“Old age withers and remembers
green shoots young lives and dreams.
But don’t start in your December
the glories of past dreams.
When elephants dance, mice die.”
Steve Dixie 1984 “Savannah Song” album.
CHAPTER 3 THE GARAGE
John Clay the Foreman frowned out the window. Grey puddles on the forecourt reflecting a grey sky. It looked real tatty now the petrol pumps and adverts had gone. That’s what had started it.
“It were losing the petrol what did it” said the Boss “No one drops by now. No passing trade. And all that health and safety nonsense over selling food here. We were all right flogging petrol and pies. But….. Local villagers…..Not enough of em.”
“No.” agreed the Foreman.
Out on the A1 there were four lanes of traffic spraying past through the rain. Now and again it seemed one would slow, maybe going to turn in here. But few ever did. They saw there was no petrol and kept on their way. Time was the pumps were busy all day, and open till ten at night. Then the oil company’s said small outlets were un-viable. They took away their franchise and filled the tanks with concrete “as a safety measure” they said. But really it was to stop others selling fuel here.
“So. There 't is.” said the Boss. “You ought 't find something else. Your experience.”
“Aye.” said the Foreman “I’m not too old. Not really.”
“Course not. Course your not.”
“But what 'bout Holders. I mean what are t’ chances o' me staying on wi' 'em?”
“Well. That’s just it. Holders want me t' fire everyone before they buy place. That way I carry all bullshit on pensions and redundancies. They start wi' clean slate. But I just wonder if they mean to run place as garage at all. Look what they did in Leeds. Arthur Holder Parts Distribution. They bulldozed the site, now it’s houses and flats. And when their surveyor was here, he was really interested in t' field out t back and owt else. I said there’s nothing but scrap and junk out there, but he did the lot with one of they GPS things. Drawing all over a satellite photo. So I reckon it’s the land they want. Holders Garages is just a real estate company now.”
“Bloody rich though.” said John Clay.
“Oh what’s this?”
A car finally did turn off the main road and slowly came to a halt. Right in the centre of the forecourt.
“Someone who can’t park their car.” said the Foreman “I’ll go see.” He grabbed a plastic coat from the hook and went out. “Can I help you ma’am?”
She was getting up from the drivers seat, looking strained “It sort of does funny things.” She put up a small pink umbrella “On corners mostly. It sort of moves sideways and I have to turn the wheel to straighten up.”
“I see.” The Foreman didn’t really. With those symptoms it could be anything from a twisted chassis to a loose steering rack, or loose suspension or….He would have to try and narrow it down. “You say on corners?”
“Mostly, yes…But it did it really badly when a cat came out in front. But I don’t see how a cat could make it go funny.”
“Well no…..But could it be it goes sideways when you put your foot on t’ brakes?”
“What…..? Well…..I suppose.”
“Could you open t’ bonnet for me?” John Clay always got the customer to do it. Before now he’d reached down into the foot well fumbling for the catch and been accused of feeling someone’s leg. Other cars had the catch inside the glove box and he’d been accused of trying to steal valuables. Other times…
“What? I don’t know how to do that. I thought that was your job.”
“Yes ma’am.” Other
times they hadn’t a clue how to open their own bonnet, probably
never checked anything. They were a menace on the bloody road. “I
think it’s t’ catch just here ma’am.” He opened the door and
found it under the steering wheel. “Yes that’s it.” He shut the
door, went to the front, lifted the bonnet, and saw the brake fluid
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