Jimmy, The Glue Factory and Mad Mr Viscous

by Gerrard Wllson

him,” Eric chirped. “He’s glad to see us.” The remaining horses although hidden from view, sensing something important was happening, also began whinnying.

  Climbing the fence, looking down at the poor animals penned into the small yard, Jimmy was appalled at the conditions they were in. “There’s not even a drink of water in here,” he said, “let alone any food.” As if in response to his words, the horses began whinnying louder. “Shush, shush, horses,” he said. “We’ll have you out of here in no time at all. That nasty Mr Viscous will not be making his glue from any of you. Shush…”

  Climbing down, Jimmy searched for a gate, an opening – anything they might use to free the poor animals, but he could not find one. “There isn’t a gate,” he said glumly. “The fence is far too solid to try and break it. We have no other option other than using the gate.”

  “The gate?” Eric asked, confused. “You just told me there was no gate.”

  “Not here, there isn’t,” Jimmy replied. Pointing over the top of the fence, he said, “However, there are two of them on the other side of that yard.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. The first one is located over to the left. That’s where the horses were brought in, when they were delivered.”

  “A lorry,” said Eric.

  “Pardon?”

  “I said it was probably a lorry that brought them here.”

  “Yeh, whatever.”

  “And the second?”

  “Hmm, I was hoping you would not ask me that,” he replied.

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s at the other end, adjoining the factory.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  Thinking over the situation, ruminating how they might free the horses, yet remain unseen, Jimmy concluded, “As I see it, we have no other option other than climbing over this fence and making our way across the yard, where, assuming we have remained unspotted, we can see about opening that gate.”

  Looking up to the factory building, and the many windows overlooking the yard, Eric replied, “We’ll be dreadfully exposed.”

  “I know,” Jimmy replied. “Unfortunately, I can’t see any other way of doing it.”

  The horses, whinnying with ever-increasing excitement, jostled for position, trying to follow their would-be liberators across the overcrowded holding pen. While keeping a watchful eye on a particular horse, an unusually large specimen with piebald markings, following their every move, Eric said, “We’ll get crushed if any of them goes berserk.”

  Ignoring his scaremongering, Jimmy set his sights on the gate at the far side of the pen. When he arrived there, with Eric in hot pursuit, and the piebald horse a close third, he grumbled, “Blast it, another padlock! Pass me the bolt cutter, will you?”

  “The bolt cutter?”

  “Yes, the bolt cutter – and hurry!”

  After a long pause, Eric replied, “I forgot it…”

  “What?” Jimmy hissed, hoping he had not heard him correctly.

  “I said, I forgot it.”

  “Where is it, then?” Jimmy asked, fighting the urge to whack his best friend on the nose.

  Pointing towards the fence, Eric said, “I left it over there, where we cut the first padlock…”

  While Jimmy brooded over the loss of their bolt cutter, and whether or not they should return, to get it, one of the horses, the piebald specimen that had been following closely, inquisitively, nudged Eric in the back. “Stop it,” he said.

  The horse, however, not put off that easily, nudged him again. “Stop doing that,” Eric chided, “we have problems enough without you distracting us, so.”

  Turning to see what all the fuss was about, seeing the horse nudging Eric in the back for a third time, Jimmy, snapping out of his quandary, said, “That’s it! We don’t need that crumby old bolt cutter!”

  Scratching his head, Eric asked, “We don’t?”

  Slapping himself on the forehead, Jimmy said, “Why didn’t I see it, before?”

  “See what?”

  Ignoring his question, making a beeline for the horse, Jimmy bid Eric to do likewise.

  Patting the horse (it appeared quite happy to be the centre of attention), Jimmy said, “Give me a bunk-up, will you?”

  “But...what if you fall off?”

  “There will be no ifs and buts, here,” Jimmy ordered. “Come on, give me a bunk up – we haven’t got all day!”

  Seated high upon the piebald horse, Jimmy dug his heels deep into its belly. It whinnied, it grunted, it snarled and it growled. Rising high on its hind legs, guided by Jimmy atop it, the behemoth of a horse galloped headlong towards the gate. SMASH! The gate disappeared in a thousand pieces.

  “Come on, Eric!” Jimmy called. “They must have heard that!”

  Looking up to the windows Eric saw one of them opening. He saw the unmistakable baldhead of Mr Viscous peering out from it, his piggy eyes glaring down at them. Realising what they were up to, he shouted, “GUARDS! STOP THEM! STOP THE LITTLE BEGGARS! THEY ARE STEALING MY HORSES! GUARDS!”

  “Eric!” Jimmy yelled, patting the horse’s back behind him. “Quick, jump up!”

  Tearing out from the yard, Eric hopped, skipped and then jumped onto the horse’s back. Grabbing hold of Jimmy by the waist, he hollered, “Get us the hell out of here!” Holding onto the horse’s mane, Jimmy dug his heels deep into its belly and they galloped out of the holding pen, to freedom.

  Looking over his shoulder, seeing guards swarming around the startled horses, Eric said, “What about the rest of the horses? We can’t just leave them there!”

  “Unfortunately, for now that’s all that we can do,” Jimmy replied, steering the horse down the road, away from the factory. “Having said that, we shall return,” he promised, “and Mr Viscous will rue the day he met me…”

  What Shall We Call Her?

  When he felt they were far enough from the factory, to be safe from any threat of pursuit by the guards, Jimmy pulled on the horse’s mane, to slow it down. The huge animal willingly obliged, then continued along the road at a leisurely pace. “That’s it boy,” he said, “good horse.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Eric said, “You didn’t get a look at it, did you?”

  “A look? A look at what?”

  “The horse, of course!”

  “The horse,” Jimmy asked, confused by what he was saying. “I can see it perfectly well from here, thank you very much.”

  “Did you see all of it?”

  “Well, admittedly not all of it,” Jimmy answered. “What are you getting at, anyhow?” Laughing, Eric told him the horse was actually female. “Oh, I see,” he replied, embarrassed to have missed so obvious a thing. Then he added, “I was rather busy, you know!”

  I know, Jim,” Eric replied, laughing at the good of it. “I know.”

  Feeling his hands (they were wet and sticky), Jimmy realised how hot the horse was, after galloping so hard. Steering it down a side street, he said, “She needs a drink of water. There’s a trough in Queen Street, should be there in a tick.” Arriving at the trough, the two boys dismounted and let the hot, sweating animal drink its fill.

  “What should we call her?” Eric asked, studying the animal and its piebald markings. Raising a finger, he said, “How about Growler!”

  “Growler, why growler?”

  “Because, amongst the many strange noises she made, were growls.”

  “Yes, she did,” Jimmy admitted. “Do you really think Growler is the best name for her?”

  “Nah, not really,” Eric answered. “What about Spot?” he asked.

  Spot?” Jimmy replied, aghast by the absurdity of such a suggestion. “It’s not a dog, you know!”

  “Well, no,” Eric mumbled, “though it is sort of spotty!” Realising how silly his suggestion was, his voice trailed off.

  “How about Dotty? She is a girl, you know!”

  “Hmm, I rather like that,” said Eric. “Dotty it shall be.”

  After the horse – Dotty –
had drank its fill of ice-cold water, Jimmy and Eric remounted. “Where to, now?” Jimmy asked, looking back over his shoulder, to Eric.

  Shrugging, Eric replied, “Dunno... How about Mr Smith’s Emporium?”

  “No, that would be a backward step,” Jimmy replied. “This is our adventure – he told us so. What we do next must be our decision, not anyone else’s.”

  “In that case,” Eric suggested, “how about going to the estuary? There’ll be nobody there – and plenty of grass for old Dot.”

  “Dot?”

  “Yes, the horse.”

  “Dotty! Her name is Dotty!” Jimmy growled. “God, she’s only been named for a couple of minutes and you’ve already shortened it.

  “Sorry”

  Grabbing hold of Dot’s – Dotty’s mane, Jimmy steered her in the direction of the estuary.

  Another tramp steamer was passing by, making its way out from port, when Jimmy and Eric arrived at the estuary. “Look,” said Eric, pointing to the ancient vessel. “Do you think that rust bucket will make it through the storm?”

  “The storm –what storm?” Jimmy asked, patting Dotty’s neck, in gratitude for what she had done.

  Pointing again, far out to sea this time, Eric said, “That one!”

  Looking out to sea, seeing the dark clouds gathering on the horizon, Jimmy said, “Oh, that one.”

  Despite the cold wind growing stronger by the minute, and the storm clouds getting closer and closer, the boys dismounted, allowing Dotty to graze. Shivering, feeling he might never get warm again, Eric checked to see that he had fastened all of the toggles on his coat. “It’s awfully cold,” he grumbled. “How long do you think a horse needs to graze?”

  Shrugging, Jimmy said nothing.

  The horse, Dotty, had soon rambled far away