Читать книгу A Life of Pride - Alan G Pride - Страница 17

I couldn’t wait for the day when I’d be old enough to drive a car and ride a motorcycle. My dad had won motorcycle races and had some trophies, plus a well- kept 1926 Douglas bike in the back shed – yet he was dead against my riding, saying it was too dangerous. This struck me as unfair. I’d generally been an obedient boy, but the attraction of motorcycles was too great. At age 14 I’d been captivated by the sight and sound of a very capable black-leather clad rider, on a magnificent red and chrome Levis King 500. I made a habit of waiting on the same corner at the same time each evening, just to watch this rider sweep smoothly around the bend with footrest almost touching the bitumen. I’d then wait while he accelerated into the distance, listening for his change into top gear long after he’d disappeared from view. I dreamed of owning one of these beautiful handmade machines, but didn’t see another like it until 1973. In the meantime I’d met ‘Gidgee’ Stevens, a bit older than me, and from him I bought a 1924 Rudge motorbike, in pieces. With no transport, I’d have to carry a piece home every night. But Dad said, “Don’t you dare bring a motorbike here!”

Kevin ‘Pro’ Hart, a boy about my age, lived nearby in Thomson Street. We went to different schools, but often played together and I was always welcome in his home. His mother was a lovely lady who thought my father was too strict, so she let me bring the Rudge parts there and Pro and I reassembled them.

The bike never ran well, though – it was really just a bunch of spare parts, bolted together by kids who hardly knew what they were doing. I ended up selling it to Pro, who pulled it apart again and sold the parts separately.

Meanwhile I wanted to know all about riding bikes and driving cars, so I borrowed a book from the library and learned the technicalities off by heart. I’d sit in a chair in my bedroom pretending to ride and drive, going through the actions. Eventually, when home alone, I found Dad’s car keys, crept into the garage where he kept the Oldsmobile and carefully reversed it out of the garage and back in again.

That was my first experience behind the wheel. A big risk! If Dad had caught me, I’d have copped so much trouble, let alone if I’d damaged the car.

My first motorcycle ride was a bit different. A friend had a 1939 Silver Star BSA 350 cc and said I could ride it around the block, if I didn’t damage it. I managed that without a scratch! Well, the next thing was to get one of my own. I got a 1924 250 side-valve sausage-tank BSA, very primitive, and I rode it – unlicensed – around the back alleys. It lived under the grapevine trellis at Mrs Hart's for four years, as did every other motorbike I had around that time.

Another drawing from my Tech Drawing book. I was getting better at planes, but I didn't realise then, the significance Handley Page would play in my future life...