The Robinson Street Fight
I'm not sure how many rooms were in our upstairs apartment on Robinson Street, but I'm sure we filled them all. There were four kids, Brian the baby and Mum was expecting another, and Dad.
Now, can you imagine living underneath this active little family? Mum was always trying to keep us quiet for the sake of those below, but not always succeeding. On different occasions the man living below harassed mother by hitting his ceiling with a hard object, a chair or broom handle perhaps, to express his dislike for our noise.
Mother told Dad about these little episodes, and if my memory serves me correctly, the man below and Dad worked opposite shifts, so little could be done. That is until one day Dad happened to be home through the day. Once again our exuberance disturbed the resting tenant below and once again he showed his disapproval by pounding on his ceiling. Well, was that a day of reckoning? I remember as though it were yesterday, Father bolted out our door and down the stairway and with great force, pounded on the door of the man who lived below.
The man answered the door. Loud words were exchanged, and with there being complete lack of compromise, Father had no other alternative but to drag Mr. Tenant from below, out into the hallway for an atitude adjustment.
By this time we girls were completely aware of what was going on. Mother was doing her utmost to keep us back from the tussle below, but that was impossible. We squeezed out from around her, out from under her arms, out from between her legs. We were coming out from all directions. From our lofty vantage point above we spurred our father on.
"Come on Dad," we squealed, and coming on he was, bang thrashity bang, the two were fisty cuffing below.
Someone, probably the lady tenant from below, called for the authorities. Soon they came rushing up the front steps of the building. Someone sounded the alarm. Both men, wives and children cleared the hallways. When the authorities burst through the front door all they could see was dust settling.
All was well, and mother was never bothered by Mr. Tenant from below again.
I'm not sure how many rooms were in our upstairs apartment on Robinson Street, but I'm sure we filled them all. There were four kids, Brian the baby and Mum was expecting another, and Dad.
Now, can you imagine living underneath this active little family? Mum was always trying to keep us quiet for the sake of those below, but not always succeeding. On different occasions the man living below harassed mother by hitting his ceiling with a hard object, a chair or broom handle perhaps, to express his dislike for our noise.
Mother told Dad about these little episodes, and if my memory serves me correctly, the man below and Dad worked opposite shifts, so little could be done. That is until one day Dad happened to be home through the day. Once again our exuberance disturbed the resting tenant below and once again he showed his disapproval by pounding on his ceiling. Well, was that a day of reckoning? I remember as though it were yesterday, Father bolted out our door and down the stairway and with great force, pounded on the door of the man who lived below.
The man answered the door. Loud words were exchanged, and with there being complete lack of compromise, Father had no other alternative but to drag Mr. Tenant from below, out into the hallway for an atitude adjustment.
By this time we girls were completely aware of what was going on. Mother was doing her utmost to keep us back from the tussle below, but that was impossible. We squeezed out from around her, out from under her arms, out from between her legs. We were coming out from all directions. From our lofty vantage point above we spurred our father on.
"Come on Dad," we squealed, and coming on he was, bang thrashity bang, the two were fisty cuffing below.
Someone, probably the lady tenant from below, called for the authorities. Soon they came rushing up the front steps of the building. Someone sounded the alarm. Both men, wives and children cleared the hallways. When the authorities burst through the front door all they could see was dust settling.
All was well, and mother was never bothered by Mr. Tenant from below again.
posted by Sharon A. Layton-Pollock at 3:15 PM
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