 Home Page |
 Article Library |
 |
|
|
|
By Dennis Rookard We all have our regular local pubs, Somewhere were we're welcome and feel at home in. Mines the Travellers Rest. Now to be fair, for the first timer it's rather hard to find. being off the beaten track in one of the quieter parts of town., being hidden behind the as yet to be fully occupied sixties style shopping mall. But should you venture down New Road, you'll find the Traveler's Rest just tucked in between the United Reform church and the old Court house, just across the road from the Library. True it's not much to look at from the outside, a bit down at heel in fact, and sadly both inside and out, in need of a lick of paint. When it comes to cars and motoring in general, we regulars of the Traveler's Rest tend towards your second hand family car end of the market. All that is except Chris our tame vicar who prefers to peddle round town on his aging bicycle. Not so much because he's not into cars, but as he pointed out the other evening when the subject came up. "Because it's all part of the image of your average C of E sky pilot !" That's why we like Chris. Never wears his jolly old dog collar during his drinking sessions, and doesn't expect us to show up in church either, other then on occasions of the hatch, match and dispatch kind. But when it comes to the ownership of a car, our view is that Chris would soon change his mind if his flock would buy him one, or if he ever gets promoted to Bishop. Worst of the lot in our gang in the old banger stakes is Jerry, who's preferred mode of transport is an ancient frog 2CV rust bucket complete with it's go-faster CND and Nuclear power no thanks stickers. These we allege came as standard equipment, unlike the others, which he uses to cover up the rust holes. It's not that Jerry is short of money you understand, he has this high powered job up at Fords, Warley HQ. But we reckon the only reason he keeps it, is so as to park it in the executive car park to wind his colleagues up. Apparently this all started after someone unwisely let slip that his further promotion in the company would come faster if he dumped the 2CV in favour of one from the Ford range. If you had to take a vote on the newest car we collectively own, then the vote would go to Pete with his flash bright blue Volvo estate. You know the sort, comes with a Labrador pub in the back as a standard extra. True Pete has a Labrador, but it prefers in the interests of a healthy life to walk him to the pub rather then drive. So motoring arguments tend to center, not so much around the latest models, as much as to best local car breakers yard for the obtaining of spare parts. Paddy on the other hand is in a different league, what with his growing fleet of dumper trucks, and his love of a monthly magazine devoted to them, and their little ways. But it was the very same Paddy who raised the pubs car ownership to new heights, and put the rest of us to shame. "I thought it was about time I brought myself a car," he announced one evening, shortly after blocking the late evening light, parking his latest lorry outside the pub. "About bloody time," yelled Jack, our friendly landlord from behind the bar. "Nobody else can dam well park outside when you turn up," he continued. "Lowers the whole tone of the place," he finally commented as he turned from the barrel behind the bar with a another dripping pint of foaming ale. Jacks like that. Always going on about the tone of the pub. I mean New Road, is not exactly the heart of Intellectual life in the town, Hard to find, small and poky and somewhat unwelcoming to the first time visitor. But that's how we like it. Still Paddy considering buying a car gave us all something to discuss, and advice for him came thick and fast that night. After all, we kept impressing on him. As a rising businessman he now had an image to project. Pete naturally suggested a Volvo, whilst the others went for your BMWs, Jags or in the case of Jerry, strangely supportive toward a Ford a top of the range wagon. Even Sad Eric put down his book to join in with the fun, suggesting some Japanese model or other. Eventually, Paddy said he'd consider our suggestions and keep them in mind, and vanished homewards. About a week latter, Paddy dropped in on us again, only this time he managed to surprise us for when he ambled through the door. For this time his visitation was not proceeded by the noise of his lorry drawing up outside, but by complete silence. "Oh" said Jack sarcastically, "walked in tonight did you." Paddy just made his way to the bar, savoring the moment, "Not tonight Jack, brought the new car instead," So which one did you go for then," asked Pete, "get a Volvo like I suggested," "Or is it a Ford," butted in Jerry." You could see the Paddy was definitely enjoying himself, as pint in hand, he slowly took a sip he turned to the assembled gang and with a sly grin, said, "nether of those, I thought I'd go for a Roller." "Your bloody joking," cried Jack from the bar, "come on lads let's see what he's got," he continued leaving the bar and leading the charge towards the door with the rest of us in tow. Sure enough, standing proud outside the pub, catching the last rays of the setting sun, was a sleek gray Rolls Royce. There was a moment's silence, as we all clustered around it, gazing on it with proper reverence until Jerry could contain himself no longer. "Christ mate, how much did you give for that." he burst out. "Enough" was Paddy's calm reply. "It's not new is it," opinioned" Pete, having had a crafty look at the speedometer on the dashboard. "Well all right then," said Paddy, "it's second hand, but it still cost a bomb." Well you know what it's like with a new car, all of us wanted a ride in it, so for the next hour of so, Paddy ferried a succession of Traveler's rest regulars on various circuits of the town, Up South Street, in the High Street. Sharp right at Wilsons Corner and into Queens Road before the gentle amble down Coptfold road to New Road again and the pub, with it's waiting gang. But it was Jack who managed to put the wind up Paddy questioning his wisdom in getting the car. Seated like royalty in the front, with Brian, Pete and Jerry crammed into the back; he leaned back, nodded towards the clock in the dashboard hand muttered. "Do you know lads, I can hear the clock." It was a criticism Paddy found hard to take. "So what, it's only a clock dam it, doesn't effect the cars running does it," he commented hitting back at this unwarranted slur on the engineering skills of Mr. Rolls and Mr. Royce. "Well Roller clocks shouldn't make any ticking sound, and this one does, I should take it back if I were you, they've sold you a pup mate." The next day, Paddy did just that. Took the Roller back to where he got it from and demanded they replace the clock. Well I always thought the silent clock in a Roller was just a fable put about by proud owners. But it's true, and would you believe, they did replace the thing. ENDS |
|
Home Page |
Article Library |
|