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George hunkered down in his winter coat; his scarf pulled up around his ears. It was a blustery, wet and miserable day, more so because he couldn’t connect with any of his friends. They were off doing family things; it was Boxing Day after all. He was thirteen, yet his mum hadn’t even wanted him to go out today, but he said he was going crazy. His older siblings were busy, he didn’t understand why their friends didn’t have to do family things like his did. He had gone but he guessed he had underestimated how bad the weather would become. He had his head down, trying to get more of his neck in the scarf tucked into the neck of the coat. The worst part of it was going home he had to walk into the wind and that was about as bad as the whole rest of the walk thing put together.
He had almost gotten to the corner to get back on his street when someone came barreling around the corner. The person turned briefly, then ran right into him nearly taking them both down.
“Here,” the kid said. He looked about George’s age, maybe younger but much shorter. George was surprised, but he saw the curly, bright red hair and brilliant green eyes. “Hide this! Don’t let them get it!” The look on the kid’s face was terror.
He thrust something which looked like some kind of crazy ball of dirt into George’s hands, he barely caught it before the kid ran on.
George sort of turned to look after the boy as he dashed on.
“There he is!” George heard shouted. “Get it!”
Realizing whatever the boy had given him was what they seemed to be after, he kind of folded around it.
As they went running past, he acted like the kid had stunned him by running into him.
He turned back the way he was going. He shoved the ball into a pocket and decided to hurry home. He didn’t want to chance they caught the kid, and when he didn’t have what they wanted they would probably come looking for him.
When he got home, he pulled the ball out of his coat pocket. “I’m going to my room, Mum!” he called then took it to his room to look at.
Now it looked even more like just some ball of dirt. The color wasn’t really a rich black, but a dark brown, it looked like it could grow good things. He had no idea what was so important about some dirt ball, but did feel like if those older boys were trying to get it, then it must be.
Frowning, George went and got a paper bag from the kitchen. His mother was singing with the radio and didn’t even notice him. He took it back to his room to put it in. He tried to think where he could put it to keep it safe, but just decided to act like it was something one of his friends had entrusted to him for a bit. At first, he had it beside his bed, then moved it into a drawer.
* * * * *
It was just a few weeks later his friend, Ray, offered to sell him his guitar. His mum, always supportive, paid for it. Then, one of his Da's buddies taught his a few songs. He started picking out music on his own. Even though his mum didn’t really like the music he did, she let him listen to the radio, at least until dinner. George started figuring out how to copy the guitar chords to his favorite music.
His brother Peter and a friend, Arthur, formed a skiffle group with him. They weren’t very good, but they weren’t bad. George had already figured out he was the best in the group. But they were playing and that was what George wanted.
He had chosen to go to the Liverpool Institute because he had heard they had a music program. However, they didn’t have any guitars. He was upset, but just kept trying. He would draw pictures of guitars and couldn’t wait to get home to play on his.
Then he met the older boy on the bus, and they quickly became friends. They were both into music and Paul was in a skiffle group with his friend John. George invited him over; he didn’t want to take his guitar out in the bad weather and played for him. They couldn’t exchange guitars since Paul was left-handed.
John, however, was a harder nut to crack, he didn’t even want to hear him play because of his age. John, being 3 years older than George, was afraid the younger teen would keep them from touring. Paul argued, pointing out he was two years younger than John, but it wasn’t getting through. Finally, George played a few songs at a club. He thought he did good, but he also felt like there was a lot of pressure on him. John, despite having heard him, still said he was too young. It was only a kind of surprise meeting on a bus that Paul had somehow managed to arrange that got John to understand that George would be a good addition to his group.
George and Paul both recognized that John was insecure. If they let him think he was the leader of the group, things would be easier. He didn’t play all the time at first, but hung out and filled in when there was need. However, the other guys in the group, besides John and Paul, didn’t really see music as their future. It slowly became obvious when George was there more and more, until John decided to depend on him rather than the other ones. He dropped out, got a job, but knew there was probably music opportunity coming up.
A quick tour of Scotland with the promoter John had found went well. The promoter got them some gigs in Germany.
Germany was, well, pretty miserable most of the time. But they were playing music and those were the good times. Still Stu was not a really good guitarist, so he ended up playing bass, when he played at all.
Pete, however, was something else. He wasn’t bad, exactly, even though Paul said he’d probably do better on the drums than he did. George, however, noted John had a different problem with Pete. There were some fights. George suspected John was jealous of Pete. However, it wasn’t impossible that Pete felt the same way about John. But they needed a drummer, and Pete was there to play the drums.
Then someone told someone else George’s age and he was deported back to England because he was too young to play in the clubs.
He went home since he didn’t have any other place to go. When he got there, he noticed as he was settling back in his room the bag with the dirt ball was moved. He grabbed the bag and looked inside.
“Mum?” he called. He walked into the kitchen where his mother was cooking. “Did you look in this bag?”
Louise looked up as George came in.
“Yes,” she told him. “I was cleaning your room, and I didn’t know what it was. Is it something important?”
George felt a kind of chill. “A friend asked me to hang on to it,” he lied. “I keep waiting for him to ask for it back.” He hated to lie to her, but how he got it seemed to be crazier and crazier as the years passed.
“Do you know what it is?” she asked.
“No, but I’ve had it for a few years now.” That wasn’t a lie.
“Well, how about we get it a new bag, that one is looking pretty bad.” Louise turned and pulled another paper bag out. “This one is a bit heavier than the one it’s in.”
“Thanks Mum,” George said. He pulled the ball out and put it into the new bag. “Oh, when did you check it out?” he asked.
An absolute river of ice ran down George’s spine when his mum told him the day. It was the day before he had been caught.
* * * * *
George was back with the others soon. He also rented a flat of his own. He hid the bag with the dirt ball a few places trying to decide which was the best.
He was beginning to think the dirt ball was some kind of good luck charm. It was right after he had it thrust upon him by the strange kid that he got his guitar and learned to play. Because he had kept it safe, he met Paul, then John.
Then Brian Epstein had come into their lives and started managing them. The three guitarists asked Brian to fire Pete. He did. Then John and Paul asked George to join the group, full time. The group already knew Ringo, he had sat in with them at times, even Pete had asked him to take his place once. So, the fights between John and Pete were over. These were all good things.
In fact, the only bad thing that had really happened was when his mother had disturbed the bag and looked in the bag with the ball, and he had been deported from Germany.
He had learned he could move it, but it seemed like when anyone else handled it something went wrong. So, he did his best to not let anyone else even see the bag it was in.
When he bought Kinfauns, he had a safe put into a wall and, after wrapping the bag up in cling film put it in the safe. He then did his best to not think about it. It was safe, he had the only key and that he put in a safe deposit box at his bank, doubly safe he thought to himself.
He had thought of putting the dirt ball in the bank, but somehow he just didn’t feel it was as safe as he could keep it at home.
Things moved on. He got married. He discovered Eastern mysticism, and music.
But sometimes, sometimes things just didn’t seem quite right. He would get the key from the bank and pull the plastic wrapped bag out and hold it.
Sitting quietly, holding the ball almost seemed to center him. He felt almost as if the world was spinning around him.
It was a few days later when he was sitting with Paul. Paul had asked George to show him some of the things on the sitar. That hadn’t lasted long. Paul’s long time girl friend had broken up with him and George’s wife was on a photo shoot. Really Paul just wanted to talk and after he had started, George decided he did too.
The pair were sitting, drinks and cigarettes at hand.
“I just feel like things are out of control,” he told his mate. Paul was the one member he had known the longest in the group. He did like the others, and knew he wasn't really getting in the way of the two's friendship.
“We grow up,” Paul replied. “Sometimes things move on.” Paul paused, then looked over at George. “I hope you aren’t planning on moving on, at least not yet.”
He had quit the group once, but had been talked back in.
“Sometimes things are good, sometimes not so good,” George replied. “I feel like things are spinning, ya know, kind of spiraling around me.”
Paul pulled a face. “I get it, sometimes I just want to smack John,” he told George. “Things are good for a while and then he just goes acting like a fool.”
George nodded. “None of us are angels, but John...”
Paul nodded. “There are times when we do look like angels next to John.”
It was only a few weeks later Paul showed up with Fool on the Hill. George looked at Paul who kind of gave him a nod. However, he didn’t give him a writing credit.
* * * * *
It was late 1969. George and Patti were preparing to move. They had movers for most of the things, but there were some they both felt were special enough to pack up themselves. George got the safe key and took his lucky dirt ball out. He carefully packed it in a box large enough and with padding enough to be safe. He wasn’t sure how he wanted to label it.
He taped the box up and put his name on it.
“What’s that?” Patti asked. He brought it into the room where they were putting those few things they were going to take over themselves.
“It is kind of a lucky charm thing,” he told her.
“A lucky charm thing?” She looked at the box. “This is the first I’ve heard of anything like that.”
“Well,” George wasn’t sure how to tell her. “I put it in a safe right after I moved in here.”
“Are you going to show it to me?” she asked.
George looked at her, debating what he should do. “Okay. Hand me the scissors.”
But when the box was opened, all she saw was a cling film wrapped around an old paper bag.
“That doesn’t show me much,” she said.
Rather than fight with her, George then used the scissors to get the film off. Then he opened the bag. Even though he had been so careful for so many years, he could see a large crack in the ball. It didn’t fall apart, but he wondered when it had happened.
It did sort of feel like the crack was like what was happening to the group, even if nobody had touched it.
Patti, however, looked at the old dirt ball, the expression on her face was unreadable. “Okay,” she said, dubiously.
“I’d like to wrap it up again,” he told her.
Patti looked around, picking up some of the brown paper from their wrapping things. “I’ll get the cling film,” she told him.
George started trying to carefully wrap the paper around the ball. But the old dirt ball was so dry, a bit was crumbling even as he tried to not let it. When he was wrapping it in the cling film, he tried to get any dirt or dust with it. He hoped this wouldn’t be bad luck.
Still, he considered how the group was going, he really wasn’t sure how much longer they would be together.
* * * *
Patti did most of the decorating at Friar Park. She found a clear plastic cube. While George was out, she put the weird dirt ball, still wrapped in the brown paper and cling film, in it. Not sure exactly why, she was very reverent touching it, even in the cling film. Then, to keep it safe and because George was so protective of it, she put it on the top shelf with other fragile things. She guessed nobody would even think it was anything.
George hadn’t been sure until during the following year nobody even commented on it. There it stayed.
She forgot about. It was a George thing. When she moved out, she took her things, but the plastic cube with the ‘lucky ball’ remained.
George mended fences with the others in the end, but it really was never quite the same.
He met and then married Olivia. He had settled some. When Olivia delivered his son, Dhani, George really thought things were getting better.
He adored Dhani.
George had gone out on a long session with the new album.
Olivia considered the house. While she had done a lot to make it her home, there were still things that bothered her. Maybe she should rearrange the shelves, she thought. The upper shelves were a bit bare; she guessed that breakable stuff had been up there before might’ve been Patti’s. George wasn’t bothered by things like that, but now she thought it was time to redo it since George wasn’t here with his sometimes reluctance to change things.
When she came across a clear, plastic box with some kind of wrapped thing in it, she wondered what it was. She set it aside to ask George about it when he got home. She continued with her task between taking care of Dhani.
George called to tell her he’d be home either November 30 th or December 1 st . That was only a couple of days away, so she had to get things put together, or at least out of sight by the time he got home. She really doubted he’d notice anything if there wasn’t anything lying around.
It was the fir st when George got home. He greeted Olivia and then lifted Dhani up for his own greetings. They sat down to a meal before heading into the living room for a more casual visit. George had been gone for a few days, but he always wanted to hear what Olivia and Dhani had done while he was gone.
The adults were talking when Dhani started opening cabinets. Sometimes his Mum would put a toy in there while they talked about boring things. He found a clear box with some ball in it. He grabbed it and ran to his Da to get the ball out for him.
“Da!” he yelled.
George looked over at his son.
And his lucky ball!
Dhani tripped, the big box flew out of his arms and crashed on the coffee table.
George let out a shout that was both horror and anger.
Olivia jumped up to check on Dhani, who started crying. George went to the ruin of the box and picked up his ball.
But it wasn’t a ball now. He could feel inside the cling film, inside the brown paper, was rubble and not his weird dirt ball.
“Oh, no...” he moaned. Olivia looked at him.
He went into the kitchen.
Olivia followed him, holding Dhani who was still sobbing. She turned on the light.
George found some scissors and carefully cut the cling film off. Then peeled the paper back as well.
Olivia, carrying Dhani, came over to watch what he did.
“No, no, no....” George muttered softly. He poked through the dirt, carefully. What was left of the dirt was totally dry, some parts had turned white in the twenty plus years he had the ball.
“What...?” Olivia started.
Then a small chunk of dirt fell open and a desiccated, mostly brown, four-leaf clover hung there for a moment before crumbling to dust.
“I think it is really over,” George murmured, mostly to himself.
* * * * *
John Lennon was murdered eight days later.