ANGEL LAUGHTER
Autobiography Volume One by RALPH McTELL

Angel Laughter is the first volume in Ralph McTell's long-awaited autobiography of his early life as Ralph May, spanning the years from infancy in the late 1940s to his time in the Infantry Junior Leaders Battalion of the army at the age of 15.

For Britain, the period immediately after the Second World War was a time of reconstruction both of buildings and families, the bleakness and austerity of life being tempered by relief that the conflict was finally over.

Croydon, just south of London, was hit hard during the war, and Angel Laughter opens with McTell's childhood memories of growing up in this environment, where bomb craters, rationing and the struggle to make ends meet were daily facts of life for Ralph, his brother Bruce and his mother (and Tyler the dog).

A crucial passage early in the book sees the young 3-year-old Ralph witnessing a dramatic confrontation between his mother and father, and his promise to his mother to "look after you" is described with the poignant directness of a child.

The author's extraordinary recall involves the reader not only in the trials of growing up assuming adult responsibilities, but in the joys of childhood self-discovery. Themes such as religion, sex and haircuts are explored in depth, with soft touches, Sunday School and uncertain fumblings being described with honesty and vigour.

The continuing urge for independence sees the adolescent Ralph taking work in a variety of environments Mitcham Fair, Streatham Ice Rink, Wembley Stadium car park - where the characters he meets and the relationships that develop help to shape his post-school life.

Angel Laughter is told with grace and humour, and as the book and Ralph's life progresses, the reader is treated to a wealth of experiences along the often bumpy road to adulthood.

The following extracts appear by kind permission of the publisher, Heartland Publishing Ltd.

ANGEL LAUGHTER is published under the Amber Waves imprint, ISBN 1-902684-02-8, and is available from Tickety-boo Ltd (see Order Form) or any good bookshop. More information and reviews can be found on the Heartland website.

OUR ROOM

It is so cold in our room that we can pretend to smoke cigarettes and blow smoke from our mouths except that it is steam really. Our noses are always cold in the morning but the rest of us is warm in our squeaky, pingy beds.
The secret is to get up and get dressed quickly; although it does not warm up the room much, we can stand near the paraffin stove that Mum lights before we have to get out of bed. I always stand too near it and burn myself, especially on the underside of my forearms when I am pulling on my vest.
This makes me jump and angry when it happens and I feel stupid and I hate the stove, but it is our only morning warmth. When it does not seem to be working, I touch the top, but it always is and it burns my fingertips and makes a nasty smell and my finger prints are all smooth for a while.
Sometimes I pull a hair from my head and hold it above the stove and see how near I must bring it to the top before it begins to writhe and shrivel in a strange death dance.

MINT WALK MISSION

One afternoon Rev. Bustin had come into our lesson and asked if there was anything we wanted to ask him about the bible.
Straightaway Philip said, "I have a question!"
"Go ahead then, Philip," said the reverend.
"Okay. If Adam and Eve had two boys, Cain and Abel, where did their wives come from?"

I was staggered that I had never thought of that one and neither had any of the other kids. How was Mr. Bustin going to get out of this one? I thought he would say that the theory of evolution was the truth, and that Adam and Eve's story had been constructed for the children of Israel to understand, but he took on the question and gave the implausible answer that they would have had many daughters as well, and that times was different then, and that...

"That's incest!" interrupted Philip knowledgeably, and then not waiting for an answer he demanded, "What about amoebas and life beginning in the water and that we are all descended from that?"
We all looked up expectantly.
"That is also in the bible," he said. "Read Genesis chapter one verse twenty. "We did and it said, "And God said, let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving thing that hath life."

It also went on about fowl of the air as well, but obviously this ambiguous reference could refer to an amoeba. I was amazed and Philip slightly disgruntled by Rev. Bustin's biblical knowledge, but in the end I favoured Darwin over Moses. The banter between them continued for a bit, and I suppose as far as points scored it was a draw.
However I still felt sorry for the Reverend; not only was he beaten by the first question, but Philip did not return to church the following week.

UNCLE REG

After a thorough wash and much slooshing, Uncle Reg would dab his face dry and throw the towel over his shoulders. Then picking up the kettle again, he would pour some water into a special large mug containing his shaving soap. Easing back his shoulders, he would exhale with a sort of a cough and take one or two steps up and down the kitchen.
Reaching for the shaving brush, he dipped it into his washing water, shook off the surplus, and whisked it rhythmically in the mug. To this day I have never seen anyone get a better lather on a brush before a drop was put on his face; the foam would be overflowing like a frothing firkin of best Belgian beer.
Another few steps up and down as he whisked, then whap! as the first brushful hit his face and the massaging into his awesome stubble began. When all that was visible were his two eyes and the tip of his nose, framed by the mad hair, he would pick up the razor and stare at it a moment with the hatred of a weightlifter about to try and beat his personal best.
With a deep breath and a little froth blown from his lips, his eyes would narrow to slits as he looked once more at the libelously named 'safety' razor and then in a quick rehearsed movement lift it up and stroke down from the top of his ear to his chin.
Three things happened simultaneously: there was a sound like ripping calico or fingernails on a cheese grater, his toothless open mouth acting as a resonator for this dreadful sound; the first drops of blood appeared; and a short gasp of pain emanated from his foaming lips...

HAIRCUT

As we made two ramshackle lines, the two sergeants moved down the line looking at us and occasionally shaking their heads in mock disbelief that they were expected to turn us into soldiers. In well-rehearsed moves the two of them looked at each other and clicked their tongues in despair. I half smiled to myself in congratulation that I had recognised this performance as a deception when suddenly Roberts rounded on me, and singling out two other lads as well, bellowed, "You you and you! Haircut! Now!"

I noticed all three of us had longish hair, but more importantly we had elaborate styles. Mine at the time was what was known as a drainpipe, which consisted of two rolls of hair turned into the middle and a DA at the back with a Boston. I was first up in the chair, and the barber leant toward my ear chattily, asking, "How would you like it sir?"
I naively replied, "Well, I suppose trim up the sides and take a little off the top."
I can still remember the horror I felt as my vanity shorn off me. His electric shears zoomed straight up the back of my head and I instinctively grabbed at my head as if it had been cut.

"Oh dear," he said, "it seems my hand slipped!"