John has shared excerpts of the book with the Gazette & Herald. 

Copies of the book can be bought from Amazon, either in paperback form (£6.99) or Kindle (£1.99) - with all proceeds from the book going to the Teenage Cancer Trust.

Read more about the book

Rillington Motorbike Club

It was the era of Mods versus Rockers.

Scooters, Ben Sherman, and Parka coats,

Motorbikes, Levi’s, and slicked-back hair.

Pumped up teens, who thought they were hard,

Fighting in lumps on the promenade,

During sunny sixties bank holidays.

Rillington, my village, was solidly greaser,

Not a single scooter was ever seen.

We had a Motorbike Club of our very own,

Where lads picked tarmac out of their jeans.

Whilst, notionally, a Bike Club member,

A few obstructions stood in my way,

“There’s nothing there between you and the road,”

Said dad, with the air of a man who knew,

A chap with a definitive point of view.

“He fell off his Triumph every weekend,”

Was what my Uncle Harry had to say.

Motorbike ownership, then, was a forlorn task.

Was a leather jacket, though, too much to ask?

My friends at school all called themselves Mods.

Affiliation was more complex than I thought.

New idols challenged my local gods.

I was caught in the crossfire of no-man’s land,

When mods and rockers’ battles were fought.

And that is the story of my life.

My allegiances would come and go,

Playing both ends towards the middle,

When I was faced with trouble or strife,

A man who likes to hedge his bets, undecided,

About people or places to loath or like.

One of Life’s Motorbike Club members,

Who never bought a leather jacket,

Or, more crucially, a motorbike!

It wouldn’t take a detective to see

A lack of authenticity

Or a want of commitment to the cause,

When my friends say, “Let’s go!”

I will, instinctively, press ‘Pause.’

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A64 Blues

I got the driving back to Malton,

On the endless A64 blues!

I can’t listen to the radio,

I don’t want to hear the news!

All the dire warnings

And all the tedious queues!

I got the driving back to Malton,

On the endless A64 blues!

Stuck behind some tractors,

And a mobile port-a-loo,

I’ve missed yet another meeting,

This is a right fine how-do-you-do!

I got the driving Malton,

On the endless A64 blues!

Don’t blame me for my road rage,

Cos there’s no end in sight.

It’s a caravanners’ convention,

And they block me, just for spite.

I’m biting my fingernails,

Watching the grass as it grows

Counting cars into the distance,

With their drivers all picking their nose!

We need some money to improve this,

To fund a new lane or two!

But we’re all stuck here in gridlock,

Cos it’s all gone on HS2!

Come to Yorkshire for our scenery!

Come on, take in all the views!

I got the driving back to Malton,

On the enervating,

Nauseating,

Tedious

Exhausting A64 blues.

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Re-Union 

A Tuesday night in The Union Pub. 

Willy, Gareth, Ian, George, and me, 

Like members of an aging rock group, 

Settling down, convivially,  

To discuss our imminent comeback tour. 

A manly hug, as we reached the door, 

And we felt a glow of friendship, 

Like bathing in the summer sun. 

We drank our Yorkshire bitter,  

And relived all the fun! 

Refought all the battles,  

To make sure that we had won! 

We dusted off our memories, 

For a helter-skelter fairground ride 

Of flashing lights and swirling beer, 

To have lived all this, gives a sense of pride! 

Rolling back the long-gone years. 

Suddenly we were back there again, 

When we were boys not stocky, grey men! 

These treats are just stored, lads, 

They’re archived, not gone. 

A few beers and reminiscence! 

Nostalgia. 

It’s a tonic available to everyone!