h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

My great schoolboy friend Colin was always in trouble, and his mother usually blamed me for it, he could charm his way out of any problems because he had the gift for it. On joining the Air Training Cadets he could still get away with anything, Summer Camp was fantastic, usually by the sea and a very rare experience for the war- time children of inland towns, the food was also very good and there was plenty of it.

As food at home was strictly rationed and in very short supply, the cookhouse was a main attraction as far as we were concerned, exceeded in popularity only by the usual flights in R.A.F. and American planes. It seems that we had not really lost the yearning for the clear Blue skies after all. The Yanks seemed to really enjoy taking us up in what they termed as “ A real airplane kid. “ That was the world famous Flying Fortress.

Even here Colin was to make his presence felt, his personality stood out a mile. He was the one chosen by the W.A.A.F. Officer in charge to be fully and personally informed of the do’s and the don’ts in the use of parachutes, and what a sound piece of misjudgment that was. Colin passed on his newly acquired knowledge on a very windy airstrip, something like this. “ She says this is for emergency use only, and in no other circumstances are any of you to pull this ring.” As he did so there was a loud crack, the wind caught the mess of silk at his feet and he was dragged away at high speed across a very busy, wartime airfield.

Fortunately he was rescued by an American Aircrew who had only just landed a Flying Fortress right in his flight path, the W.A.A.F’s who had seen the event said that the show was well worth the effort of repackaging a chute, and would he please do it again the next day because the officer had missed it. They were only kidding, but it proves just how much he could get away with.

The third encounter was horrific, and probably the most serious. A person can only be eternally grateful at just missing a horrible death, or even being burned at all in the following circumstances. The German’s had dropped a couple of bombs on the town and a few houses had been damaged, but there had been no casualties. The local children were out collecting bits of shrapnel all over town, but I had to go one better.

The German planes must have dropped some material with the intention of causing fires, and no one had noticed. I found a piece of bright Yellow rock, something like a small stick of chalk or rock sulphur in appearance. I picked it up in the Blackthorn School playground at about eleven am, and it spent the next hour in my pocket in the classroom. (Sincere apologies to teachers and class.) Then home on the bus, and during lunch it remained a sleeping giant for a further hour or so. On walking back towards school I was most fortunate to meet my good friend and brother in law George Trickett delivering milk on his rounds. George was always interested in all topics and I was very pleased to show him my find. The damned thing was now giving off a thick Blue smoke, and he started to say, “ Throw it, ” but it was already on its way.

There was a small explosion, Blue and Yellow flames sprang up instantly, and very luckily they ran along the cobbled road away from us, the flames were over two feet high and when the furious fire subsided, the road was burned yellow and blue in a six-foot wide circle. The heat from the fire was intense, and the marks were on the road for many years. Only once more would I ever see a similar effect; this was from mortar type bombs used by members of our own Home Guard, on the moors of course.

MR HARGREAVES THE BACUP COWBOY.

The fourth encounter of many soon materialised and once again the Guardian Angel was there dead on time. One Saturday morning I was helping George to deliver milk on his round, this was good fun because he was a kind, very happy sort of person always joking. “ What is the definition of nothing, “ he would say, and when he failed to receive the answer he would then enlighten his audience. “ That it is what a farmer gives you for sticking to his horse,” he could keep going all day long with good jokes and witty remarks, and his customers loved it.

He had recently bought me a new pair of clogs with good thick irons on them. On the spur of the moment he had noticed my pathetic pair of well-worn shoes, and going into Radford’s the clogger’s shop, he had said. “ Make this lad a good strong pair of clogs that will stand hard wear and keep the wet out.” How prophetic were those words, no one could possibly have guessed just how much wear they would have to stand almost at once.

The road surface on New Line in Bacup had just been given a coat of loose, stone chippings, and a car went passed us much too fast while George was in a house delivering milk. The car threw up a stone, it hit the horse underneath his belly and he was away at full speed, my very first runaway! Being more than a bit quick myself, I jumped out of the float and caught up with him, took hold of his head by the bridle and held on to him.

Unfortunately my weight was much too light to deter him from his mad gallop, and I was dragged away at full speed. The noise from my feet dragging on the rough road surface only made him go faster, but at least my feet were well protected by my new clogs. The wheels were whizzing around just behind the horse’s steel shod hooves, and they were only inches from my head as his knees kept pounding into my right side.

After almost a mile of this very undignified and extremely dangerous method of travelling, the usual assistance was waiting, this time disguised as a sign “ School ahead.” For some strange reason the horse altered course and swerved onto the pavement. The sign did not have to move at all as the float hit it perfectly with the wheel, and the steel post just missed my head by about four inches, then the horse stopped.

As the post hit the ground with a crash, the silly creature set off once again. Enough is enough I thought, as I let him please himself by letting go off his head. As the horse and float departed at high speed around the bend by St Saviour’s Church, a very kind man who had been chasing us in a van stopped right by where I was sitting on the pavement in deep shock. He just said, “ Jump in and we will catch him “ You might I thought, because my own interest had waned quite a lot.

However I did take advantage of his kind offer, and about half a mile further down the road at the junction of Newchurch Road and New Line, the cavalry had already arrived in the form of the local rag and bone man. That is not really a fair description, because he was actually the owner of the company that purchased materials for reprocessing, and he also supplied ponies and donkey’s to collect them.

He was driving a small pick up type vehicle at the time, and he was on the opposite side of the road to the runaway. Mr Hargreaves obviously knew a lot more about runaway horses than I did, because he stopped his vehicle, ran across the road and in the very best tradition only seen before in cowboy films, jumped into the back of the float as it went by him at full speed. He then climbed over the front of the vehicle, jumped neatly onto the horse’s back and he hauled him to a stand in seconds.

The horse gave him no further argument as he soothed him down by stroking his nose, damage to persons was nil, except for a few bruises that were soon forgotten in the wonders that I had just seen. My brand new clogs had scarcely any irons left, being almost completely worn away. Our milk and eggs were scattered over about a mile and a half of road, and all of our stock for the day was gone. “ One long omelet, but as long as you are all right, everything will be O.K. tomorrow, ” said George when he finally joined us.

On leaving school at fourteen years of age George had said to me, “ Get yourself a job with a pension and prospects, the best place to try is the railway, that is a secure job.” His advice was sound because for a hundred years it had been, and one would presume that the prospect was a good bet to continue in the same manner. Always ready to take up good advice away I went to the Locomotive Sheds, only to be told, “ You are too young, come back when you are sixteen.” It is funny how one is either too young or too old, there never does seem to be a just right time. As a result of this futile conversation with Joe Lord the office clerk in the pin striped suit, I left those giant steam locomotives reposing in their shed. But the sight, sound and smell of them had left its mark never to be erased.


Cheers H.