Is (3 page)

Nobody else had drawn anything as complicated as Trev's bridge. Susan Timson had simply made the road much fatter and said it was a big girder. I didn't think she'd get away with that, but Mr Phillips said it was all right – it was one of the types of bridges he was looking for.

Mine, as it turned out, was one of the other types. I couldn't believe my luck when I held up my drawing and Mr Phillips said, ‘Well done, Robert! That's an arch bridge you've drawn there. Perhaps you'd like to explain the principle behind it.'

What did I know about the principle behind it? ‘Well,' I started, unsure of what I had actually done, ‘the road here is just supported by these three arches under it, that's all.'

‘That's it exactly!'

I couldn't believe it. I'd actually done something right for a change.

‘An arch, you see,' continued Mr Phillips, ‘is a very strong structure indeed. Provided that the shape is right it will support an enormous amount of weight. Your arches are very nearly semi-circular so the force acting downwards spreads itself smoothly over the top of the arch and down each side.'

‘Spreads itself smoothly…?' What was he on about now, I thought – it sounded more like peanut butter than bridges. Of course, I didn't admit I didn't understand. Not a bit of it. I simply held the drawing up higher to make sure that everyone in the class had a good view – and would be able to recognise a really classy arch bridge in the future when they saw one.

But Mr Phillips hadn't finished yet.

‘And, wisely, I see you have chosen to use three arches because of the span. The river is – how wide did I say it was? 130 feet – ah, yes. Very well done, Robert.'

But, instead of sitting back down again, I was so flushed with my success that I continued holding my drawing up.

‘I said “thank you, Robert”. You may put your drawing down now.'

At that I dropped it on the desk, but it floated on to the floor and I had to scurry around under Trevor Smart's chair to retrieve it. When I got it back there was a dirty footprint from one of Trevor's size 6s on it. I'd see to him later…

But none of this prevented Mr Phillips from wittering on.

‘So now we have a suspension bridge, a girder bridge and an arch bridge,' he said. ‘I wonder if any of you have drawn another sort of bridge…' he paused for a minute then turned to Is. ‘Isabel, let's see your bridge, shall we?'

Isabel lifted her drawing up so we could all see. Mr Phillips stared at it then clucked his tongue, sounding like an old hen.

‘Oh, dear me, Isabel, no,' he chided. ‘You've missed the point entirely, haven't you?'

‘What do you mean, Sir?' asked Isabel in a hurt voice.

‘Well look at it, Isabel. What do you call this?' 

‘It's an arch bridge, Sir, like Robert's.'

‘But it wouldn't work, would it, Isabel. You've only drawn one arch across all that width. Why, it's almost flat in the middle!'

‘Of course it would work, Sir!' I couldn't believe it was Isabel speaking.

‘What did you say, Isabel?' Mr Phillips, I could tell, was already bristling.

‘I said of course it would work – Sir!' replied Isabel.

‘And what do you propose that this – “bridge” of yours would be made from?'

‘Bricks.'

‘Bricks? Hah!' Mr Phillips scoffed.

Even I could see that it wouldn't work. My own effort was much better considering. At least mine had enough arches to support the lorry, which was more than hers did. Arguing with Mr Phillips was pretty dumb too. But she wasn't about to give in.

‘Yes, bricks!' she yelled defiantly and stood up with her eyes blazing.

I'd never seen Is like that before. It was a quite extraordinary scene. Mr Phillips, needless to say, was not amused.

‘How dare you talk to me like that, my girl? How dare you answer back? I will not have it, do you hear? I will not have it! Your bridge would fall down. It couldn't possibly support its own weight, let alone the lorry's. And that is that!'

I thought Isabel would burst out crying there and then. But, amazingly, she didn't. She just spoke very quietly.

‘You are quite wrong, Sir. You might think that it wouldn't even support its own weight, but you would be quite wrong, Sir. As long as the arching forces are properly calculated and evenly transmitted, it would work. The design is perfect. You, Sir, do not know what you are talking about.'

‘Get to the Head! GET TO THE HEAD! This instant. This very instant, Isabel. How dare you… how dare you?'

Mr Phillips was spluttering so much that dribble was running down his chin. I'd never seen Mr Phillips in such a terrible rage before. The whole class went pale.

Is didn't show any signs of trembling or anything. She just put her drawing carefully down on the desk. Then she glanced at me, turned and walked slowly out of the room, down to the Head's office.

She got two nights' detention for her trouble. Still, it could have been worse. I did feel sorry for her, even though it was her own fault really.

Mind you, it made her a lot more popular with the rest of the class, standing up to Mr Phillips like that. Even Kevin Ryder grudgingly admitted she was all right.

‘For a girl,' he added.

3

River Walk

Luckily we didn't have any more lessons with Mr Phillips that week or who knows what would have happened. And by the following week I reckoned he would have cooled down a bit.

The rest of the week passed pretty much without incident, although Clever Trev got his come-uppance for stamping on my drawing. Somehow a bottle of ink leaked all over his English homework. I can't imagine how it could have happened…

The weekend came and I was planning to do no more than laze around. As it was, Brian, a friend who lived down the road, came round on Saturday morning with a new plane he'd made and we went over to the playing fields and got it going.

It was very good. He'd made it out of a balsa wood kit but it had a real engine and it went really well. Brian was all right. I liked him a lot. But I didn't see that much of him because he went to St Luke's, which was the local comprehensive school. We used to go to the same school but then I went on to the grammar school instead. I don't know why really, in many ways Brian was a lot cleverer than me. I certainly couldn't make a plane like he had. I'd be all fingers and thumbs. I was quite good at lazing in front of the television though, which was what I did on Saturday evening. I remember there was a programme called Opportunity Knocks, which was a bit like Britain's Got Talent, and my favourite, Doctor Who, which by then was on its third Doctor. I think the Doctor was fighting some aliens called the Sea Devils who lived in an abandoned sea fort or something. And the great thing was I was able to see it in colour, which was pretty cool back then. Lots of people I knew still had black and white televisions, even though colour TV had been around for about five years.

Next day I got up about ten, got myself some Weetabix and plonked myself down on the enormous cushion we had on the floor in the sitting room.

That's when Mum came in with her oh-so-healthy suggestion.

‘How about a walk?' she asked.

I said nothing, and pretended I hadn't heard, hoping the idea would soon be forgotten. Dad was slumped on the sofa reading the Sunday paper and he was usually about as keen on going for walks as I was. But you never can tell with parents. Just when I expected him to say ‘not today, Jean, if you don't mind' or something like that, what do you suppose he goes and says?

‘What a great idea, Jean! Lovely spring morning like this. Ideal.' And he pushed the paper aside and stood up.

I couldn't believe it.

‘Oh, do we have to, Mum?' I tried.

‘Yes, come on Rob, it'll do you good.'

‘Oh, Mum,' I pleaded, but I knew I was on to a loser.

‘I know,' piped up Dad, ‘what about a walk along the river.'

That settled it. Ten minutes later we were in the car and on our way down to the river by Maidenhead. We parked the car and walked down an overgrown track, eventually getting on to a footpath that ran between some hedges and down towards the Thames.

Even at this point the river is quite wide, and on the opposite bank, there were really large houses with boats moored alongside. Some of them even had their own private boathouses.

As we came level with the river a sleek white catamaran boat sailed past us, churning up the water as it went. In the other direction, a bright blue canoe slipped by with its two canoeists – dressed in clashing red – paddling away furiously.

From somewhere behind me came the sound of someone sawing logs with a chain-saw, which nearly drowned the quacks of a dozen or more ducks as they swam rapidly towards a small island in the middle of the river.

Then the path dived in between high hedges, cutting out our view of the river. On our right there were fields that we could just glimpse through the hedge. Reluctantly I had to agree it was a good day for a walk. For the time of year it was brilliant. The sky overhead was completely blue and the sun shone down brightly, but it wasn't hot, just right, with a nice light breeze.

The hedges finished and we came out by some large houses on our side of the river. Their back gardens appeared to run right down to the water's edge where many of them had boats moored. For a minute it looked like we were actually about to go right through their gardens, but we were obviously still on the path.

If these houses were large, they were nothing compared to the ones on the other bank. There was a huge black and white, Tudor-looking monstrosity which had an enormous turret. And it didn't just have a landing stage for a boat either. It had its own small private dock!

People around here must be incredibly rich, I thought.

And, while I was still thinking about that, I caught sight of something far, far more astonishing. Through the trees ahead was a bridge that looked horribly familiar. I stopped and puzzled over it for a second and then it came to me. It was Is's bridge! It was pretty well exactly as she'd drawn it. At least that's what it looked like. It had the same low sweep, the same lines as she'd painstakingly drawn three days ago in Mr Phillips' class.

There it was: the same impossibly flat arch she had in her drawing. Except there wasn't just one arch but two, spanning the river and meeting at a little island midway.

As I stared at it amazed, a train thundered across, which made me realise how large the bridge actually was. One thing was certain, this was Isabel's bridge all right; the one that Mr Phillips had said was ridiculous!

Then it disappeared from view behind some trees again so I decided to run on to have a closer look.

‘Hey, where are you going?' asked Mum. ‘We're not going much further, you know.'

‘I must see this bridge first,' I said, without thinking how daft that sounded.

I ran on, ignoring their protests. I couldn't believe it. The drawing that Is had done had been very detailed, unlike my scrappy affair. Looking at the bridge, which was getting bigger and bigger by the step, it was hard to believe that Is hadn't copied hers from a photograph. It was just the same in every respect.

Beyond it I could see another bridge, a road bridge, and this was much more like the one I'd drawn. It had lots of arches: there must have been four or five of them, to span the same width of river. But this one leapt across in just two broad arches. It did look impossible; it did look like Mr Phillips said. It was difficult to see how it could ever stay up. The centre section was virtually flat. But stay up it undoubtedly had for a great many years. This bridge was a hundred years old if it was a day. I was nearly up to it now. A motor boat chugged underneath it, completely dwarfed by the bridge's size.

‘Come back, Robert, will you?' called my mother from some distance behind.

‘Rob, do as your mother says,' joined in Dad.

‘Won't be a second,' I yelled back over my shoulder. ‘There's something I want to look at.'

The path continued underneath one of the arches and I walked through to the other side. As I did, I looked up at the bricks, many of which were stained white from lime or something.

Light reflected from the river created patterns on the underside of the bridge and I stopped and stared up; transfixed by the great spans of bricks, millions and millions of bricks.

I actually thought it rather beautiful. It was… what's the word? Elegant. Elegant's not a word I'd usually use. Never do. But it is exactly the word to describe that bridge.

Once I'd walked through to the other side I could see the other bridge clearly. There were indeed about five arches to carry the road. A much more typical bridge all round.

‘Robert! Are you coming or not?' I was jolted out of my thoughts by my father.

‘Sorry, just coming,' I said automatically and turned back towards my parents, every now and then shooting a glance over my shoulder at my discovery. ‘Have you seen that bridge?' I panted as I got back to where they were waiting. ‘Isn't it great?'