The Man who Hated Hats

Jack has problems, lots of them and life conspires against him and he finds himself in trouble with the police, shop security people and the legal system. A chance encounter behind Greggs the Bakers leads to an unusual friendship and a new adventure. In the last story of season one, we meet Jack an ex-soldier trying to cope with life away from the battlefield. 

Transcript

This transcript has additional text that was removed from the final podcast.

The man who hated hats

I shout at people on Northumberland Street. I don’t mean to but I do.

Just things like;

Get out of my way

What are you looking at?

Gis a pound for a coffee?

Not that you can get a cup of coffee on Northumberland Street for a pound.

But mostly I shout about hats. I hate hats. I hate people who wear hats. The stupid pointy way they stick out of their heads. I hate woolly hats pulled down over someone's ears. Sometimes, I walk up behind them and I pull their hats off and I throw them on the ground and dance on them. 

Men with hats, women with hats, kids with hats, they’re all the same to me. It’s not the people I object to, it’s just the hats. I hate hats. I shout at people with hats. I can’t stop myself. 

I’d be no good at a wedding. 

Sometimes they shout back but mostly they just look at me like I’m a dog turd they just stood in.

Is it my fault people wear stupid hats? I don’t think so.

That’s why I was in court again. I already have an Anti Social Behavior Order (ASBO) issued against me and I was banned from Northumberland Street for 12 months. It isn’t my fault, it’s the people and their stupid hats. If there were no hats there would be no problem.

Why don’t they put a big sign on Northumberland Street saying “No Hats”. They wouldn’t hear another word from me as long as people obeyed the sign and took their hats off. They could have someone whose job it is to stand at the bottom of Northumberland Street and stop people with hats and get them to take them off. I could do that. They could give me the job. I’d make sure that no one wears a hat.

I am not quite sure how I ended up in the back alley off Northumberland Street just a few days later. Well, actually I know about the back alley bit. I was keeping out of the way of this copper. I mean the bit about Northumberland Street. Why do I go there? There’s a court order against me and if the police see me I’ll be arrested. 

I got up in the morning never intending to go there. In fact, if you had asked me where the last place on earth that I would be on that day and I would have said Northumberland Street. I wanted to stay in my room in the hostel. I can’t get into too much trouble there. They just leave me alone in my room and I listen to the radio. I like the radio. It makes pictures in my head and in those pictures no one is wearing a hat.

But at ten in the morning there I was walking down Northumberland Street. It was a nice warm morning, so not many people had hats on, just those daft lads with the baseball caps and the woolly hat brigade and even then it was a bit early for them. It wasn’t too bad. I do try really hard not to shout at people and mostly I just mumble under my breath and give them dirty looks. 

You have to be careful with the lads with baseball caps. The ones who have them on back to front they're just wankers but the ones with the bent peaks who push their caps back high on their foreheads, those you have to watch. If they are on their own it’s OK but when they are mob handed they will turn on you and give you a right good kicking.

There I was taking a stroll when I saw this Copper down near Fenwicks, so I thought I would dive down the back alley near Greggs and make myself scarce until he had gone. I went to crouch behind this dumpster when I gets the shock of me life. This old woman crashes into me and sends me flying into the middle of the alley. I’m sitting on me arse on the ground and I’m just about to launch into a major rant against this stupid woman when I sees this security guard standing at the top of the alley. He’s looking at me with this smug look on his face. 

What is it about these jumped up little bastards? They’re nothing but put a uniform on them and a hat on their heads and suddenly there Vladimiri Putin. He’s asking, have I seen a woman with big shopping bags? 

I wanted to say yes, she’s hiding in my place behind the dumpster but I just said

“knobhead, this is my alley now get lost.”

But he just goes on about seeing an old woman

But all I can see is this cap like a policeman, only he is probably too stupid to be a policeman. These people think they're so important just because they have a hat on and they think they can order you about and I am staring at him really hard and I want to say something really nasty but he just shrugs his shoulders and turns around and walks away.

Anyway this woman is really grateful and thanks me for not shopping her to the guard and then she picks up her bags and starts to walk out of the alley. 

I had a quick look around the corner and the security man is talking to this copper so She says that I have to help her and she takes a coat from her bag and hands it to me. I thought this woman was crazy so I better go along with her. 

Have you noticed how many crazy people there are around these days? Years ago all the crazies would be locked away and they wouldn’t cause any trouble to anybody but these days they just let them walk the streets. Owt could happen to you, some mental case could get you with a samurai sword. They call it Care in the Community. I tell you, I worry sometimes. You’re not safe in your own home, never mind on Northumberland Street.

So, I thought she could be one of them and if I didn’t do what she wanted I could find myself behind the dumpster, dead or worse. She tells me to take my coat off and she pulls out another one from her bag. She  says the the guard  won't spot me and we should just stroll out like we are man and wife

I tell her as soon as Fenwick's guard sees the coat he knows it’s stolen but she tells me the coat is from John Lewis.

There I am in the back alley beside Greggs standing there in a woman’s coat. She picks up my coat and puts it on. My coat has seen better days and it makes her look like she would stand out in a soup kitchen queue. I was laughing until she took a hat  out of her bag and put it on my head. Just like that. Not a word. No warning or owt.

I feel the bile rising in my stomach and the cramps in my legs and my arms go all weak and then I just threw up all over her. It was mostly cheese and pickle sandwiches.  

I pulls the hat off and throws it on the ground and I brush some of the sick off her and she starts going on about it’s her coat sleeve that I am using and I tell her I don’t want my coat getting covered in sick and she says if it was covered in dog turds it couldn’t smell any worse.

All of a sudden Her eyes start to well up with tears and she’s begging and crying. I told her to shut up but she’s making so much noise I worry that the coppers will come.

I can’t stand it anymore. I put the hat on my head.

At least as long as it was on my head I couldn’t see it. I grabbed her arm and the two of us walked towards the end of the alley and with our heads down we turned and went up Northumberland Street away from the copper and the Fenwick’s man.

Next, I feel something or somebody grabs my arm.

“Excuse me sir, can I have a word with you about the coat you are wearing.”

So I’m sitting in my cell on remand. They won’t give me bail as they think I will just re-offend. I told them I wouldn’t. I promised to be good but they didn’t believe me. To be honest they were right. I would re-offend. It’s not that I want to, it's just that I can't help myself.  But I never do anybody any real harm. I might pull their hats off their heads and I might shout a bit but I never hurt anyone. Well, only a couple of times and that was mainly self defence.

I’m in here locked up with robbers, killers and druggies. I mean, I ask you where’s the justice in that? I know that I shouldn’t have helped that woman but I had no choice and anyway it was just a bit of shoplifting and she got bail. 

Remand isn’t that bad. The people here haven’t actually been convicted of anything; they're just waiting for their case to come to court. So it’s a bit more relaxed than prison. The first problem I have is not the prisoners, they keep away from me and anyway only a few of them wear hats. 

There are some Rasta’s who wear these big multicoloured hats but they keep themselves to themselves and that’s OK with me. I got nothing against Rasta’s as long as they keep their hats to themselves. I have never had any trouble from them like I have from the chav lads with the baseball caps pushed back on their heads. There twisted evil little bastards.

No, my problem is the Guards. Why is it that everyone who wants to shove me around and tell me what to do has a hat on their head? You can’t mess with these guys and you say anything rude to them and you get a knock on your cell door at two in the morning and for the next few weeks all you can eat is porridge.

I was taken to see the physiatrist on Wednesday. She has to do this report for the court. I don’t want to go back inside and I don’t want to be this person who everyone thinks is a waste of space. I tell her that I know I upset people sometimes and I tell her I am a public nuisance but I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t shout at people because I want to. Well, that’s not really true, I do want to shout at people but I do not want to.

She tells me about medication. I tell her, I have had medication before and it just makes me stupid. I have hardly any control over my life and she wants to take it away. On drugs I end up a dribbling idiot. Sure, I cause everyone less trouble because it's like I am half asleep. The last time I took medication I just sat in my room doing nothing.  I couldn’t even listen to the radio. The pictures in my head were gone and it didn’t make any sense like it did before. 

She told me that I have to develop avoidance techniques. Why is it that these people cannot say;

“Different ways of doing things” They know what they are talking about but in my opinion most of their clients are as thick as pig shit and haven’t got a clue what they are talking about, so when the say

“Develop avoidance techniques” somebody says what that means and they have to explain that it means “different ways of doing things”. So what’s the point? They could save themselves all the trouble by saying

“Different ways of doing things”

I got a fine when I went to court. 300 quid, it might as well have been three million quid. They’ll not get a penny out of me. I’m on an invalidity pension. So, they can’t take us out.

I could have gone down because of all of this. What with breaking the ASBO and shoplifting. I told the coppers that it was me that took the coat and hats and they dropped the charges against the old woman. I was bust for the ASBO and I thought I might as well take the wrap for the shoplifting as well. No point in getting two people to bother.

Anyway it turned out to be a good move because the old lady said afterwards that I could go and stay at her gaff. Her name is Ann and she’s a bit weird and that but we get along OK. She has a nice little place, a bungalow in Kenton, garden and everything. A big hedge at the back and I can sit out there all day and never see a hat.

She was well chuffed with what I’d done and that and kept going on about what a stupid woman she has been. Her son, Godfrey comes around to see her all the time. He’s spitting feathers about me moving in but Ann just tells him to mind his own business. She tells him it’s not his house until she dies. He protests and says he’s not interested in the house but in the fact that she’s sharing her house with a nutter.

She tells him I’m a war hero and how I fought for my country in Afghanistan. I never told her about that. It came out at the court case. My solicitor used it to soften up the Judge, who he knew was ex-army. It worked. The solicitor told me to expect six months.

Anyway I can tell by his eyes that he’s lying. I bet he secretly wishes that I choke the old dear and then he gets rid of both of us and the house would be his. Ann reckons it’s worth a few bob. She bought it with the compensation when Billy got it. He was a contractor in the shipyards. Him and three blokes were cleaning a tank. Someone mixed up the paperwork and this one had some sort of nasty chemical and they were dead in five minutes.

I keep thinking about the tank with the four bodies. Things like how they were lying. Was one of them trying to get out or did it overcome them so fast they never knew.

I’ve seen blokes die. Sometimes it’s like a light being switched off. They’re there one second and then a thud. A bullet gets them and they drop like a stone. Their hands don't go to break their fall or owt; they just drop like their spines turned to jelly. 

Others fight for every last drop of life. My mate Tom died like that. He was ahead of me. I was watching him and crapping myself at the same time. I was only twenty. I had never seen action until I got to Afghanistan and there I was in Helmut and there are Talibs everywhere.

Tom took a shot straight in the chest. It spun him around and I saw his ribcage explode outwards. The bullet probably bounced around inside him. 

He looks at me. No fear or nothing in his eyes. Just shock, no disbelief. Like the look on our faces when big Tony told us he was gay. I was sort of waiting for him to laugh but he didn’t.

He dropped to his knees and then he started to crawl towards me. I just ran out. There were rounds going off all around me but I just grabbed him and dragged him back to the trench. He lived for three days. How he lived for three seconds I don’t know. There was blood everywhere, broken bones sticking out. He was a mess. The bullet had torn up everything but his heart and it wouldn’t stop pumping. They wouldn’t let me stay with him. I had taken a round in the leg and that was me off. 

I got a pension cause the bone shattered and because I got the medal and stuff. Honourable discharge they called it. Big Tony says honourable discharge sounds like a sexual disease of the aristocracy.

She’s a tough bird Ann. I don’t usually get on with women. I prefer blokes. Not like Big Tony, mind you. I just don’t feel comfortable around women. Anyway, Ann says I have to get out of the house. I told her, I am happy just to sit around. I don’t mind doing housework and stuff. I can’t cook but I like looking after the garden. When I first saw it the lawn was like an old threadbare carpet and there were no flowers at all, just a bunch of big weeds growing in the one corner. 

I have planted some flowers and sorted the grass out and it doesn’t look too bad. Except Ann said I had to leave the big weeds in the corner. She thinks I don't know what the weeds are but I saw fields of it in Afghanistan. Not poppies you understand, just wacky baccy.

My room’s nice. It’s quite big. Ann helped me decorate it. I have never thought about decorating before. A room was a room. Keep it clean and keep it tidy, that’s what I know. When Ann came to the Hostel to get my stuff she said my room looked like a prison cell. I spent most of my life in institutions and then I joined the army. Bedrooms and decorating never came up on my radar before. 

In the room I’ve got a bed and a wardrobe and a little cabinet by my bed. Ann got me a notice board thing. I stick things on it with drawing pins. There are a few cuttings from the Evening Chronicle about me ASBO and the shoplifting case. I have a picture of me with Tom and Big Tony taken on board the Hercules that flew us to Afghanistan. Ann says I should display my Victoria Cross medal as well but I don’t want to. I never wanted it. If I had saved Tom’s life I might have wanted it but I didn’t.

Ann wants me to go shopping with her. Which I have done before but I don’t usually go into the shop, I just stay in the car, sitting in the passenger seat and keep my eyes on the floor and I wait until she comes back with the trolley. I help her put the stuff in the back of the car and when we get home, I carry the bags into the house. Her back’s not very good and she tells me she can’t push the trolley around and I have to come in with her.  

I tell her I have been in the shop before but I don’t want to go anymore. Ann sits me down in the Kitchen and gives me a cigarette. I tell her I don’t smoke and she tells me this is a special cigarette. Some of the squaddies used to smoke wacky backy  but I never touched drugs me, ever. I pass the cigarette back to her but she tells me to have another couple of puffs but I say no. 

You would take one look at Ann and say there is a nice old lady. In a nice old lady competition she’d come top, no problem. She says she’s seventy but I bet she’s older than that. Little and kind of a bit bent. It turns out when her back started to go a few years ago and she couldn’t sleep because of the pain. This neighbour says she should smoke a joint before she goes to bed. Ann reckons it’s really good and it relaxes her and since then she has always slept well.  

Well, I don’t do drugs but I trust Ann and I think I might as well try it once and see what happens.  I had another couple of puffs and she was right. I started feeling very calm.

Off we went to Morrison’s. I got out of the car and I got a trolley and started to follow her around.  We had gone to the Morrison’s at the bottom of Shields Road. It is just next to Charva Town. That’s what I call Byker. It’s full of these bad lads and I said to Ann it was a bad idea to go there. I used to go in when I was staying at the hostel and I saw them then. I managed to keep out of their way. Me giving dirty looks and mumbling might have made me stand out on Northumberland Street but on Shields Road I blended in with the rest of the drunks and misfits. Around there they’re more doctors and chemists than anywhere else in Newcastle. Half the people you meet are long term sick. I wonder if these people are poor because they are sick or they’re sick because they’re poor.

We go in to Morrison’s and we walk down the aisles and Ann is putting stuff in the trolley and I am just keeping me head down when suddenly I am standing in the bakery and all these people are milling around in their little paper hats and all I can think about is this display of pastries.  It was fantastic, donuts, cream cakes, Danish pastries and best of all a big strawberry gateau. I wanted it like I used to want a woman. I wanted to rub my face in it, lick it and bite it. I wanted to go down on that cake so bad, I didn’t notice all the commotion going on.

When I turned around they were coming out of the office at the back. Three men with balaclavas pulled down over their faces and one had a sawn off shotgun in his hand and they were shouting and screaming at everyone to get down. Everywhere there were people screaming and trying to get out of the way. The robbers are screaming back telling them to shut up and to get down on the floor.

Me, I’m just standing there looking at these three guys with the balaclava hats pulled down over their faces. I am starting to get a bit annoyed that they interrupted the thing going on with the strawberry gateau and spoiling my good mood. When a shotgun boy comes up to me and pushes the shotgun in my gut.

You can tell this guy doesn’t know what he’s doing. Firstly they only have one gun between them and it’s sticking in my guts and the guy on the other end is right in my face. I’m calm. Instead of wanting to shout at him or grab his hat, I smiled at him. I could see his eyes. I could see he was working out what to do about me. I watched his eyes widen and then narrow and then as he blinked, I head butted him. At the same time I grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and pulled it out of hands as he fell backwards.

It was that easy. The next thing the other two drop the bags and leg it out the door, leaving the gunman rolling around on the floor screaming about his broken nose. I looked at Ann and she looked back at me with the biggest smile and she started to clap and then all the people that were getting up off the floor started to clap as well. 

That night it’s on BBC Look North and in the Evening Chronicle. 

“Local War Hero Foils Robbery”

Six months ago I was a public nuisance and now I am a local hero. No mention of the ASBO or the shoplifting. 

The nicest thing to come out of it was the Manager at Morrison’s was full of praise for me and kept shaking my hand and as I left he said was there anything he could do for me, anything, I just had to ask.

Me and Ann had Strawberry Gateau for tea. We ate it all except for a small piece I kept to have in my room later.

This is the last episode of the first season of Telling Tales. I hope you have enjoyed it. I am taking a break over the summer but I’ll be back with season 2 in the autumn. I would love to hear your feedback, what you liked, what you didn’t and what you might like to hear more of in Season 2. Email me at tellingtalesjeffprice@gmail.com. You can also support my podcast by buying me a coffee. It's only £2.00 just click this link https://www.buymeacoffee.com/jeffpricen3 . Thank you for listening and see you in the Autumn.