FROM RICHES TO RICHES(with very little money involved) by Roy Bradshaw (a skeletal autobiography and some...)

Introduction

A question to myself: What one thing has held you back mostly in life?

Answer: Verbal communication.

I am a nobody. I have no salubrious celebrity, no airs and graces, no status due to exceptional talent or any connections in places other than at my own level. I am not a movie star, rock star, TV personality nor am I dripping with money made by being a business tycoon. All through my life – and even now, I struggle, struggle, struggle with verbal communication… especially if it’s with a person I like. Pseudo rigor-mortise sets in, my tongue ties itself into two tight knots and a double bow, my mouth dries to a desert – then, to top it all, my mind goes completely blank!

If you could go back to my schools and tell each teacher that I have been reasonably successful in automotive engineering and often reached the heights of Senior Engineer, the answers you would get would be something like: No! Impossible! That must be a different man! It can’t possibly be him! He’d never have that sort of confidence! You get the drift, I’m sure.

If you told them that I had also qualified as a Secondary School teacher, then went on to work both in Secondary and Primary schools as a teacher, most of them would fall over – some with laughter and others with shock. The exception, possibly, would be my old Secondary Woodwork, Metalwork and Technical Drawing teacher (now known simply as DT), and even his eyes would probably widen.

Then, if you told them that I was also a published author of children’s books, you would need to arrange some funerals or places in institutions for the insane, because that would blow their tops… incomprehensible! All of these things I have achieved. Not great in the mix of the normal world, but for me it’s quite astonishing.

Because I have nothing great to offer you like name dropping of film or sports stars, or rubbing shoulders with Royalty, a manic lifestyle or anything juicy like that, I need to offer you something a bit different to a normal autobiography, and I do so want to entertain you. With this in mind I have chosen a particular format, which I will tell you about right now, so if you feel like closing the book and read no more about a nobody, please at least scan my format. There are several parts to it…

At the time of writing, I am living my sixty-fifth year. So, the first part of my format is to attempt to write a short chapter with something of some interest for each of my living years – that’s sixty-four chapters. Some things will be funny and may make you laugh, others will be less so. Some of the chapters will be as thin as the paper they are written on, because either I can’t remember much about that year, (0 to 1 years automatically springs to mind), or nothing much happened in that year. If this happens, I will attempt to tell you about something I was told about the period by a family member or friend.

The next part of my format is poetry. I have written much dilettante poetry and often squeeze some into the prose of my published work (and unpublished manuscripts). I will attempt to create some new poetry and use existing ones already written to compliment each chapter – sometimes I’ll just drop in a random poem or a joke that has no bearing whatsoever on that particular chapter.

I will also throw in the odd excerpt, blurb, prologue, preface or illustration of a story I have written, just to give you a flavour of my stories.

The final part of my format is the present. At the end of each chapter I will give you a sentence or two about what’s going on in my life as I write (2023). An uphill task I fear will take up a lot of my time, but anyway here goes. So, goodbye to those of you that have decided to read no further and thank you very much for reading this far.

Chapter 1. Beginning of 1959 to Beginning of 1960

At the beginning of 1959, Mother Nature, or biology, had probably just about decided that I was going to be a boy. Inside of my mother’s womb, I would have existed for around three months. In the middle of the year when I entered the world, my poopy was still yellow and thus I can’t remember anything about this birth happening thingy. I can recall a few things that were told to me later on in life.

I was born on the 11th June 1959 and delivered onto the living room carpet of number 122, Alexandra Road, The Little Burton Estate, Tipton, in the heart of The Black Country, UK – so called by Queen Victoria as she rode through it on a train. She commented that everyone was black and was informed that that was because of the heavy and grimy industrial work in the area.

The midwife who oversaw my birth was our next door neighbour called Mrs Watson and she became a second mother to me. She’d also overseen the birth, and death, of my older brother who was called George. They (my mom and Mrs Watson), struggled to, but failed to get George to breathe. This is a burden carried by me for most of my life. Although no-one has ever said it, I have felt for all that time that somehow, I was his replacement. Here is my first poem in this work which I wrote for him:

George

(A Brother No-One Ever Knew)

by Roy Bradshaw © 2020

I never knew him, and guess I never will

Sweet sugar for me. For him, a bitter pill

Replace and replenish inside thoughts remain

Mindful he’s there… and George was his name

He lived for a little while, or so I am told

On the front room carpet, Alexandra Road

Next door was the midwife, tried so hard in vain

To get him to breathe… and George was his name

As a tot, my mother once showed me his grave

Smaller than me, over-grown and without any pave

Glistened tear in her eye, a ghost of self-blame

So dearly missed by her… and George was his name

Alive with remembrance for a poor substitute

Of a boy of no picture, but chubby and cute

His identity stolen without any shame

My older brother… and George was his name

Monday, 15th May 2023. Today I worked on a manuscript for the younger generation (KS1, four – six years old). For now, it is called Konk the White Crocodile and His Very Long Snout, but I haven’t decided the final title. I hope it will complement my lower and upper KS2 children’s stories already published. I have sent a draft to my publisher and illustrator for their comments and feedback. Here is the opening to the story in manuscript form:

Konk the White Crocodile and His Very Long Snout (Excerpt)

Pg. 1

Konk, the white crocodile had a very long snout and lived in a special place called the River Rye, where the water was clear, cold and magical. The other crocodiles in the river all had short snouts and were either green or brown or yellow or a mixture of all of those colours.

(Illustration 1. Showing a long white crocodile with a very long snout looking sadly at his reflection in clear blue river water.)

Every time he got out of the river, Konk saw his white reflection in the water and he didn’t like the way he looked. He thought all the other crocodiles didn’t like the way he looked either… and that saddened him.

Pg. 2 – Photocopiable A4 size sketch of illustration 1.

Pg. 3

‘Hello Konk.’ A young crocodile called Alena said to him as he crawled out of the river one day. Konk looked at her and then again at his own white reflection. Alena’s skin was as yellow as a buttercup with black stripes running down her back and some brown spots on her belly.

(Illustration 2. Showing a smaller yellow crocodile with black stripes and brown spots talking to white Konk.)