We looked upstairs. “I don’t use either of these,” he said, “I sleep at the back, it’s quieter. This is the bigger one,” he switched on the light and a jumble of cardboard boxes and furniture appeared. “I use it for storage,” he said, “mind you, I’ve no use for half this lot, keep meaning to have a clear out, get the Sally Army round to take it away but I never find the time.”
The smaller room had more of the same but the view was slightly obscured by a telegraph pole so I settled on the larger one.
“I’ll close the curtains,” I said, “while I get sorted out. Can I use one of these chairs? Thanks. And when I film I’ll part the curtains but I’ll have the lights off so I can’t be seen.”
Mr Poole watched while I moved some of the stuff around until I could place the chair a couple of feet away from the window. I set up the tripod and fixed the camera on. I’d no need to hand hold it while I was filming from the one position. If I did need to move the camera there was a quick release button securing it to the tripod. I turned off the light then opened the curtains a few inches either side until I could pan right across from left to right without filming curtain. I could zoom in on the Ibrahims’ house and pull back to incorporate houses on either side and much of the nearby street. I couldn’t see the main road from here but the bottom end of the Close was visible and I could film there if I swung the camera right at an angle. I shot a few seconds than played it back in the camera to check everything was working alright.
“Probably be a couple of hours before anything gets going,” he said, “Mr Brennan likes to get a few jars down him before he starts picking a fight.”
“Does he live on the Close?”
“At the end, him and Whittaker, they’ve the houses either side of the alley at the bottom. It’s been hell up here these last couple of years.”
“They told me there’ve been a lot of complaints.”
“That’s right. Even though most people are afraid to say anything – scared that there’ll be comeback if they do. You can’t blame them, especially the young ones with kiddies. Leastways I’ve only myself to worry about. Come on down I’ll make you a cuppa tea.”
He pointed out the toilet and bathroom on the way downstairs, “Help yourself, whenever you need.”
His kitchen had never been modernised and some of the items, like the fifties dresser with its sliding frosted glass doors, were collectors items now for those into retro and kitsch. He made the tea slowly, methodically and we took the drinks into the lounge.
