That Bike.

That Bike

I wasn’t sure what story I was going to ask my Granddad. I had to get a story for my English homework from an elder persons’ perspective of something he or she had done previously or is doing now.

I started asking him about the war, but he just replied that there were many interesting things to say that he knew. I thought to my self “well this is my homework” but I left him speak. He told me that he was going to tell me a partially funny, but interesting story. So this is how it started.

“When we were kids in my day, if you wanted a motorbike you had to go to the dump at Mont Mado, bribe the man on the gate to let you look for parts to make up your bike. We spent many a weekend there, it was great skite. We collected all the parts that we could carry and took them to our mate’s house near by. Bah, it took us ages to get all the right parts to fit together. Only about one in ten bikes worked! Anyhow, we managed to get our bikes road worthy in some form or another. There were usually six or more of us building the bike. Our mothers said it kept us out of trouble.”

It was there I had to stop him and ask if this was all true. “Yes, of course it is” he replied. “We had a coach driver by the name of flip. He still drives coaches today, ask him if you don’t believe me” Okay, I told him. Just carry on with your story.

“The highlight of our bike making achievement was to have a bike that was reliable enough to take us to our number one haunt, Springfield roller skating, or if it was really good we would take it for a braze around town and to the sticks ...

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We had to stop as I needed to get a drink. It’s always awfully warm in old peoples house as they don’t like being cold. I got my drink and asked him to carry on.

“One of the boys that we hung around with seemed to never have a problem in getting a roadworthy bike, in fact all the parts matched, as well as the name of the bike. We couldn’t work out how he did this and we never bothered to ask why, eh.”

He stopped here as he had to go outside for some fresh air. But he was so keen to get on with the story that he started talking again the moment we got back inside.

On one of our Island brazzse, this lad arrived with what looked like a brand new Triumph Tiger Cub, he said to us “follow me boys” and sped off with us in hot pursuit. The field where Le Roquier School is now used to be a tomato field. He failed to make the bend and, luckily for him, he went straight through a hole in the granite wall and into all the tomato canes. Ah what a mess eh.”

At this point I was laughing but my grandpa was laughing so much I thought he was going to wet himself. It took a minute or two for him to calm down and then back to the story.

“We dragged him out, left the bike there and took him back to the big city, ah what skite. We didn’t see him for over six months. In fact, we never saw him riding a bike again eh. I only found out a few months ago from his daughter that all the bikes he ha been riding he had borrowed and returned, with the acceptation of the last bike. What a laugh eh! This was because the constable had caught him for stealing the bike and he had served six months at Gloucester Street Prison, at her majesties pleasure. He was quite a lad that one eh.”

And that was the end of his story; all I can say is that I hope I have more assignments with old people.

By Daryl O.