Motor Bikes

Going back several years Reg, who was the mechanically‑minded one, used his gratuity to buy a small motor bike. It was an OK Supreme with a Villiers two‑stroke engine, and belt drive direct to the rear wheel, and neither clutch nor gearbox. This meant it had to be runned off, which wasn't too bad when he was alone. it happened that he was going to take me to Norwich to see the City play it was a different kettle of fish. He would run alongside with me running behind him until the engine fired. Reg then leapt on and I had to take a running jump on to the pillion, praying I wouldn't do myself a mischief on landing!

The little bike puttered along quite happily on the open road, but when we got to Norwich, fresh problems had to be faced. The tramlines up Bracondale were a menace, as unless they were crossed at a sharp angle, the narrow section tyres could drop into the groove with disastrous results. It didn't help matters that the street was usually full of plunging bellowing cattle being driven from the market to Trowse Station. With no clutch, if you stopped ‑ the engine stopped ‑ and the starting ritual began all over again. It was all good fun nevertheless, and a vast improvement on push‑biking up to the matches.

In the business, transport was becoming a problem as jobs were coming in from farther afield. It was no joke at all to push a handcart for miles carrying tools and timber, only to find something had been forgotten, and someone had to walk back to the shop to fetch it. It so happened that Lionel, our postman friend, had an old Triumph with a wickerwork sidecar he wanted to sell. Reg heard of this, and saw the opportunity of making the firm more mobile. He sold his little OK, and he and Charley between them bought the Triumph to use in the business. The old wicker sidecar was all right for a passenger, but not much good for carting gear around. After a bit of thought, they sold the old sidecar and chassis, and bought a new chassis with a specially detachable sidecar. They then made a long wooden box which could be interchanged with the sidecar in a matter of minutes, and their transport troubles were over. Reg soon mastered the technique of sidecar driving, but try as he did he couldn't persuade Charley to have a go. So when Reg died Charley was sunk. He had the means of transport but couldn't use it.

This was my chance, and I got a driver's licence straight away. The licence arrived one Saturday when I was out, so to Mother's disgust, I was off down to the workshop first thing Sunday morning. I got the machine out, and then started worrying in case I couldn't start it up. I understood the mechanical side fairly well, primed the engine with the tap provided for that purpose, set the controls, and gave a hefty kick on the kicks tarter. Lo and behold! off it went, thumping away beautifully. I knew it could be difficult to steer, with no balance to consider, but luckily for me I had no problems. After driving it round the yard a few times, I drove up to Charley's to demonstrate my proficiency, and he was pleased enough that transport was once again available. So that was my introduction to motor biking ‑ good fun which was to go on for a lot of years, and covering some dozen or more different makes and types.

The old Triumph was destined to travel many thousands of miles, more often than not grossly overloaded but always willing. Charley still wouldn't try to drive but it didn't matter much as long as I could. I learnt a good deal about the mechanics, doing what maintenance was needed and replacing worn or broken parts as the occasion arose. Two things which always had to be carried with the old Triumph were a tin of French chalk and a belt punch. The belt would always start slipping when it rained and had to be dusted with the chalk to rectify this, while the belt punch was needed if the belt broke. Evenings and weekends off came the box and on went the sidecar, for any pleasure driving. This was just down my street, as there were few sidecar outfits around and it was no trouble at all to get a passenger, especially a female!

After a few months, I was working in the garden one evening when I heard the unmistakable thumping of the old Triumph in the distance, from the direction of the workshop. I thought to myself "Hello, here's Charley having a go at last." I threw down my spade and trotted off the short distance to the shop to see how Charley was progressing. I heard the bike accelerating, then a horrible rending sound. As I turned the corner, there was Charley smoking his pipe as usual, with a trail of broken and splintered palings behind him, and the sidecar embedded in the neighbour's fence. He was laughing, and I soon joined him as I asked him how on earth he had managed to come to grief like that. "I started off in the middle of the road", he laughed, "but the duzzy thing went straight for the fence, and I couldn't duzzy well stop it."

That was the peculiarity of sidecar driving. Until you got the hang of it, it would go every way except where you wanted it. We dragged the outfit back on to the road with very little damage except, of course, to the fence, which we soon repaired. "Now Charley" I said "you've made a start; now have another go." "Not duzzy likely" was Charley's reply, "I'd wreck half the duzzy village." Then I had an idea. I got in the old box, sitting right in the front, and got Charley to start it up again. I held one end of the handlebar while he put it into gear and let in the clutch. We moved off, making a beeline for the hedge, but I held the handlebar firmly and steered back to the middle of the road. I sat there steering with one hand, with Charley holding the handlebars, and kept it on the road. He very soon found out that leaning this way or that had no effect at all, but that you must push and pull the bars to steer it. After a mile or so he suddenly got the idea. I let go, but still sat there ready to grab the bar if he got into trouble.

All went well until, in the distance, I saw a horse and cart approaching on the rather narrow road. I had been so preoccupied in teaching him to steer that it never entered my mind that he probably didn't know where the brake controls were. I shouted "put the brake on", but nothing happened except we were going straight for the horse and cart. I grabbed the handlebar again, gave it a hefty pull, ran up the bank past the cart and down again, both of us petrified for the moment. Charley then stopped the engine and coasted to a standstill. I then got out and did what I should have done in the first place ‑ that is ‑ told him what the various controls were and how to work them. He never had any further trouble, and soon became a competent driver.