there's always one rotten apple!!!

In the Summer of my twelfth year, I learned another valuable lesson-- not all of your family can be trusted.
One of my aunts, named Mary, was married to a Polish man called William. My other uncles and aunts didn't really get on with them for two reasons. One, they owned their own house in which they are living---making them snobs. The other reason was, because my Uncle William they said "was a bloody foreigner" and this I heard from my own mother's mouth--- one Sunday morning, when she was talking to her sister, my Aunt May.

Yet, despite all of these criticisms, Mary and William used to have me at their house a lot during the holidays to play with my cousins, Peter and Paul, and never forgot anyone's birthday--always came on Christmas eve with presents for everyone. Mine was always a ten bob note (50 pence) but this Christmas, it was a fishing rod complete with reel, line, hooks and floats---making me so keen for Spring to come.


Now, on the other hand, my Uncle Roy and his wife Pat could do no wrong in the eyes of everyone including my mum. But I was to find out the hard way---what a horrible person he was. I had stashed my fishing gear under my bed--- all wrapped  up and the anticipation was getting to me, this was about mid Febuary.Two days prior, my Uncle Roy and Aunty Pat had come on a suprise visit. They always only come when they wanted money from my grandfather but not this time. They claimed they had just come because they "missed the family." So while Aunty Pat sat chatting, Uncle Roy went to spend a penny (use the toilet). "He seems to be taking a long time" said my nan. "Oh he's got a bad stomach" said Aunty Pat. As soon as he appeared, they made an excuse and left. It was two days later, when checking under my bed--- I discovered he had stolen my FISHING ROD, along with two of my grandfather's shot guns.

As I was to later find out, he was a gambler that owed money to some--- not very nice people. Although I lost a prized possesion, what hurts the most--- was watching my grandfather, crying because his favorite son had somehow betrayed his trust.