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Being a Story of' Just One , Vehicle Engaged on Longdistance Haulage and ',Nat Befel its.Driver jn His Efforts to Conform to Unit Control Time
Schedules
. By
Alex H. Lashbrooke
WIPING his lips with a rather VI' soiled handkerchief, Gus let the transport cafe door slam behind him, and sauntered across the pull-in to his wagon. A lithe and wiry man, idling did not become him—and he knew it.
A new arrival descended from the high cab of a petroleum lorry. " Watcher, Gus! 'Ow yer doint? "
"Hallo, mate. Me? I'm browned off. Creeping about on this new unit control schedule gets me down. I'm an hour early now—I dunno 'ow. I'm gonna waste any more time to-day " 'Ave a sleep up the road," suggested Bert brightly, " but stop the wagon first! "
" Yeh. Speed up the war eliort," retorted Gus, a cynical smile twisting his mouth. "Well, s'long. You'll find 'em arguing in there—about control, as per."
"Thank Heaven it don't affect us," replied Bert. " See yer down there—keep to the left! "
Gus leisurely settled hignself in the driving seat and a few minuteS later set his wagon rolling slowly northwards. His next stop would be the Reynard Inn, near Grantham.
" Be dinner time when I get chere," he mused, "and, oh boy, do they do a ,Champion dinner! "
Ahead of Schedule *It was too warm for November, and Gus found it. necessary to remove his overcoat. In view of his slow. ed-down schedule for the London-Newcastle run, this gave a welcome excuse to stop for a few minutes, and he took the opportunity to walk around inspecting his wagon, tyres and load.
Moving on again, he began think. ing of the difference between this, his first journey under " coirtrol," and the last in this direction, not controlled.
For the guv'nor, he'd done the :aine journey intwo-thirds the time —and enjoyed it. True, the guv'nor made it worth his while to step on the gas and, although his -long sixwheeler was limited to 20 m.p.h., 30 odd became habitual. •
The extra speed kept a man alert, and the roads were almost deserted nowadays., anyway. Avoiding a speeding pinch was part of the fun, a perpetual battle of wits with the cops. Why, it added just enough spice to driving to Make the job interesting! It never got monotonous then,
But now . . . instead of running as one of the noted A.W.A. (Anywhere With Anything) Transport Co.'s wagons, his vehicle was merely a unit, hired by the Government under the control scheme. He was hired with jt—like part of the fittings.
"Practically makes me a Civil Servant," Gus cracked, " but I ain't got an umbrella.'7
For the first month the wagon stagnated in the yard—" standing by," control called it—and Gus sat dozing in the shed for hours, bored stiff, mumbling" Nowhere with nothin' " in his sleep. It seemed crazy to him. The Government paid the hire and wages just the same-4t was the first time in his life he'd got something for nothing!
They were on the road again now, a newly painted number on the cab 'door informing the initiated that the wagon* was controlled.
" Like blinking convicts," the guv'nor remarked, bitterness edging his voice.
Gtis's number was 51/RZ/41/ 60106. The guv'nor said only the last figure mattered on the log sheets, for " 60106 " indicated the wagon he was driving.
• " Don't like it," Gus-spat out, " it adds up to 13." .
" So it does," replied the guv'nor, amused.
A Crime to be Early
Under control schedules the speed limit of 20 was strittly observed, making.. the average speed about 16 m.p.h. If you .exceeded it, one of a new army of transport inspectors might pop out of a car you obligingly waved On, stop you, examine -your papers and tick you off (if nothing worse) for being early.
" 'Blimey! " Gus burst out toa stray spider in the corner of his wind41creeit, " at this speed you'll be able , to spin your blinkin' webs all over me an' all! '.' The spilder appeare,d unmoved atthe prospect. "And to think," continued Gus confidentially, "a gent. I gave a lift to once, told me the minimum speed in the
Hudson River Tunnel. in America was 40 m.p.h.! " .
Did it make sense? At the docks you could still see " Quicker Turnround" notices addressed to transport workers. Often, early in the war, his paper included warrants cancelling the speed limit, with certain loads. Now they were slowing down road transport of goods—all munitions of war in one form or another.. No, damn it, it didn't make sense.
Gus parked at, the Reynard Inn and for sheer pleasure in doing something quickly, hurried inside.
The table chatter was an exchange of unit control experiences . . continued. for weeks past, wherever
drivers met. But Gus sat silent, enjoying his dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire, an enormous chunk of jam pudding and a pint of tea.
, Feeling comfortably full, he couldn't bother to argue. -" Oh, blast control! " he exclaimed to the others, 'I 'ate the bloornin' word. Let's talk about something else."
Having wasted enough time to put himself right with his schedule, Gus travelled on again. His engine behaved perfectly, pulling the wagon along with a steadyburn.
Keeping a Steady "20"
On an empty road all he had to do was to hold the Wheel steady, and keep a very light foot on the accelerator. The latter was important—itwas so easy to lel the speedo. needle creep above 20, but, with conscious effort, he held it dead on the figure • for nearly an hour.
". My, it's warm to-day," he muttered. He held his head out of the window • for a while. " Wish I had someone to talk to. Say, a nice little Waaf. P'raps I'll pick one up soon."
A soft rain misted the screen. He switched on the wiper. The moment it started its purring swing, back and forth on the wet glass, his eyes began to dither and jump.
" I've had too much dinner," Gus decided. He shook his head vigorously. The engine hummed steadily.
" Wish I could travel a bit faster," he said to the spider on the windscreen, " but I daresn't."
. The wiper purred and purred, the .engine hummed drowsily . . . so
drowsily, .
Two occasional road users peered into Gus's cab, now "wrapped around" a telegraph pole on the off side of the road.
"He's dead," said one.
Aye," replied the other; " that's result of t'fellow speeding, I'll lay."
And invisibly near, in the golden mist above the Jordan, Gus heard them and laughed.