The Third-Class Genie (15 page)

With a “Look out!” from the constable and a groan from Blaggett, the large black-clad man dropped like a stone into the awful slimy depths of the canal. At that moment, Mr Hardcastle, with two men in overalls carrying scaffolding planks, hurried through the gate.

“Here we are, Mr Blaggett. This should cope with the canal,” he called cheerfully.

But Councillor Blaggett, who was coping with the canal in his own way, gave no reply. He rose into sight from the black sludge. His beautiful hat was gone for ever, but round the centre of his pink, balding head, with its white cluster of curls, sat a dank skullcap of greasy mud.

On the bank the constable was struggling to take off his jacket. Mr Hardcastle, after a dumbstruck moment, began to run down to the side of the canal, the two other men following as quickly as they were able with the planks. The councillor with both arms raised to the sky, like a mad pop star, was slowly sliding down again into the gungey depths.

“Oh, can’t we help him?” gasped Eulalia.

Alec had an inspiration.

“Quick, give me a hand, Ginge.”

With Ginger’s help, Alec freed the lever on the crane drum. It jerked forward, jammed, then jerked forward again.

Alec shouted to Eulalia over his shoulder, “you and Abu sneak off at the back. They’ll never notice you with all this toing and froing.”

“OK,” shouted Eulalia. “Come on, Abu.”

To Alec’s relief, the chain unwound on the drum, slid along the crane arm and, with a rattling roar, dropped down towards the struggling Blaggett. Alec poked his head through one of the broken sections of the window.

“Sir,” he called, “Mr Blaggett. Catch hold of the chain and we’ll pull you up.”

Councillor Blaggett looked up wildly, caught the chain with one hand, then the other, and held on like grim death. Then, to Alec and Ginger’s amazement, he shouted, “There they are, Constable. In the crane house. Get the planks down, get across and catch them.”

“Hey,” said Ginger, “what a fanatic! He’d put his own mother in jail if she crossed the road on a green light.”

“Give us a hand with the winding handle,” said Alec. Together they grabbed the handle and began to heave. It was not easy. With Blaggett on the end, they were heaving a dead weight. But they managed to force the handle up and over, and once the drum began to revolve, the effort became easier. After a couple of minutes though they had to rest. Alec pressed down the brake handle with his foot and they looked out of the window. Councillor Blaggett was clear of the canal now. He hung in mid-air, a great bundle of sodden clothes, streaming with canal slime, his face streaked with ooze, his shirt a mouldy green colour. Even Mrs Blaggett wouldn’t recognize him.

Along the canal bank, the council man and his assistants were busy fixing planks to repair the gap in Alec’s bridge. The constable thought it his duty to remain on the towpath, anxiously watching the councillor, as he swung gently to and fro on the end of the chain.

“Are you lads sure you can handle that crane?” shouted PC Hadley

“If we can’t, it’s all up with the councillor,” shouted Ginger.

A red flush appeared beneath the treacly covering on the councillor’s face.

“You impudent young…”

Ginger roared with laughter.

“Councillor, I love you. You’re so black, you’re almost beautiful!”

“Hey up. Don’t upset him too much,” warned Alec.

“Upset him? I’d like to,” retorted Ginger. “What kind of a man is that? We save his life, and all he can think of is how he can get at us.”

“Ah, well, Abu’s away with Eulalia,” replied Alec. “Have you got your puff back, Ginge? We’ll start again if you have.”

Ginger nodded. “Look, they’ve got the planks across now. They’ll be over here in a minute.”

They both leaned their weight on the winding handle and with a creak from the chains, Councillor Blaggett began his dignified ascent once more.

Suddenly from the distance, Alec heard,

“Daa-da-da-daa.”

“Hey, what’s that crazy hooting? I’ve heard it before from home, just when we’re starting tea.”

“It’s my dad, bringing the 3.30 into Bugletown Station,” answered Alec, feeling proud for some reason.

“He drives the diesel, eh? That’s something. My dad’s thought of getting a job on the railway.”

“Why not?” said Alec. “Hey, look, Councillor Blaggett’s nearly reached the top.”

“Yes, looks like he’s made it,” grinned Ginger.

The councillor, his face no longer reddish-purple but grey-white beneath its crust of black muck, was reaching out now for the main crane girder.

“Think he’ll be able to manage it on his own?” said Alec anxiously.

Ginger looked keenly along the girder. “He’ll never do it. Look, Skinny. Can you hold this? I’ll climb out along the iron and pull him on board. Can you manage?”

“Simple,” said Alec. “I’ll just keep my foot on the brake. But will you be OK?”

“Nothing to it,” said Ginger, sliding feet first through the opening in the window and on to the girder. He loped like a cat over the first six feet. Then he stopped and pointed down.

“Hey, here comes the cavalry.”

Sure enough, Mr Hardcastle and the other men, followed by PC Hadley were over the canal and running towards the crane house. Alec placed his foot firmly on the brake lever and watched Ginger as he reached a point on the girder next to Councillor Blaggett and sat down astride it. Then Ginger reached out with both hands to grasp the huge, sodden man under his armpits.

Alec watched them so keenly that he never heard the door behind him crash open and the sound of feet lumbering across the floor. The next moment he was seized by the collar and dragged away from the winding drum. As he was jerked backwards, his foot struck the brake.

“Now you’ve done it,” said one of the men.

Freed of the brake, the drum began to roll. Outside on the girder Ginger sat with arms outstretched, but Councillor Blaggett, with a groan of regret, was slowly winding and rattling down into the queasy depths of the canal.

Mr Hardcastle let go of Alec’s collar as the three men bumped into one another, while attempting to put matters right. Alec tried to reach the brake lever, barging into one of the council men. He grasped it at last and pulled, but it would not lock. The chain continued to run. Blaggett was up to his chest in the canal and sinking, his white smeared face turned up to the sky.

“Oh, he’ll drown this time,” thought Alec. But he couldn’t hold that brake lever.

Right at that moment, a large oil-stained hand appeared next to Alec’s, grasping the metal rod.

“All right, son, you can let go now.”

Alec looked up in bewilderment.

It was Dad.

A
LEC STARED
. H
OW
did that happen? There were Dad and one of his mates from the railway, still in their peaked caps and jackets. As Alec slipped to one side, they moved in and jammed on the brake lever.

They were just in time, for the councillor was now barely visible above the mud and slime, though his hands still desperately clung to the chain. Dad and his mate slowly began to winch the councillor up again. They took it very gently, easing the heavy body up, until Blaggett was half-in and half-out of the water.

Dad turned to Mr Hardcastle.

“Here, make yourself useful. Go and get a rope.”

Without a word, Mr Hardcastle ran out of the door.

Dad shouted through the window to Ginger.

“Hey, lad. Can you hear me all right?”

Ginger looked round and nodded.

“Listen. You’ll never pull him on to the girder. He’s too heavy. He’ll have you off. Now here’s what we’ll do.” Dad reached for the rope which Mr Hardcastle was holding, made a swift loop on one end, and then leaned forward to the window.

“Can you catch this rope, lad?”

“OK,” shouted Ginger.

The rope shot through the air and Ginger caught it first try. “Now, put that loop over the end of the crane arm, can you?” Ginger gave the thumbs-up sign.

Dad turned again to Mr Hardcastle and the policeman. “Now you lot, go down to the canal bank. While we hold the chain fast up here, you take the end of this rope down there. Then you swing the crane arm round and draw Old Blaggett over to the side. Make sure you get a good grip on him. He’ll weigh a ton. And maybe one of you’d better go and get some blankets and brandy.”

From then on, things went smoothly. Dad and his mate kept the chain drum steady, holding Blaggett just clear of the canal, while Mr Hardcastle and the others pulled on the rope, which swivelled the crane arm round and slowly landed the exhausted man in the arms of his assistant and PC Hadley on the towpath.

“All right, Bill,” said Dad, “we’ll wind her in now.”

They spun the winding drum and the chain rattled up to rest. Dad waved his arm for Ginger to come back along the girder and gave him a hand as he slid back through the window.

“You’re a brave lad, but you wouldn’t have been safe trying to hold him. He’d have had you in the Cut as well as himself. But, Alec lad, what was the old fool doing in the canal? We were bringing the 3.30 into the station, and Bill here looked down from the viaduct and there was Blaggett going in and out of the canal like a yo-yo. I’ve never seen aught like it before in my life. If it hadn’t been dangerous, I’d have had a good laugh.”

Bill grinned. “I expect they’ll have a good laugh up at the Club about it, anyway.”

Alec quickly told his father about what had happened, leaving out the earlier part of the story about Abu and the beer can. He didn’t feel Dad would be ready to swallow that at this stage. Dad heard it all and nodded grimly.

“And Blaggett reckoned there was an illegal immigrant here in the Tank, did he? Well, there’s one born every minute. Anyway, there’s no one here now, is there? Though…” Dad looked strangely at Alec, “someone’s left their blanket here on the table. We’d best take it with us and find out who it belongs to.”

Down on the canal bank Councillor Blaggett, well wrapped up and his colour restored by a glass of brandy, was sitting against the crane house wall. He looked up as the four of them approached.

“They tell me you saved my life, Harold Bowden.”

Dad snorted.

“It was these two lads, our Alec and his mate, who saved you. And that bright spark,” Dad nodded towards Hardcastle, “nearly did you in with his helping hand.” He bent down and squatted by Blaggett. “How are you feeling now?”

“I’m all right now, thank you,” replied Blaggett rather pompously.

“You ought to have more sense at your age, climbing on girders like a monkey, chasing imaginary black men through the shrubbery.”

Councillor Blaggett looked furious.

“You may laugh, Harold Bowden, but it is no laughing matter. There has been an illegal immigrant in this area, probably the source of illness we had reported from Boner’s Street last week, and though I appreciate what these two lads have done, they are very much involved in the whole business.”

Ginger was furious. “There wasn’t any illness like that in Boner’s Street. It was just me with the flu.”

“I think you should be careful what you’re saying,” said Blaggett. “The constable here is looking into your activities, as well as the activities of young Bowden there.” Councillor Blaggett looked up at PC Hadley, but the constable appeared to be making a careful examination of a fly on the wall.

“Now, look here, Joe Blaggett.” Dad’s face suddenly became red. Alec had never seen him look like that before. “I think it’s about time someone talked straight to you because you’re going to end up making this town a laughing stock.”

The councillor started to speak, but Dad didn’t even notice.

“There’s hardly a week goes by, without you making some daft statement or other. And this week, you’ve hit the jackpot.”

“What d’you mean, Harold Bowden?”

Dad folded his arms. That’s funny, thought Alec, that’s just what Mum does before she’s going to blast somebody.

“Why don’t you, for once in your life, Joe Blaggett, do something really useful? Instead of pushing around those people down in Boner’s Street, why don’t you go down there and find out what they want? Find out if they want to be shunted off to Moorside? In fact you don’t need to. Just go home and ask your own missus if she wants to go out to Moorside. And instead of chasing black men through this dump, why don’t you have a proper look round Boner’s and Upshaw and those other streets? There’s room for more homes down there, for Bugletown people. And those houses in Boner’s Street could be fixed up and decent homes made out of them. In fact, there’s a lot that could be done to smarten up the place and make it comfortable.”