122 Manor Street
Malcolm was born on May 25th 1945, the third child of Granville and Gladys. His eldest brother Edward, but more commonly referred to as Ted, was already well into his teens by the time Malcolm was old enough to know who he was. And his middle brother, Medwyn had sadly passed away at the age of three, a victim of meningitis. The last of the brothers Erling came into this world a few years later in 1947, the small age difference meant that Erling and Malcolm would grow up as close friends. Although Malcolm's influence on Erling did not always end well.
By the time Malcolm was eleven years old, his elder brother Ted had already been conscripted into the army, and was off in Egypt fighting in the highly calamitous Suez Crisis. From time to time Ted would get leave from the army, and would return home to their house at number 15 Manor St. With his bedroom long since given up to his two younger brothers, the only place Ted could lay his head was in the bathtub. For the duration of his leave, the rest of the members of the house would be forced to knock on the bathroom door before they went to the toilet, or to perform their ablutions in the outdoor lavatory. Not an enticing prospect during the harsh Lancashire winters. On the occasions that they forgot to knock, they were graced by the image of Ted crammed into the small bathtub, his feet flat against the dark blue tiles, and his knees bent to accommodate his 6 ft 1 inch frame. Such was Ted's nature that he never complained, instead he took great pleasure in regaling the boys with tales of his army exploits. Even though their bathroom was temporarily taken away from them, Malcolm and Erling loved it when their brother came to stay.
They especially loved his cooking, one of the skills that he'd learnt in the army. Whilst convalescing in Manor St, after being shot in the side during the Suez Crisis, Ted had shown the boys how to make rock buns. Their excitement had been such, that they'd got carried away, and spent the entire week filling every available container with buns. By the time the month was out, the brothers were sick to the back teeth of them, and took to selling them at school. An enterprise that went so well that it got them thinking about their next business.
Manor St lay within the shadow of Peel Park, the home to the mighty Accrington Stanley. Accrington Stanley were one of the founder members of the football league in 1888, although they were to bow out of the league altogether by 1966 (until their resurrection at least). On match day, the streets surrounding Manor St would come alive with folks (mainly men) heading to the game. With the success of their recent rock bun enterprise still firmly in their minds, Malcolm had concocted a new plan to earn some money. By this time his obsession with rockets had already begun, and any opportunity to increase the stock in his laboratory became a primary focus.
"Hey, our kid!" Malcolm said to Erlng one Saturday afternoon after witnessing legions of men passing by their street.
"How about we make an orange juice making machine?" he continued.
"How would we do that then kid?" Erling replied.
"I have a plan, " Malcolm informed him.
And so it was on the next match day, that Malcolm and Erling came to be huddled together in an enormous cardboard box with three slots cut in the front of it. The first slot was for money, and had the words - 'put your sixpence in here', crudely written in black marker pen above it. The other two slots were to dispense drinks from, and had the words - 'get your drinks here' written above them. Behind each of these slots sat Malcolm and Erling. They'd also managed to fit two large buckets of ready mixed orange cordial in the box with them. All they needed now were customers.
Their box was positioned against the gable end of Maggie Will's house, which thousands of people had to pass to get to the game. The first of the crowds that passed the Mitton enterprise were far too eager to see the game to even notice their shop. So Malcolm and Erling started shouting in unison "ORANGE JUICE, ORANGE JUICE! - only sixpence, come and get your orange juice here!"
Within a minute the first of their customers had arrived at the makeshift vending machine, and was busy trying to put his money into the slot. Quick as a flash Malcolm's hand shot out from within the box and grabbed the fella's money.
"Hey, hold up," the man shouted, "It's a shilling!" he added.
"We haven't got any change sorry," Malcolm shouted back, "we'll give you another orange juice an all."
Malcolm had barely finished this last sentence when Erling stuck a cup of orange juice through each of the dispensing slots, by employment of both arms. An action which didn't go unnoticed by a small crowd of people that had gathered, who were all amused by Malcolm and Erling's vending machine.
Once the first person decided to buy an orange juice, the rest followed suit. Before the lads knew it they'd sold out both buckets, and were excitedly counting their stash. Their business was so successful that they continued to do it for every home game for the next two seasons, until they were too large to fit in the box. Erling, being the kind soul that he was, donated his money to his big brother's laboratory fund. It was worth it to see the end product of Malcolm's labour.
One Sunday afternoon one of the neighbours came around with masks for the boys. She'd been rummaging in the larder for some baking trays, and found some old paper masks. Of course the boys loved them, and ran around Manor Street trying to scare the neighbours. It was hard to say who tired of their game first, the neighbours or Malcolm and Erling. But when they eventually started to tire of being masked bandits Malcolm struck upon a new idea to liven it up. Without hesitation he ran down the cellar stairs and disappeared into his laboratory. Malcolm's "famous brainwaves," as Erling liked to call them, were nothing new to his younger brother. When they occurred, Erling always knew that something exciting was about to follow. Today was to be no exception to the rule.
Later that evening whilst Erling was doing his homework Malcolm re-appeared in their bedroom.
"Right our kid, grab hold of this, we're going to have some fun!" Malcolm beckoned him, as he thrust what appeared to be a cloak into his hands.
Malcolm had somehow gotten hold of a pair of old black velvet curtains, which made two perfect cloaks.
"Get your mask on our kid, and wrap yourself in this cloak, I've got a proper fun prank lined up for us," he told Erling with a real buzz of excitement surrounding him.
Erling did as he was summoned, and followed his brother as they headed off into a damp, dark winter's evening.
"There look, Old Granny Winters!" Malc pointed out. "When you hear the bang, jump out in front of her."
A second later there was an almighty bang, and smoke filled the air, in an around where Old Granny Winters had been standing. She let out a shrill cry, which was intensified when the two phantoms of Manor St jumped out in front of her, complete with their masks and their cloaks.
"You pair of rapscallions!" she shouted, as the boys ran away laughing. They continued their phantom trick until Malcolm's home made gunpowder ran out, which was just as well because their bread and butter pudding supper was ready.
Not long after Erling was born Granville upped sticks and left. Gladys and the kids were left to fend for themselves. Until this point they'd been fairly comfortable. They'd wanted for nothing, and were actually more comfortable then most people in their neighbourhood. Granville had made a living as an aircraft engineer, and had risen up the ranks to supervisor of over a hundred men. The Mitton family had been the first in Manor St to get a black and white TV in 1954, and Malcolm had become rather fond of watching the animated TV show 'Meet the Penguins'. So fond in fact that he'd once pooped in his pants, whilst rushing to get home in time to watch the programme in his front room -where half of Manor Street would congregate. On this particular occasion Malcolm had been standing on the foot pegs of Barry Adamson's bicycle, when the unfortunate incident had occurred. The combination of the speed they were travelling as they rushed down the Peel Park Avenue, and the excitement of the forthcoming show, had totally loosened his bowels. It wasn't until a few minutes into the programme that the kids around him started to notice the unholy stench of fresh excrement.
"Bleeding hell, it stinks of shit round here," cried Barry Adamson.
"Yeah it does! Smells like the pig pen at Johnson's farm!" shouted his brother Bob.
By the time the end credits were rolling there were eight lads writhing around the back yard in dramatic fashion, the majority of them retching into the flower beds. Malcolm meanwhile had sneaked off down to his laboratory to hide his underpants in a place that they would be disguised by the smell of chemicals. Annoyed with himself that he'd have to wait another week to catch up with the penguin's antics.
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