Soap-box Cart Buildin'

Yeah, well— a certain person, wot shall remain nameless, reckons as 'ow Oi ought ter write moi own post fer once. Trouble is, writin' ain't exactly wot Oi do best, if'n yew see wot Oi mean. Any'ow, fer the sake o' peace an' quiet, Oi said as 'ow Oi'd give it a go. So 'ere it is:

'Ee says as 'ow Oi'm s'posed ter write somefink wots a bit 'istorical. Oi ain't really inter 'istory, though there are some people around as reckons as 'ow Oi'm somefink a bit 'istorical mesself (or do they mean 'isterical? Wot ain't polite...). Any'ow, wot Oi'm goin' ter do, is ter tell yew a bit about ow we make soap-box carts in Widdlin'ton, wot is the village in England where Oi come from. Incidentally, there's a map o' Widdlin'ton on http://www.peterstjohn.net/ wot shows where moi 'ouse is. It shows the Mountain Glide where we race, an' all. Yew c'n 'ave a look at it afterwards, if'n yew loike. There's some pictures of me there, as well as pictures o' some of our soap-boxes. Any'ow, back ter cart makin'...

It ain't very difficult ter make a soap-box cart, provided yew've got a box an' some good wheels. The best kind 'ave got ball-bearings rather than ordin'ry plain bearings. Yew c'n sometimes get 'em off'n an old perambulator (Wot lovely word! But Oi fink that in America it's wot they call a "baby carriage"). The underneath part is loike wot Molly 'as in the picture 'ere. My own cart, "Emmeline P", 'as got pram wheels too, wot come off my perambulator after my daft bruvver let it roll down the steps in front of ol' farmer Catchpole's tractor… The wheels were still okay though.

Moi cart is named after that there Mrs Emmeline Pankhurst, wot chained 'erself ter railin's an' went ter prison, an' all, so's women c'd get ter vote in England. A right great lady she were, even though she weren't very big; loike me. She's got 'er statue in a little park roight by the railin's o' Parliament 'Ouse, near that woppin' great clock wot they call Big Ben, though roightly speakin' it's the bell wot sounds the hour wot is really Big Ben. Any'ow, moi cart's called Emmeline P; loike yew c'n see in the picture, an' nat’rally, it's the fastest cart in Widdlin'ton, even if it's me wot says so.

O' corse, yew're also goin' ter need a good wooden soap-box. Yew used ter be able ter get one from the local store; they were only too glad ter be rid of 'em. It's probably a bit 'arder ter get one these days, wot wiv the war, an' crises, an' modern packagin', an' all that sorta fing. Still an' all, yew c'n always make a box out of a plank or two; in which case, it's a good idea ter use somefink a bit thicker, 'cos, when all's said an' done, them usual soap-boxes are just a bit flimsy. They don't stay tergevver so well if yer cart 'appens ter turn over; wot ain't so rare.

A real important part of the cart, the long plank wot 'olds everyfink tergevver, is wot we call the "Spine". That's gotta be real thick, three-quarters of an inch at least. If it's any thinner, it'll be all springy, loike wot them big American cars are, an' then yew c'n get kinda seasick when it bounces up an' down over the bumps. Besides, it's gotta be solid enough ter take the 'ole at the front fer the steerin' bolt. If'n it's too thin, yew'll lose the front axle the very first toime yew ride down over a curbstone. See wot Oi mean?

When Peter an me made moi Emmeline P, Oi come along wiv a tin full o' nails, only Peter said that nails weren't no good fer makin' carts. Yew 'ave ter screw 'em, or better still, bolt 'em tergevver, 'cos nails work loose pretty quick. Oi pass the tip on. Yew don' 'ave ter thank me fer it, 'cos Oi didn't know it either at the toime. The best sort o' bolts, are them wiv a little square under the ‘ead. They call 'em "coach" bolts. Yew need ter fix 'em wiv a washer under the nut, ovverwise it 'urts the wood, an' then they come loose as quick as yew c'n say Akron Hill.

If'n yew use screws ter fix the box ter the spine, then it's best ter put some glue on as well. Then it won't never come apart. The wheels, complete wiv axle, yew c'n fix underneath wiv "U" bolts. Oi reckon as 'ow Oi don't 'ave ter describe wot a "U" bolt is, 'cos it looks exactly loike wot it's called. An' that kind o' word would be useful fer everyfink, don't yew reckon?

One last fing: If'n yew can, troi ter get a real, proper, bushed pivot bolt ter fix the steerin' bar wiv. It'll give yer cart a roight solid directional (Oi loike that word!) feel. It c'n give yew a worfwhile advantage (yeah— an even better word!) in a pushed start, or in an emergency. Besides, it don't work loose, neither.

Go well. 'Appy cartin'!

Wiv love from Jenno.

http://www.peterstjohn.net/

It ain't Fair

Jennospot 50  It Ain't Fair

Lot's o' fings in life ain't fair; 'specially if'n yew're a girl. D'yew know wot I mean? Loike when some o' the boys in our village (an' Oi ain't talkin' about the Lions Avenue Lot), don't let girls join in wiv wot they're doin'. Well, sometimes yew've just gotta put up wiv it, 'cos there ain't nuffink else yew c'n do. But sometimes, wot's unfair, is that they cheat, an that's jus' plain nasty. Any'ow, today Oi'm goin' ter tell yew about the start of a cart race, where not only were us girls left out, but the boys in the gang wot we was racin' against cheated as well. Cripes, it were enough ter make a girl spit. This is 'ow Peter told it:

We went on up The Street towards Hibberd's general store. Four Streeters were already there, including Arthur and Albert. They had drawn a chalk line across the width of the road.

‘Oy!’ exclaimed Arthur. ‘No girls.’

‘Winnifred's not racing,’ said Roy.

‘Wot's she doin' 'ere then?’

‘Since she's not racing, she can be the starter,’ I said.

Arthur pushed his face aggressively into mine. ‘Ain't yew got no ears? Oi said, no girls; 'n Oi meant, no girls.’

I was severely tempted to hit him, but after an inner struggle, contented myself with a glare.

‘Who's going to start us then?’ asked Roy. ‘Where are the rest of your gang?’

‘They've gorn down Water Mill Lane ter the finish by the bridge. Oi'll start us.’

‘That's not fair,’ objected Dismal. ‘That gives you an advantage.’

‘Just yew shut up, dimwit Dismal. If'n yew lot come up on our territory, yew'll do things our way.’

‘Let it drop Dismal,’ said Roy. ‘We'll beat them anyway.’

‘Huh, sez yew,’ replied Albert.

‘How are we going to score?’ asked Brian. ‘Lowest aggregate wins?’

‘First past the post is the winner,’ said Arthur.

‘With you as starter? Not likely,’ said Dismal. ‘I want lowest aggregate wins.’

‘Me too,’ I said. ‘First over the line scores one, the second two, and so on. That way everyone in the race counts.’

‘Yeah— okay,’ said Arthur reluctantly. ‘So let's get started. Everyone get 'is cart behind the line. Get outta the way with yer stupid cart, Winnie.’

‘My name is Winnifred,’ said Winnie with dignity. ‘Miss King to you. And I'm not in the way, Mister misogynist Haflin.’

‘Wot's misogynist?’ said Albert.

‘Look it up in a dictionary,’ retorted Winnifred. ‘That is, if a great intellect like yours even knows how to read.’

‘Just yew shut up, Winnifred King,’ snarled Arthur. ‘Or else—’

‘Or else what?’ said Winnifred mildly. ‘Don't you threaten me, Arthur Haflin. Unless, that is, you want Mr Trundle to learn of certain things that you'd rather he didn't hear about.’

‘Yeah— well— okay— just stand to one side.’

‘Please,’ said Winnifred.

‘Please,’ echoed Arthur.

We lined our carts up along the chalk line. The extreme left was the most advantageous position, but the four Streeters had already positioned themselves on the left.

Roy saw me getting ready to protest. He shook his head at me. ‘Doesn't matter,’ he said. ‘It's a long race, with a lot of punting. The start positions aren't that important. We're going to beat them anyway.’

‘Oi'm goin' ter call, ready, steady, go,’ announced Arthur. ‘Nobody's ter move until the go. Ready— steady—’ Arthur pushed off. ‘Go!’

‘No!’ shouted Roy. ‘You cheated. It's a false start.’

Arthur glanced back with a grin. ‘We're racin'.’ he yelled. ‘See yer at the finish.’

All the Streeters punted on.

‘After them,’ yelled Roy. But the Streeters had already gained a stolen five-yard advance.

 (Gang Petition chapter 13)

http://www.peterstjohn.net/

Jennospot 49 Jus' Flyin' By

Oi'm jus' flyin' by wiv a message fer terday, wot is the first day, in the first month of a new year. So Oi 'ope the year's goin' ter work out 'appy fer ev'ry one, including yew.

If'n yew'd loike more from me, c'd Oi please ask yew ter wait a bit, 'cos there's been a lotta celebratin' lately, an' it sometimes takes a little while before fings settle down ter normal... if'n yew see wot Oi mean.

Of course, if'n  yew're short on stuff ter read, an' only if'n yew loike, yew c'd always take a peek at http://www.peterstjohn.net. wots jus' been updated. Yeah, an' cripes, it's now got no fewer than five coloured pictures of me in it, not countin' the one, wiv me in a different hairstyle on the front of a new paperback edition of "Gang Territory". Cripes, Oi've become a cover girl. No, really, it's true...

Anyow, 'Appy New Year!

Till soon...

Milk Monitor

Jennospot 48  Milk Monitor

It's the day after Christmas; an' it's that sorta day when everyfink feels kinda flat, if'n you know wot Oi mean. It ain't only that, 'cos this mornin', my 'ead feel like it ain't got nuffink much inside it 'cept cold Christmas puddin' an' custard, wot ain't particularly good fer composing this week's blog. Any'ow, speaking o' custard, makes me fink o' milk. an' that reminds me of school milk, of wot Oi ain't particularly fond, an' that reminds me of the first toime that Peter 'ad ter be one o' the milk monitors fer the day. It were 'is classmate Golfball wot was the ovver monitor. Peter didn't know wot it were all about, so 'ee asked:

 

‘Okay, Golfball, what do we have to do?’

His answer surprised me; I would not have thought this gloomy, strangely-named Golfball capable of such a flight of dry humour. ‘What we 'ave to do is our national duty,’ he declaimed, drawing himself up into a parody of stiff military attention. ‘We administer a government programme for the benefit of present and future generations.’

‘See this table at the classroom door?’ he went on, saluting it smartly. ‘We 'ave to go'n fetch, from the duty teacher at the service entrance, twenny-eight bottles of milk and twenny-eight straws. We place the bottles on the table. As the pupils come out for mid-mornin' break at 'alf-past ten, we 'ave to see that each one takes a bottle and we give each one a straw.

‘When they've drunk the milk, we 'ave to make sure that there are twenny-eight empty bottles come back. We 'ave to make sure that the waxed paper cap is still on the bottle and that each one 'as a straw passing through the 'ole made for the purpose in the cap. If anyone 'ands in a bottle what is not completely empty, or without a cap or a straw, we 'ave to take 'is or 'er name.

‘When all the bottles are back, we return them to the service entrance, then we can go back into class.’

He made a face and shuddered. ‘I 'ate milk and I 'ate bein' milk monitor.’

‘I hate milk too,’ I said. ‘Can't one refuse?’

‘No way,’ he replied decisively. He then recited, as though he had learned it by heart, ‘We 'ave to be thankful for our free Government milk, provided generously at the risk of men's lives so as we can grow up to be strong an 'ealthy.’

He shuddered convulsively again and made a vomiting noise.

 

 ("Gang Territory" Chapter 2)

 

'Ave yerself an 'appy Boxin' Day.

 

http://www.peterstjohn.net

Katy's Secret

Jennospot 47  Katy's Secret

It’s nearly Christmas, so Oi’m goin’ ter wish all of yew wot is so kind as ter follow moi blog, a Very Merry Christmas. And then, fer no good reason at all, Oi’m goin’ ter tell yew about the time when Katy told Peter 'er closest secret. The secret became a bit 'ard fer 'im ter keep in the finish, an' got 'im inter even more trouble. But if'n yew want ter foind out wot it were, Oi reckon yew'll jus' 'ave ter read the whole of "Gang Territory", 'cos there ain't enough room 'ere in moi blog. Sorry:

"I found Kate waiting for me on the bridge as announced. ‘Come on, Peter, we've got to hurry!’ she exclaimed as soon as I was in earshot. ‘I nearly set off without you.’ She began trotting quickly in the direction of Lions Avenue.

‘What's the rush?’ I called. Her trot hurt the injury in my side.

‘I'm late already. My mother is expecting me. If I'm not home in five minutes she'll begin to worry. At dinner-time I was late―you know why―and if I'm seriously late again it could be disastrous.’

The trotting was agony but I had to find out what the mystery was and why all this secrecy was necessary.

‘Katy, can't you slow down to a gallop just for a moment? Please— we need to talk.’

She slowed down to a fast walk. ‘What is it?’ she said, slightly irritated. ‘Isn't it enough that I get you off the hook with the head teacher?’

I felt annoyed, but then, she didn't know that I'd been hurt, and I wasn't about to tell her.

‘Katy look— what happened today was on your account. I've been through a lot because of you. Just tell me please, if it's not too great a secret, why you didn't want me to let on that you were being bullied by the Slug?’

At this she stopped and tears came into her eyes. ‘I'm sorry. I've been selfishly thoughtless.’

This wasn't my opinion but I wasn't going to stop her now to say so.

‘It's just that my mother thinks that Widdlington school is too violent. She talks of sending me to a private school in town. I'd hate that, I don't want to go away from my friends here. If she knew what had happened today she'd send me to the private school straight away. Please, please, don't breathe a word to anyone.’

‘I understand,’ I said as gently as I could. ‘I wouldn't want you to go away either. You can count on me. Run ahead now. We can talk some more tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow,’ she confirmed, and started off at a run that set her long shiny braid dancing and shimmering behind her.

I followed, much more sedately."

 ("Gang Territory" Chapter 4)

http://www.peterstjohn.net/

Cripes is Right

Jennospot 46  Cripes is Right

Fer five days, startin' on 12 December, moi fav'rite book, "Gang Loyalty", is free in digital format from Amazon Kindle. It's moi fav'rite 'cos it's mostly about me. Besides, Oi reckon it's a lotta fun. Any'ow, if'n yew got a digital book reader, now's yer chance, 'cos it won't cost yew nuffink. Down below is a little extract, jus' ter give yew a bit of a taste of wot it's loike:

Just before the bridge was a cattle gate. It was closed. At the very last moment we both broadsided to a stop. But there wasn't enough room. The carts touched. Locked one to the other, they slid off the path and overturned. Thrown off, Jenno and I rolled together down the grassy slope to the edge of the river.

 ‘You all right?’ I asked breathlessly. I could feel Jenno laughing. ‘What're you laughing at?’

‘Oi won,’ panted Jenno.

‘You cheated. You didn't give me a fair start.’

Jenno rolled over and knelt astride my stomach. She grinned down into my face.

‘But Oi won. Oi told yew moi cart, Emmeline P, was good.’

I grinned back. ‘You cheated.’

‘Oi did wot?’

‘You cheated.’

Jenno pummelled my shoulders.

‘Emmeline P's good— an' so am Oi.’

‘You're a cheat.’

Jenno pummelled some more. I caught her by the wrists.

‘Wot is Emmeline P?’

‘Emmeline P is good.’

‘That's better. Wot am Oi?’

‘A cheat.’

Jenno twisted her wrists free and pummelled me some more.

‘Wot am Oi?’

‘You're pretty good too— but you're still a cheat.’

I caught her wrists again and we rolled over, wrestling in the grass.

Suddenly, as I tried to pin Jenno's shoulders down, I caught sight of somebody on the bridge. There were two people. They each had a cart. It was Winnifred and Molly!

Jenno must have sensed something was wrong. She stopped wrestling, and sat up. I sat up too.

‘Come on, Molly,’ said Winnifred. ‘There's too much of a rough crowd here.’

She and Molly turned and stalked off the bridge. They went back up in the direction of the Manor Lodge at the top end of The Street.

I thought of calling after them to explain, but I knew it wouldn't have been any use. I watched them go. My exhilaration slid out of my boots, slipped into the river, and sank like springtime out of sight. It was replaced by darkest gloom and doom.

‘Cripes,’ said Jenno.

‘Cripes is right,’ I said.

"Gang Loyalty" (Chapter 16)

Available Free from 12 to 16 December:

(USA) http://amazon.com/dp/B0054DFQ2A

(UK) http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0054DFQ2A

Website: http://www.peterstjohn.net/

Against the Wall

Jennospot 45  Against the Wall

The boys reckoned as 'ow the girls couldn't play cricket, ter say nuffunk of all them ovver games wot girls don't usually play, so we decided ter show 'em just 'ow wrong they were. Peter St John wrote it all down in "Gang Loyalty". This is 'ow it all started:

"Golfball marked out the stumps and bails on the red bricks of the school wall. Since it was his bat and ball, he had first innings. He tossed his ball to Braces. Meanwhile, I stepped out fifteen paces, scratched a line in the gravel and put my gasmask box against it to mark the bowler's crease.

Jenno stood to one side watching.

Golfball scored only two runs before Braces clean-bowled him. I picked up the ball and went to the bowler's crease, while Braces took the bat and positioned himself in front of the wicket. He patted the ground at his crease with the bat a couple of times and then glanced up at me to indicate he was ready.

‘C'n Oi play?’ asked Jenno suddenly.

‘Girls don't play cricket,’ growled Braces. ‘C'mon Peter— bowl.’

‘Don't see why not,’ said Jenno. ‘There's only three of yew. One more would make it more interestin' loike. Besides, Oi'm yer sister.’

‘Oi told yew din't Oi— girls don't play cricket.’

‘Aw, c'mon Braces. Jus' this once. It ain't goin' ter do yew no 'arm.’ She turned to me. ‘Ain't that so, Peter?’

It was a clever move. She knew very well that, as her friend, I was likely to support her. ‘She'll help give better fielding coverage,’ I said. ‘So why not?’

‘Wot about yew, Golfball?’ asked Braces.

It was a mistake to ask Golfball: he was my ally.

‘Blimey, I reckon Peter's right when he says there's only three of us,’ said Golfball.

Braces was outnumbered, so he didn't insist. He looked a bit sour about it all the same.

‘Okay, Jenno,’ I said. ‘Put your gasmask down by the wall and stand over there, the other side of the wicket from Golfball. Do you know what to do?’

Jenno shot me a frowning glance. ‘Oi'm not daft. Oi've watched yew boys playin' often enough ter know wot ter do. We're goin' ter get moi bruvver out. So don't talk so much an' bowl.’

I bowled.

Braces blocked my first ball, and the second. The third he slipped past Golfball for four runs.

‘Stand a bit further back,’ I called to Jenno.

My next ball I delivered exactly like the previous one. Braces hit it neatly into Jenno's hands.

‘Out!’ she cried exultantly.

Braces reluctantly passed the bat to her. She tossed the ball under-arm, back to me.

I had two more balls to go in my over of six. Jenno neatly blocked them both. She had obviously learned something from watching the boys play.

‘Gimme the ball now,’ said Braces although strictly speaking it was Golfball's turn to bowl. Braces had a determined look on his face. He bowled a fast ball that Jenno hit over my head for two runs.

‘Spread out yew two,’ cried Braces, waving us further back from the wicket before he launched his second fast ball.

Jenno hit it sideways and scored another two runs. Her brother scowled. But before he could bowl again, the bell sounded for the start of school.

I gathered up my gasmask and joined Golfball as we moved to take our places in line prior to filing into class. ‘Don't open your milk-bottle at the break,’ I murmured. ‘See me first.’

Golfball looked surprised, but he nodded. ‘Blimey, Jenno's pretty nifty with a bat,’ he muttered.

‘Perhaps she's been practicing with the GGG,’ I replied. ‘But I wonder if she can bowl.’

"Gang Loyalty" Chapter 7

http://www.peterstjohn.net/