A Winter of Content
“It was stolen in ‘68”
Ratty was at the wheel of the Bel Air, driving it and talking about it.
“It was built in the summer of love, ’67, purchased by the Utah State Troopers, and stolen a year later”
He dropped it down a gear and the V8 roared down the straight through exhaust as we flew off the slip road and started climbing Cumnor Hill. We were on our way to a home game at the Bells. So far we had only lost two games in the whole Aunt Sally season.
“It turned up eight years later in a different state where it had been stored in a warehouse, unused.”
The late evening sun hit the cracked windshield. As soon as we were out of range of the speed cam Ratty floored the beast. Sticking it back into top he carried on.
“The State Troopers Department had already got the insurance for it and had no interest in getting the car back”
“Somehow it ended up in an auction in England in the late seventies. It drifted through a few owners and eventually landed on my drive”
It was noticeable that the nights were getting shorter and the smell of an approaching autumn hung in the evening air. Soon I would need to start firing up the stove on the boat and chopping some logs, preparation for my third winter afloat.
“It’s the original paintwork” he added after a pause “not bad really”
We pulled into the car park of the Bells, lights flashing and siren blaring. We grabbed our sticks out of the boot and Ratty let out a cry of “HAPPY DAYS!” as we stepped into the garden to join the rest of the team.
I had been away for a week with Special Needs. We took the boat up the Lechlade arm of the Thames, all the way to Lechlade itself. It rained a lot but it was a beautiful trip. That stretch of the river, some thirty miles or so, is pretty much pure countryside all the way. There are some four or five river side pubs on route and maybe half a dozen houses, but apart from that there are just trees, fields and river. The canals are charming and have many fine qualities, but the river is impressive. Clear deep flowing water of the Thames, the river that has run through my life. I was born in Barking, not far from where the Thames widens before it gets to Tilbury and eventually spills out into the North Sea. Barking, the Thames Delta, home to the Delta Blues, Barking style! I first started playing harmonica by that river. I’d sit on the wall of one of the 2nd world war pill boxes that line the banks, stare out to a distant Kent, and try to blow like Sonny Boy Williams and Little Walters.
Heading up river towards the source seemed like a journey that I have been destined since birth to make. Even the torrential rain that persisted much of the way didn’t distract from the importance of trip. Special and I got to know each other really well during that week. There is nothing like being stuck on a boat 24/7 for 7 days in inclement weather to help you get to know someone. Amazingly we got on fantastically well and not one bad moment was had. Each evening we would moor up in the middle of nowhere, watch the sunset, eat and play cards or scrabble. I had forgotten how good it is to play a hand of cards with a friend. It is prime relaxing time. The whole trip seemed timeless. When it was over it was like it had been a dream. In a way it was, but a very real dream, one of the best.
I didn’t get selected to play that night. I think it was because I had been on holiday the week before and missed a game, something like that. We won anyway. There was a definite chill in the air when we threw the sticks back into the boot and sirened our way out of the car park. We drove home in silence and I thought about how much my life had changed in the last few months, and how much was changing since I met Special Needs. We got back to Rats in time for last orders but decided to give the Rock a miss and both headed off home.
The boat felt a little empty when I climbed aboard. It also felt, like the night, a little chilly. The shift into autumn, not quite there but visible on a virtual horizon. The time of the season. The lull before the cool. A winter of content lays ahead.
Ratty was at the wheel of the Bel Air, driving it and talking about it.
“It was built in the summer of love, ’67, purchased by the Utah State Troopers, and stolen a year later”
He dropped it down a gear and the V8 roared down the straight through exhaust as we flew off the slip road and started climbing Cumnor Hill. We were on our way to a home game at the Bells. So far we had only lost two games in the whole Aunt Sally season.
“It turned up eight years later in a different state where it had been stored in a warehouse, unused.”
The late evening sun hit the cracked windshield. As soon as we were out of range of the speed cam Ratty floored the beast. Sticking it back into top he carried on.
“The State Troopers Department had already got the insurance for it and had no interest in getting the car back”
“Somehow it ended up in an auction in England in the late seventies. It drifted through a few owners and eventually landed on my drive”
It was noticeable that the nights were getting shorter and the smell of an approaching autumn hung in the evening air. Soon I would need to start firing up the stove on the boat and chopping some logs, preparation for my third winter afloat.
“It’s the original paintwork” he added after a pause “not bad really”
We pulled into the car park of the Bells, lights flashing and siren blaring. We grabbed our sticks out of the boot and Ratty let out a cry of “HAPPY DAYS!” as we stepped into the garden to join the rest of the team.
I had been away for a week with Special Needs. We took the boat up the Lechlade arm of the Thames, all the way to Lechlade itself. It rained a lot but it was a beautiful trip. That stretch of the river, some thirty miles or so, is pretty much pure countryside all the way. There are some four or five river side pubs on route and maybe half a dozen houses, but apart from that there are just trees, fields and river. The canals are charming and have many fine qualities, but the river is impressive. Clear deep flowing water of the Thames, the river that has run through my life. I was born in Barking, not far from where the Thames widens before it gets to Tilbury and eventually spills out into the North Sea. Barking, the Thames Delta, home to the Delta Blues, Barking style! I first started playing harmonica by that river. I’d sit on the wall of one of the 2nd world war pill boxes that line the banks, stare out to a distant Kent, and try to blow like Sonny Boy Williams and Little Walters.
Heading up river towards the source seemed like a journey that I have been destined since birth to make. Even the torrential rain that persisted much of the way didn’t distract from the importance of trip. Special and I got to know each other really well during that week. There is nothing like being stuck on a boat 24/7 for 7 days in inclement weather to help you get to know someone. Amazingly we got on fantastically well and not one bad moment was had. Each evening we would moor up in the middle of nowhere, watch the sunset, eat and play cards or scrabble. I had forgotten how good it is to play a hand of cards with a friend. It is prime relaxing time. The whole trip seemed timeless. When it was over it was like it had been a dream. In a way it was, but a very real dream, one of the best.
I didn’t get selected to play that night. I think it was because I had been on holiday the week before and missed a game, something like that. We won anyway. There was a definite chill in the air when we threw the sticks back into the boot and sirened our way out of the car park. We drove home in silence and I thought about how much my life had changed in the last few months, and how much was changing since I met Special Needs. We got back to Rats in time for last orders but decided to give the Rock a miss and both headed off home.
The boat felt a little empty when I climbed aboard. It also felt, like the night, a little chilly. The shift into autumn, not quite there but visible on a virtual horizon. The time of the season. The lull before the cool. A winter of content lays ahead.
posted by Outcast Poet | 4:12 pm
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