Scrap CH THREE part 11

Scrap CH THREE part 11
To top a great week Frank and Scotty have been sent to the cherry orchards to load up with Sweethearts. The air is sweet with the smell of cherries, crushed grass and cider, which has been sent down by the farmer to refresh the itinerant workers, most of whom come every year to help with the harvest.
As the last tray is carefully stacked and the loads secured the pals gratefully down their cold pints of thirst quencher before setting off towards the London markets. The sky is still light even though it is nearly 10pm and they are treated to a glorious display from the heavens as they turn their lorries onto the main road. Frank has already positioned an extra tray of fruit on the seat next to him and proceeds to work his way through the 14lbs of sweet delights, spitting the pips through the open window as he goes and imagining a forest of trees growing up along the grass verges in years to come. It is remarkable how much food the man can put away and by the time he draws up at the stand in Spitalfields Market the tray is empty.
The men are waiting for him and eager to get their own teeth into the first cherries of the season. Frank manages to filch another tray while nobody is looking and pops it up on top of the stack which is destined for another customer. ‘Can you take some of these pallets with you driver?’ Asks the forklift truck operator, who has already lifted a stack of them onto the forks. ‘Yeah, I can take them off your hands,’ Frank replies, mentally rubbing his hands at the pocket money they will fetch him on the way home. ‘They take up so much room,’ grumbles the forklift driver as he deposits four stacks of them onto the trailer, ‘It’s all very well the convenience and all that but we simply don’t have room for the empties and nobody seems to want them.’ Frank says he will always be happy to oblige and the stand owner gives him a pound for his trouble, making the deal doubly sweet.
Scotty has not finished his first drop as despite the load being placed onto the trailer on pallets the stand does not have a forklift truck and eight hundred trays have to be handed down two at a time and walked into the stand by the elderly porter and his dim-witted teenage mate. Fortunately the next stand is easier and he remembers to offer clearing any empty pallets. The owner can’t wait to get rid of the things which have been taking up valuable space on his stand for a week and they pile on as many as they can before he moves on to his final delivery. Scotty wonders who is paying for all these pallets when they are such a nuisance, but if the Medway depot is so keen to have them he is glad to be of service.
He stops on his way to Borough Market to hide a tray of cherries in the rope box beneath the trailer, securing it with a padlock. His family will be thrilled to share out a whole tray of the fruit. The treat will even bring a smile to Dawn’s face as they are her favourite. She hasn’t been smiling much of late, but then she has always been on the gloomy side, like her mother. However hard he tries Scotty can’t seem to please her; she always has her hand out for more. Ah well, that’s life he supposes and at least he can drive away from the mayhem and get some peace; Dawn has it all the time with all the domestic chores and one or other of the kids playing up. He certainly wouldn’t want to swap places with her. He is, however, somewhat concerned at her insistence on learning to drive.
Mavis had driven an ambulance during the war and was forever reminding him that in all the five years’ service she never once hit anything, despite his insistence that women drivers shouldn’t be allowed on the roads. ‘Nobody dared say that when they needed us to drive the buses and ambulances in the war,’ she would say, and he had to admit that was true but it still didn’t mean he wanted his scatty wife to get behind the wheel.
‘It won’t cost you a penny,’ Mavis had told him, ‘I’m going to teach her then once she’s passed her test you can see about buying her a little run-around.’ Scotty hadn’t even bothered to argue but he wondered where she thought the money would come from to buy this vehicle and keep it on the road. He just hoped that Dawn would go off the idea. She had already scared her mother half to death on two occasions, once when she drove into a hedge and again when she almost landed in a ditch as she was checking her appearance in the rear view mirror instead of looking where she was going. No, it was very unlikely that his wife would ever pass her test so he again puts the dreaded thought to the back of his mind and turns his attention to the picnic she has packed up for him. Cheese sandwiches again. Dawn always asks what he wants in his pack-up and reels off a list of options: ham, tongue, beef, egg, and so on but he always asks for cheese. ‘I like cheese,’ he explains but it doesn’t stop her asking.
It is almost 4am when the two pals meet outside the pallet depot. The four acre site is piled high with second-hand pallets and a huge sign fixed to the chain link perimeter fence proclaims ‘Best prices paid for all four way pallets.’ A sleepy looking young man with a gipsy look about him comes out from his caravan, unlocks the heavy padlock on the iron gates and swings them open. He starts up the forklift truck and sets about unloading the trailers. Once he has finished he reaches in the pocket of his check lumber jacket and fetches out a wad of notes. A man of few words, he hands them each a hundred and ten pounds, waits for them to leave, locks the gates shut and returns to his bed. The two men have earned more in ten minutes than they will get all week from Ken Chapman.
The sun is warming the marshes as they drive onto the Island, a layer of mist gathering above the sodden grass. Sheep ignore the lorries as they pass on their way to the docks where this morning they will be loading up trays of peaches from Spain. With the strawberries and cherries they will make a tasty fruit salad for the weekend.