Wild Grass
By Bob Curby
Chapter 4


June in those parts of Africa south of the Equator is mid-winter, the exact opposite to the countries north of the infamous latitude zero. The Congo straddles the Equator and every day is exactly the same length. There are no seasons as we know them. At latitude zero on June 21st it is exactly the same as it is on December 21st. I experienced this strange phenomenon on a few occasions. Technically, as I flew the Hughes helicopter up over the Equator on those occasions I swapped from summer to winter as I circled. I always thought it would have been very odd if there had been a blanket of snow at zero degrees plus 5 minutes, and scalding heat at zero degrees minus 5 minutes. As a child living just a few degrees south of the equator, I was extremely puzzled by snow scenes on Christmas cards, after all Christmas was in the summer to us. I was even more puzzled by shops spraying fake snow in the ‘L’ shape in the corners of windows, when the temperature was a hundred plus. Even in mid-winter we had ‘cold’ days which were just like a nice summers day in England, around the mid sixties farenheit. Sometimes we awoke to a misty morning, with an air temperature teetering on fifty degrees.

I used to moan at my mother and make excuses for not getting up, including pleading that it was ‘freezing out there’. Then I would dive into the bathroom and fill the sink with very hot water and press my school shirt against the outside of the bowl so that it would be nice and warm to put on. I had only seen snow in England before we left in 1951, and I am told that my mother dressed me up in nice warm clothes, scarf, mittens and little boots, after which she opened the door and plonked me out onto the back step. She told me to go and play with the others and then stepped back inside and closed the door. I was not quite three years old and I didn’t know what I should do, so, as I am told, I stood there until she opened the door again to check on me after about twenty minutes. I hadn’t moved an inch. My two sisters were making a snowman, but they didn’t call me or give me any encouragement. My hands were turned slightly upwards like a little waif begging for a morsel and that’s how I stayed. My mother picked me up and scolded my sisters. “Why didn’t you look after your little brother, he’s dying to play with you, now he’s freezing because he hasn’t moved!”
I don’t remember that incident at all, only the recounted story which my sisters and my mother always seemed to bring up when we had visitors I was trying to impress, I cannot understand why they did that even down to this day. Whether that impressed on my mind the feeling of coldness I cannot say, but I do know that I baulked at getting out of bed on what I considered to be a cold day.

The month of June 1968 was an equally cold month and on a really misty day during the second week of June I had dragged myself through the ‘warm-up’ ritual and convinced my father that I had a good reason to take the Chevvy to work instead of using the Gold Flash. The Chevvy was about two and a half tons, and had a sort of canvas topped extended tail at the back, a ‘Dickie’ I think my Dad called it. Taking the Chevvy lead on to what might have turned into something nasty later in the day. It was a big car with a big engine; a three litre V-8 which made it powerful even though heavy, and we paid for it in fuel use. In today’s world of economy and global warming fears, a car that barely returned 10 miles for every gallon, would not endear many to the Chevvy. However, fuel was plentiful and cheap then, so everyone had gas-guzzlers. My Dad took the Landrover, which was running on ‘power paraffin’ which he bought for the farm at only a few pence a gallon, so he didn’t mind me using the Chevvy instead of my bike. He did call me a ‘big girl’s blouse’ though for whimping out on the cold days. I loved driving it, all the girls loved it. They used to get in the back and just lie there on the long leather seat, which was six feet in length, until I had to brake hard and they finished up in the footwell. At the end of the day, as soon as I had finished work, I had popped to Merle’s, a truck stop on the Great North Road a few miles south of the area where I worked. She did a great mug of tea and sausage sandwiches, any time of the day. I was just finishing my second sandwich and enjoying the banter between the truckers, whose language was always colourful to the extreme, when the Williams twins walked in. I hadn’t seen them since school and I thought they were beautiful then. Seeing them there in that doorway a few years older, stunned me beyond imagination. They were goddesses! Their pale brown wolf-like eyes surveyed the room for a few seconds and they were about to turn for the door when Julie, the older by 6 minutes, caught sight of me.
“ROBBIE!” she screamed, making several truckers spill their tea. It certainly stopped the banter.
It doesn’t take a genius to work out just what happens when the ‘knights of the road’ have two ‘sex on legs’ walk into their domain. There were all kinds of sounds from at least half of them, mostly animalistic. Some had focussed on the potential of ‘having a bit’ whilst others were just a little angry at having women in what they saw as their stronghold. It was a kind of working-class equivalent of the reaction expected of a gentleman’s club when a woman deemed to enter.
Two truckers stood up. One of them headed towards the twins and he smiled, “Hi babe, how’d you know my name?”
His mate, close on his heels tutted and pushed past him, “No he isn’t Robbie, he’s Joe, I’m Robbie.”
The first one was about 40, a little over-weight and had yellow teeth from heavy smoking. His pal was more like a weasel, about the same height as me, mid-30’s and with very shabby clothes. The stubble on his chin indicated that he hadn’t shaved for around two days. Neither looked particularly clean.
Julie and Laura looked at both of them as if they had crawled from under a sewer cover. Julie was trying to look at me past the shoulder of the bigger of the two men. I could see the concerned looks the girls were giving to all the truckers. This had been a bad idea. They’d only stepped inside because they fancied a ride in the Chevvy and thought it belonged to a farmer they knew who lived near their home. They were pleased to see me even though they hadn’t connected me with the Chevvy. They were obviously very concerned about the attention they had generated in the truckers and the two men in front of them looked very menacing. I had been in my second year of playing rugby for the Harlequins, a local team, and was pretty fit. Our trainer was a Japanese Tai Kwando expert and he had built our fitness and speed to a peak level. I didn’t want to use those skills particularly, though I knew I would if it came to it. There was nothing else to do but try and diffuse what was about to get nasty. I stood up and walked towards the backs of the two truckers. I turned and signalled to Merle to ring the Police, I had a feeling she would need them.
“I think they were calling me, actually.” I said, as calmly and nonchalantly as possible.
The first man seemed to freeze as if I had either breathed fire down his neck, or shoved an ice cube up his somewhat large backside. Without turning he coughed a snarl over his shoulder.
“Get out and go home kid, these babes are looking for real men.”
His mate stepped aside in mock politeness and waved his left hand at the door, as if making my way out easy. I wasn’t stupid; I knew exactly what he would do the second my head was in front of him. I stopped and looked at them for a few seconds. I knew it was not going to be easy, but I had to get the girls out of trouble, and quick.
“Can either of you drive?” I called to Julie.
The truckers laughed. “Of course we can drive, shit head, we drive REAL wheels, not roller skates like you.” I ignored the comment and kept my focus on Julie’s lips. She nodded. “Yes.”
I threw the Chevvy keys at her, over the trucker’s head.
“Take the Chevvy, go.”
She caught the keys and Laura was already out of the door, but the trucker managed to grab Julie’s arm as she tried to exit the door. “Hey babe, what’s the hurry, stay for a while.”
My scrum training came into play as I thrust my right shoulder against his left hip, pushing him towards the door post. He released Julie to save himself, and stopped his forward motion with both hands on the upright. His mate stepped towards my left side. I saw him briefly out of the corner of my eye as he picked up an empty pop bottle from a table. I still do not know exactly how fast my left hand moved. Some said they never saw it move at all. Without a thought, my training came into play and I hit him with a rapid strike to the upper chest. In training I had broken a concrete block doing that. He didn’t drop the bottle, but everything stopped. He stood absolutely still for several seconds and then, as if pulled backwards by an unseen force, he suddenly seemed to throw himself backwards onto a table and fall heavily to the floor. So skilful was my tutor in training us all, we could use rapid hits while playing rugby and the referee would never see the hit, something that I am not proud of, but at the time, it was sport. The hits left little or no external bruising, yet the penetration of the shockwave was deep. When examined later no marks were found on his chest and the paramedics were convinced that he was describing a heart attack and treated him accordingly. The first man had turned to face me and was almost purple with rage. The string of profanities that left his mouth were worse than anything I had heard in my life. He lifted a chair and wielded it at the side of my head. I knew that if it connected, I was a dead man. I knew the avoidance moves and at least he didn’t and was clumsy and overweight. I didn’t want to hit him, I just wanted to leave. I moved quickly and the chair crashed onto a table near where I was standing. He roared like a bull and, with head down, charged at me with arms wide, as if he was a rookie American Football player. I held my position until a split second before he was to crash into my pelvis, then I stepped aside and forwards, turning as I did so. His roar diminished with surprise, and then he slumped onto a chair and slid down onto the floor. I was also slightly stunned as I knew I hadn’t touched him at all. I was looking about quizzically when I saw Merle standing near the man. She had a pastry roller in her hand.
“If anybody else would like to feel this, step up now, otherwise, enjoy your meal and forget about trying to take me on. Are you OK Rob?”
“Yeah Merle, I am thanks; that was a quick move by you!”
“Well don’t push your luck, go now and don’t come back for a while, nothing personal, OK?”
“Sure, but you know it was the silly girls coming in here that started it – I’d have left with them if these two apes had let me.”
“I know,” she squeezed my arm, ”but they won’t forget it though, so stay away for your own sake, why don’t you pop back and have some dinner, later, when I’ve shut?”
I looked at her for a few seconds; suddenly, and for the first time, I saw her as something more than the owner of a truck stop. She had been quite pretty once, but life had not been kind. She was a good fifteen or so years older than me, her husband was long gone, with a student summer waitress, and there were no children. I could see that she was lonely and all she got was lecherous insults from the long haulers as they re-filled their trucks and bellies. I felt sad and sorry for her, and to refuse that offer was going to be another insult, making her feel like a tramp. I liked Merle and I didn’t want to hurt her in any way. I smiled and hoped it would be a mark of my care and respect for her.

I took her right hand and briefly touched it to my lips. “Sweet Merle, that’s the best thing anyone’s asked me to do, and I would love to share some of your excellent cooking in a calmer situation and chat together, but I know that’s not possible today.”
She smiled as her hand dropped back beside her leg and twitched a little as she thought through the last comment. I could see from her expression that I had succeeded in declining and yet not made her feel like she’d thrown herself at me. I tore my eyes from hers, and left.

Outside I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Adrenalin was in my veins and my heart rate had doubled. I stepped between two trucks and bent briefly and placed my hands on my knees. I took deep breathes to slow the heart rate. I was like a violin string, almost humming with the tension built by the adrenalin burst. I looked around. The Chevvy was nowhere to be seen, Julie had done a good job of high-tailing it out of the area, leaving me high and dry.

I heard a sound behind me, I turned and saw an ambulance crossing the apron from the main road, followed by a Police car. I didn’t want to talk to the occupants of either, so I kept a truck between us and then headed for the road. I knew it was about a mile to the nearest telephone – in Matute’s store. We had no telephone kiosks, except at the airport and train station. Charles Matute was always happy to take a few pence to use his phone. I knew I’d have to call home and break the news that two angels had descended and made off with the Chevvy. I was not looking forward to the conversation. I heard the sound of a car behind me and stuck out my thumb without turning round and increased my strides. There was a hoot. I knew that hoot. It was the Chevvy.

I swung round and sure enough the dark green elephant of a car was a few hundred yards away and closing on me quickly. It screeched to a halt. Both girls leapt out and I was smothered in kisses, almost to the point of embarrassment. Julie dived back into the driver’s seat and I was yanked onto that long back seat by Laura as the Chevvy pulled away at some speed. What can a man do when fired up with adrenalin and in a car with two goddesses? I’ll tell you another time.

FA©T 2010 Steve Goodings<>Bob Curby