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Phil Bell was born in 1949 in the Ancoats district of Manchester.
My first Davy Crockett hat was the greatest ever, I have a feeling our Dot, my auntie, had bought it for me. It was real fur with a huge bushy tail, in fact as good as Davy Crockett's own hat. All I needed was a gun, a knife and a dog and I could have gone hunting for Red Indians on the railway!
I had been in possession of the hat for only half a day before somebody stole it. The last I saw of it was when it was being used as a goalpost in Cannons Grove. I turned to pick it up when the game had finished and it was nowhere to be seen.
I had to go home dejected and upset knowing full well that I would get a lecture and the silent treatment from my mam. I did and she did, the silent treatment was in force.
She came home from work the next day with a brown paper parcel and the statement 'do you want a new hat then?' I asked where it was. 'Wait and see' my mother replied. Another day passed, I came in from playing with the Black Hand gang to have my tea, 'here's your new Davy Crockett hat' said my mam and with a tug and a thrust she placed it on my head.
Without hesitation I ran outside singing 'Davy, Davy Crockett king of the wild frontier'. All the kids who were still playing in the street just stopped and stared at me. And one by one they looked at each other shrugged and started pointing and laughing. I froze to the spot, 'what are you laughing at?' I shouted but there was no answer just more sniggers.
I ran back in doors, 'mam, mam they are all laughing at me' I said. 'Take no notice of them you look fine' she said. A quick thought flashed through my head, what did she mean 'you look fine'? The deliberation past, I went back in to the street once again, my pals were still laughing.
'What are you all laughing at?' I asked again. Twinner Jones said 'It's your hat'.
'Well so what, you're just dead jealous' I said taking the hat from my head ready to wave it at them in a defiant salute, and there to my shock and horror I held the 'thing from outer-space' in my hand!
Instead of a stunningly powerful symbol of 50`s Americana I had two pieces of flea bitten fur sewn together in a band with a cap of fur on top holding them in a circle, and to make it look even more ridiculous there was a furry animals leg sticking out of the rear of the hat where the tail should be.
Not even hanging down properly, but pointing out at right angles to the bonnet. I turned and ran back into the house, I flung the hat on the floor 'that's shit! I feel really daft now' I said and went to my bedroom for a sulk.
I was persuaded to come down for tea by my grandmother. It came to light during our meal that a friend of my mothers had given her the old, tatty fox fur after she related the tale of the stolen Davy Crockett hat.
I was shown what remained of the fox fur. It still had two front paws and one back leg left, it had no tail but it had a real foxes head at the front with piercing eyes.
Now if my mother had sewn the fox's head on the front of the bonnet my credibility would have been saved, even with the fox's leg sticking out the back!
The lesson I learnt that week was never to accept what your mother said suited you, and always check your clothes before you go, out especially if your mother had repaired them!
Phil Bell, Greater Manchester, 2001
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