Page 17 - IT'S A RUM LIFE BOOK TWO "BOSTON 1960 TO 1970"

(Picture form the internet of Morris Mini van the same
colour and similar age.)

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 the road.
Reporting back to the works manager with the good news
that the papers had made it, I had also to impart my tale of
woe.
Frank was a brick, a totally unflappable, grey haired
departmental boss, who had total control of the 50 or so
composing room and works staff.
“Take it straight round to the garage,” he said.

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