On this Sunday afternoon, the streets of Salford were quiet and deserted save for the few children playing outside. In this small industrial town west of Manchester, the locals were at rest, tucked away in their cosy homes: the UK Grand Prix automobile race had just finished, and the inhabitants of Salford were glued to their TV sets. They had admired the roaring of the engines, listened to the screech of tires on tarmac, and felt almost as if they were among the lucky spectators in the stands. The speed with which those futuristic machines moved was breathtaking; the corners were deadly, the drivers like Roman gladiators, lions of the arena risking their lives for the beauty of the spectacle. The excitement and enthusiasm of the residents of Salford was at its peak, for this was the very first time they had witnessed such a motor race. It made a nice change from rugby or horse-racing, but as with those sports there was great interest in placing bets, as the men staked a few pounds or a mug of beer on Scuderia or McLaren. Each man brought his predictions, opinions and comments on the subject. “I know race cars – I could tell their engines apart with my eyes closed!” boasted Jane’s father, who’d been a mechanic in Salford for twenty years. “All you work on is old bangers”, retorted Mary’s father, a plumber and self-proclaimed automotive engineer. In the end, it was the Italian Giuseppe Farina who won the race by a mile, winning the British Grand Prix to the thunderous applause of the inhabitants of Salford. “Oh, those Ferraris!” Jane’s father had sighed gaily.
Mary and Jane were bored. Cars, engines, helmets and all that palaver held no interest to them. Much of the day had been wasted on such poppycock, but they’d agreed to meet up for a chat on the pavement across the street, where they hoped not to be disturbed so they might spend what remained of the afternoon gossiping and sharing secrets, and thus make up for lost time.
“Have you kissed him yet?” Mary asked.
“Just a quick peck, and he told me I was pretty!” Jane answered.
“Did you tell your father?”
“If daddy knew he’d spank me! He’s not the type who’d let me flirt with a boy. He came back home furious on Friday as if the sky was about to fall.”
“Does your mum know?” Mary asked.
“Yes, I told her Paul and I were in love. She just told me to be careful. She doesn’t want Paul to break my heart or hurt me.”
“She’s right,” Mary insisted.
All of a sudden, the two girls heard voices at the end of the street; that must be John and Paul. Jane made a sign to show Mary that her sweetheart was coming, and to be discreet. Mary had promised Jane she would keep her secret. John was rolling a tire along the road; Mary and Jane smiled. It seemed the simple fellow was playing at car racing.
“When I grow up I'll have my own Alfa Romeo!” announced John.
“Stop showing off!” said Mary. “Can’t you see you’re getting your clothes all dirty with that filthy tire? Your hands are black, and you stink!”
“He’s not showing off,” said Paul, leaping to his friend’s defence. “We found the tire in a warehouse, and he’s practising!”
“Practising with just one wheel? That’s like playing chess with only one pawn!” Jane teased.
Paul gave an awkward smile. A friend was a friend, but a girlfriend stood higher on the podium of his loyalty.
“Girls just don’t understand cars!” he retorted, shoving her playfully.
“My father is a mechanic, and he’s taught me all about them. I’m sure I could roll that damn wheel better than you!”
“Show us, then! But you’ll have to catch us first!” called John, speeding up.
And so the girls chased after the boys through the streets of Salford, and they wondered if all that day’s racing and chasing perhaps held something in common after all, as their laughter was heard all around the deserted neighbourhood.
Alan Alfredo Geday
Comments