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A little further on and the river settled down into a pastoral setting of
languid greenery stretching out ahead of Maggie’s bows. We soon passed the
furthest point we had reached on our first attempt, making us feel that we had
passed a massive milestone. The fields and meadows gradually spread out around
us, different to those just below the yard in some way, more ‘country-fied’
perhaps, less industrial in their feel and greener; that paler, warmer summer
green of the true countryside, rather than the darker greens of the fields
immediately around a large conurbation. The only beings to witness our progress
were lethargically chewing cows, who hardly looked up, as we disturbed their
morning peace.
The
further we got from Reading, the more a strange feeling started to occur within
us. The feeling of going into new territories and leaving the familiar behind.
We felt settled because the Atco was behaving itself, the boat wasn’t leaking
through the deck and the hull planking seemed to be staying in it’s correct
place, without springing and allowing water in. But at the same time, as we got
further from home, we felt a slightly rising tension, knowing that if anything
did go awry we would be quite stuck for help.
Bob shrugged his shoulders as if to throw off an old demon.
‘We’re
ok so far mate, no reason to think anythin’ will go wrong’
‘Yeah,
it’s lookin’ good, the ol’ Atco’s goin’ a dream, l’ll put the kettle
on for a cuppa’.
With that, l dived below to pump up the Primus and soon had the kettle
whistling away with hot water to make steaming mugs of comforting tea. All
seemed right and settled.
We stopped just before a bank of bull-rushes and tied up to an
overhanging branch so that we could have lunch in peace without the Atco going
full blast in our ears. We began to feel that much more confident. We were not
far past Phillimore’s Island and just beyond Shiplake House. Soon l was
buttering sandwiches whilst Bob gave the Atco a wipe over with an oily rag,
patted it on it’s one cylinder and scoffed the sandwich l held out to him.
Covered in a little engine oil and smelling of paraffin, our meal was consumed
with the relish of the starving, whilst swans sailed around us inspecting these
jaunty intruders in their filthy lower class tub, straight from the back streets
of Reading. Around us lay the upper crust reaches of the Thames with smart
glistening motor launches and people in ‘proper’ clothes, strolling on lawns
stretching from secluded houses, down to the river. But we could not care less,
this was as much our Thames as theirs, and we had as much right to be on it. If
we looked like filthy urchins from the gutter of God knows where, we were
oblivious to it and basked in the joy of being on the water.
With our bellies full and Maggie gently bobbing to the wash of an occasional launch as it passed, we started nod. The noises of the busy river, the gentle throb of launch engines, the occasional quack from a curious duck and the distant laughter of people out for a stroll, started to fade into the background. Our eyelids grew heavier as we were bathed in the heat of the early afternoon sun and we fell into a deep sleep.....................................................
................................................................
‘I’m
wet, that bloody deck is leakin’ again!’
‘Well
,yer goin’ to be even more wet if you stand out in the stuff. I mean it stands
ter reason! Yer stand under a storm cloud, yoo get wet. It’s the way o’ the
world me lad!’
Bob’s
keen observation cut no ice. l crawled back into the cabin to peel off my
pyjamas and slide awkwardly into my now damp jeans and t-shirt.
‘Jeesus,
wot a start to the day!’ I turned to peer out of the doorway. ‘Looks loike
it’s really settled in. This could be a wet experience tryin’ ter get the
boat back to Reading.’
‘Yup,
looks that way. A quick breakie an’ then we’d better get started.’
I
spread some cold jam onto damp bread that fell apart the moment you looked at it
and tried to get the Primus going for a cup of warming tea. The Primus decided
it was too damp and cold and wasn’t going to light for anybody, no matter how
much l swore at it! So, we had our cold, damp meal and made the best of it
before turning our attention to the Atco.
We both approached the engine as if we were prepared to do battle with
it. The day had started with a jerk and evil sense of foreboding and l guess we
felt that the Atco was going to follow the example of the Primus and not start,
just to make our day even less enjoyable than it already was! So our surprise
and delight came in a whoop and cheer, when she started first time and seemed
ready to race away for us. Good cheer came back and despite our cold damp bodies
and cold damp breakfast, our spirits were raised, along with our confidence.
We let the engine warm up and l kept the stern rope round the tree branch
whilst Bob dropped the propeller into the water. All seemed well with the Atco
continuing to give a throaty roar. l let the stern rope slip and we were off.
Wonderful, we could head for home and a hot meal. We turned Maggie in mid stream
and headed back towards Shiplake lock with the rain unfortunately getting
steadily worse.
‘Don’t
much like this rain Bob, you know how the Atco tends to misbehave in the wet.’
‘I
know mate, l don’t really want to turn it off in the lock incase we can’t
fire it up again, in this wet.’
Turning your engine off in a lock was a requirement on the Thames, which
was enforced by the lock keepers and always led to stressful moments in a boat
like Maggie which had ‘dicky’ machinery, when trying to restart the engine
again. The stress levels always rose even further when the lock gates opened for
your exit, with crowds of other boats waiting to get in. The Atco was never
happy about restarting, even when hot, especially when it was raining and so we
had thought about devising a hat to put over the engine, after it had been
turned off, to keep the rain out. But, like many jobs thought up, we had not got
round to devising one yet and so an old oily rag was often slung over it
instead.
The worry of having to explain our difficulties to the lock keeper took
our minds off the present job, of approaching the lock itself.
‘We’ll
have to tell the keeper about the engine when we get into the lock.’
‘Yeah,
he wont like it but we’ll just have to plead our difficulties and tell ‘im
we’ll be stuck in ‘is bleedin’ lock if we have to switch the engine
off.’
I was steering whilst Bob got ready with the mooring ropes ready to tie
up at the landing stage just below the lock. As we got closer, we started to
drift badly sideways. The extra rainfall must have increased the flow of water
over the weir and, too late, l saw that we were in the grip of the stream and
heading sideways fast, towards the top of the weir.
‘Shit,
the stream is powerful, it’s taken me over and across to the…..shit,
shit!’
‘Head
her directly into the stream fer Christ’s sake mate!’
But it was too late.............................................
...........................................Everyman
needs a shed, it’s a man thing, either that, or he has the need to dig holes.
Combine the two, a hole with a tent or shed over it and a pot of tea brewing and
a man is in heaven! Just look at the next roadworks you pass! It’s primeval, a
basic need, and Bob’s neighbour was no exception! His shed was as clean as an
operating theatre with all the instruments of surgery neatly hung on little
hooks from one wall. There were plenty of lamps so that he could see in minutest
detail, what he was doing and of course, there was the kettle, always ready for
a brew!
When l arrived, the Atco was laid out on a white sheet which covered the
bench. The surgeon, aka Bob’s neighbour, was carefully filing a piece in a
bench vice, his head laid to one side, carefully and critically eyeing up his
work.
‘I
fink that looks about roight! Let’s bolt it back in place and see ‘ow it
looks.’
The Atco was carefully re-assembled - it’s gleaming
parts were slotted and bolted together carefully and methodically. He was like a
gunsmith assembling an expensive rifle. Before each part was fitted, it was
wiped over with an oily cloth and the bolts tightened in strict order. Bob’s
neighbour was not just a mechanic, he was engine an surgeon of the highest calibre!
I looked up to see his certificates of qualification pinned to the wall -
warped, cracked and faded photos of him on a gleaming motorbike. ‘Oi put the
Harley back together from scratch, no manual, went loike a dream!’ – and
other pictures of him smiling over the bonnet of a vintage car - a Lambretta
scooter and a farm tractor were testament to his prowess and experience. In each
photograph, just as now, he wore the cleanest pair of white overalls l have ever
seen. Dirty smudges of old oil were an anathema and were banished immediately.
He obviously had a wife, meticulous in her devotion to keeping her man clean.
‘There,
that’s ‘er back together again an’ ready to fire up I reckon. Let’s give
‘er a go.’
The Atco, looking just like new, was born proudly out of the shed and
across the grass. There, in the middle of a slightly unkempt lawn stood the
chassis of an old pram beside a fish pond. This was to be the test area! The
engine was clamped to the pram (which had its brake on) and the propeller was
dangled over the pond, which, to my eye looked full of pond type accoutrements;
several pond weeds, an ornamental pond house, and a stone frog.
‘But
wot about the fish!?’
‘Oh,
there are none, or at least non that l could see, l ‘ad a good poke about
earlier. Couldn’t see none!’
With that, Bob pulled the starter cord and the Atco spun, but not into
life.
‘Sounds
good though, no more o’ that ‘orrible gratin’ noise when l used to start
‘er up!’
He tried again and this time the engine started with a roar. There was no
dirty black exhaust, just a noisy yet sweet sound, without a trace of a cough!
‘Lower
‘er propeller into the pond then an’ let’s see ‘ow she takes the
load.’
Bob depressed the engine and shaft, so that the propeller started to spin
under water. She didn’t stop, she sounded very healthy and was taking the load
beautifully, no problem, along with a variety of pond weeds, several fish, some
now chopped into small red and yellow pieces and the torso of a very wet doll,
complete with summer top! Not only did it take these items out of the pond, but
it threw them too! Right across the lawn and splattered them accurately onto
Mrs. Neighbour’s best and newly washed white bed sheets!
The pond was soon empty, or almost, the stone frog remained obstinately
in place on its stone plinth! But apart from that, the pond looked remarkably
clean and clear. The previously whiter than white sheets did not though; the
Atco had been uncompromisingly accurate in its aim, sending it’s ammunition of
pond ephemera straight for the biggest and cleanest target available!
‘Turn
the fugger off! TURN it off!’
Bob did and then carefully and quietly unclamped his
Atco from the pram and nodded to me to follow him away from the scene of
devastation. We stole quietly away, leaving Bob’s neighbour standing rooted to
the spot and looking aghast at his wife’s once clean sheets fluttering dirtily
in the breeze, covered with mud, weeds and pieces of fish!
‘She’s
gonna kill me! She’s gonna really kill me!’
Just before we disappeared down the garden path and headed for the gate,
l turned and watched, feeling that we should at least stop and help, but Bob,
grabbed my arm and indicated with his eyebrows that we should go. As l did,
Bob’s neighbour knelt and picked up what looked like the doll’s torso.
‘Wondered
where that went!’
We
retired quickly to Bob’s place.
‘Don’t
you think we should ‘elp ‘im mate?’
‘You ‘avn’t met ‘is wife!..............................................
......................................................It
was a good place to observe not just the boating life, but human life as well.
We were at that age,……. actually that’s a lie! - we were past that age,
when boys start to see girls for the first time, not as sticky squealy things,
but as something that given a bit of knowledge, a fair wind and a shave, could
provide an answer to what was beginning to happen, indeed had happened for some
time, between our thighs!
Most of the people walking on the path beside the river were older
couples, older to us, that is, or just boat owners and old ladies out walking
their dogs or fishermen with their rods and boxes of bait. But just
occasionally, from our distant observation post aboard Maggie, we could see a
young mother pushing her pram or pushchair along the path or a bunch of girls
giggling and cavorting, squealing at the lewd suggestions and wolf whistles from
the men working on the boats nearby.
‘Ere
Bob, l know that girl!’
‘Which
one?’
‘That
one wiv’ the pushchair. Flippin’ ‘ell, she’s got a baby! Ow did that ‘appen?!’
‘Yer
don’t know? I mean, about wot yer do wiv a woman!’
‘Cause
l know that!’ I replied uncertainly. My knowledge of this new and increasingly
interesting subject was just off the starting blocks at this point and
speculation was rife in my mind, along with many misunderstandings!
‘I
mean, she’s our age! Wot is she doin’ wiv a kiddy? She is, or wos in my year
at school!’
‘Wos?’
‘Yeah,
used ter se ‘er a lot! Mind you, so did the boys in the fifth year! She used
ter ‘ang about wiv them all the time behind the bike sheds. Always there she
wos! Never wiv ‘er own year. Not interested in us younger blokes. Always
‘angin’ wiv the older ones! Anyway, she never came back this term.
Disappeared. Thought she ‘ad gone ter another school.’
‘Well,
looks loike one o’ those senior boys as put ‘er up the duff an’ now
she’s in the family way.’
‘Hmmm.
It’s funny aint it!’
‘Wot?’
‘Well
there’s that ol’ spinster lady Miss Hetherington, no husband, no family.’
‘We
don’t know that.’
‘Yeah,
but she looks loike she don’t ‘ave a family. No man at least!’
‘Well?’
‘Got
ter that age an’ may never ‘ave ‘ad it, or not much of it, at least!’
‘Yeah?’
‘An’
there’s Suzie wots ‘er name over there, had more than ‘er fair share.
Ain’t even sixteen yet, an as’ a baby!’
‘So?’
‘I
mean, it’s just a funny ol’ world!’
‘Hmmmm.
But you an’ me don’t need ter be no spinsters or nothing. I mean not
spinsters! Wot do they call men wiv no partner? B somethin’.’
‘Bastard?’
‘No!’
‘Bugger?’
‘No!
B……somethin’’
‘Don’t
know.’
‘Anyway,
we can chase around after girls as much as we loike, ‘ave some fun. Get laid!
We don’t need ter be loike Miss Hetherington!’
We settled back in the cockpit, Suzie wot’s ‘er name having gone,
pushing her new world in front of her, down the canal towpath and into that
industrial hell beside the canal. I thought Bob had gone to sleep, his eyes were
shut, like mine, thinking of future conquests, the fun of exploring girls and
this new exciting but strange subject called sex!
‘You
think it gets messy?’
‘Wot?’
‘Havin’
sex?’
‘How?’
‘Think
about it. Wot do yer eyes do?’
‘See.’
‘Roight,
wot do yer ears do?’
‘Hear.’
‘An’
wot does yer heart do?’
‘Pump
me blood, l think!’
‘So
most parts o’ yer body do just one thing, roight?’
‘Yeah!’
‘So
‘ow come God makes it so that yer todger does two things? Peein’ an’
‘avin sex!’
I
didn’t reply. I just thought and tried to imagine these conflicting
requirements and the possible problems that might occur!
‘I
mean, wot ‘appens if yer ‘avin a bit o’ sex an’ yer get caught
short?!’
‘Dunno!’
‘Why
didn’t ‘e give us two? One fer peein’ and one fer ‘avin it wiv a girl!
Seems a much better solution. Why ‘ave just the one?’
‘I
guess, if yer ‘ad two, that’s two yer could get caught in a door or fall
onto a crossbar wiv - twice the pain! An’ where would it go? I mean, where
would yer put it? It couldn’t be beside the other one, it’d get in the way!
Maybe on yer chest an’ then yer girl could bang up an’ down, but then
she’d probably wind yer! Or on yer fore’ead an’ you could nod yerself ter
death – cause brain damage!’
‘Hmmmm.
I guess your roight, where would yer put it? I’m gonna make sure l’ve ‘ad
a good piss afore ‘and though! Could you imagine the mess, if yer got it
wrong!!’
After such an in-depth anatomy lesson, we settled back once more to
contemplate the clouds as they sped over us in an infinite variety of white and
blue fluffy shapes...........................................