' N OW, it came to pass that Alfred (" Our A lf " to his
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intimater friends), the lorry driver's mate, was travelling the King's Highway during the day on which was celebrated the eve of Christmas. The snow lay thick upon the ground, and the driver's hands, unlike his speech, were as cold as the Proverbial icebound pool. They were colder, in fact, but that's another story.
In spite of the weather, snatches of song were heard above the steady drone of theengine, for the journey thus far had been punctuated by halts at many wayside inns. So many, in fact, that the driver automatically swung his machine into any. piece of land on which vehicles equal to his own in size and importance were assembled.
Such an assemblage he knew to be a sure sign that a Yuletide atmosphere prevailed within, and with a joyful cry of "Let's try one in 'ere," he would bring his machine to a juddering halt that invariably landed the mate at the door of the public." In this manner he could be certain that Alfred would have the honour of being first to the bar.
It{ the fullness. of time the. driver and I mate emerged from the inn into the cold December night. As they trod their silent path to the wahine machine they expressed themselves in no uncertain terms about the national beverage of those times.
It could be likened, they agreed, to the cool, clear waters that once flowed through the babbling brooks of Babylon. The mate, in fact, was all in favour of enlarging on this theme, when the driver softly hinted that the spot lamp might be" rubbed
a2 up a bit." The call of the traveller was strong upon him.
Producing a piece of dirty rag from his attire, the mate proceeded to rub the lamp with considerable vigour, whereupon there was a blinding flash, clouds of smoke, and in front of him rose an Oriental-looking gentleman wearing a turban and a beautiful pair of pyjamas. These, thought the mate, must have cost him many clothing coupons.
Folding his arms across his massive chest and bowing low, the figure spoke: "I am the Genii, Cripes, thy faithful servant What is the wish of my Lord and Master?'
Now the mate, you might think, would have been completely nonplussed by this unprovoked turn of events, but the men of his calling were famed in those days foil' their readiness of speech. They were not, as it were, lacking in the art of rhetoric.
" Blimey," said the mate, using the picturesque speech of his people, "fair gave me a fright you did, what with that name and all."
" My name, Sire?" queried the Genii in deep. measured tones. "My name, Cripes; wiry should that cause you fright?"
" Blimey," repeated the mate, "With a name like that I 'ad visions of this lot being labelled up for export."
"An export label? And what would that be, 0 Lard and Master? Is it some small service I can da you for now?"
The mate eyed the Genii with some suspicion. "You can cut out the Mrs. A4opp stuff for a start," he said, and went on to explain that a package labelled "Export Only" contained goods for which the people of his country had much liking but little chance of acquiring.
"It's a popular sport in these parts," he continued, "invented by a bloke with a name very much like yourn. In fact,, if he wore an outfit like that 4 might almost take you for brothers."
"And what happens," asked the Genii, "to these goods for which your people have so much liking?"
"Overseas," spat the mate "Earning dollars;, balancing Our payments, they calls it Lot of twaddle!"
" Aha! " said the Genii, with a knowing wink. "Methinks I follow my master. You desire, I see, to visit foreign lands to earn for thyself , many of these dollars,"
"Na look 'ere, chum," the mate cut in, but the worthy Crirses was not to be frustrated. He now knew what his Lord and Master reauired and he it was who would see that he got it!
AND so it was that poor Alfred, protesting meekly as he floated through space, was borne to the land of the lotus flower; to the land of confusion and corruption.
He found himself, at last, seated beside a slant-eyed gentleman in a two-wheeled pram-like conveyance. Looking about him, he noticed that a great many similar contraptions were parading this eastern highway and that they were all being propelled by old, squat Chinamen who gripped the shafts, firmly and ran like the wind; a windthat was conspicuous by its absence in those parts. Stepping down, Alf turned and stared with amazement at a board fixed to the hood of what he now recognized as a rickshaw. It read: " Rickshaw for hire. Distance no object. We pull 'em, you ride 'em." And it was signed "Alf Higgins (Two Seaters) Ltd."
Alf looked round again at the figure slumped so drunkenly on the rickshaw seat. That, surely, is my driver, thought Alf, and yet he looks so different somehow—sort of squinteyed. Regaining some of his old humour, however, he addressed himself to the reclining figure.
" Where to now, me old China?" he said. And the figure replied in a singsong voice that had a vaguely familiar ring. It said, "Me likee opium. Velly smoky, okey dokey." " Cor lumme." Alf blurted, "same. blinkin' programme!"
He was just about to make off in the manner of those he had perceived in this Street of a Thousand Delights when a uniformed individual approached him. "That's torn it," cried Alf. "A rozzer or I'm a Dutchman." And he dropped the shafts of his rickshaw in much less time than it took to build the Great Wall of that ancient country.
"You gettee licence?" asked the representative of the law, for that, indeed, was his noble calling " Licence? " echoed Alf, groping quickly among the many folds of the shirt that hung from his neck to his knees. " Yus, mate, here it is." And he produced a strange-looking document that was covered with weird hieroglyphics.
" Aha!" said the Oriental rozzer. " Ehee! I see you breakee law."
"What, me?" whined Alf, with the look of pained surprise that he always wore on like occasions.
"Yes, you," said the rozzer, fixing his gaze on the board on Alf's rickshaw. "Your board, he speakee, 'Distance No Object,' yet you only gettee B licence."
Alf turned in dismay to the likeness of his dear friend 'Arry, the driver, saying, " Blimey, chum, 'ere too?"
"Yes, indeed," spoke the rozzer in the gentle tones of his profession; "you are outside your lawful area. Take thyself hence, a distance of two blocks, to the Street of a Hundred Delights."
" I see," said Alf sadly, " it's the same old story, then; different laws for the rich and the poor" And lifting the shafts he made off for two blocks, to the street where the delights of even the Chinese were rationed.
ARRIVING in this nefarious r-tthoroughfare, where the monsoon drains flowed with everything but milk and honey, Alf was directed to a little shop whose only window bore a small card announcing "Turkish Only." His shoulders ached not a little, and he wished he had been left with his shoes, even his socks. As it was he could only lean miserably on the shafts of his rickshaw and murmur plaintively, "Oh, for a retread."
His passenger alighted and, telling him to wait, stepped carefully through the narrow doorway, to be immediately lost in the blackness within. There was, it seems, something under the counter!
Alf looked around him with wide eyes and gaping mouth at this wonderful Eastern scene; at the washing hanging from poles that stuck out from the windows; at the garbage lying in the centre of the road; at the slant-eyed Chinese maidens who cast him sidelong glances as they shuffled silently by. A much more interesting place, he thought, than the fly-ridden Western Desert.
With this warming thought, his mind was just turning to the as yet unsolved mysieries of the Street of a Hundred Delights, when the tinkling of a bell drew his attention to a pedlar who carried his wares on an old wooden tart. It wasn't rso much the pedlar as his wares that took Alfred's eye. For the cart was filled with the most amazing assortment of lamps; old lamps, new lamps, lamps made of silver, of brass, of all kinds of metals and in many different shapes and sizes.
And gazing thus, Alf suddenly remembered—his lorry the inn, the lamp and the Genii. " Cripes," Alf shouted, "I wonder!" He rushed to the cart and began searching hurriedly through the wonderful assortment of lamps. His hands shook with excitement. Yes, there it was, the lamp. The self-same lamp he had been polishing when the interfering Genii, Cripes, h a d appeared.
Hardly breathing, tense with emotion at this stroke of good fortune, Alf grasped that portion of his voluminous shirt upon which he normally seated himself and rubbed with greater vigour than he had ever rubbed anything before in his life.
He rubbed and he rubbed, and the more he rubbed the colder he became. Colder and colder,until his dimmed senses warned him that the cold hands of fate were once again carrying him aloft.
THE cold hands of fate, wrapped in a pair of grimy mittens, were firmly grasping Alfred's head. Cold hands they were, cold and rough.
'Any was saying, "Sorry, chum, didn't mean no 'arm, I didn't. Frew a snowball and fergot ter take the spanner out of me 'ands. Caught yer right on the boko, it did. Fair gave me a fright, no kiddin'." Btit the mate was quite deaf to the driver's apologies_ He turned over with a contented sigh. And gazing up into the bucolic countenance that hovered hazily above his own, he murmured: " You . likee opium? Velly. smoky, okey dokey! "