““I thought that was gorn to be easy, finding a motorbike,” said Albie, “but whatever I liked I couldn’t please me Dad!”

www.albiestales.co.uk part three

N HIS TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY Albie received a provisional driving licence for a motor bicycle – with or without a sidecar – all he needed now was a motorbike! He began by looking in the showrooms of Chapmans of Duke Street, Norwich, where his eye was taken by a gleaming brand-new Triumph Tiger Cub. What a little beauty, he thought, and could hardly wait to get home to tell his parents! However, his father didn’t like the sound of it at all, as he thought the name was rather aggressive. So Albie would have to think again, he told his son. R O Clarke’s on the corner of Queen Street with Tombland also came under scrutiny, with Albie gazing in awe at a pristine, black and chrome Jawa standing in the showroom window – but that wouldn’t do either he was told! It was the same old story every time Albie found a bike he liked: “Tha’s too fast for yew!” or: “Tha’s too heavy!” or: “Yew’ll never git that into the shud!” his father would say.

THREE WEEKS HAD GONE BY and Albie was no nearer finding a motorcycle that suited both him and his parents, and he was beginning to become desperate. Each week he bought a copy of Motorcycle News, scouring the small ads for something suitable that would satisfy all the family. Then one day, casting his eye down the columns of adverts, he noticed one in particular for Pride & Clarke, of Stockwell Road, Brixton, offering a variety of machines by mail order – and on special terms!

“I’ve seen just what I want,” Albie told his parents, brimming over with excitement. “They’ve got a smashin’ little Vespa scooter that they’ll deliver to our door – and they’ll do it on the ‘never never’ an’orl!”

“Yew en’t hevin’ no scooter,” his father told him, “ – they’re too dangerous!”

“But, Dad,” Albie pleaded, “tha’s on’y ten pound down an’ four pound, five an’ six a month...” However, he thought it best not to mention it would take all of thirty-six months before he would be the proud owner!

“Small wheels,” he father continued, “tha’s got small wheels, so yew kin put that idea right outta yar hid for a start! – and I dorn’t wanna hear no more onnit!”

GERMANY CALLING...

A few, fruitless weeks later, Albie paused on his way home from work one day to see if there were any motorbikes for sale in his local garage – Sadlers Garage – in Church Street, just around the corner from the railway station. ‘Boy’ Colin, the trainee mechanic, was busy at the petrol pumps, having just filled up a New Hudson autocycle with a tankful of BP Zoom.

“Are ya lookin’ for anything in partic’lar?” he asked, wiping his hands on an oily rag. “We’ve got pletty o’ bikes – just right for a learner! How ’bout that there Panther over there? Jist need a bit o’ tricolatin’ up, that do ... or, what about a Velocette? Tha’s in bits – so yew’d hatta put that tergether...”

Albie shook his head: “Hen’t you got anything else?” he asked, not liking the sound, or looks, of what he’d seen. “I really want suffin’ new...”

“Come alonga me,” Boy Colin replied, heading towards the office. “We may have jist what you’re looking for – that o’ny come in last week – but we’d betta see the Guv’nor!”

“Mr Sadler,” said Boy Colin, opening the door to the office, “this here lad watta motorbike, but that hatta be a new ’un...”

Turning around in his swivel chair, the garage proprietor looked at Albie: “You’re the Co-op manager’s son, aren’t you?” he said, getting up from his chair, “tha’s Albie, en’t it? So you want to buy a motorbike?”

“Yes – but it gotta be a new ’un,” Albie replied, having his hand shaken until it felt like falling off. “Hev you got anything suitable? The man on the pumps said suffin’ about one wha’s just come in...”

“Of course, of course, lad,” Mr Sadler said, slapping Albie on the back. “Do you come alonga me an’ we’ll see what we can find!”

Opening a door leading into a storeroom, Mr Sadler pointed to a little motorcycle, still shrouded in protective corrugated cardboard, half-hidden behind stacks of boxes containing all manner of car parts and accessories.

“How about this then – will that do ya?” he asked, removing the brown cardboard to reveal a gleaming blue and cream motorcycle. “Tha’s a Zundapp that is – do you like it?”

Albie was lost for words. It was the best bike he’d seen by far.

“Tha’s great!” he replied, gazing at the shining two-tone paintwork and the little badges on the chromium petrol tank. “Zundapp, you say? I’ve never heard o’ that afore – wha’s that when tha’s at home?”

“Tha’s bin imported by the Ambassador Cycle Co,” Mr Sadler replied, as he removed the last of the protective packing, “Kaye Don’s company – an’ that wuz made in Germany!”

“Made in Germany?” screeched Albie, “German? Oh, I shudder to think what my Dad’s gonna say!”

“But – I like it – I really do – will you keep it for me, please? ” he continued, hardly able to contain himself. “I'll hatta tell Mum and Dad first ... but I’m sure that’ll be all right!”

On the way home, Albie began to wonder how on earth he was going to break the news to his parents.

“I am twetty-one, after all!” he told himself, with growing bravado. “... But, perhaps, I’ll leave tellin’ them until the end of the month – arter all, I’ll hatta wait till payday anyhow!”

ALBIE BREAKS THE NEWS

During the last week of April, Albie decided the time was right to break the news of his ‘proposed purchase’ to his parents. His mother, however, already had an inkling that their son had something on his mind, due to him being ‘rather quiet of late’.

“There’s suffin’ I gotta git orf my chest,” he told them one night at teatime.

“I knew as much!” said his mother, jumping to conclusions. “Yew hen’t got involved wi’ another mawther, hev yew?”

“And, what if I hev?” Albie replied.

“Dorn’t yew dare talk to ya Mother like that!” his father said, getting down from the table and sitting in a fireside chair.

“There’s a rather nice motorbike in Sadler’s Garage,” Albie continued, trying his best to explain, “and I think you’ll like this one...”

“Oh, thank goodness!” chipped in his mother, relieved at being spared an account of another failed friendship. “A motorbike in Sadler’s, yew say? Wha’s it like? Tell us all about it then...”

“Tha’s a furriner, from what I hear!” Albie’s father declared, looking up from reading The Eastern Daily Press. “Mr Sadler hev told me all about it in the Co-op!”

Albie began to fear the worst, realising how foolish he’d been in expecting it to remain a secret in a town the size of Sheringham.

“It’s very well made,” Albie continued, plucking up courage to tell his parents all about the motorcycle. “It’s a Zundapp, and made in Germany, or so I wuz told ...”

“Germany? Germany?” his father yelled, leaping up from his chair and throwing down his newspaper in disgust. “I fought for my country, I did! Wha’s wrong with suffin’ mearde in England? A Triumph or a BSA?”

“Calm down, Albert,” said his wife, “arter all, the boy did look at a Triumph Tiger, but yew said that wuz too aggressive.”

“Tha’s on’y a small bike,” Albie pleaded, in a last-ditch attempt to win his parents over, “and I can just about afford it – with a little help!”

“Go on, Albert,” she said to her husband, “don’t be such a spoilsport, do yew let the boy buy it...”

“Oh – all right, then, Albie,” he replied, slumping back down in his chair, “anything for a quiet life – but don’t yew expect any help from me!”

ON THE NEVER NEVER

The following Saturday morning, Albie went to Sadler’s Garage, in Church Street, to sign the agreement to buy the Zundapp – his Zundapp – his very first motorcycle!

“Now Albie, if you’d like to fill in a few details and sign on the dotted line,” Mr Sadler, the garage proprietor, told him as he handed over the forms in triplicate, “then we can put the wheels in motion!”

How Albie was looking forward to doing just that, he thought. He could hardly wait to get in the saddle, and the quicker he completed the paperwork the better!

“Tha’s all that done then,” declared Mr Sadler, as Albie quickly scribbled his signature on the bottom of some agreement or other. “That jist leave the deposit to pay – ten pound should do it!”

After handing over a down-payment, Albie was then given a little paying-in book.

“Bring that in every month,” Mr Sadler told him, “and do yew pay what it says here – four pound, five shillings and sixpence – without fail, do yew dorn’t I’ll hatta see ya father!”

“So, can I have my bike now?” Albie asked, impatient to become a motorcyclist. “After all, I’ve signed an’ paid suffin...?”

Mr Sadler laughed: “No, Albie, yew can’t hev it yit – tha’s gotta be regist’ud an’ we gotta paint some numbers onnit first – dew yew come back next Sat’dy!”

LEADER OF THE PACK

The following Saturday, 5 May, Albie went back to the garage in Church Street, Sheringham, to pick up his Zundapp Falconette. As he arrived at the garage, there, on the forecourt, was Bertie Basham – a retired signwriter occasionally used by Sadler’s – putting the finishing touches to the number plates.

“Yew’ll hatta be careful, boy,” he told Albie, applying the last brushstrokes of white paint on the rear number plate, “dorn’t yew touch them numbers, do yew do that’ll smudge.”

Mr Sadler came out of his office with a pair of ‘L-plates’ in one hand and the Zundapp’s log book – made out in Albie’s name – in the other.

“I see yew’ve got your ‘skid-lid’ then?” he said, looking at Albie already wearing his smart, two-tone crash helmet with a little peak. “I'll jist git Chris, our foreman, who’ll show yew ‘wha’s what’!”

Looking a bit like a penguin in his new helmet, Albie nodded: “Thanks, Mr Sadler,” he replied, “I jist can’t wait to have a go!”

“Chris – Chris, where are yew, bor?” the garage proprietor called out. “Come yew on, cut about, will ya?”

From underneath a black Morris Minor an oily face appeared and, scrambling out at the sound of his name, Chris joined Albie and Mr Sadler by the Zundapp.

“Just bin showing the trainee how t’do an oil change, Mr Sadler,” Chris said, hands and arms covered in thick, black oil. “Carry on without me, will ya, Boy Colin?” he shouted.

“Put these on will ya?” Mr Sadler told his mechanic, handing over the red and white L-plates, and pointing to teh Zundapp. “But clean yar hands first, then gi’ young Albie a demonstration – but mearke that quick ’corse the Vicar’s car’s here for a service!”

“Mind you,” laughed the garage proprietor, “lookin’ at it, burial at sea is what that need!”

After cleaning his hands, Chris bent down and began to fix the L-plates on the Zundapp.

“Yew hatta remember this,” he said, as he began to get Albie’s new bike ready for the road, “first yew hatta turn on the petrol, here, at this little tap.”

Then, pointing to a lever on the left-hand side: “This here’s the kickstart, press that down an’ she’ll start!”

Climbing on his Zundapp, Albie sat on the comfortable dual seat: “Big enough for two,” he said.

“Not yet, young man,” Chris laughed, as Albie gave the kickstart an almighty whack and the little two-stroke engine burst into life. “You’re a learner, remember? Least tha’s what them L-plates on ya bike are for. No passengers until yew pass ya test!”

Albie began to familiarise himself with the controls. First he turned the twistgrip and the engine began to race, then he pulled the levers on the handlebars, one of which operated the front brake – but what of the other?

“Tha’s the clutch,” the mechanic advised him, “pull that lever in afore selecting your gears.”

Pointing down to a foot pedal on the left-hand side of the Zundapp, next to the kickstart, Chris continued: “Tha’a the gear lever: one down – tha’s first gear – an’ two up. But allus move orf in first!”

With his right foot resting on another pedal, after giving it a quick prod, Albie realised it operated the back brake. Now he knew all there was to know about ‘riding a motorcycle’, and he was ready for the road. By now, the tiny 72cc engine had settled down to a quiet, almost inaudible, tickover, and, pulling the clutch lever, Albie engaging first gear.

“Right!” he said, giving the throttle a handful of revs. “Let’s see what you can do...”

“No, NO!” shouted Chris above the noise of the diminutive two-stroke engine screaming its heart out. “Not like that! Give it quarter throttle, tha’s pletty enough!”

Albie tried – but, as he let go the clutch, the engine stalled.

“There’s suffin’ wrong wi’ it,” he declared, after a half-dozen futile attempts to move off the garage forecourt.

“No, tha’s orl right,” replied Chris, the garage foreman. “tha’s o’ny the newness onnit – that jist needs to bed in. Tell ya what, I’ll gi’ ya a push orf, then yew’ll be all right!”

Chris then proceeded to push Albie on his new motorcycle up Church Street, where the learner rider engaged first gear.

“Tha’s it!” shouted Chris, as Albie began to weave from side to side up the road, “give it some welly – yew’ll soom master it! Yew’ll be the leader o’ the pack in no time!”

After a slight inexperienced fumbling and grinding of the gears, the little blue and cream Zundapp was soon bowling along the Boulevard with Albie completely in control. Or was he?

“Wow! This is the life!” Albie declared, whizzing along in top gear on the road to Overstrand, with his ‘L’ plates fluttering in the breeze. “Free – at last! Now I can go anywhere, whenever I like!” And that day it seemed like it too, as Overstrand passed by in a blur and soon Mundesley-On-Sea began to beckon, firstly the radar tower on top of the hill, then the Hotel Continental, followed by the seaside town itself. But, head down in true ‘leader-of-the-pack’ fashion, Albie failed to notice, passing through at speed.

Slowing at the top of the hill next to the old windmill, Albie looked over his shoulder and, as the road behind was clear, he turned around and began to head back home. Putting Mundesley behind him, then Overstrand, Cromer and the Runtons, he realised he hadn’t yet stopped, let alone change gear! By now, he was an ‘experienced’ motorcyclist!

NO WAITING!

“Wuh – nothin’ to it!” he declared, as he approached Sheringham again. “Piece o’ cearke, this!” Then, as his Zundapp began to falter, with its little engine missing a beat or two: “Betta git some more petrol,” he decided, and headed back towards Sadler’s Garage.

Riding along Melbourne Road at its junction with Station Road, Albie’s troubles began. For the first time that day, he had to stop! This he did all right, but when it came to moving off again, that was a different matter! Being Saturday, half of Sheringham seemed to be wandering about, parading up and down Station Road looking in the shops, and each time Albie tried to move off – pulling the clutch lever, engaging first gear and revving the throttle – the Zundapp stalled.

“Blimmin’ thing!” he complained, losing patience, “I told Chris there wuz suffin’ wrong with the darned thing, but he jist wun’t listen, would he?”

Then, with the road ahead clear, Albie tried one last time – gritting his teeth with sheer determination and grasping the handlebars until his knuckles went white!

Twisting the throttle all the way round, with the engine protesting vociferously, Albie suddenly let go the clutch!!!

In an instance, the Zundapp – and Albie – flew forward with the speed of an arrow. The front wheel began smoking as it lost adhesion and took to the air!

With no time to turn the handlebars, Albie and machine headed – out of control – towards the opposite side of Station Road, with their progress halted by a stationary ‘No Waiting’ sign outside a butcher’s shop!

Laying in an untidy heap on the road with his little blue and cream Zundapp dumped, unceremoniously, beside him, Albie sensed the only hurt was to his pride!

With the rear wheel still spinning and the engine revving fit to burst, Albie struggled to remount his motorcycle. Before he could do so, Reggie Pope, the proprietor of the butcher’s shop, dashed out with a meat cleaver in one hand and a string of his best sausages in the other.

“Are yew orl right, boy?” he enquired; then, recognising the lad: “Why, tha’s young Albie, en’t it? What on ’arth are yew playin’ at?”

“I always get off like this!” Albie was reported as having said – although no written proof of this exists – however, word of the lad’s latest escapade was swift to reach the Co-op – and Albie’s father! – and it was to be the talk of Sheringham for a good few months afterwards!

As for Albie? Well, he didn’t care: “You aren’t a true motorcyclist until you’ve fallen off once, are you?” he said. But, as it happened, it wasn’t to be the only time!

NEXT: A ‘testing’ time for Albie – but will he ever live it down!

SOME OF ALBIE’S FAVOURITE WEBSITES A Norfolk Entertainer A Moment in Time Enjoy North Norfolk Enjoy Norwich Flint Holiday Cottages Norfolk Churches Norfolk Dialect Norfolk Village Signs Norwich City Hall and the Lions Picture Norfolk Remember Norfolk Sculthorpe Spyplanes

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