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FURTHER
ADVENTURES OF THE LAD FROM SHERINGHAM
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ALBIE
HAD SET HIS HEART on having a scooter, although his parents were
far from happy with the idea, bearing in mind the disastrous time
he’d had with his previous motorcycle. But, as he pointed out
to them, if, he was old enough for the ‘key to the door’
he should be allowed to have a scooter! However, it was quickly
pointed out to him that he didn’t actually have a key
to Regis Cottage as – heaven forbid – he might take some
young mawther home when they were out! This just made Albie all
the more determined – he was going to buy a scooter,
whether they liked it or not!
 URING
THE FIRST WEEK of April, 1963, Albie began his search for a scooter,
a Vespa just like the one his friend Philip had bought a week earlier.
On the Wednesday, during his lunch hour, he walked the short distance
to his nearest motorcycle dealers, R O Clark’s on Tombland,
in Norwich, where he was sure to find just what he was looking
for.
“What
would you like then, lad?” the friendly ginger-haired man behind
the counter asked him as he entered the showroom. “Anything
in particular?”
“Jist
lookin’,” Albie replied, searching amongst the line of
motorcycles for a scooter. “Hev ya got any Vespas?”
The
man scratched his head for a moment. “Did have,”
he replied, “a silver Clubman – but I can’t see it
at the moment...”
“That
went last weekend!” interrupted a salesman, coming out of his
office. “Some lad with glasses – a Buddy
Holly lookalike!”
“Tell
me about it,” moaned Albie, recognising the description as
that of his friend Philip. “Hen’t ya got any more?”
The
salesman shook his head before replying: “No – but we
do have a BSA Sunbeam, or a Triumph
Tina, or, how about this Velo
Viceroy?”
“Not
really what I hed in mind,” Albie explained, looking
at each model in turn. “I’m lookin’ for a real cool
Italian scooter – y’know – sleek an’ fast-lookin’,
suffin’ to pull the birds!”
“Does
it have to be a scooter? Perhaps you should consider
a motorcycle,” the salesman continued, pointing to a BSA Gold
Star, with drop handlebars and a massive-looking engine. “The
‘Goldie’
is a guaranteed head-turner wherever you go – do you fancy
one o’ them?”
“No,
thanks!” replied Albie, “That hatta be a scooter!”
And, with that, he left R O Clark’s and went back to work.
The
following lunchtime, Albie ventured a bit further away from Jarrolds
and found himself taking a look in Chapman’s of Duke Street,
another dealer in two-wheeled transport.
“Hev
ya got any scooters?” he asked the man in the showroom, who
merely shook his head and carried on polishing a large Triumph motorcycle.
“Can’t
git ’em for love or money!” he replied, ‘huffing’
on the bike’s chromium petrol tank and buffing it to a brilliant
shine. “All sold out, everyone an’ his dawg want ’em
at the moment – but tha’s jist a fad, you’ll see!”
On
Friday, Albie traipsed all the way up Aylsham road to Pointers,
the main Vespa dealers in Norwich, but the story was much the same.
“They’ll
all sold,” the man with the lopsided trilby hat told him, “very
popular, Vespas – we just can’t get enough of ’em!”
Filled
with bitter disappointment Albie trudged wearily back to work.
ALBIE
GETS A SURPRISE!
That
Saturday, 6 April, Albie happened to be passing Sadler’s Garage
in Church Street, Sheringham, on the way home from the railway station
after his obligatory morning in work. And to his great surprise
there, in the window, was a spanking-new Lambretta
scooter for sale. With no more ado, he went inside to take a closer
look.
“Tha’s
Albie, en’t it?” the proprietor, Mr Sadler, asked him
as he stood drooling over the magnificent machine finished in sunflower
yellow and powder blue. “Din’t you buy a Zundapp
from us a year or so ago?”
Albie
nodded that he had, then said he liked the scooter so much better
and inquired about the price.
“Tha’s
a Lambretta Slimstyle, that is, an’ that on’y come in
this mornin’,” Mr Sadler told him, lighting up a big cigar
and blowing smoke rings into the air. “Tha’s not cheap
on account onnit being an Earls Court Special – they
din’t turn out any two bikes the same, so this one really is
special!”
“Tha’s
a head-turner, en’t it?” he continued, pointing at the
gleaming, two-tone paintwork, “There en’t another like
this in all the land, an’ if you’re interested tha’s
£154/17/6, tax paid!”
That
was it! A special, just what he’d been looking for and
he just had to have it!
“Of
course I’m interested,” Albie replied, then suddenly
remembered his motorbike languishing in the garden shed, but thought
it best not to mention the engine had seized. “But, will you
take my Zundapp in part exchange? I hen’t used that for some
time, so that may not start!”
Mr
Sadler nodded agreeably, and even shook Albie’s hand.
“Don’t
you worry about a thing,” he said, putting his arm around the
lad’s shoulder.“I’ll sort out all the paperwork and
the hire purchase. Can’t promise anything before Easter though
– but, how about we say that’ll be ready Saturday week
– how do that sound?”
“Great!”
replied Albie excitedly, then he remembered it was his Saturday
in work again. “Will after dinner be alright?”
“Yis,
of course that will,” replied Mr Sadler, “and, don’t
worry about your old bike, if you can’t start it just wheel
it here – our mechanics will soon have it up an’ runnin’!”
And
the best of luck to them, thought Albie!
PARENTAL
DISMAY
Albie’s
parents weren’t at all pleased when he told them about his
scooter.
“But
what about the Zundapp?” his mother asked, “tha’s
still in the shed where yew left it, en’t it? Yew aren’t
gorn to keep that an’orl, are ya?”
Albie
shook his head. “No, of course not, Mr Sadler said he’ll
take it in part-exchange...”
“But
tha’s brook, en’t it?” his mother reminded him. “That
woon’t no more good arter yew went through the hedge onnit,
wuz it?”
“An’
if you blunder orf this one,” his father told him dryly, “an’
break ya neck, dun’t yew come blarrin’ to me!”
“I’ve
said it afore, an’ I’ll say it agin,” he continued,
“them things en’t roadworthy with them totty little wheels
– that’ll hev yew orf, yew mark my wuds, then yew oan’t
hev a leg to stand on!”
“Anyway,”
his mother chipped in, “yew hen’t gotta crash helmet now,
’corse yew ruined the other one...”
“Don’t
hatta wear one,” Albie retorted, full of petulance,
“that en’t compulsory, y’know!”
ALBIE
GOES SHOPPING
On
the Tuesday after Easter, Albie went shopping during his lunch break.
In Halfords, on Gentleman’s Walk, he found just what he’d
been looking for – a new crash helmet!
“It
may be a ‘Centurion’,” he laughed as he tried it
on for size, “but I reckon I look more like a spaceman, don’t
you?”
The
salesman laughed as he packed the Spacemaster helmet in its box
and handed it to Albie. “That’ll be five pounds ten shillings
an’ sixpence, please,” he said.
“Tha’s
a start,” Albie said, leaving Halfords with the box under his
arm, “now maybe Mum’ll be pleased!”
Taking
a short cut through the Royal
Arcade, Albie paused in the Back of the Inns to window-shop
in Smart Western, an exclusive shop for the younger man.
“Come
to think of it, I could do with a nice coat to wear on me scooter,”
he said going inside the shop. Minutes later, with a large bag in
his hand and an even bigger smile on his face, he returned to work
satisfied with the results of his lunchtime shopping expedition.
When
he arrived home from work, Albie placed his purchases on the kitchen
table.
“What’ya
bin shoppin’?” his mother asked. “Go on then, give
us a look.”
Opening
the large bag – advertising Smart Western on the front
– Albie took out his new coat and put it on.
“Ooooh!”
exclaimed his mother, “Yew dun’t half look smart
– Wuh! Tha’s even got an Astrakhan collar an’orl!
En’t Albie posh, Father?”
Albie’s
father looked up from his newspaper, just about managing to raise
one eyebrow.
“You
hen’t seen nuffin’ yet!” Albie replied, with a big
smile on his face, taking the silver Spacemaster helmet out of its
box and putting it on. “How’s about this then?”
“Yew
look more like that there Yuri ‘whassisnearme’,”
his father laughed, “tha’s a shame there’s just empty
space in your skull an’ no brains – yew’ll never
hev any money, yew mark my wuds!”
“Oh,
Father!” replied his wife, “don’t be like that –
if hevin’ a scooter means Albie’s smart’nin’
hisself up, I reck’n tha’s money well spent!”
“Yes
– I reck’n yew may well be right – but tha’s
not afore time!” his father said, then, turning to Albie: “D’yew
know, I’m hoolly lookin’ forward to hevin’
a go on that there scoota myself – that I am!”
“An’
yew can take me out for a ride too, Albie!” joked his
mother.
Let
me get it first, thought Albie.
SUN
ON HIS FACE, WIND IN HIS HAIR
That
Saturday, 20 April, Albie wasn’t at all well, as he felt rather
queasy. His mother put it down to him getting over excited at the
thought of picking up his Lambretta from the garage! Nearer to the
truth was the fact that this should have been his Saturday
morning in work, but as he was so desperately looking forward to
collecting his Lambretta, feigning an upset tummy seemed to be the
answer for having a day off work!
After
languishing in bed until ten-thirty – putting on a sterling
performance of being well and truly under the weather, suitably
rewarded by a hot water bottle applied to his aching midriff by
his mother – Albie decided it was time for him to arise from
his sick bed as he felt ‘much more better’!
Half
an hour later, he rescued his dormant Zundapp from the garden shed
and wheeled it through the town centre to Sadler’s Garage where,
on the forecourt, stood his yellow and blue Lambretta.
“Well,
here we are then, Albie,” declared Mr Sadler, taking him into
his office to sign all the necessary forms, “once we’ve
done all the paperwork, the scooter’s yours!”
Quickly
he signed his name on the documents before him, not even glancing
at the small print let alone bothering to read it. Then he handed
over the keys to the Zundapp, still parked outside up against a
wall where he’d left it.
“I’ll
get Chris, the mechanic, to have a look at your old bike,”
Mr Sadler told Albie, taking the keys from him “He’ll
hev that up an’ runnin’ in next to no time!”
“Right,’
said Albie, deciding the time was right for a quick exit, “if
there’s nuffin’ else, I’ll be orf!”
“En’t
you goin’ to wear a crash helmet, boy?” Mr Sadler asked.
“tha’s your head, you know!”
“Nah!”
Albie replied, eager to get away, “tha’s orl right this
once – I watta hear what she sound like!”
And
with that, he mounted the Lambretta, gave the kickstarter a quick
prod and, with the engine purring sweetly, somewhere beneath his
feet, he sped off up the hill towards the railway bridge, with the
familiar feeling of the sun on his face and the wind in his hair
again.
“This
is more like it!” he said, as they bowled along the highway
together, up hill and down dale. “Beats a nasty, noisy motorbike
anyday, this do!”
Later
that morning, Albie rode his ‘Earl’s Court Special’
into Regis Place for the very first time, causing a spontaneous
twitching of the lacy net curtains.
Even
his parents had to agree it really did look ‘special’,
resplendent in its two-tone livery of sunflower yellow and powder
blue, and, as his father put it when he came home for his lunch:
“Yew’ll look a proper Mod on that there scooter, boy Albie
– well done, she is a bewty!”
That
pleased Albie greatly and he knew he would just have to show it
off to all his friends!
ALBIE
VISITS AN ART SCHOOL FRIEND
The
following Saturday afternoon, Albie decided to visit Tony, his friend
from the Norwich School of Art, who lived with his parents in a
little white cottage overlooking the village green at Aldborough
where his father was the local baker.
The
Lambretta went like a dream, burbling along the quiet country lanes
through Gresham,
under the leafy canopies of Bessingham
and past its round-towered church, and through the farmland of Thurgarton
with pastures full of dairy herds. At the crossroads, he passed
the police house, on the edge of Aldborough and, moments later,
arrived outside the whitewashed cottage with the bakery next-door.
“What
d’you think of this then, Nipper?” Albie asked,
as his friend came out of the cottage, eager to show off his flashy
new Lambretta and revving it up several times.
“Wuh!
You’re a proper Mod now, aren’t you,” laughed Tony,
standing back to admire the machine.“Are we goin’ for
a ride?”
“Not
till yew’ve hed your tea!” laughed Tony’s mother,
coming out of the cottage. “Oh, tha’s Albie, en’t
it? Yew’ll stay an’ hev some tea afore yew go, will ya?”
Albie
nodded, said ‘thank you’, then explained he’d known
Nipper at Art School, well before he started work at Jarrolds.
Turning
to her son, she said: “I’m rather flummoxed, Tony –
why do Albie keep callin’ yew Nipper?”
“Everyone
called me that at Art School,” he replied, “an’ that
just stuck, I s’pose!”
“I
wonder why?” his mother replied, with a look of puzzlement
on her face, and half turned to go back indoors. “I’ll
hatta remember that! Tea oan’t be long, Nipper!” she laughed.
BEEF
PATTY FOR TEA – WITH SECONDS!
It
was a house full, with everyone crammed into the small front
room looking out over the green sward of Aldborough Green, where
cricket matches are held. Albie counted all of eight persons seated,
elbow to elbow, around the table all tucking into their tea.
“This
beef patty is hoolly delicious, Nipper!” he declared,
smacking his lips with thick gravy oozing down his chin. “Your
mum sure knows how to cook, she do.”
“Actually
me Dad med it in his bakery,” his friend replied, piling some
more carrots and potatoes onto his plate. “The oven wuz still
hot after all the bread.”
“Help
yourself to some more ’taters, Albie,” Nipper’s mother
told him, placing another huge slice of beef patty on his plate
before swamping it in gravy. “A growing boy like yew need a
bit o’ fatt’nin’ up, yew do – wuh, yew’re
just string an’ bone!”
Then,
getting up to clear some of the tea things away, she continued:
“There’s blackb’ry an’ apple crumble wi’
custard to foller!”
By
the time he’d finished, Albie was feeling quite bloated when
he got down from the table.
“Cor,
Nipper,” he said as they made their way to a seat on the village
green, “you do live well, an’ tha’s a fact.”
His
friend laughed: “We’re hevin’ fish ’n’
chips for supper an’orl!”
CRICKET
ON THE GREEN
On
the village green, a cricket match had been in progress all afternoon
– just a friendly match between two local village elevens,
Hanworth
and Erpingham.
Sitting on the seat, Albie and Nipper had a grandstand view as the
batsman thrashed at the ball, hell-bent on knocking it for six high
over the rooftops of the nearby cottages.
“How-zat!”
shouted the fielder at long-off, frantically running with outstretched
arms, hands cupped, ready to clasp the ball falling out of the blue.
“Howzat!’
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