The Scheme for Full Employment

by Magnus Mills

  “Just once,” I replied. “It’s the name of a depot, isn’t it?”

  “Correct,” said Ray. “It’s one of a few we wish to encompass within our circuit.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Obviously we need to prepare the schedules beforehand, and that’s where you come in. We’ve got a little task for you, if you’re interested.”

  “What would I be doing?”

  “We’d like you to drive a UniVan to Eden Lacy, see how long it takes to get there, then come back.”

  “How far is it?”

  “We’ve got it as thirty-one miles as the crow flies,” said Ray. “But that doesn’t allow for traffic conditions, gyratory systems and unscheduled stoppages. We need someone to clock the average journey time over a number of successive days. It’d be job-and-finish, of course.”

  “Would it?”

  “Oh yes. Do your return trip and the rest of the day’s your own.”

  “Well, thanks,” I said. “Yes, I would be very interested.”

  “One thing though,” he said, leafing through the file again. “I’ve been having a look at your daily mileage reports for December.” Now he was holding a duty card in his hand. “According to this you did sixty-three miles on Wednesday the fourth, sixty-three miles on Thursday the fifth, and on Friday the sixth, one million, twelve thousand and twenty-two miles. Where did you go that day?”

  Ray handed me the card so that I could see it for myself. The entry in question was in George’s handwriting.

  “That should say sixty-three miles,” I said. “Sorry, we must have put it down wrong.”

  “Alright,” said Ray. “Well, I think it’s an oversight that can be overlooked under the circumstances. Try to fill it in more accurately in future.”

  “OK, then. Sorry.”

  He rose from behind his desk. “So you’d like to do that little job for us, would you?”

  “Yes please.”

  “Right you are,” he said. “You can start this morning and carry on for ten days or so, until you’ve got an average. Pop and see the engineers for a spare vehicle.”

  “Thanks.” I stood up to leave, and then thought of something else I wanted to ask.

  “Can I enquire why you chose me?”

  “Yes, you can,” replied Ray. “Your name was pulled out of a hat.”

  “Oh.”

  At that moment the phone rang and he picked it up. “Ray Coppin speaking. Oh yes, that would be perfect. Can I have orange marmalade today please, and some egg soldiers, and could you make sure the eggs are nice and fluffy …”

  Ray was still ordering breakfast as I showed myself out.

  The first person I saw when I got down to the yard was Steve Moore. He was lounging against his UniVan with a newspaper spread before him. As I appeared from the direction of the stairway he gave me a knowing look.

  “Is that what you’ve been doing this last couple of weeks?” I asked. “Timing runs?”

  “Yep,” he grinned. “Here to Royal Pond and back. Cushy little number.”

  “So why were you being so secretive?”

  “Didn’t want to make anyone jealous, did I?” Steve folded his paper. “Coming over the cafe for some petit déjeuner ?”

  “No, thanks,” I said. “I’ve got to get a van sorted out and everything.”

  “Don’t think I’ll bother leaving till ten o’clock,” he announced. “Nice round figure. See you on the road then.”

  “Yes, see you.”

  When I walked into the engineers’ workshop, Rob Marshall was gazing at the stack of cake boxes on his bench.

  “What am I going to do with this lot?”

  “Don’t know,” I said. “But I’m sure you’ll find a solution. You engineers always do. Is Ken around?”

  “Who wants him?” said a voice from the inner office.

  “Me,” I replied. “Ray Coppin’s asked me to do a timing run, so I need a van for ten days.”

  Ken Scanlon emerged and remarked, “Ah, one of the chosen few. Just a moment please.” Ken was chief engineer, and responsible for the allocation of vehicles. Referring to a wall chart, he said, “UV61’s free. You can take that one.”

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded towards the cakes. “Your assistant’s taking a liberty, isn’t he?”

  “Suppose so.”

  “I think I’ll have to start demanding a percentage.”

  “You might as well,” I said. “Nesbitt’s already had his cut.”

  Before I could do anything with UV61 I had to see Arthur for the keys. It took a few minutes to get him to come to his hatch, and when he did he complained that it was “highly irregular” to give keys out to anyone after eight o’clock. He eventually handed them over, however, and then I went to the duty room to get a regional map from Bob Little. These had been introduced as guides to new drivers, but in practice nobody bothered with them. As a result they lay unused and yellowing on a shelf under the counter. Each map was printed on a thin sheet of paper, with dotted lines showing how to fold it correctly. I ignored these, and folded mine first into quarters, then eighths.

  Opening it out again, I spread it on a table and perused it closely. All the depots in the region were shown as a letter D, along with an identifying name. The size of the D indicated the capacity of the depot. As a result, places such as Merry Park, Blackwell and our own Long Reach stood out as important landmarks, whereas the much smaller Rudgeway, for example, took a little longer to locate.

  As for Eden Lacy, well for a while I couldn’t find it at all. I studied the tangle of roads, canals and railways until my eyes were beginning to feel the strain, but it simply failed to stand out. I was just beginning to think the map-makers had forgotten to include it when right at the top I saw a tiny square with a letter D inside. Also the words: EDEN LACY.

  I wasn’t a bit surprised to discover it was situated in the far north of the region, as the name had that sort of ring about it. It was certainly much further away than any of the other depots shown, and looked rather isolated compared to the rest of them. Moreover, there appeared to be no direct route to Eden Lacy. Instead, it only seemed approachable along a series of minor roads. Immediately I realized that my hopes of cruising along some smooth unbroken thoroughfare were not about to be met. Nonetheless, the chance of a lengthy solo journey in a UniVan, following a schedule of my own making, was highly attractive. I borrowed a marker pen from Bob and traced out the shortest distance to Eden Lacy. Then I went to seek out UV61.

  All the UniVans were supposedly identical. They were constructed from the same interchangeable components, and in theory could only be distinguished by their fleet numbers. There should have been no difference between UV61 and, say, UV55, the van I’d been using the day before. In reality, though, every vehicle had its own particular characteristics. Some steered better than others, some were faster, some were more rattly. What made UV61 unique was its very soft suspension, a fact I remembered with glee as I unlocked the cab and slid behind the wheel. I’d driven 61 on many previous occasions, and I knew it would be perfect for an excursion like this. With nothing to load or unload, I was free to leave at once.

  The route I’d worked out required me to go west along the Ring Road for about five miles before turning north. In this first part of the trip I encountered several UniVans, some coming towards Long Reach, others making their way to more distant destinations. Those drivers who knew me flashed their lights in recognition, just as they always did. I flashed back, but for some reason I found their attentions rather irritating. Why this was I couldn’t explain, since we all flashed each other as a matter of course. This morning, however, the vans that came plodding along on their daily round looked very ordinaiy, and their crews appeared hidebound and unadventurous. In contrast, I was engaged on a mission that promised to be most interesting. Consequently, I soon stopped acknowledging oncoming vehicles, and pressed on as if I hadn’t seen them. This became easier once I’d turned off and headed north. From n
ow on the vans I passed were largely driven by strangers. I’d seen some of them before, of course, at depots like Merry Park, where several circuits overlapped, and had even said hello to one or two. But the sheer immensity of The Scheme meant that it was impossible to be on familiar terms with more than a handful of other drivers. Soon I was seeing UniVans with unknown identification plates. Mine bore the letters LR (for Long Reach), and I saw a couple displaying CG, which indicated they were based at Castle Gate. The majority, though, could have come from anywhere, with plates that said TT, BN, or, in one case, X. At no point on the journey did I see a vehicle that originated from Eden Lacy. As a matter of fact, my sightings of all UniVans became rarer the further I got from the Ring Road.

  After an hour’s travel I was still in the conurbation, but in an area where derelict buildings and abandoned ground seemed quite common. It was the sort of wasteland I’d imagined to have been widespread in the days before The Scheme, and which I thought had been eradicated. As I drove on I realized there was still much to be done. Presumably this explained why the process of integration was being stepped up. Ray Coppin had said that certain regions were “yet to be fully incorporated”, and now I’d seen for myself exactly what he meant. Continuing towards my destination, I felt glad to be playing a part, however small, in such a glorious undertaking.

  I was within a mile of Eden Lacy when it occurred to me that I hadn’t recorded my departure time from Long Reach, and that therefore this first run was invalidated. For a moment I considered simply guessing how long the trip had taken, but that would have made the entire exercise pointless, so instead I decided to regard this as an exploratory journey only. There would be plenty of opportunity over the next ten days to establish an average time.

  It was a shiny sort of morning and the road surface gleamed. I’d been on a single carriageway for a fair while now, with hardly anything at all in the way of traffic. After another minute a sign appeared with an arrow pointing to the left. Now I was on a narrow concrete drive, dead straight, with a waterworks on one side, and what appeared to be a brickyard on the other. Directly ahead of me was the depot, and as I drew nearer I saw that there were three men standing on the loading bay, watching my approach. They were all in a row, side by side, and looked as if they’d been waiting there for hours. One of them was quite plump. He stood with his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his blue overalls.

  There was no gatehouse here. Instead, the driveway just opened out into a wide and empty yard. At one end was a smaller, open-fronted building which I took to be the engineers’ workshop. Inside, perched on a set of ramps, was a lone UniVan. I pulled up in the middle of the open space, and then reversed onto the bay. Still the three men remained motionless. I could see them in my mirror, gazing silently at my vehicle as I backed in. Only when I got out to say hello did they come to life.

  “We heard someone might be coming out from Long Reach,” said the plump one, as I came up the steps from the yard.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I’m going to be doing some timing runs over the next few days.”

  “That’s what we heard.”

  Out of habit I went to the van, flipped the catch, and slid open the roller door, revealing the bare interior.

  “You haven’t got anything for us, have you?” he asked.

  “No,” I replied.

  “Didn’t think you would have.”

  “And you won’t have anything for me either.”

  “No,” he said. “We only send stuff to Long Reach once a month, and it’s always picked up by a van from Riverhead.”

  “Where’s that then?”

  “Don’t know. He only comes once a month.”

  I glanced around the depot and saw that there were no laden pallets anywhere. A stack of empty ones stood in the far corner, and beside them waited a forklift truck. It didn’t look as though it was used very often. The plump man, I noticed, hadn’t removed his hands from his pockets since my arrival.

  “Want a cup of tea?”

  “Oh, yes please,” I said. “I’m parched. Canteen upstairs, is it?”

  “We haven’t got a canteen here. The cleaner makes us tea in the morning, but she’s gone home now. We have to do it ourselves. Go and put the kettle on, will you Martin?”

  He was addressing one of the other men, who looked like a younger, slightly less portly version of himself, and who could easily have been his son.

  “Alright,” said this one, turning to me. “Do you want sugar?” He had a very high-pitched voice.

  “No thanks.”

  “You’d better tell Jim,” added the plump man.

  “Alright.”

  The younger man went to a telephone attached to the wall and picked up the receiver. A moment later we heard a bell ringing over in the workshop. Then it stopped again.

  “Jim?” he said into the phone. “It’s Martin. We’re making a cup of tea, if you’re interested. Right you are. See you in five minutes.”

  He hung up and went to put the kettle on. I closed the roller door.

  “How many vans have you got here?” I enquired.

  “One,” replied the plump man. He nodded across the yard towards the workshop. “It’s being maintained at the present.”

  The third member of the trio was a quiet man who smiled a lot but said little. For this reason he struck me as the sort of person it must be nice to have around. His name, I soon discovered, was Eric. The plump man was called Harold. While the arrangements for the tea were being made Eric busied himself with a broom, sweeping the bay along its entire length. The clock by the office told me it was now twelve noon. Surely, I thought, they can’t already be clearing up for the day? Not this early. My question was answered almost immediately.

  “Here’s the Bell Tower,” announced Harold.

  Coming up the concrete drive was a UniVan, and next moment it was sweeping into the yard with a loud hoot of its horn. As the vehicle reversed back onto the loading bay I looked at its identification plate. The letters BT confirmed that it was indeed from Bell Tower depot, and instantly a wave of disappointment passed through me. Up until now I’d thought I was the only person from our region ever to visit Eden Lacy. Certainly it had all the feeling of a remote satellite compared to my regular destinations. The greeting given to the new arrivals, however, told me I was by no means the first. When the driver and his assistant got out it was obvious they knew the staff here quite well. Actually, I recognized them myself, having seen them on the circuit occasionally.

  “Now then, Keith,” said Harold. “You’re just in time for tea.”

  “That makes a change,” came the reply. “We had to wait ten minutes yesterday!”

  When this Keith got to the top of the steps he stopped, looked at me, and said, “I know your face. Long Reach, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “I’m doing a few timing runs.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” he nodded. “I heard they were establishing direct contact between here and there.”

  His assistant, meanwhile, went to the back of their van and slid open the roller door. There was a polite “beep” behind me. Eric had abandoned his broom and was now seated in readiness on the forklift truck, still smiling.

  In the next few minutes, any thoughts I’d had that this might be a “sleepy” depot were quickly banished. Keith’s vehicle contained six fully-laden pallets, but Eric was so deft at handling the forklift that it was empty in no time. Harold’s contribution was to keep out of Eric’s way while at the same time appearing busy. He managed this because, despite being plump, he was also very light-footed. With his hands lodged firmly in his pockets, he dodged around inside the UniVan, performing bits of fancy footwork as Eric manoeuvred the goods.

  While all this was going on, Martin returned with a tray of tea and placed it on a table in the corner of the building, around which were several chairs. At the same time another man came strolling across from the direction of the workshop. This I took to be Jim the engineer, whom Martin
had called on the phone. When the unloading was complete and the dockets exchanged, everybody gravitated towards the table, slow, for the first time since my arrival, Harold removed his hands from his pockets. They were plump like the rest of him, and in one of them he held a pack of cards.

  “Shall we have a quick game?” he asked.

  “Might as well,” replied Keith. “While we’re all here.”

  The tea was poured, we sat down, and the cards were dealt.

  “Whose turn is it to start?”

  “Mine,” said Harold. He peered long and hard at his hand of cards, then gave me an enquiring look. “Have you got Mr Bun the Baker?”

  7

  By the time I left Eden Lacy, about two hours later, I’d come to the conclusion it was a thoroughly nice depot. Nothing was too much trouble for Harold and his companions, who treated their visitors as honoured guests. After the cards, Martin was dispatched to make some sandwiches and more tea, while Jim gave mine and Keith’s vehicles a quick once-over in case there were any “unwanted oil leaks” as he put it. There weren’t, of course, as the standard of maintenance throughout The Scheme was always high. Nonetheless, the gesture was fully appreciated. Jim was an engineer of the traditional school, with a clean rag in his left pocket, and an adjustable spanner in his right. He paid a particular interest in UV61, remarking that it was one of the few models in the series that he hadn’t spotted before. He opened the bonnet and for a few moments we stood gazing at the engine in solemn reverence.

  “Look at that,” he said. “What a marvellous creation.” Keith, who was standing just to one side, gave me a wink as Jim closed the lid again. He and Rodney, his assistant driver, both appeared most satisfied with life on The Scheme, and clearly enjoyed their trips to Eden Lacy. They even had their own drinking mugs at the table. All the same, I was surprised how long they remained there, playing cards and generally taking it easy. If they weren’t careful, I thought, they were going to get booked for leaving late. I gave a quick glance towards the super’s office, and at the very same moment it dawned on me why this depot seemed so relaxed. There weren’t any supers here! The office was closed up, with a couple of spare brooms leaning against the door as if they belonged there permanently. Next to the office was the punch clock, with four time-cards resting in the rack above: the only evidence of any link with officialdom. When I asked Harold about this he explained that instead of having supers permanently attached to the depot, they received occasional “snap” visits, when someone like Nesbitt would turn up unannounced.