Corky listened and felt intently, like a chicken in a shell, hearing in wonder the big world.
It came to him how strange it was, that every night when he was in his bed—feeling the world to be aslumber—all this was going on: wheels turning, men at work, loads moving across the country.
He heard a sigh and it was Ginger awakening.
“Gosh, I’m stiff.” His nails made scratching noises on his scalp. “Gu’mornin’—aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am, yes, come to think of it. Sh, sh, let old Ted have his sleep out.”
“How long has he been like that?”
“Couldn’t say. Only just opened the peepers myself.”
“Whereabouts are we?”
“Not the foggiest.”
“What time is it?”
“No idea.”
“Y’ain’t very helpful, are you?”
“No. And I ain’t asking anyone anything, either.”
“Don’t cross me, Corky! Not the first minute of my waking
“Cross you? Huh, I’ll choke the life out of you, if you breathe another word, you toffee-nosed galoot!”
“Tha’ bladder-headed gobbin!” Ginger roared in hoarse Lancashire accent. “I’ll swing for thee!”
They each grabbed the other’s throat. “Ah, the death croak,” hissed Corky as Ginger let out a spasm of wind.
“As a terrier shakes a rat,” snarled Ginger, changing his grip to grab Corky by his mop.
The scuffling disturbed Ted. He lifted himself heavily from over the wheel, rubbed his eyes, and as he was yawning pressed the starter, and half asleep, he stuck the gear lever in, revved up and set off.
“What d’you want to disturb a man’s sleep for?” he grunted cheerfully. The boys stopped their struggles.
“Sorry, Ted. Blimey, you don’t waste no time.”
“I daren’t. The second I wake I’ve got to get going.”
“Why not give yourself a couple of minutes?”
“I’d be done if I did,” replied Ted. “I know just to the minute when I’ll wake. And I always wake on the dot. But if I don’t set off that very moment, I’m done. I’d sleep the blinking clock round.”
“Where are we, Ted?”
“Just coming into Daventry. See the aerial masts there striding across the country.”
“What road is this?”
“Watling Street, known as the A5—runs from London to Holyhead. Actually, it’s a road made by the Romans, and its full length is from Dover to Carlisle. We met it just after Lichfield.”
“What time is it?”
“About twenty past four, I should say. I feel chilled to the marrow, I hope you lads are all right. I’ll keep the old toe down now, and we’ll soon be calling for something to eat.”
The boys rested into their stiffness. Outside the country and the sky were moulded to a sombre grey. Words came to mind, but somehow didn’t seem worth saying. Ted had the engine all out. He was just up behind a lorry and trailer. Twice he made to overtake, but each time there came the warning flickering from the rear light, and Ted drew into the nearside as a northbound lorry shot by. No one spoke. For a half-mile Ted’s bonnet was nosing on just beyond the trailer tail, gradually gaining, foot by foot, until on a stiff rise the heavily-loaded vehicle in front had to drop a gear, and Ted just managed to draw ahead. Just the same, he kept over to the right-hand side of the road for a long way, till the off-on of the lorry’s spotlight, flashing on the road beside them, invited Ted to ‘come in’. His hand reached to the dashboard, and with a ‘thanks mate’, switch of his own light, he drew to the left.
“He might have slowed up,” remarked Ginger, “and let us through sooner.”
Ted shook his head. “If you started that game you’d get nowhere. It takes miles and miles to coax a heavy engine to full power, to draw the last ounce out of her, and then you’ve got to nurse her along. You hate to so much as touch a brake. In fact, most drivers keep giving an occasional push forward to the brake to make sure it’s as far off as possible; I know I always do. And once you’ve struck that top note, you like to keep it up. You don’t like to lose any revs. Nor does the engine. If you don’t coax it along it begins sulking. So that’s how it is, boys, it’s up to me—either get in front or stay behind.”
“What about ‘courtesy of the roads’?”
“That’s all right for these little blokes in their light cars,” snorted Ted lightly, “dashing off to the golf club, or picking up some shopping the wife’s forgotten. It just suits them—waving you on, off, stop, and all that caper. I’ll gamble that if they were driving along in the Sahara desert they’d keep bobbing up with some signal or other. But we’ve got no time for it, not with ten ton on the back, and a couple of hundred miles to cover, every night in the week.”
On one occasion a beam of light made rapid flashings in and out on the road before them. It was all clear ahead, and Ted edged a little more to the left. There was a sudden rush of air as a tall van flashed by.
“Phew, he’s shifting,” gasped Corky.
Ted flashed him in. The driver’s reply was a regular series of flickering thanks from his red tail light.
“Young Nolly of MacNamara’s,” said Ted. “He’s coasting.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh, he’s shoved the stick out, I mean he’s put it out of gear, see, and having picked up speed down that last hill he’ll belt on for miles now, with his engine switched off. He must be doing at least sixty.”
“Why don’t we chuck the gear stick out?”
“Too risky,” said Ted. “I always did it when I was younger, and I still do when I’m fed up or in a bad mood, and need a spot of excitement to pep me up. Look at him, look at him taking that bend——” Away down the road the tail-light vanished.
“He’s swaying like blazes, and well over on his wrong side,” went on Ted, “—anything coming the opposite way and it would be ‘good night, sister.’ He’d crash.”
“What about his brakes?”
“The old anchors won’t hold you back at that speed—when you’re out of gear. If they did happen to pull up they’d swing you round. It’s exciting and all that, and even today it can make my tummy roll, but it ain’t worth it. That’s why I drop to a low gear going down a steep incline, the engine acts as a brake.”
“Dawn!” uttered Corky, looking to the far curve of the sky. New pieces of light ribbed the heavens.
“Looks like a flitch of streaky bacon,” said Ginger. “I expect it’ll be light shortly.”
“I doubt it,” said Ted. “That’s a false dawn, if I’m not mistaken. It’ll go dark again.”
It happened so. After a few miles the streaky flitch had gone from the sky and it was much darker. Ted gave a grunt of satisfaction as he turned off the main road and drew to a halt on a parking ground before a lighted bungalow.
“This is Sweeney’s,” he said. “I’d never buy anything from here but tea and bacon sandwiches. That’s the only meal he can do, but he’s good on them.”
The boys got out stiffly and hurried into Sweeney’s, while Ted patiently checked round his lorry.
30 Back to London
“I once heard you say” he said, “life don’t
stop, it allus goes on!”
“I NEVER knew bacon sandwiches could taste so good,” said Corky.
“I feel made over again,” said Ginger.
“Settle down,” said Ted. “The night’s just leaving us. Soon everything will be wakening up.”
“Ted, d’you mind if I drop the window?” asked Corky.
“Go ahead.”
The boys watched out.
A bluish dawn uprose from earth. It hung softly everywhere, over hedges, grassy fields, trees, and the odd roadside cottage. In a wonder of waking excitement the boys watched a still world giving birth to another day. A silence, serene and ancient, was unheeding of the thunderous engine beat racing the country road.
Finally Ginger spoke: “Where are we
now, Ted?”
“Left Towcester a mile or two back. The next place will be Stony Stratford.”
“Hy, Ginger, seen all the country? Seems no end to it, it stretches for miles and miles. Did you know about it?”
“How could I?” said Ginger. “There didn’t seem to be so much when we were coming up, leastways, I didn’t notice it.”
“I’ll not be puzzled any more when I hear ‘em sing ‘In England’s green and pleasant land.’”
“Know where I allus thought that was? That stretch of park from Knightsbridge to Kensington,” said Ginger. “Going along there by the Albert Hall, it used allus flick in my mind, ‘England’s green an’ pleasant land’, for there’s no railings, an’ there’s people sitting around, kids playing among the old fat trees that stand about all over the place, an’ ever so much grass there is, a bit worn though.”
Corky was thinking how he would remember these minutes of dawn for as long as he lived, and especially in the mornings when he opened his eyes and saw all the grimy houses and chimneys staring at him through the window at home, and smelled the old leather factory warming up. That was when he would think of the freshness and the green, of the old roads threading from south to north, from London to Liverpool, long and black, and shining in lights the whole way; the wheels whizzing over the macadam; the caffs with gramophone tunes.
“It’s getting bright now,” Corky said. “Why don’t you switch your lights off?”
“Aw, there’s something matey about the old lights,” said Ted. “It’s kind of brotherly, one driver to another at night. It’s not the same on a daytime road. Ah well, I suppose I’d better switch ‘em off, and get down to hogging it.”
It did seem that with the coming of day the quiet night time code of driving went from the roads. Snappy lorries were scooting along to catch the early Covent Garden market. Horns were being honked and there seemed to be a lot of dashing about.
It was at a wide bend in the road that they came upon a lorry overturned on its side. A great load of vegetables was swept over the road and scattered round the hedge. Onions, carrots, lettuce, were lying around, and there was a big squelchy patch where some heavy tyre had flattened out a box of tomatoes.
A driver was hurrying towards his lorry, his pockets sprouting young onions and his cap rammed full of tomatoes.
“It only needs one fellow like him,” said Ted, “and he’ll set a whole crowd off. They’ll be like flies round a jampot and they wouldn’t leave as much as a lettuce leaf. I’ve even seen ‘em syphon the petrol from a bloke’s tank. Let’s go and see what’s happened.”
There was nobody with the lorry.
“The driver’s either been taken hurt,” said Ted, “or he’s gone to ‘phone his boss.”
“I wonder how it happened?” said Corky.
“Like as not he was belting along and got deceived with the wide bend,” Ted said. “It’s a funny thing, but there’s more accidents on a wide road with a wide bend than on a narrow one.”
“How come?”
“With a narrow road and a bad bend you know you’ve got to slow down,” explained Ted, “there’s nothing else for it. But with a wide bend you’ve just a chance of getting round flat out.”
Another driver came up.
“Anybody hurt, mate?”
“Couldn’t tell you. We’ve only just stopped ourselves.”
The driver produced a little rolled-up sack from under his arm.
“Might as well take a bit of summat home for the wife and kids,” he said, and searching round for unbruised fruit he began to fill his bag.
The boys stared at him. Then they gave a cute look at Ted.
“Go on,” he said. “Help yourselves to a few tomatoes and anything else you fancy. Don’t overdo it.”
“We won’t,” said Ginger.
Seeing the masses of stuff lying around rather took the taste out of the individual eatables. The boys had a couple of tomatoes, then each took a carrot back to the cab.
And now bits of road began to ring familiar to the boys. And suddenly they saw a bus—a London bus, red and plastered with advertisements.
“I never thought our buses looked so homely,” exclaimed Corky.
“There’s a lot of old crocks among ‘em,” said Ginger, ‘like the taxis, but they’re good on the job.”
“Look, that’s where we met old Patrick the tramp. I wonder where he is now?”
“It ain’t a lifetime we’ve been away, Corky, it’s only a couple of days.”
“Who’d think it!”
They drove through Barnet. It was seven o’clock, and everything was wakening up. Down High Road, Archway, Holloway Road, Upper Street, till they met City Road. Then down along City Road to Moorgate, and the Bank, and along King William Street, and over London Bridge.
“The old City of London morning,” said Corky, breaking a long quiet, “there ain’t to be seen nothing like it! Look across at the Tower Bridge.”
“Looks good with the sunshine resting on it,” said Ginger.
Ted sighed.
“Well, pals, I reckon this is where we part.” He turned left, and drew the lorry to a halt on the hill, outside Mooney’s Irish House. “I expect you know your way from here?”
Ginger said: “We’ll go along High Street.”
“My mate’ll be waiting at the bottom of here, waiting to take over,” said Ted. “I’ll nip home—that block of flats near the Oval cricket ground—have a sleep and up at teatime.”
“Off again tonight?” asked Corky.
Ted nodded.
The boys looked up at him, his face was haggard, his eyes grey and weary.
“Don’t know what we’d have done without you,” said Ginger.
“Pah, forget it.” Ted waved his hand down.
“Well, goodbye, Ted.” Corky stuck his hand out.
“So long, Corky.”
“All the best, Ted.”
“Good luck, Ginger. If ever you want to see me again, come down to Millers Yard, off Tooley Street, about seven in the evening. You’ll know the old lorry, eh?”
“You bet. Thanks, Ted.”
They watched the lorry move off.
“Goodbye!”
They didn’t stir for a minute. The street was busy, people and traffic hurrying about.
“A good bloke,” said Corky.
“One of the best,” said Ginger.
When they did set off, they went slow and stiffly, for their legs ached, and their bodies felt cramped. Side by side they went along the road. They were quiet.
It was near a crossing they heard an old familiar noise. They hurried a few yards. Then stopped dead. The quick, light rolling rattle of cart wheels came nearer and nearer. And the clop, clop, clop, of ponies.
“I can tell that gallop in a million,” Ginger’s voice was husky. “—Amos!”
“And Prim!” said Corky. “She’s coming along.”
With fast beating hearts they watched.
Then the ponies came racing along St Thomas Street. Prim was in front. Amos was just behind. A tall boy was driving Prim, he appeared to be on the weak side, a pale face and bony outline.
Prim was moving with style and dignity. Corky caught hold of the cry that would burst from his tongue. He held himself lip-tight.
Amos was being encouraged along by a sleek-haired boy. He was galloping, but not overdoing himself. The sight of his old pony brought a wrench of pain to Ginger.
The boys gazed—and gazed on, long after the street and the traffic had drawn from sight their two old ponies.
“Dear old Prim, I miss more than anything the warm matey smell of you, resting for a breather on your back.”
“The stout back, the faithful heart, that was Amos.”
Shyly, but unashamed, Corky took a bunched-up bit of hanky from his pocket, and hugged his nose.
“I once heard you say,” he said, “life don’t stop, it allus goes on!
Ginger wiped a rough young hand across his eyes, and
, not quite without a sob, replied:
“Yeh, an’ I suppose we’ve got to go with it.”
The London traffic buzzed and darted. The two boys squared shoulders and went on.
This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP
Copyright © Bill Naughton 1966
First published in Great Britain 1966 by GEORGE G. HARRAP & Co. LTD
The moral right of the author has been asserted
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ISBN: 9781448203277
eISBN: 9781448202942
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Pony Boy Page 21