Veteran Wigan author Ted Dakin on 'demand avoidance' and his experience of National Service

Almost every day I am amazed, confused and disturbed by the things that I read and which have become accepted as part of “modern thinking”. But the latest, mind-boggling eye opener is a true revelation.

Apparently, the youth of today "demand avoidance” – in other words, they demand that the elders of our society keep quiet and should not attempt to give opinions or views.

But what better place than at the bar or in the snug of your local pub, where the weekly local scandals are discussed with genuine relish over pints of “flat rib” and bottles of Guinness?

Demand avoidance? They must be potty. What planet have they come from? Has the art of conversation gone to the dogs?

I was born and bred with the wisdom of my elders ringing in my ears and a regular invasion of gossipy aunts and uncles every Sunday afternoon, all bursting with the wisdom of the ages.

What, or who, will be next in the firing line, I wonder. Will the avoidance of discipline be eliminated altogether from home and workplace? Do

these people want us to be ashamed of who we are and where we come from?

Many years ago, I was doing a lonesome pub crawl and in a certain bar met an old neighbour of mine, and with a few jars of best bitter inside me, my nostalgic streak came to the forefront and back I went in time, but after a minute or two, his face dropped and I realised why.

“Bloody hell, Dakin, them days are over, even the houses have been demolished, why keep going on about it, it’s over and done with.”

“Oh, no it’s not, not as long as I can remember, it ain’t. I can never forget my roots, otherwise it would be a form of lying and I was never a liar.”

But he wasn’t one bit impressed.

This chap wanted to forget Gallagher’s bone works and Constable Hart’s brickyard and Owd Nick’s pond, where Gallagher’s rats slaked their

thirst and made their bolting holes, and he wanted to forget when the demolishers removed a wooden fence to make way for a bricks and mortar one, and on being disturbed an army of them bolted from the jaws of local dogs that had gathered for a happy killing spree.

But his denial of those times baffled me. How did he cope with everyday setbacks in life? How can he make comparisons with the real world of having nowt and today’s world of want, want, want?

But that was the only world that I and others like me knew, and knew nowt else.

It could be rough, but people managed well enough.

If you lived in a clean and sober home, with strict but caring parents, you managed.

I remember one Sunday dinner, mam had laid the table and was dishing up some steaming, appetising lobbies and red cabbage and mi brother Tom suddenly got the “monk” on him, and said, “Not flamin’ dog food again!”

Mam took one look at him and said: “We don’t have a dog, lad, so I’ll put it in’t oven and warm it up for your tea.”

Now that is what I call true parenting from a woman who never had a full purse and because she also knew difference between an idyllic farm life and life in a downtrodden dump like Miry Lane, but worked hard at being a good wife and mother who spent her whole life doting on her family’s every need.

I must admit, though, when I was doing my two years call-up service I did keep stum about my past.

When I was promoted (but without stripes) to officer’s mess duties, I became friendly with a lad called Geoffry Howe.

Geoff was intelligent and well-spoken but didn’t have any posh ideas nor airs and graces.

Geoff owned a high-powered motor bike and lived about 20 miles away on the outskirts of a small rural village.

One Sunday afternoon and with our duties over and done, he took me for a pillion ride to meet his mother who had lost her husband, Geoff’s dad, a few weeks just before the end of World War Two.

It was the scariest 20 mile ride that I have ever experienced in my whole life.

This was a time before safety helmets became law, and speed cameras were non-existent, and Geoff took those country hairpin bends like a speedway rider.

When we finally arrived and me trembling like a leaf, he said: “You’ve never been on a motorbike before have you?”

Between sighs of relief, and a trembling lip, I said: “How did you know?”

"Because every time I took a bend in the road, you would lean the opposite way.”

Even so, Geoff’s mother treated me truly well and fed me delicious cakes and dainty sandwiches and apple pie and glasses of ice cold lemonade, and much to my regret that was my first and last visit, because Geoff was posted to another camp and I never saw him

again.

I never regretted for one minute my two years of army life. I enlisted a lad and came out a man.

I was fitter and smarter, in dress, in bearing and mindset, and I would recommend a return of National Service for all young, eligible men, especially those with wild ideas about "demand avoidance”.

What he, and others like him need, is a couple of hours of being drilled with “a soldier’s best friend” (a heavy 303 Lee Enfield rifle) and a burly, former World War sergeant major bellowing obscenities in to their lughole.

Poor darlings, how would they ever manage being away from mummy for two whole years and being cussed by a bully?

Oh, dear, poor things. Never mind.

But demand avoidance! God, give me strength! What next, I wonder?

According to genuine reports, the present British Army is now at its lowest strength since the days of the Crimean War, so it’ll be God help us all if Vladimir Putin gets real nasty and decides to kick up some real bother.

Good grief! “Back to the caves everyone!”