Angel on my Shoulder Page 18
A face impossible to distinguish clearly through the dirty glass is observing me. So the building is occupied after all. I step forward to pull the bell again just as the door swings inward. I am admitted by a very plump Lady dressed entirely in black. She appears to understand my request to see Monsieur Gastoyne but makes no comment either in English or her native tongue. Instead she shows me into a wide hall. The sole occupant is an extremely tall almost cadaverous thin clerk seated on a stool at a high desk; He is leaning over a manuscript as if he is short sighted writing with of all things a feather quill.
Although it is day time no natural light penetrates the musty windowless interior. A single gas lamp illuminates a small area surrounding his desk. “Qui etes-vous?” He enquires without turning to face me. Ha! I understand that he is asking me who am I. Right time to try out my limited French “Je suis Anglais.” He replies in rapid French.” Parlez lentement, s’il vous plait.” Speak slowly please. “Que voulez vous?” This is hopeless. I apologise. “Je ne parlez pas Francais.” Explaining I don’t speak French and asking is there anyone that speaks English. I am about at the limit of my French. I give up trying to communicate in his language and ask is there anyone that speaks English. “Y a-t-ik quelqu’un gui parle Anglais?”
When he doesn’t reply I ask slowly in English. “I wish to see Monsieur Gastoyne?” He stands up grasps my arm in his claw like hand and leads me through a door located at the end of the room. The room we enter is totally different to his office. Light pours in through windows a mixture of men and women are seated at desks writing furiously in ledgers. We pass through the room to another door and into a splendid office. Seated at a huge desk is Monsieur Gastoyne. He comes from behind his desk to greet me warmly and invites me to sit in front of him.
My escort occupies another seat without being invited he is not introduced to me. “It is Adam if I recall correctly? I have been waiting for you to visit. Our mutual friend Oscar warned me you would be back in France shortly when he was unfortunately called away. How may I assist you?” I outline my concerns and ask a series of questions regarding finance etc. He answers everything to my satisfaction. I broach the subject of a decent office at the depot. He vetoes this idea, “No, no, my friend. We shall expand when the profits allow it. There is a building on the site suitable for an office that can be utilised. We must be prudent, how do you say in England? Let us learn to walk before we begin to run Eh?” He laughs. The tall thin man nods his approval. I don’t believe it is the appropriate time to mention the erection of a warehouse at the depot. I am not too happy about the way things are going at this meeting. It appears the French man is more influential in our company than I thought he would be. I wish Oscar was still around to advise me.
Without his input I am not quite sure what he has agreed with this man. My next item on the agenda is the Colonel’s proposal to set up a joint project between the UK and the continent. This interested him he scrutinised the Colonel’s letter then passes it on to his colleague. This action strikes me as peculiar if he can’t speak English how is he able to understand the letter? He evidently does as he rapidly reads the couple of pages then hands it back to his colleague. I have a feeling this man is more than a clerk. “That appears to be an excellent proposal how do you intend to progress the matter?”
I carefully choose my words before replying. “I would like to see it go ahead but there is currently a problem. The cross channel shipping is impossible at this time. Maybe it will become easier shortly when the transfer of troops is completed, who knows?” I explain the shipping situation. Mr Gastoyne apologises that he has to consult his colleague in the French language. The two men hold a rapid conversation. Mr Gastoyne advises me. “We will look into that problem; we have shipping interests we could utilise. Is there anything else we need to discuss I have another appointment?” I have a feeling I am being dismissed and get a little annoyed. I decide to let them know I am not to be treated lightly. “Yes gentlemen I intend to employ an experienced book keeper as soon as possible.” They look at each other meaningfully. “I could recommend you an excellent accountant?” He offers. “No, no thank you, that’s alright. I will look into that myself.” I stand up ready to leave feeling I have scored a tiny triumph. Mr Gastoyne comes around the desk. “You have not mentioned the charabanc what is your intention regarding that vehicle?” “Ah! The charabanc, well that is my personal property it has nothing to do with the company. I have not decided what to do about that yet.” We shake hands and the thin man leads me from the office and escorts me to the front door. Damn! I’m outside the locked door when I remember the identity card. Ah! It’s too late now. I don’t fancy going back into that weird place. I’ll sort it out later. When I arrive back at the depot Alec looks harassed. “What’s up pal you look worried?” “It’s one of the trucks it’s not come back yet and should have been here an hour ago he must be low on fuel by now. I have some more urgent loads for him.” “Not to worry Alec, tell me where from and where to and I’ll do the run. To tell you the truth I would like to do a bit of driving.” “Adam I am worried. I was considering taking a truck out myself but I need to be here if he reports in or there is a problem. It’s a cash job we don’t want to lose it.” I enquire. “What is the load, I’m anxious to get going I could use some ready cash?” “About ten loads of seed potatoes from the docks to a barn on the outskirts of town. Can you manage? I have fuelled that truck up over there.” He points to one of the unused vehicles with the engine already running. “I’m off I’ll be back as soon as possible.
I’ll tell you how I got on with the banker when I get back.” He gives me a warning. “Adam, make sure you get the cash on every trip. The price is all arranged. I have written it on the back of the pass. I don’t fully trust this fellow I have not dealt with him before. He will direct you to the barn when he loads the truck. Here’s a docket, you’ll need this to get you on and off the docks.” Alec hands me a piece of paper and I’m back behind a steering wheel in a flash doing something I enjoy. Before I head out of the depot I make sure the tool kit is in its location behind the driver seat. I have been caught before when I accepted a vehicle and set off without a tool kit.
I enter the docks with no problem the security guard gives the note a cursory glance directs to a quay and waves me through the gates. A small British registered coastal ship is discharging her cargo of seed potatoes onto a string of open horse drawn carts. I join the line the only motor vehicle present.
A seedy looking fellow sidles up to the cab and says something to me in French. I reply. “Sorry mate I’m not too good with my French.” He answers in a puzzled tone. “You’re English, driving for OSCADA transport Eh? Where’s the Froggie driver I spoke to at the depot?” “Oh! I think he must have had a breakdown. I was sent here as a replacement so we wouldn’t let you down.” “Oh yes alright then.” He replies in a surly manner. “You don’t have to wait in line, follow me we will have you loaded next.” I note he speaks with a London accent. The man walks ahead of my truck and directs me under the derrick being utilised for discharging the cargo.
The carter due to be loaded next loudly protests. The Cockney snarls something back at him in French the man ceases complaining and turns away mumbling.” It appears this Englishman has the power to make things happen on the docks. I feel guilty at jumping the queue but I have no real choice but to comply.
Within seconds the steam winch clanks and hisses and the cargo begins coming ashore. Right away I detect a problem the rear of my truck is covered by a canvas supported on metal hoops designed to protect the goods. Not the best set up for this type of loading it means the stevedores have to land the boxes then manhandle them into the rear. The Cockney leans against the truck overseeing the operation I jump out of the cab. “Hey mate after I do this run before the next trip. I’ll nip into our yard and have this canopy taken off it will make it easier for the lads?” He looks very concerned at my suggestion and replies. “No don’t do that, we want the canopy
on er? In case it rains, besides you have no time to arse about this cargo is urgent. Just you deliver these spuds and get back here proto you hear?” I don’t like his attitude but he is paying the bill so I have to comply. I enquire. “Where is this barn anyway?” “I will send one of the men with you to show you the way. Right you are all loaded.” He points to one of the stevedores. “You get in this truck and go with the driver to Peters place,” The man without a word climbs into the cab. The cockney orders me. “Ok! Driver off you go.” “Wait a minute.” I protest pulling the piece of paper out of my pocket and thrusting it under his nose. I remember what Alec advised. “Settle up first before we go any further.” He snorts with contempt. “Don’t be stupid man; you get paid at the other end when you have delivered. You don’t think I’m daft do you? Bloody hell you could do a runner with the load. Get a grip and get this load moving you silly sod.” I suppose that makes sense. I climb into the cab feeling very stupid. My guide doesn’t speak much.
Now and again he gives me brief directions after we have pass through the dock gates.
I detect an accent definitely not French. “Turn right,” Silence, “Turn left.” Silence
“Now go straight on.” I try to draw him into conversation to no avail. In less than half an hour we reach our destination, a remote barn set well back from the road down a rough track. Another cockney greets me more affable than his compatriot on the docks. “Here mate, back her into this place.” He indicates a wide doorway. My guide climbs out and disappears into the barn. Within minutes the truck is surrounded by a gang of labourers and unloaded. The cockney approaches hands me an envelope and instructs me to head back to the docks. I check the contents against Alec’s paper and find them exactly right to the nearest centime.
“Where’s the fella that came with me?” I enquire before pulling away. “Oh yes! He’s busy here for a while we like to rotate em gives em a break. I tell you what, take this fellow with you.” Another chap climbs into the cab and we return to the docks.” I have competed eight runs all paid for with no problems. On the eight occasions I take one man out of the docks and another back. I decide it’s time for a meal break and tell the cockney to let one of the horse drawn wagons take my place in the line while I get something to eat. He seems reluctant to agree but I am having a break and he can lump it. The skipper of the ship a heavy set bearded man is leaning over the rail watching the discharging. He must have overheard my conversation. The captain hails me in a deep voice. “Are you a Scouse?” “Well I’m from nearby. I lived In Birkenhead to be exact.” I reply. “So am I, born and bred there in Tranmere, Up the Rovers!” He bellows with a roar of laughter. “Do you want something to eat? I’m just about to have a bite. Come aboard we can have a chat about the old place.” That sounds good to me. I accept his offer and park the truck out of the way close to a warehouse and walk back to the ship. I climb up the gangway he greets me on the deck and directs me into a mess room where we sit on opposite sides of a small table.
A hatch slides back a coloured face appears he asks. “You want de big am butty Cap?” “Make it two Jesus and a couple of teas. Eh and don’t spare the mustard you hear?” The hatch slams shut. The skipper grins “Good man Jesus I pulled him out of the Irish Sea in 1914 he was the only survivor from a U boat attack. He’s been with me ever since.” “Is that his real name?” I ask. “I don’t know, he was shivering when we dragged him aboard and the only words we could understand him saying were Jesus so we called him that.” The hatch slides open and two plates and cups are passed through. We tuck in to the excellent sandwiches despite the thick layer of mustard they are very tasty. The skipper asks. “Who are you working for? I didn’t expect an Englishman to be driving a truck over here.” “Well I’m working for myself and a couple of partners.
We have recently set up the company using army surplus trucks we have ten of them. As a matter of fact this is my first job as a driver.”
Working for yourself eh, same as me then? I worked this old tub through the war for the Ministry of Transport. I have just bought it myself when it was declared surplus. This is my first trip as a skipper owner.” “Hey Captain we may be able to do business together?” I briefly outline the Colonel’s proposals. He appears very excited “Well that would be great but I have cargoes booked for the next month. I have a cargo for Scotland from here. Then I load more seed potatoes for a port in Cheshire. I should get a chance to get home for a spell to see my misses on that run.
After that I have a cargo of salt from Northwich to here again.” “Isn’t Northwich on the river Weaver? I recall seeing it on a map.” “Yes that’s it lad. The good old River Weaver. Trouble is I go up the Mersey passed where I live. Then into the Manchester ship Canal, finally I pick the Weaver up at Runcorn.” “Doesn’t the River Weaver pass through a place called Acton Bridge?” He replies. “Eh! You know your Cheshire well. I did a couple of cargoes from Acton Bridge wharf in the war I believe that has shut down now. I was on one of the first seagoing ships to get as far as Northwich. How come you know it so well?” “I don’t really. It’s just that a war time mate of mine is at the Village of Acton Bridge he was a POW and had a bad time.” I explain about Sandy. We detect a ruckus on the quay. Together the Captain and I leave the mess room and look over the side. One of my Oscada trucks has arrived and is attempting to move to the head of the line. There is no sign of the cockney organiser and the carters are giving the truck driver a hard time. The skipper laughs. “Bloody Frenchmen should be good fun this. Look at that big carter he’s really pissed off with that truck driver. There could be a punch up?” Two men are sparring up, the other carters are excitedly surrounding them shouting abuse at the beleaguered driver. “I’ll have to go and help.” He restrains me. “Hang on lad there are too many to tackle, these buggers can get nasty.” I shake his hand off.
“I’ll have to go Captain he is one of my drivers.” He offers. “Then I’ll come with you, us Birkenhead lads have got to stick together.” The cook Jesus an enormous man emerges from a door carrying a meat cleaver. “I come too Captain Bob, good fight coming eh?” He flashes a mouthful of gleaming teeth. Although the backing of the two large men makes me feel a little bit braver, we are still outnumbered by about three to one. The uneven odds don’t appear to bother my eager allies. We are about to descend the gangway when the Cockney arrives. He assesses the situation then howls a stream of abuse at the carters in French. Immediately as if by magic they disperse, the truck driver climbs into his cab and moves to the head of the line.
The Captain addresses his cook. “Go back to your galley Jesus, it looks like the entertainment is over.” The cook grins and leaves us on deck. The Captain explains. “He’s a good man to have on your side in a fight he has saved my bacon a few times.” “I should think so Captain. I wouldn’t like to face him, especially wielding that bloody big axe.” We both laugh. I give him my name and the address of the depot promising to meet him when he next arrives at Le Havre shake hands and thank him for the meal. He informs me. “By the way my name is Bob Hawkins of the good ship Portia.” The cockney approaches me at the bottom of the gangway. “You get your truck in to load next to this fellow. It will be your last run. Have they settled up with you at the barn?” “Yes, on every trip thanks” “Good I told you they would.” He replies smugly then lights a cigarette and resumes his usual position leaning against the truck. I try to communicate with the other driver but he responds with a blank stare. I give up and return to my own vehicle start the engine and edge in behind him. When my truck is loaded I am about to pull out when a shabbily dressed man climbs into the cab without a word. I assume this is the usual routine passenger and set off. It is getting dusk when I turn down a narrow road. Out of the corner of my eye I notice the passenger fumbling inside his jacket. Suddenly he pulls a pistol out and sticks it in my ribs. “Halt!” He orders. I hit the brakes savagely. He shoots forward and bangs his head. I reach behind me grab a wrench and bring it down with a crack on his wrist. The pis
tol drops to the floor of the cab, he howls in pain. I give him another whack on the shoulder he bends forward. I reach behind him unclip the door and kick him out. It is all over in seconds with the door swinging open I race away from the scene my heart beating ten to the dozen, bloody hell that was a close one. I am still shaking when I arrive at the barn. The organiser approaches. He appears genuinely surprised to see me behind the wheel. I have an impression he was expecting to see someone else. “Where is your passenger?” he enquires. I tell him of my brush with the criminal and ask him. “Do you think I should report it to the police?” His face visibly pales.
“Ah! What’s the point he will be well gone, as long as you are ok why bother with the police, they will keep you for hours? Come on back her in let’s get you unloaded.” Within minutes my truck is unloaded. I pull forward out of the barn I sit for a while waiting for the payment while I do so I pick the pistol off the floor and am fiddling with it when he pops his head through the window. He sees the pistol disappears and returns in minutes handing me another two envelopes. “That is the payment for the other truck.” He explains when he gives me the extra envelope. “The other driver forgot to pick it up, see you again?” After a long eventful day I head back to the depot arriving as darkness drops in. I park up drain the cooling system collect the envelopes and am about to head over to Alec’s office when I remember the gun. I retrieve it from the passenger seat where I dropped earlier.