Cart Making Continued

Jennospot 34 Cart Making Continued

This 'ere 'll 'ave ter do yew fer a couple o' weeks 'cos Oi'm goin' away fer a sorta 'oliday. Moi last blog was about 'ow Peter an' me started ter make moi very first soap-box racin' cart. This is wot Peter wrote about 'ow we went on wiv the rest of it:

‘Oi've got the coach bolts,’  said Jenno excitedly. ‘Wot we goin' ter do wiv 'em?’

‘Come into the shed and I'll show you. They're to fix the box to the plank. We'll also need a good one for the steering pivot. I just hope they're the right length.’

We went into the shed and Jenno handed me the bolts. Each was equipped with a square nut.

‘They look as though they'll do,’ I said, ‘except perhaps for the steering, but I've already found a bolt that I think will be okay for that.’

‘Can Oi fix the bolts?’ asked Jenno.

‘Sure you can. But first we'll do the steering bar. When we've done that, we can better judge the overall length.’

With a brace and bit, I began to bore a hole at the centre of the steering bar. I did this carefully. It had to be a nice close fit for the pivot bolt.

‘John Jay's bin called up,’ said Jenno suddenly. ‘He's goin' inter the army.’

‘JJ's going into the army? I didn't think he was old enough.’

While Jenno held the front axle in place, I marked the position for four judicially placed u-bolts to retain the axle.

‘JJ was eighteen last month,’ said Jenno.

‘Who do you reckon is going to replace him as your next gang leader?’

I began boring holes in the steering bar to take each of the u-bolts.

‘Dunno who it'll be.’

Between us we began to bolt the axle to the steering bar.

‘Do you want to be leader?’

Jenno gave a short laugh. ‘Yew'd better get yer 'ead examined. Even moi bruvver 'ud stand a better chance than me an' he's a year older. Me leader? Yew're barmy.’

We finished fixing the axle on the steering bar and tightened the nuts on the u-bolts.

‘That weren't too difficult,’ observed Jenno.

‘Not when you know how.’

‘Yeah— but 'ow do yew know 'ow?’

‘Don't know exactly. I just watch I guess. And then I've got Lightning to copy. Come on, let's fix the front axle to the plank and then I reckon that'll have to do for today.’

I measured a point at the front of the plank where I estimated the front axle should go and made a mark.

‘JJ's mum is in a roight stew about 'im leavin'. She was a-finkin' the war would be over afore JJ got to be eighteen.’

‘Perhaps it will be over soon.’

‘Now I know yew're completely barmy. Wot wiv them Gerries all over everywhere in France, there ain't nuffink stoppin' 'em from comin' over 'ere 'cept a bit o' water an' the Royal Air Force.’

‘And the Royal Navy,’ I added, thinking of Winnifred's brother.

‘Yeah,’ said Jenno.

I took up the brace to drill the hole for the steering bar.

Jenno asked: ‘Can Oi do it?’

I passed her the tool, together with the drill-bit.

‘Just make sure you keep it at right angles to the plank,’ I said.

Jenno fitted the bit, and while I held the plank, she bored the hole.

‘Do you think the Gerries will come over here soon?’ I asked.

‘They'll try, but we'll be ready fer 'em.’

We fitted the steering bar in place, passed the bolt through the holes with a large washer on each side, and another two washers between the bar and the plank. Jenno put a nut over the threads of the bolt and screwed it up with her fingers.

‘Don't we need a spanner to tighten it up?’ she asked.

‘Leave it like that for now. We'll put a lock nut on it later when the rest of the cart is done.’

‘If the Gerries come, let's stay together.’

‘'Corse we'll stay tergevver— wot d'yew fink? It'd take more'n them rotten Nazies ter split us up.’

‘I still think you'd be the best leader.’

‘Aw— yew're jus' barmy. Stinky'll be the next leader. He's the oldest. Besides, he's that close wiv Itchyprick an' moi dear bruvver, that yew'd need a crowbar ter get 'em apart. 'Ow much longer ter finish the cart?’

‘We might be able to finish it tomorrow. Except for the painting of course.’

‘Will you teach me 'ow ter race it?’

‘You're already pretty good at racing. I remember last year.’

‘Yeah but that was the only time Oi'd ever raced in moi life, an' in any case it were moi bruvver's cart. Oi've got moi own cart now an' Oi want ter race 'er real good.’

‘But we'd have to do it without anybody knowing. I don't see how it would be possible.’

‘Yew're allus sayin' as 'ow fings ain't possible an' then yew go ahead an' do 'em anyway.’

‘Now it's you who's talking barmy.’

‘Lucky fer yew that yew ain't moi bruvver.’

‘Why Jenno?’

Jenno grinned. ‘'Cos if'n yew were, Oi'd jus' flatten yew out fer sayin' that. Look, Oi gotta go now. Cripes, if'n Oi stay any longer yer aunt'll find me in 'ere an' then she'll flatten both of us. See yer at school termorrer.’

Gang Loyalty  Chapter 11

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Cart Making

Jennospot 33 The Makings of a Fine Racing Cart

Peter said 'ee'd 'elp me make Moi cart "Emmeline P". Oi got tergevver some of the makings, and this is 'ow we began; leastways, this is 'ow 'ee tells it:

Jenno reached into the opening of her henhouse and pulled out a plank together with a wooden box containing two pram-axles with wheels, a piece of wood for a steering bar, and a tin of rusty nails.

‘Is it okay?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Help me take it into my aunt's shed and I'll have a look. You go first with the plank— I'll bring the rest. Keep your head down so nobody'll see you.’

Jenno ducked through the wires of the fence and went into in the shed. I followed with the box. I shut the door.

‘S'pose yer aunt foinds me in 'ere?’ asked Jenno anxiously.

‘She'd better not— but relax. She never gets home before seven. She won't be here for over an hour. Let's have a look at what you've got.’

I stood the plank on end next to her. ‘It's a shade on the short side, but then you're not very tall. We can compensate by letting the box overhang at the end.’

I emptied the box and put it down on the floor. ‘Put one knee inside and then lean forward on your hands as though you've got them on a steering bar.’

Jenno did so. The box was long enough to take her lower leg with two or three inches to spare. Jenno looked up at me questioningly.

‘The box is plenty big enough,’ I said, ‘with room for growth. It'll do for a couple of years at least. Get up now and we'll look at the wheels.’

I spun them on their axles. They ran easily and were without buckles.

‘They come off moi old pram,’ explained Jenno. ‘The rest of it got busted when moi dad used it fer cartin' firewood an' then moi stupid bruvver let it roll down the front steps in front of a tractor.’

‘The wheels are okay though,’ I said. ‘You've the makings of a fine racing cart here, but what's this tin of nails for?’

‘Jus' thought they moight be useful fer joinin' the bits tergevver.’

‘Nails are always useful, but not for a cart. We're going to screw it together, or better still, bolt it. Have you got any bolts with their nuts? You know, the kind with heads like mushrooms and a little square underneath. Nails would work loose in no time.’

‘Oh,’ said Jenno. ‘Well— 'ow was Oi ter know?’ she added defensively.

‘How indeed— if nobody told you? Take it easy Jenno. It's not a criticism. I know girls aren't taught practical things. It's a shame.’

Jenno smiled at me. For an instant I thought she was going to hug me. But she quickly recovered her customary coolness.

‘Wot do Oi do first?’ she asked. ‘Oi can't stay long— moi mum'll start wonderin' where Oi am.’

‘Let's do the steering bar first. Then we can better adjust for the total length.’

I took up the piece of wood intended for the steering bar and placed it against one of the axles. It was too long. I made a mark on it to indicate a suitable length.

‘We'll have to saw off three or four inches.’

‘Can Oi do it?’ asked Jenno eagerly.

‘Okay, why not.’

I took up a cross-cut saw and stood behind Jenno to show her how to hold it. She leaned back against me. I could feel her bony warmth through her summer dress.

‘Like this?’ she said.

‘Like that.’ I said. ‘Use the whole length of the saw.’

Jenno sawed off the surplus wood. The cut wasn't very straight but it would do.

I took the saw from her to hang it up on its nail. As I did so, it seemed as though Jenno leaned against me again for a moment. It seemed as though she did it on purpose, but I couldn't be sure.

‘Oi've gotta go now,’ she said. ‘Can we do some more termorrer?’

‘Why not?’ I said.

‘Don't yew tell no-one.’

‘Of course I won't.’

‘See yer then.’

‘See you.’

Jenno ducked under the fence wire and disappeared through her henhouse. There was a squawk; a flutter of feathers; a rattle of the door catch; and Jenno was gone. Her warmth remained.

Gang Loyalty  Chapter 10

www.peterstjohn.net

The Vicar

Jennospot 32 The Vicar

Terday Oi'm goin' ter tell yew 'ow it was when Peter met the vicar fer the first time. Oi won't say no more 'cos Oi reckon the bit below says it all. 'Ee 'ad ter go away in the finish. The new vicar was sorta okay, except... well that's anovver story.

Winnie paused and looked beyond me over my shoulder. ‘Oh look, here comes the vicar and your aunt as well.’

I turned as a balding man in a black suit and a white dog-collar appeared from one side of Ship Yard. At the same moment my aunt swooped round the other side on her bicycle. She braked hard, jumped off her bike with a little run, and waited for the vicar to come level with her.

I heard her greet him with syrupy sweetness, ‘Oh good morning Vicar. How are you? Such lovely weather.’ She then began to apologize even before he could get a word out. ‘I'm a little late this morning: my nephew, you know. Makes a lot of extra work.’

The vicar was not to be outdone in oily courtesy. ‘My dear lady, how delightful to see you. Yes indeed it is fine weather: our Heavenly Father is generous, but I fear it's possible to have too much of a good thing. The Farmers' Union has asked us to pray today for rain to ensure a bountiful harvest. I've chosen some suitable hymns as well. So your nephew has arrived. I hope he's settling in all right. When will I have the pleasure of meeting him?’

‘You can meet him right away,’ replied my aunt. ‘He's standing there with Winnifred by the church gate.’

The vicar turned his gaze in my direction. I disliked the way he ran his eyes all over me. I felt a hot rush of embarrassment. ‘Oh the dear boy,’ he gushed, bouncing up and putting his hand on my head. ‘Welcome my son. How you must have suffered under the bombing in London. But you'll be all right here, under the care of your dear loving aunt.’

I felt an immediate dislike of him. I could in no way consider myself his son; I was in serious doubts about the lovingness of my aunt; and I detested the touch of his hand. I wriggled out from under it and feigned interest in a nonexistent object on the far horizon.

‘Silent little chap isn't he?’ observed the vicar.

I smouldered inside. I could have kicked him: hard!

‘Say good-morning to Father Hardcross,’ ordered my aunt with a steely look in her eye.

‘Good-morning Reverend Hardcross,’ I said mechanically. Damned if I was going to address him as ‘Father’. My aunt didn't; she used the term ‘Vicar’.

‘It's customary to address the vicar with the title Father,’ chided my aunt.

‘He's not my father,’ I muttered between clenched teeth.

‘What did you say my son?’ enquired the vicar affably, placing his hand on my head again and bending his ear down to the level of my mouth.

Winnifred came to my rescue. I could have kissed her. ‘Good-morning Father Hardcross,’ she said brightly. Then she explained, ‘What he said was, "It's hot my Father".’

The vicar turned to me and beamed. ‘Indeed yes, it is hot for the time of year. It's been so dry. The farmers are in need of rain— yes indeed.’ He paused and tilted his head sideways to size me up as he said to my aunt, ‘Shy young chap isn't he?’

I squirmed out from under his hand again and decided to show him how wrong he was by turning on the charm tap. I smiled confidently at him and put on the same syrupy voice that my aunt had used. ‘I'm so sorry Vicar. It's just that I'm not yet used to village ways. It takes a little while to get adjusted. Everything is so different: your smart suit for example.’

‘My smart suit?’ said the vicar astonished, looking down at himself.

‘Yes indeed Vicar,’ I replied, taking a leaf out of his own book. ‘At the convent, the priests all wore long robes like dresses. They looked very old-fashioned. Your suit is smart and modern-looking.’

The vicar seemed very pleased with this little speech. He smoothed the lapels of his suit with both hands and smiled warmly down at me.

‘What were you doing in a convent my son?’

My aunt quickly answered for me. ‘The nuns from the convent ran the orphanage he was in.’

Her intervention gave me time to work out a plan which might stop him calling me ‘my son.’

‘At the convent I used to sing in the choir. Winnifred says that you have a choir here. Could I join?’

The reverend father turned to my aunt. ‘Can he sing?’

My aunt turned her eyes quickly skywards and back again. ‘I don't know. I've never heard him sing.’

‘Well, if you agree,’ he said, ‘I'll speak to Mr White, the choirmaster. We can try him out after the service. He looked down at me. ‘Would you like that, my son?’

‘I'd like it very much, Vicar,’ I replied with as much warm enthusiasm as I could muster. ‘I would also be really extremely pleased if you could call me by my name: all the other good friends I've made here do.’

This little request was followed by such a profound silence that I began to feel I'd gone a bit too far.

The vicar went pink, then a broad smile spread slowly over his face. ‘I've never been offered such a charming compliment before and from such an unexpected source. I think you must truly be a child of God, as indeed we all are,’ he added hurriedly. ‘I'm extremely flattered that you want to consider me your friend.’

He looked me intently in the eyes, took my hand, held it a moment, then shook it warmly. ‘Welcome to the parish,’ he said. And then he called me by my name.

Gang Territory Chapter 8

www.peterstjohn.net

Broadsiding

Jennospot 31 Broadsiding

The ovver day there were a blog on internet about a course fer making soapbox racers. Oi were surprised that it said as 'ow soapboxes didn't need ter make 90 degree turns. Cripes, wivvout brakes, 'ow d'yew stop, never mind manoeuvre, unless yew c'n make sharp turns. When Peter showed me 'ow ter race, 'ee explained all that. This is 'ow it was:

I got to the clay pit before Jenno and sat down in Lightning to think about what to tell her and show her, about cart racing.

We were both small. This was a disadvantage when it came to punting where strength and long legs counted. On the other hand, when downhill speed had increased sufficiently to make punting ineffective, small size reduced wind resistance, particularly if one hugged close to the body of one's cart.

This also kept the centre of gravity low, thus increasing manoeuvrability and reducing the tendency to turn over on bends. Sharp bends could be negotiated better by sliding broadside and then quickly straightening up again. Broadsiding could also be used effectively for braking.

I decided to show Jenno how to broadside. The gravelly track down from the pit would be good for this, particularly for a beginner, as it had a fairly gentle slope. I had arrived before Jenno, so I decided to practice.

I set off at a run and leaped aboard Lightning. I was just entering the first curve in the track when Jenno appeared. I swung Lightning left into a broadside, shifting my weight rapidly to the left from the outside of the turn. With the steering bar, I kept Lightning balanced in her slide to come to a halt in a cloud of dust just a couple of feet from Jenno.

For an instant she looked as though she would jump away, but she didn't. She merely stopped and broke into a laugh.

‘If'n yew fink yew c'n scare me loike that, yew c'n jus' fink agen.’

‘Sorry Jenno. I didn't see you coming.’

Jenno continued to laugh. ‘'Corse yew did. Yew done it a-purpose.’

I got off Lightning and stood up. ‘Jenno, believe me— I didn't know you were there.’

She stopped laughing. Her freckles drooped down her face. ‘Cripes— yew're serious! It were pretty good any'ow. Would yew teach me 'ow ter stop loike that?’

‘It's not difficult. You just have to get a feel for the steering and how to keep your weight low and balanced from side to side as the cart turns. Come on— let's go back up the track a bit. We'll start with simple turns. Find out how your new cart handles before we try anything more difficult.’

‘Emmeline P's goin' ter 'andle real good, don't yew worry.’

‘How can you be so sure? You've never ridden her.’

‘She's exackly loike Lightnin' fer size an' wheels an' all; so she'll 'andle jus' the same.’

‘You're probably right Jenno, but let's make sure— we don't want any accidents.’

Gang Loyalty Chapter 16

www.peterstjohn.net

Down the Zigzag

Jennospot 30 Down the Zigzag

This weekend Oi'm finkin' o' all them kids racin' their carts in the All-American Soap Box Derby. Excitin' ain't it? Bit nostalgic too. (Noice word that, "nostalgic" don't yew fink?) Any'ow, back in 1940 we done fings a bit different. In any case, it weren't old Adolf Hitler wot was a-goin' ter stop us racin' our carts. So ter celebrate the All-American soap boxes, 'ere's a description of a race down inter a gravel quarry near where we lived. We called the track the "Zigzag", 'cos that's wot it was. Oi come in fifth, wot weren't bad fer a beginner; Oi beat Peter at any rate. 'Old on ter yer 'ats, 'cos it ain't really quite loike wot they do in the All-American:

We took off down the track in a flurry of furious punting. Everybody wanted to be first into the narrow part. But JJ, Roy and Reenie, with their longer, stronger legs, got there first. I was close behind, with Itchyprick and Stinky alongside. Winnie was just behind me. Jenno, much the smallest, brought up the rear.

We rounded the first bend in the same order. I tried to force Itchyprick and Stinky to the outside to let Winnie through on the inside. They were slightly too far ahead for this to work.

On the straight, it was only possible to put in a punt now and again to maintain speed. Winnie had an advantage here. Her Blue Flash with its big wheels rolled easily over the rough places, but Itchyprick and Stinky swerved from side to side to prevent her overtaking.

As the second hairpin came up I called: ‘On the inside Winnie.’ At the turn, I reached forward and grabbed the rear of Itchyprick's cart. I pulled it against my steering bar. We slid together to the outside of the turn. Winnie broadsided neatly through the gap.

‘How's that John!’ I cried.

I let go of Itchyprick and punted hard to get ahead of him and close the gap, but Jenno slipped through as well.

Itchyprick cursed and rammed me forcibly from behind. I slammed into the rocky wall on the left and spun to a standstill.

By the time I got moving again, everybody else was well ahead, but I punted solidly on towards the third hairpin.

JJ, Reenie and Roy, still closely bunched, rounded it in that order. Stinky and Winnie were somewhat behind. Jenno was on their heels. Winnie attempted to pass on the inside but Stinky obstructed her. This left room on the outside for Jenno to overtake Winnie.

Blue Flash had little advantage on the diminishing slope after the turn. Without further change in the running, everybody punted on to the finish.

Lightning is very manoeuvrable, so I gained slightly on Itchyprick through the final turn but couldn't catch him before the line.

The panting racers regrouped around the finish. The judges completed their calculations.

‘Result of the first race,’ announced Dismal finally. ‘JJ first with one point.’

The Mobsters cheered. The Lotters clapped politely.

‘Second Reenie, with two points.’

This time we cheered.

‘The others, in order of arrival are, Roy, three points; Stinky, four points; Jenno, five points; Winnifred, six points; Itchyprick, seven points.’

‘His name is John,’ I called.

Dismal smiled. ‘John Itchyprick, seven points.’

Itchyprick glared at me.

‘And last, but not the least of the Lot,’ continued Dismal imperturbably, ‘Peter, eight points.’

‘That gives a total of nineteen points for the Lions Avenue Lot and seventeen points for the Pepper Mill Mob. I therefore declare the Mob, winners of the first race.’

The Mobsters cheered. the Lotters clapped politely.

‘We're going to have to do better than that in the second heat,’ declared Roy as we trudged back up the zigzag to the starting line. ‘Any ideas anybody?’

Gang Rivalry Chapter 9

www.peterstjohn.net

Girls Aren't Racing

Jennospot 29  Girls Aren’t Racing

It were noice up in the mountains, noice an' quiet that is. Peter St John got a whole lotta drawin's done fer "Gang Petition" while we was there, so's 'ee c'n put out an illustrated version on Kindle. If'n yew was finking o' buying a copy, better wait until the illustrated one is out, then yew c'n get all the pictures as well fer the same price. There's even a couple of me in it. Maybe Oi'll show you later on. But fer now Oi'm goin' ter give you the start of anovver cart race wot we 'ad wiv the Streeters. It weren't a fair race, but wot c'n yew expect from the Streeters? Any'ow 'ere it is:

‘Girls aren't racing,’ said Dismal.

‘Don't I know it!’ exclaimed Winnie. ‘That's the Streeters for you.’

We went on up The Street towards Hibberd's general store. Four Streeters were already there. 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

www.peterstjohn.net