The Water Bowser (3)

The boys gathered at the bowser soon after breakfast.

Dob brought a foot pump, which he managed to connect via a very rusty valve to the deflated tyre and patiently pushed air into it with a steady stepping of his right foot. Bum had brought a jam jar with a string tied round the lip at the top to which he tied the longer rope to and, sitting astride the tank, lowered it in then drew it out full of green water – repeatedly.

J and Eb, working a little away from the tank, finished their roadway to the dumper track. They broke off a discussion about how they could use the universal tool (and Dob of course) to change the direction of the tank once it was moving to laugh at a yelp from Dob. Inevitably Bum had become careless with the detail of his operation. Whilst he maintained a close attention to the filling and drawing of the jar he became somewhat lackadaisical about where he tipped the contents. Dob, head down, focussing on maintaining a steady rhythm on the foot pump, became aware of a wetness on one shoulder. He turned his head, backwards and upwards opening his mouth to complain when Bum threw a good jar full of green slimy water in his direction.

Then it was just the application of the plan ……. just a lot of pushing and levering, from three of them at least. It had been agreed that Bum, despite adding to the weight that had to be moved, was best off staying astride the tank, like a jockey on a very slow-moving horse, continuing to draw jar fulls of water.

The tank moved easily along a foot or so at a time in some places and became stuck in others, requiring more work to the track bed and often spurts of high energy from those providing motive force (a phrase that Eb, fresh from his railway experience was keen to use). Lunch time was approaching when one of the wheels finally pushed up against a ridge at the edge of the dumper track. They had brought their track bed in at an angle so a series of slight adjustments with the universal tool was required to rock the tank across and into the dumper track. They were becoming proficient with the universal tool now, able to work out where and how pressure needed to be exerted on different parts of the tank’s chassis to produce the required movement. With a final lever up from Dob and concerted pushing from the side by the other two the tank lurched sideways and into place, in the centre of the track.

Eb’s whoops drowned out the yell from Bum, who then emerged spluttering from under the tank, his face a browny muddy green.

After a sandwich lunch and a very welcome ginger cake from Bum’s mum they sauntered along the dumper track that ran at a slight decline down the ridge on their side of the site. They inspected the state of the track, marking out ruts and potholes that had to be remedied and then came to a stop at the right-angle bend where the track ran decidedly downhill into the shallow valley in the middle of the site.

‘Going to be difficult getting it round this.’

‘Downhill it’ll be difficult to control.’

‘Have to do it step by step, maybe hold it back with ropes.’

‘What you doing?’ a girl’s voice cut through the discussion. Maureen and Jan had come up to them unnoticed.’

The boys turned, startled and a bit uncomfortable.

‘Nothing’ responded Eb, irritated.

‘You’re doing something with that tank, we’ve been watching you.’

‘Not doing nothing,’ muttered Dob.

‘Anything! ….. not doing anything … not nothing’

They all turned to stare at Bum.

‘Sorry,’ he grinned, ‘can’t help it.’

‘What you done to your mouth? What you doing on top of the tank?’

‘And falling off!’ laughed Jan.

Eb changed the subject. ‘That a new bike Jan?’

‘Yeah, got it for my birthday … it’s a bit big but mum said I’d grow into it.’

‘It’s a boy’s bike … it’s got a cross bar.’

‘Yeah, my mum said I should have a proper bike like hers … but I didn’t want drop handlebars.’

‘Cripes! It’s got gears an all … Sturmey Archer … show us how they work … can I have a go?’

Soon Eb was whizzing round the tracks, with an anxious Jan only just stopping herself from calling out ‘be careful – it’s brand new!

‘My mum saw your mum and talked about us all going to this new youth club at the community centre. Do you want to give it a try?’

‘Sorry Mo,’ J sighed, ‘we can’t go, we’re busy.’

‘Busy?’ she laughed, ‘You just said you were doing nothing.’

‘We’re moving the bowser,’ interjected Bum, who clearly was not across the politics of the situation.

J sighed again, although this time inwardly. He knew where this discussion was now going and, to be blunt, he didn’t care much for it. It was a bit embarrassing really.

‘Is that tank the bowser?’

Bum nodded.

‘Where are you moving it too?’

‘Why?’

‘Because the valve jammed and then we broke it and so I’m having to ….’

‘No,’ Mo blew out her cheeks, ‘Why are you moving it?’

Silence. The silence that J had seen coming. The boys studied the ground at their feet unwilling to confront the futility of their endeavour. The girls waited for an answer.

‘Dunno really,’ mumbled Dob eventually, then, remembering the alternatives he pulled his head up and smiled, ‘but it’s good fun!’

‘Better than nothing.’ Agreed a reluctant J.’

‘Nothing …… but better than nothing, good fun … but difficult,’ laughed Mo, ‘You’ll be needing a hand to sort all that out then.’

— X –

It’s amazing the difference that an extra pair of pushers and pullers made. By the end of the afternoon they had successfully coaxed the bowser (with Bum astride its tank) along the old dumper truck to the right hand bend at the top of the slope. Now Dob took control, ordering Bum (fortunately) back down onto the ground. He tried a couple of experimental leverages with the universal tool before explaining how he thought they could gradually turn it through 90 degrees by what they had come to call ‘the lurch method’.

All six of them literally bent their backs. As Dob levered an axle upwards so they all pushed sideways on the end of the bowser until it slid down the pole a couple of inches further over. This was the hardest thing that they had yet attempted and progress was slow, and at times non-existent. Dob, seemingly undeterred by the challenge and setbacks patiently kept wedging and levering and the others kept pushing when told until, with a shout of success from Dob, the bowser tottered on the edge of yet another solid concrete ridge and then tipped down into the required position with an alarming swaying motion, water plainly audible sloshing around inside.

‘Phew!’ Mo panted, ‘Thank goodness that’s over.’

‘Wouldn’t have managed that without you two,’ Eb, hands on knees, grinned at Mo and Jan, the latter now sitting on a stray breeze block.

‘Are you sure that’s in the right place?’

‘Yup, lined up perfectly, just at the top of the slope,’ Dob grinned, leaning against one of the rear wheels, ‘now all we have to do tomorrow is …..   Whoa! Whoa! ….’ The others looked around in alarm as Dob seemed to slip backwards – or was it the bowser moving forwards?

As if in one of those slowed down films, they watched the wheels slowly rotating, the bowser was indeed on the move.

‘Don’t get in the way!’ shouted Bum as J and Eb moved to try and halt its progress.

And then, as if released, it was away, moving down the track with a steadily increasing speed. Halfway down the slope it must have hit a stone, brick or a particularly deep rut for it suddenly lurched sideways, its back rearing into the air before coming down with a crash on the protruding tow frame which seemed to bend on impact. The bowser now tipped over on the wheels on one side and slid off the track, straight towards a rather vulnerable looking wall of a partially built house.

‘Oh shit!’