Sam is a snub-nosed, red-haired, burly boy, about ten years old, big and rather tubby for his age. His small eyes are almost lost in his podgy face. He doesn’t smile.

He was an unwanted child. More than that; he was a hated child for his arrival was the cause of his mother’s man-friend making a hasty exit from the home, never to be heard from again.

Sam is not endowed with a quick mind. Early on he tried to follow the lessons in school but failed. He gave up trying. Teachers label him “lazy”, “ill-mannered”, “defiant” and so it goes on.

Fellow pupils soon found that he would never fight so they use him as their scapegoat. If a fight breaks out in the playground they make sure that Sam is near at hand. When teacher intervenes the shout goes out, “Sam started it all”. Because of his size Sam is then labelled a bully. They nickname him Sam Besob but never tell him why.

Sam has no brothers or sisters. Soon after Sam’s disastrous arrival his mother said she had “learned what to do”, what ever that might mean. Men come and go from the home. None stay very long and none take any interest in Sam. His mother just calls him an “f***ing nuisance”.

Back at school one of the boys who taunts Sam most is Nigel. He is a small, well-proportioned, bright youngster. He is a bit of a ‘mother’s boy’ and seems able to have whatever he wants. Somehow he always seems able to keep neat and clean whereas others get scruffy. He also talks ‘posh’.

After school most of the youngsters take the river path to the Council Housing estate. None seem in a hurry. They are a rough lot.

Nigel has his most recent acquisition with him, a delightful Spaniel puppy. Suddenly, one of the roughest louts grabs Nigel’s puppy and throws it into the swiftly running river. Nigel shrieks and whines, crying, “I can’t swim!”

Something snaps in Sam. He doesn’t care what the hell happens to Nigel or any of the others but it isn’t fair to throw a puppy like that into the river. Without a moment’s thought, he jumps into the river, fully clothed. Only then does it begin to dawn on him that he, like Nigel, cannot swim!

He thrashes about in the swollen river that swiftly carries him down stream. He catches sight of the puppy and grabs its tail. The pup digs its teeth into Sam’s jacket while Sam’s arms wrap around the little creature. Down the river they go together, fast approaching that very dangerous weir.

Many were the times Sam had been told to “go to hell”. He had often though that perhaps hell might be a better place than here. Over the weir he goes with the puppy clasped tightly. Suddenly, he is sucked down, down, down. His last thought before losing consciousness is that he will soon know whether hell is better than his previous life.

About a mile downstream some anglers are disturbed by a dog yapping amongst the reeds. The anglers find a puppy barking at the body of a boy. It is Sam.

A rough, rather amateurish, artificial respiration soon results in what seems like gallons of water gushing out of Sam’s mouth. He recovers consciousness to find the puppy licking his face and wagging its tail.

If this were a fairy tale Sam’s life would change dramatically. He would be a hero and would be loved and respected by all. Sadly, such is not the case. Nothing much changed at school or at home. He is still called “lazy and ill-mannered”. His mother says that he is even more of a nuisance than before. She has had to buy him another jacket and wash all his clothes.

There is, however, one big difference. Nigel comes up to him, shakes him by the hand in a rather formal way and says, “Thank you, Sam. You’re the tops.” Sam has never before been thanked and looked up to. It suddenly makes life worthwhile. Sam even feels able to ask him the meaning of the nickname, Sam Besob. He learns that it means “Sam, the Burly Son of a Bitch.” He doesn’t mind. He knows that in a sort of way it is true.

The puppy wags its little tail every time it sees Sam. You, the reader, perhaps want to know what happens to Sam as the years roll by?

Well, he collects a few ASBOs, is turned out of home and goes in and out of prison many times. He eventually drifts to Liverpool. Many years later he is sleeping rough in doorways, huddled in an old blanket that keeps him and his dog warm. They are both happy and so this story has a “happy ending”.

James Dowd