Flare up in the back passage

I was startled by the appearance of the man.

I say man in the loosest of terms in that he could have been anywhere in age between 15 and 90.

His face was round and ruddy, the skin stretched taut and shiny as though he spent all of his life outdoors, walking into a strong wind and driving rain. He had achieved, in whatever lifestyle he led , that timeless, revitalised look that the cosmetics industry have  striven to promote to its clientele through chemical injection, skin peel and the application of compounds derived from human and animal body parts.

It was the reddish hue, protruding eyes and sticky out ears that kept him from being regarded as a marvel of nature or a candidate for a catwalk. He was also short of stature, with the height and deportment more associated with a jockey.

The manner of his appearance did cause me to jump as well as nearly falling over him as we converged from opposite directions down one of the narrow foot passages that run like arteries through the old terraced housing in the inner city area of Hull.

These back-ways will at one time have been the lifeblood of the terraced housing blocks behind which they sit and interconnect.

The front doors of the terraced houses were strictly reserved for visitors of a formal nature such as Clergymen, the Man from the Prudential, the Police and relatives from out of town. The back way was for everything else from the return from the nightshift of the man of the house, the wheeling of bicycles, deliveries of coal, day to day comings and goings, a playground for children, a secluded place for the trembling knees of young lovers and for the logistics of moving furniture and rubbish.

The maze of ways was respected and maintained in good order by the residents, kept clear of ladders, bits of wood and miscellaneous building materials, barrows and fish boxes.

Everyone knew everybody else in the terraced blocks and their business. There was a common bond in the neighbourhood of proud workers in factories, in local shops and on the docks. There was no thought of having to lock the outside doors and people came and went as they pleased. Uncles and Aunties abounded in number even though not many were actually of any blood relative status.

At some time in more recent history the use of the back ways declined. Boundary walls teetered and fell and were left where they lay. Yard gates swung on burst hinges or disappeared to be reduced to kindling. Dogs, cats and roaming foxes pilfered the waste bins and the inevitable arrival of the rats and other vermin was the catalyst for some sort of action by the Environmental Officer.

Pilfering and theft through the footways followed with any items not bolted down or otherwise secured just lifted out and of the back yards and secreted away. The width of the passage made it just about physically possible to carry and whisk away a large unwieldy cathode ray tube TV, a mountain bike, lead flashings from a bathroom roof, prized ornaments and commemorative benches.

An empty property in the block became the focus for vandalism and criminal trespass and its yard a depository for yet more domestic waste from soiled nappies to defective fridges and washing machines.

The dubious rat run role of the back ways called for determined action and large secure palisade gates topped with razor wire soon appeared across the openings onto the streets. Keys were issued to those whose houses required any use. Longstanding short cuts to the Chip Shop and Bookies were now no longer viable. Strangers seen to walk up to and rattle the locked gates were viewed with suspicion and reported to the Community Warden Service.

I had wandered into one of the foot ways to get a look at the back of one of the terraced houses as someone had left a gate unlocked. This was for me quite a rarity of access and I felt quite elated at the prospect. At the same time I was wary of not being an authorised user and on guard in case of being cornered by a bulky former fishwife with hair in curlers, ciggy hanging off her bottom lip in an aggressive grimace and wielding a rolling pin.

My movement parallel to the gable end of the house was a bit like a crab crossing a wide open beach in fear of reeling gulls. In trying to get a good viewpoint of the roof and upper rear wall I started to walk backwards and in doing so came up across the strange, Gollum type man. He had heard footfalls in a distinctive booming echo as the sound reverberated between vertical brick elevations and had set out to reccy the situation.

His first impression of me was likely to have been as unflattering as mine of him. He must immediately have put me down as non threatening based on my suit, clean shaven appearance and obvious nervousness to be out of my comfort zone in a back passage with no witnesses.

We did not exchange a single word.

Such a first stage of familiarity was wholly unnecessary as we would never be friends nor perhaps even cross paths ever again. A brief second or so of eye contact established our respective positions.

He left me to make my way back to the street and the safety of the world I knew best.

He was obviously in his element, it was his domain and the place that gave him his livelihood and means of sustenance.

I left him to return to fill up an Asda shopping trolley with the entire contents of some poor sods back yard.