Page 73 - It's a Rum Life Book One "In the Beginning 1947 to 1960"

breakdowns had occurred.
The first I knew of it was the works manager cornering my
boss to request my services at short notice, “Just to run the
Sleaford Standard down to the station for the next train. It
shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
He sounded very convincing. But he had not yet found the
van. By the time we had, the train departure was imminent. It
was a bit more than a mile to the station; through the market
place, round the five lamps roundabout, over the old town
bridge, through the traffic lights at the top of Bridge Street and
down West Street.
Everything went well for the first minute or two and then entering
West Street everything changed. The road was totally dug up or
so it seemed. In front of me was a mess of manhole covers,
gulleys and pot holes. The road was being resurfaced.
I had to choose and quickly, over the manholes that seemed to
be everywhere and sticking well up above everything else, or
slalom between them.
I was still doing the maximum permitted 30mph and could
virtually hear the train whistle as it was about to depart. Just half
a mile to go and I daren’t slacken my speed. I chose to go over
the manholes, then, as the first one approached it seemed huge.
My confidence bled faster than lightening and my foot touched
the brakes.
Perhaps a bit too strongly as the next thing was a tremendous
grinding noise from between my feet, but the van kept going
and we were over.
All the others seemed much smaller after that. I had the
confidence not to brake any more until the van was well onto
the station platform beside the train.
The newspapers caught the train, but the van was not running
too well on the return journey. A load throaty noise came from
under the bonnet and there was an oil slick following me down

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