It sloped upwards. The apex overlooked a street twenty feet below. A wooden footbridge spanned the main railway line at the northern end of the street, and over it came a crowd of women and girls on their way back from breakfast to the tinstamping works.

They pushed slowly forward, battling against the strong wind, heads down, their hands occupied in holding their skirts as the wind strove to embarrass them.

In pairs, or groups of three or more they came, conscious of the gang on the roof. The older women passed by with a show of unconcern, but the younger ones looked up, laughing and giggling at the remarks shouted to them from the rooftop.

Bull and Charlie lay full length, their heads jutting over the edge.

Red and Titus sat down, legs swinging into space. Two attractive girls, one blonde, the other auburn-haired, hurried along the pavement directly underneath. They made no attempt to hold down their skirts, and shrieked shrilly as a gust of wind exposed their silk-stockinged thighs.

Bull grinned. “Hey, there!” he shouted down. “Play the game, girls. That’s how Nelson lost his eye.” The blonde threw back her head. Her red lips pouted in pretended annoyance.

“Always the funny wonder, aren’t you, Bull-bull?” “Come up here,” Bull called, “and I’ll show you what a wonder I am. And not so funny, either.” “Yeah — and bring Ginger with you,” Reg added. He whistled through his teeth. “You, Ginger — how d’you feel?” “With my hands,” the auburn-haired girl laughed.

“Izzat so, izzat so!” Reg returned. He began to sing: “Ginger, you’re barmy, Fit for the Army …. ” Then, with a sly grin, he shouted: “Fit for me, too. Come up here and let’s see what you’re made of.”

The two girls walked on, and the audience on the roof turned its attention to a party of six who followed a few yards behind.