the great button theft

In all the Lancashire cotton towns before and after the Great War, there was always a "dummy" to be found.

This was always some poor deaf mute who was the butt of thoughtless youth, but other people, being all too aware of their own troubles in those harsh times, could spare a kind and considerate thought for one less fortunate and so they were left alone.

But Padiham, in my experience, held a unique position in this respect, in so much as the town appeared to have more than it`s fair share of dummies of quite another kind.

There were a lot of people in the town who seemed to have been in the lavatory when brains were being handed out, and so missed their turn, and this little tale concerns one of those. This chap lived in a now demolished part of the town near the "Bridge Inn" and was always immediately recognisable by the size and colour of his nose.

He was only in his teens but noted for odd behaviour, and usually given a wide berth. So that when one winter evening I had gone to the Padiham "Grand" and found myself in an aisle seat next to him, I looked round for another seat. The place was packed and I had to sit tight as the lights were dimmed for the picture. Already his enormous beak was glowing in the dark, and I thought to myself "crikey - it`s the dreaded "Bridge Inn" dummy".

The picture started and I gradually edged away from him but every little shift was accompanied by one from him, following me up until the bugger practically had me hanging over the edge of the aisle. "Gerroff", I hissed, and gave him a push back, conscious that the folks in the seats behind had a grandstand view of these odd proceedings.

He sat up straight again and I did, but presently he was back again, this time laying his head on my shoulder. "Will you clear of" I muttered, giving him another shove. He remained quiet and still, his head still resting on my shoulder, and I wondered for a moment if he had conked out. "Well", I thought, putting a brave face on it, "after all I`ve got a thick overcoat on and he`s comfortable and very likely missing his mother or something" so sticking it out, I sat for the remainder of the picture.

The moment it finished, I hopped it and got outside, clutching my thick coat around me in the bitter wind blowing, only to find I couldn`t fasten the buttons.

The reason was simple - there weren`t any buttons to fasten. "It`s that flaming lunatic", I thought, "he`s pinched me bloody buttons". He had - and wrapping the coat round me as best I could, I got back home, cold and fuming.

I spread the coat on the table and examined it - every single button had been neatly and painstakingly removed with a pair of scissors…