by Magnus Mills
By now a couple more UniVans had turned up in the yard, and their drivers were standing around waiting to be unloaded. Gosling looked quite relieved when Len went off to deal with them. Bob Smith, meanwhile, had come back and set about fixing the forklift. I thought he made quite a fuss about putting the new battery in, considering he was an engineer who could take a UniVan to pieces in a day. He puffed and blowed and fiddled around getting it connected, and made it clear he’d much rather be over in the workshops doing a “proper” repair job than wasting his valuable time with us. Finally, however, he was done.
“That’s it,” he said, turning to Gosling. “Try to be a bit more careful in future.”
After Bob had gone I took the forklift and unloaded the UniVan myself, even though Gosling was standing right there on the bay beside us. Drivers weren’t supposed to operate forklift trucks, but I knew he wouldn’t say anything, and he didn’t. Not with that nice hot cup of tea inside him.
“I take it there’s nothing to go to Merry Park?” I queried. “There hasn’t been all week.”
“Er … no, no,” replied Gosling after a glance at his worksheet. “No, Len would have said if there was, wouldn’t he?”
“Usually does, yes.”
“Right, well, you might as well get moving then.”
“Have you seen the time?” asked George.
Gosling peered at his watch. “Dear oh dear,” he said. “I hadn’t noticed. You’ll never make it to Merry Park by four o’clock. Where’s that pallet trolley supposed to be going?”
“Up the Park.”
“Well, it can’t be urgent,” Gosling announced. “Tell you what. Give me your duty card, and I’ll sign you straight back to Long Reach. Otherwise you’ll be finishing after your scheduled time.”
I’d never seen George move so quick. He was down the steps, into the cab, and back with the card in about thirty seconds. Next thing Gosling was writing his badge number and signature, next to the words WORKING TO INSTRUCTION.
Which meant we’d got our early swerve after all.
With no more deliveries to make that day, all we had to do was take the UniVan back to Long Reach depot. Then we could go home.
“Don’t make it too obvious,” I murmured to George, as we headed down the loading-bay steps. “You know how Len feels about people getting signed off before their proper time.”
Fortunately, Len was busily engaged when we pulled out of the yard, and probably didn’t even see us go. It’d come to that hour of the working day when The Scheme cranked itself back into life. Blackwell had seemed quite deserted when we’d arrived in mid-afternoon, but now preparations were being made for the return of the UniVans. Just before we left, Mick Dalston and Charlie Green had materialized from somewhere inside the building, no doubt to give Len a hand, while Osgood got ready to stir from his office. In other parts of the depot, clerks, managers and canteen ladies would be watching the clock slowly tick round, as would engineers, keymasters, gatemen and janitorial staff. Even as we departed, vans were beginning to trickle through the gates in a desultory manner, and by the time we’d got onto the Ring Road there seemed to be UniVans everywhere, all heading back to their respective depots. This flurry of activity happened daily as the vehicles made their final runs home. Some might have been parked for the last hour in a discreet but convenient lay-by, waiting for the correct moment. Others may have strayed off-route on missions of their own. The majority, however, would simply have been carrying out their legitimate duties, pursuing schedules which brought them back to their home base at twenty past four, or thereabouts. That was the intention anyway. In reality, vans began to appear at the gates any time from four onwards, even though their crews wouldn’t be allowed to clock off for another half-hour.
They also risked being booked by the supers, who frowned on people who returned too early. When we pulled into Long Reach there were already a number of vans gathered in the yard, and Collis was marching around generally berating their drivers.
“Look, lads,” he was saying. “We don’t mind you taking your ten-off-the-eight for locking up. We don’t mind that at all, it was agreed years ago, but you’re pushing it a bit at five past four, aren’t you? Try and do your flat day, can you, lads? It’s only eight hours after all.”
No one took the slightest bit of notice of him.
The only person with a passable excuse was Bill Harper, who’d managed to get his UniVan into the vehicle wash before anyone else, just as he did every other day of the week. He now stood watching while the great rollers turned, and gallons of water gushed over the gleaming paintwork. The supers were unlikely to challenge a man who kept his van so clean.
When I showed Collis our signed duty card he directed me to pull straight onto the loading bay. Gosling’s signature meant we didn’t have to wait to clock off today, so I turned to George and said, “Off you go then, have a good holiday and don’t worry about your cakes.”
“Thanks,” he replied, climbing out. “See you two weeks Monday.”
“Yeah, bye.”
There was one other UniVan parked on the bay. I glanced at its running plates and recognized it as the vehicle I’d seen Steve Moore driving that morning when we’d crossed paths on the Ring Road. Then I saw Steve himself, ascending the stairway towards the main offices.
“Steve!” I called.
I was sure that he’d heard me, but instead of responding he merely quickened his pace and carried on up the stairs. By the time I’d got out of the van he’d gone. He obviously wasn’t inclined to talk, so I locked up, handed in the keys and headed home.
That was Friday. The following Monday I clocked on at ten to eight, and then went into the duty room to see Bob Little. He was behind the counter as usual, poring over his schedules chart as if it held the secret to some eternal puzzle.
“Morning, Bob,” I said. “Who’ve you got for me this week?”
“Ah, morning,” he said, glancing up. “Actually, we’d like you to take a new recruit if you don’t mind.”
“A new recruit?” I repeated. “What about Dave Parfitt or Pete Fentiman? Can’t I have one of them?”
“Sorry,” Bob answered. “They’re already spoken for.”
“Who’ve I got then?”
“Assistant Driver Jonathan Fairley. He needs someone to show him the ropes. We thought you’d be best.”
The way Bob said “we” made it sound as if some standing committee had specially requested that I look after the newcomer, and that his future on The Scheme would be dependent on the invaluable advice only I could give him. The truth, of course, was much more simple: no one else was available.
“Yeah, alright,” I said. “But I’ll expect a favour in return.”
“Naturally,” Bob replied. “Oh, by the way, did anyone mention to you about a pallet trolley for Merry Park?”
“Er … yes. There was a spare one over at Blackwell. We picked it up Friday.”
“That’s good,” said Bob. “Maybe they’ll stop pestering me about it now.”
“Where is this Jonathan person then?”
“I sent him to look for you. Expect he’s out there somewhere. Be nice to him, won’t you?”
“Course I will. See you later.”
“Bye.”
I found Jonathan out in the corridor. He was examining the duty rota, and the moment I laid eyes on him I knew he was new. At this time of day there were lots of people milling around as everybody clocked on and got their vans ready for the day’s run. Most of them were known to me, either by name or at least to say hello to, and what they all had in common were their uniforms, which without exception lacked crispness. This new recruit, on the other hand, looked like a tailor’s dummy. His shirt, trousers and jacket were obviously fresh from their wrappers that very morning, and held him in a stiff pose as he stood looking at the rota. Once they’d been through a washing machine or dry cleaner’s they’d look like a normal set of clothes, but for the moment he appeared quite uncomfortable.
“That rota won’t make any sense until you’ve been here a while,” I said, by way of greeting.
“Well, I was just trying to make head or tail of it really,” Jonathan replied. “I’ve already had several looks at it.”
“Not to worry: you’ll soon pick it up. How long have you been on The Scheme?”
“Ten days.”
“So you’ll have done your basic training?”
“Yes.”
“Tell you what then: I’ll get us a cup of tea and a doughnut apiece, while you collect the keys for the van. Do you know where the key room is?”
“Yep.”
“Right, it’s UV55. I’ll meet you on the bay.”
He marched off in the wrong direction before realizing his mistake and turning back. Meanwhile, I went across the road to the cafe, where tea was served three or possibly four times faster than upstairs in the canteen. Then I walked round to the loading bay and waited. A dozen or more UniVans were backed in, all with their engines running so that their cab heaters could warm up. Mine was parked next to Bill Harper’s, and he was standing at the rear watching Chris Peachment get him loaded. Along the entire length of the bay there was similar activity, as fully-laden pallets were moved around by men on forklift trucks. In the meantime, Horsefall was observing the scene from his office at the far end. The fact that he remained ensconced indicated operations were running smoothly that morning.
When Bill saw me he came over for a chat.
“Richard back from his holidays yet?” I asked.
“No,” Bill replied. “He’s got another week left.”
“How come you don’t go away together then?”
“It doesn’t work out like that does it? Just because we’re brothers. Even if we were a married couple they’d probably give us our holidays separate.”
“Suppose.”
“Besides,” he added. “I spend enough time with him all week. I don’t want to go on holiday with him as well.”
“Who’ve you got this week then?”
“Same as last week. You know, that bloke learning the run.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “I’ve got a new recruit too.”
“What’s he like?”
“Seems OK. How about yours?”
“Not sure,” said Bill. “Remember I told you he was writing down all the details?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, he keeps asking questions all the time. Driving me up the wall. Wants to know why we go from this depot to that, and why we have to leave at certain times and so on.”
“Can’t you tell him that’s just how it is?”
“I do,” said Bill. “But he wants to know why.”
Just then Jonathan came back with a worried look on his face.
“Get the keys alright?” I asked.
“Er … no, I didn’t,” he replied. “That man behind the hatch wouldn’t give me them.”
When he heard this Bill smiled and shook his head.
“Oh, yes, sorry,” I said. “I should have warned you. You’ve got to be careful how you deal with Arthur. What did you say to him, exactly?”
“Just, ‘Can I have the keys for UV55?’”
“Is that all?”
“Yes. Well … no.”
“What, then?”
“The thing is, when I got there he was round the corner out of sight, so I had to stick my head through the hatch to get his attention. I think my actual words were, ‘Excuse me, can I have the keys for UV55?’”
“And what did he say?”
“‘No, you can’t.’”
“He’s getting worse and worse,” remarked Bill.
“Right, look,” I explained. “Arthur’s quite touchy about who he gives the keys to, and if you get on the wrong side of him he can be very awkward.”
“What did I say wrong then?” asked Jonathan.
“Nothing probably, but he might have thought you were being sarcastic”
“So how do I get the keys?”
“Tell you what,” I said. “Horsefall’s peeping out. I’ll get them today or we’ll be late leaving. Here you are. Have a cup of tea and a doughnut.”
“Thanks,” said Jonathan. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing. You don’t have to pay on your first day.”
I left Bill explaining the best way to approach Arthur, and went off to see if I could fare any more successfully. When I got to the key room the hatch was closed, which was always a bad sign, but after a couple of polite knocks Arthur opened it. Behind him was an array of keys, all hanging on numbered hooks.
“Yes?”
“Morning, Arthur,” I said. “Fifty-five please.”
“Fifty-five?”
“Yes, please.”
“Seems to be very popular all of a sudden,” he said, turning to the key rack and reaching for the appropriate bunch. “I’ve just had someone else come along asking for these.”
“Yes,” I said. “I sent him.”
“Oh, you sent him, did you?” said Arthur. “Must be nice having someone running round at your beck and call. Very nice indeed.”
He continued holding the keys, allowing them to dangle from his index finger as he stood regarding me through the hatch. I glanced at the clock above him. It was ten past eight.
“To tell you the truth,” I said. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“Yes,” replied Arthur. “Your friend was in a bit of a hurry too. Everyone’s in a bit of a hurry. Everyone expects me to jump.”
Slowly and deliberately he turned to a ledger on the desk beside him, took a pencil and added the figure 55 to a long list. Then, at last, he handed me the keys.
“Thanks,” I said.
“That’s alright,” said Arthur, closing the hatch.
When I got back to the bay Chris Peachment was waiting with a forklift truck and several pallets. He was talking to Jonathan and they seemed to be getting on alright. By now most of the other vans had departed, but there were still a few being loaded, here and there. I unlocked the roller door and looked in at the pallet trolley from Friday, still waiting to be delivered to Merry Park. Then Chris got the stuff inside, and a few minutes later we were ready to leave.
“Right,” I said to Jonathan. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I looked it up in the duty room. We go from here to Blackwell depot, then Cotton Town. Dinner there, then we go back to Blackwell, then Merry Park and back here.”
“Very good.”
“How come we go to Blackwell twice?”
“It’s just the way the schedules are worked out,” I explained. “Don’t forget we have to marry up with other vans from other depots. It’s so that we keep everything moving round all the time.”
“But doesn’t it get boring, going back to the same place?”
“That’s nothing,” I said. “Some duties are much more repetitive. Take number sixteen, for example. That’s here to Rudgeway and back, four times.”
“Blimey.” Jonathan looked quite dismayed at the prospect.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “All the journeys have been properly timed and so forth. It’s a doddle actually.”
“And when will I get to do some driving?”
“Ooh, not for a long time yet. You’ve got to sit it out as an assistant first, and learn your relevant runs. But you’ll get behind the wheel eventually.”
“When though?”
“Couple of years.”
“Oh.”
“Look, it’s twenty past eight, we’d better get moving. Did you get the docket off Chris?”
“Yep.”
“Right, let’s go.”
When I went round to the front of the van I discovered a note wedged under the windscreen wipers. It said: PLEASE CALL AT WORKSHOP RE CAKES.
“Ah, yes,” I said, out loud. “I’d forgotten all about them.”
“Forgotten what?” said Jonathan.
“Nothing of importance,” I replied. “Jump in.�
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Instead of heading for the main gates I drove the van in a long arc across the yard, stopping next to the engineer’s shop. Then I got out and fiddled around with the offside mirror, as if checking it was adjusted properly.
A voice behind me said, “I’ve got something for you.”
Rob Marshall was standing in the workshop doorway with a big grin on his face.
“Oh,” I said, “George roped you in too did he? I wondered how he was going to fix things at this end.”
Rob led me to a bench inside. It was stacked up with about twelve pink and white boxes.
“What’s this?” I said. “He told me it was only going to be a few.”
“That’s what he said to me as well,” Rob replied. “Then this lot turned up at half past seven this morning.”
“Who brought them in?”
“Don’t know. They just suddenly appeared while we were all busy out the back.”
“I’ll wring his neck.”
Rob helped me get the boxes into the cab on Jonathan’s side, which was obscured from prying eyes. I had no doubt that Horsefall knew all about George’s cakes and had been suitably squared. Even so, it would do no harm to keep the whole operation low-key, just in case. Jonathan looked as if he was about to say something when we piled the boxes around him, but then changed his mind. Instead, he sat in the dummy seat looking rather uneasy.
When we finally left Long Reach there was only one other vehicle in the yard. A lone UniVan remained parked on the bay, and when we went past I saw the driver sitting in the cab. It was Steve Moore, all on his own again. This time I didn’t bother to wave. We rolled out through the gates and headed for the Ring Road, on Jonathan’s first day as an assistant driver.
The picture for duty number seventeen was the usual one. Everything we’d picked up that morning, the entire load, was bound for Blackwell. After that I had no idea what we would be collecting or taking onward to the other depots, and this unknown quantity helped reduce the monotony of the job. Jonathan, however, wanted to know all the details, and kept up a barrage of questions for the entire journey. I was reminded of Bill Harper’s words when he told me how his trainee was driving him up the wall. Now, apparently, it was my turn.
