Scrap 26

SCRAP 26
Frank and Scotty are having breakfast at the dockyard café. They are discussing the fuel crisis. ‘Have you seen the ration books the Government have been handing out?’ asks Scotty. ‘What a joke that is. The garages have already run out of petrol so there won’t be any to ration.’
Frank has been making preparation for the shortage of diesel, taking 40 gallons from here and there whenever the opportunity has arisen. He has had to take yet another lock-up in which to store it all. ‘Ken’s one of the lucky ones,’ he says, ‘he’s got a contract with the local garage. They’re rationing their supplies to regular customers only. I notice they’ve bumped the price up though. They let me have 30 gallons this morning, not even enough to get me to Covent Garden and back.’
Scotty gives him a sly look. ‘I don’t suppose that will affect you too much,’ says Scotty, ‘I bet you have some extra tucked away you can lay your hands on.’ Frank smiles, ‘Sure I have; at a price.’
Considering the 40 gallons of diesel he is selling Ken has come from his own lorry, it is very generous of Frank to charge such a reasonable price. Ken has begrudgingly handed over the cash, knowing he has no choice. You can’t take goods to market if you don’t have the fuel.
Ginger spies the two buddies through the window and marches in. ‘You bastards,’ he shouts, moving towards them menacingly, ‘You’ve cost me a fucking fortune with those 50p pieces.’ He goes to take a swing at Frank but the big man is too quick for him, launching himself at the oncoming fist and grabbing the man in a bear hug. He squeezes very hard, crushing the breath from his unsuspecting attacker. ‘That’ll teach you not to cross me,’ he growls in Ginger’s ear. Ginger’s face has turned from pink to red to purple, his eyes bulge in their sockets and he lets out a squeak of protest. ‘What was that?’ asks Frank, gripping him even harder. ‘You want me to let you go?’ He throws the man against the wall, takes a chocolate bar from the table and throws it in his direction. ‘Here, looks like you need building up a bit,’ he laughs.
Ginger scrambles to his feet, gasping for breath. He scurries out into the fresh air without a backwards glance.
Frank calmly unwraps a chocolate biscuit and crams it into his mouth. Scotty is keen to change the subject. ‘What do you think about this new HGV licence then?’ he asks. Frank frowns at him, washes the remains of the biscuit down with his tea and sighs. ‘It’s alright for the likes of you,’ he says. ‘People like Ken have no option but to sign you up. In my case, being self- employed, he’s decided I should pay for it.’
‘What? He can’t do that. You’ve been driving for him more than six months already. You only need six months out of the qualifying period.’ Frank knows this, Ken knows this, everyone knows this. He also knows that all the hauliers in the country are making a packet signing forms for cash so that drivers don’t have to take the dreaded new test. ‘If Ken can screw a hundred notes out of me he is not going to pass on the opportunity. Nobody else will do it for less so I’m stuffed.’
‘That’s just typical of the tight bastard,’ growls Scotty. ‘Thank goodness I’m not self-employed. He can’t pretend I don’t work for him when he’s been putting me on the books all this time.’
Frank smiles as he finishes yet another chocolate biscuit. ‘Of course I have ways of getting it back off him. He won’t get one over on me with this one.’
‘Rosa is furious about the new rules,’ says Scotty. ‘She wasn’t 21 until November so even though she’s been driving lorries since she was 16 she can’t qualify. She’s signing other drivers’ applications and having to take the test herself.’
Frank has already heard Rosa ranting on about the unfairness of this rule. He would never pass if he had to take the test, nor would most of the drivers who qualify automatically. Some of them are downright dangerous. Gasper Gerry for instance, whose only experience prior to getting his licence was driving a 1930’s bullnose Morris round the parade ground at Catterick during National Service. If you didn’t hit anything you passed the test.
Frank has had his share of prangs in his years driving heavy vehicles. He was sacked from the buses after driving down the wrong road and slicing the top off his double-decker trying to go under a railway bridge. His first experience of driving an artic soon earned him the sack when he drove over a VW Beetle as he turned left onto Battersea Bridge on his way home from Covent Garden market, and rarely a week goes by without he scrapes the lorry on a wall or something. Yes, he is very glad he will not have to take the new HGV test. Very glad indeed.