Chapter Twenty-Three - Nature's Way

Malcolm Moore was a surprise visitor to the front door of the Hood family’s house late one summer afternoon. Unbidden by anything other than the repetitive sound of rock music in the immediate vicinity of where he lived he drove around the estate in his Hillman Imp until, locating the source, he knocked on the front door of the house where he was greeted by the boys’ mother. The appearance of the long-haired and bespectacled boy, who was five years older than Glenn didn’t seem to faze her too much as she soon admitted him to the upstairs bedroom where Glenn and Gerry were rocking their way through David Bowie’s Saviour Machine from which they immediately paused at the appearance of the older boy who resembled John Lennon in many ways except for the semicircle of flesh that was missing from his left ear. The mutilation had occurred they later learned when Malc, as his friends and family called him, had got in the way at very close range of a friend firing a twelve-bore shotgun. One degree further toward Malcolm would have blown a sizeable hole through the centre of his face and head, so, in a way, he was lucky.

And he did seem to enjoy certain privileges. He had quite a nice car - courtesy of his father who was the general manager of a well-established car-dealer’s - and having recently left school enjoyed some source of income as yet unknown to the Hood boys and considerable liberty and freedom. After their unsophisticated introductions had been made Glenn’s self-consciousness somehow decided him against accepting Malc’s immediate invitation to join him at his house where they could apparently listen to some ‘sounds’ and talk about the possibility of forming a band, a band in which he hoped to find musicians to accompany on his Sonor drum kit which Gerry having accepted the invitation found arranged in the dining room of Malc’s parents’ rather modern looking home. The house had an ostentatiously open-plan staircase and, best of all a massively powerful hi-fi which was built-in to the living room’s fitted wall unit, speakers and all, and which blasted out sounds and frequencies that Gerry had not heard the like of before.

Malc placed LP after LP onto the Goldring Lenco deck and from the top of the range Wharfedale speakers Gerry felt, not just heard the sounds of what he was told were the Californian band Spirit performing tracks from their latest album The Twelve Dreams of Doctor Sardonicus. Not content with this aural bombardment Malc made, lit and then handed Gerry his first joint. Gerry had watched as Malc carefully manipulated the two Rizla papers into an angled ‘L-shape’ into which he then poured the contents of a Rothman’s cigarette, licked and split along the seam, before rolling a lump of brown gelatinous vegetable matter into a long black sausage which he carefully arranged along the length of the envelope of white tobacco-filled paper. This he then licked along both gummed strips before expertly twisting into a cone-shaped ‘reefer’ before rolling the ‘roach’ of cardboard, taken from the Rizla packet and inserting it into the narrow end of the conical cigarette. As he lit it and took a deep and satisfying draw on the joint, Gerry watched as the snake of blue smoke drifted from his mouth and was then inhaled again into his nostrils before it could escape. Malcolm gave Gerry the first of what he would learn was one of his trademark grins before mischievously handing the reefer to the young teenager whom he was now inculcating to cannabis smoking within minutes of their first meeting. Gerry, trying to copy the sophistication of the much older boy inhaled deeply but immediately coughed out a cloud of smoke as the much more pungent aroma hit his lungs.
“Take it easy man!” smiled the impish youth to his latest acolyte, advice which proved very valuable when it was later ignored by a curious Glenn who, overcoming his initial misgivings later appeared on the doorstep and ignoring the same instruction spent several hours vomiting.
Gerry felt the first sensations spreading through his body and after an initial period of uncertainty and discomfort soon found the sounds emanating from the speakers ever more agreeable and fantastic. The dope made Gerry feel the music more intensely and as the initial wave of wellbeing took over his small frame he began to giggle uncontrollably at the masterful humour and bonhomie that seemed the natural manner of this laid-back and benevolent young man.

Malc’s suggestion that they ‘play some music, man’ met with little resistance and though Glenn had failed to reappear from the bathroom other older boys with exotic instruments and wispy beards had by now arrived and plugged their guitars into the several amplifiers that stood in various positions around the room. It was Gerry’s first ‘jam’ with older musicians of an ilk that could actually improvise the music as they played rather than copying the lines from a solo in a song and, under the influence of this new narcotic, he loved it. He played with a sense of uncontained adventure and succeeded in laying down some ‘tasty grooves’ as his colleagues taught him a new terminology for what he was now attempting and apparently succeeding in achieving. The mystery guitarists who came and went throughout the chaotic hours of that afternoon and evening - uninterrupted by Malc’s parents who also came and went amidst the chaos and reefer smoke - seemed to enjoy the ‘session’ and shook hands firmly with Gerry when the performance dissolved into another round of ‘toking’ on the comfortable sofas during which the song Nature’s Way insinuated itself deeply into Gerry’s floating subconscious teenage mind. ‘If this is nature’s way then I like it’ thought Gerry almost levitating with serenity and pleasure in the heady company of so many cool guys. The sound of Glenn vomiting could only be occasionally heard above the tremendous volume that Malc’s parents seemed to take for granted in their thoroughly liberal household.

Returning home with his distressed older brother Gerry vowed to return and experience once again the benign though highly illegal pleasures of pot, as soon as possible. Malc had many interesting friends and Gerry soon found himself in ever more exotic company and a considerable amount of trouble at home. Gerry’s father didn’t appear to be opposed to Gerry and Glenn’s new acquaintance calculating that the longer the boys spent playing music at their new friend’s house the more peace he would enjoy as a result. He seemed to take to Malcolm who, with his apparently respectable father Basil and knowledge of motor cars seemed to be the kind of person who wouldn’t necessarily lead his boys, Gerry in particular, astray. Well, at least that’s how it appeared in the beginning. Gerry’s unknown whereabouts during his frequent and lengthy absences were not known about and if Bill Hood had any idea of the goings-on he would certainly have put a stop to them instantly. But he and Gerry were ever more like strangers to one another. Bill, now deeply immersed in financial worries - brought about by the milking parlour he had built for a local farmer who now had solvency problems of his own - was involved in legal wrangles amounting to many thousands of pounds that threatened the future of his business. Gerry, since his move at school, had been less of a problem and his passionate pursuit of work had convinced his father that perhaps a more practical career lay ahead for the boy who might not now add-up to much academically, unlike it was supposed his brother Glenn, for whom high hopes still existed. Making friends with young men such as Malcolm might, his father reasoned, help the lad develop some useful contacts for when he inevitably left school. The deception, such as it was, suited Gerry perfectly and he refused to miss any opportunity to develop his ever more exciting social life regardless of the problems that were now steadily building up for him at school.

Gerry coasted through his schoolwork relying in the event on Dietmar to hastily copy homework or complete whatever exercise that now lay between Gerry and another night out with Malc and his mates. Such nights out would leave Gerry exhausted and bleary-eyed and from which he would arrive at school the following day still partially stoned from another night of excess and indulgence. His various jobs and gigs sustained him financially without any demands on his father’s purse and though the teachers at school were beginning to notice an inexorable deterioration in Gerry’s performance his behaviour at least was not causing them any worries so no reports were yet forthcoming to create discord in the family. Gerry shamelessly exploited this black hole of necessity and burned the candle at both ends for almost the entire third year of grammar school. There were no exams to take or pass and his backsliding was not therefore even on the radar of parents or teachers. His was the life of Reilly and he was living on borrowed time.

Before the bubble had time to burst Gerry was going to fill it with as many new experiences as he was able. He took to visiting, with Malcolm, a very eclectic group of people who lived in a very spacious and spacey flat on the side of the hill overlooking the city of Lindon. There, through the picture window that looked down upon the city’s sparkling lights he met with beautiful sinuous young women in kaftans and Afghan coats who spoke openly about love and sex and who petted him in affectionate ways that he quickly got used to and greatly enjoyed. Handsome young men, recently returned from travels to exotic far away places told him dubious tales of encounters with crazed Afghan tribesmen in the Hindu-Kush whilst Gerry learned to smoke from chillums and bongs, inculcating him further into a culture of drugs and music but, so far at least, not sex. His lack of sexual maturity frustrated Gerry keenly aware as he was of the difference in age and sophistication of the bearded and muscular men who accepted his presence with nonchalant ease, feeding his desire for hash and grass without complaint or demur. In this company Gerry learned to debate, joke, curse, discuss philosophy and theology and listened to the very latest tracks by Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart and Pink Floyd courtesy of the owner of the local record store who kept the same company and habits. The group or collective as he sometimes heard it called liked Gerry and he loved them. Evenings painting walls with psychedelic and luminous designs were interspersed with building hot air balloons - balloons that were so successfully eerie in their glowing iridescence that he was to learn many years later of a nearby neighbours mental breakdown who, when witnessing phalanxes of these ascending in the darkness from the adjacent garden seriously believed them to be UFOs! The nights grew longer and the days paled into relative insignificance as his arrival home in the Hillman Imp grew later and later.

Gerry attributed his luck to the fact that he now had little or no interest in alcohol. He’d tried that again since the bailer incident and the drunken nights at the Plough but had been put off by the nasal vomiting incident after a bottle of cider had left him so drunk that he had been rescued off the front lawn of a kindly woman’s house and, having been allowed to puke in her bathroom for several hours returned home sufficiently chastised to call a hasty halt to his alcoholic apprenticeship. Dope, he felt, suited him much better and his parents, now fully aware of his propensity for smoking, simply turned a blind eye to it outside their home. That he reeked of tobacco fumes at least was inescapable, but he never smelled of alcohol and for this they counted their doubtful blessings. His nocturnal comings and goings were therefore glossed-over in an attempt to maintain the uneasy truce between him and his father, his mother covering for him on many occasions in order to maintain the uneasy peace in a house that by now contained enough stress to boil over with the latest solicitor’s letter or household bill. Gerry was under the radar and took full and complete advantage with the many liberties this allowed him.

Glenn, now embarked on his final GCE exam year had other things on his mind, mainly girls, and the expectation of the family lay entirely on his shoulders, educationally at least. Gerry simply deflected all enquiries about his own diminishing prospects with the simple response “I’m only a third-year, I have two whole years before I have to do my exams. I’ll have plenty to worry about then!” which in truth was certain. He would have plenty to worry about then, had he but known the extent of his approaching anxieties, but for now he hadn’t a care in the world. The summer of 1971 could not have been better for Gerry. He would laze around in parks with his much older and exotic group of friends, playing music, smoking dope and practicing his wiles on some very beautiful ladies knowing that they were helping to hone his skills for the inevitable day when his own chance came. And come it did, all at once.

Sharon Rogers was widely acknowledged to be by far the prettiest girl at the Robert Pat school. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with long straight brunette hair, deep blue eyes and, with her impossibly long legs and ample breasts, a fantasy figure for all boys between twelve and twenty years old. She was, at fifteen, two years older than Gerry when he was given the message from one of her many retainers to meet her behind the bike sheds after school that day. Gerry, at first bemused and thinking she intended to meet Glenn who at almost sixteen was more appropriately aged still went to meet her just to say he’d had a good look up close. When they met he was truly stunned. Stunned by her perfect skin and flawless features but also stunned by her rather common-sounding voice and unsophisticated manner. This paragon of beauty just did not compare to the charming and eloquent young women that Gerry was comfortable in the company of. His attempt to elicit a conversation fell on very stony ground and after acceding to Sharon’s request for a snog, which he enjoyed but didn’t overly prolong, Gerry decided that this was not the girlfriend he was actually seeking and declined most politely the chance to be her boyfriend causing considerable consternation with his and her friends who simply thought him insane.
“You’re doing far too much of that dope if you turned her down” said Glenn to him as they walked home together with Gerry trying to vocalise the enigmatic decision which had served to propel him into another league of unpredictability.
“I know she looks great…” he reasoned with his perplexed brother, “…but there’s nothing going on between her ears at all! There’s more to girls than a pretty face and nice tits.” he argued but Glenn shook his head at him disbelievingly like the brother of a man who had just refused the gift of eternal life.

Gerry had no such doubts. He wanted a girl who could wear an Afghan coat and roll a spliff whilst discussing nihilism. In the event he’d have to wait a long time and live to regret that particular quirky set of demands for even longer. For now, his mind made up, he walked away from the local pin-up girl without a care, certain that what he wanted existed and that judging by the disappointed reaction from Sharon, and the fury of his own friends, he’d get what he wanted eventually. The sickly sweet aroma of the joint that he smoked on the way home, much to his brother’s disgust, wrapped Gerry in an invisible blanket of comfort and his pin-prick pupils failed to reveal to his waiting and trusting mother the extent of his descent into the drug-addled mindset of a dope-smoking teenager. Glenn kept his secret and Gerry’s wastrel ways continued unabated, at least for now.