CHIPS: Eh?

FENTON:  Yep. Come on. Back on that bike. Come on.

FENTON grabs CHIPS by the collar and  good- naturedly drags him outside.

FENTON: (voice off)  Thats it, helmet on. There we are. (The moped is started.) Right.  (CELIA moves and  watches at the door.)  Go on.  (moped clunks into gear – shouting above engine revs) Go on,  give it some right wrist!

We hear CHIPS ride slowly away.

FENTON returns, grinning.

CELIA:  ‘Ere, what’s  all this “right wrist”.

FENTON laughs,  then innocently demonstrates the throttle twist grip on the bike.

CELIA smiles,  leans on the door.

CELIA: Silly sod.

FENTON: Aye.    (Slight pause)   I wish I’d got your brains.

CELIA:  Listen, you’d  be far cleverer than me matey, if you’d ever thought of anything but bloomin’ bikes. (Slight pause.)  You made him get straight back on. It’s like horse-riding.

FENTON:  Well, you can’t afford to lose your nerve.  The bike’d take over. It’s got -to be part of you. (teaching  now)  Like, when you go into a bend, you decide what line you’re goin’ on, and a split second before you take the bend, you see it in your mind’s eye. Sorta  drawn on the road. (Slight pause.)   Then you  skate  round it an’ away. But you do it.  And the bike like, but it’s you. Your angle,  your body. Your style.

He  shrugs.

CELIA Go on.

FENTON:  (grins)  You should  ‘ave seen Stuart round Strines bends. Nobody to touch ‘im.

CELIA:  Not doin’ ‘im much good now.

FENTON: (rueful)  No.  Wel1, you  can’t exactly anticipate  a couple o’ hundred gallons a’ deisel  spilt all over the motorway.  ‘Ere, you might walk up the garden and trip over the bloody vac flex you know.

CELIA :  Yeh, but I can take reasonable precautions.

FENTON:  So can I. That’s the skill part, innit’?

CELIA:  So what are you doing?  Displaying your skill? Showing off? Like racing?

FENTON:  You’re an awkward bugger you. It’s not like that. You just use your skill. Like, for the joy of it!

Pause.

Listen, you know Ranter Hill don’t you. (She nods.)    ‘Bout one-in-six. I can do the left ‘ander at the bottom in second,  ‘bout fifty,  everything scrapin’.  Then I wind ‘er on.  Front wheel comes up for about ten yards.  Into third after the right-‘ander half way up.  Sweep round that long left,  past Mallinson’s brickworks an’ storm out the top at about eighty-five.

He mimes the journey.

Trickle through that uneven bit, through the. wood where all the pigs are; and then it’s the old carriage road. Down to Gunthwaite.  Straight as a die. Down over the tank an’ away.  I can get a hundred an’ ten on before Dunford Reservoir.

Pause.

There used to be highwaymen on that old coach road at one time you know.

Pause.

When I’m on that bike man, there’s me, an’ everything else. An’ I’m touching it, knowin’ it,  gauging it.

CELIA: (wry)  At a hundred an’ ten miles an hour?

FENTON: Yeh.  Really.

CELIA:   I‘d forgotten Gunthwaite coach road. Is that little shop still  open on Sundays  for pop and sweets.

FENTON: Still there. Chap died, but the old lass’s still there.   

CELIA:  Just fancy. I’d completely forgotten. I always go down through Penistone, the new by-pass.

FENTON: Aye!

She grabs the vac and then turns back to him.

CELIA:  Hey, come on. what about Christine? Before I go.  (He groans.)  If you miss her, you’ll regret it.

FENTON: God. What’s she been sayin” to you?

CELIA:  Nuthin’.

FENTON:  (wry grin)  She’s ‘as bad as you, all natter.

CELIA:  Is that what you reckon?

FENTON: Take up thy vac an’ bugger off,  go on.

CELIA: No,  you’re right.

FENTON: Eh?

CELIA:  I think you’re right.

FENTON:  What’re you mutterin’ about Witchy?

CELIA: (grins)  Don’t call me that. Will the bike blow a headache away?

FENTON:  Guaranteed to.

She plonks the vac down.

CELIA: Give us a- ride then. (Slight pause.) Come on, I want to.

FENTON:  Quick blast round on the Bonneville?

CELIA: Yes.

FENTON:  OK. (He grabs his helmet and throws it to her.)   ‘Ere y’are. Stick that on. I’ve got  my old one under here somewhere.

He pulls out an old, black skid-lid type helmet from under the bench.

He grabs her mac from behind the door and throws it to her.

FENTON:  (sings) “Celia,   oh Celia,   the Witch of   the  Wood”…!

He sings just the first line, to the tune of  “Velia” and slings his own jacket on.

CELIA : (cuts in) . Shut up you great tease!

FENTON:   Come on Witchy.

He laughs, pops his skid-lid on and goes out,  doing up the strap..

CELIA is having difficulty with her helmet strap

CELIA: (excited)  Hey, hang on.          

She does up the helmet and  hurriedly  buttons up her mac.

We hear the Bonneville start up outside. A very loud, well-tuned, deep, powerful,

exhaust note as the throttle is blipped impatiently.

CELIA grins in excitement. She pats the bike in the shed,  turns and runs out.

After a moment, we hear the Bonneville take  off and turn into the road. .

Then as we

FADE TO BLACK

we hear it being ridden hard through the gears, until the sound disappears.

END OF SCENE TWO

SCENE THREE

The shed, eight weeks later.

The bike is almost complete now – headlamp in place – except for the tank.

The door is open, sunlight is streaming in.  Occasional  birdsong.

We hear a Bonneville arrive outside, it is ridden towards the shed until it comes to a halt outside. There is a loud blip on the throttle and the engine stops.

After a moment, CHIPS  enters.

He is wearing a jacket similar to FENTON’S in earlier scenes except  that this is brand  new. He has also got new ice blue jeans.  On his helmet is now painted ‘Bonneville’ 

He is taking the  Speed Twin tank from his back where he had it strapped.  He puts it on  the floor and removes some protective foam  rubber that is wrapped round it. He removes his helmet and puts it on the rostrum near the bike.

He unzips his jacket and grins with delight. He places the tank on the, bike. We see the Speed Twin in all its glory  – a thing of beauty in red and chrome!

From outside, the sound of somebody whistling approaching  the doorway.

CHIPS continues fitting the tank, connecting the petrol pipe to the carburettor etc.

Enter RODERICK.  He is dressed in a suit with an open neck shirt  and he has polished shoes on.

He watches CHIPS - they nod to one another.

RODERICK: Don’t know what all the panic is Chips,  e’ll not be able to ride it for bloody weeks yet.

RODERICK moves across the shed to the bench stage left, hands in pockets.

CHIPS:     Mm? Aye well, it’s all ready though.  That’s the point.   Ey Roderick. Give us a hand.

RODERICK   makes a move, then settles  again.

RODERICK:  No no man.

CHIPS:  (eager)   Come on!

RODERICK: What’s up wi’ thi’ ? I’ve got to go to town.  Get  bloody  filthy!

CHIPS: Huh!   Flamin’ car drivers.

He  returns to fixing and polishing the tank.

RODERICK  picks up an old Penthouse magazine, leafs  through  it for a moment, puts it down and walks back to the door.

He calls outside.

RODERICK:  Any sign?

VINCENT: (voice off - calling)  No, not yet.

RODERICK  checks his watch and moves back into the shed.

Enter VINCENT.   He is wearing ordinary Private’s  army uniform, and is pristine, shiny boots, slick hair, but his  tie is undone and he has one hand in his pocket.

VINCENT: No sign of them at all.

RODERICK: Well, I’ll have to go in a minute.

CHIPS:  They didn’t say what time, just he’d be home  Sat’d’y mornin’.

Pause.

VINCENT  idly picks up CHIPS’ helmet and views the ‘Bonneville’ flash on the side.

VINCENT:  How long you had the Bonneville then Chips?

CHIPS:  (proud)  Fortnight  that’s all.  Innit great? (He stops work and perches on the bike.)    Hell of a job gettin’ a new ‘un with a right foot gear change. They’re makin’ ‘em all left foot now,  like the Japs.  I found that one eventually like,  out at Goldthorpe,  t’other side o’ Donny. Had the tank changed. And the bars. It’s just like Fent’s.

VINCENT: (smiles) Aye. I noticed.

CHIPS:  It’s a bloody dream lad. An’ it’s reight what Fent said,  you’ve really got to get to know the bugger. Like, for itself. (He pats the tank of the Speed Twin.)  It’s like this one here. I was timin’ it, all last night. An’ you can’t just go by the book you know.  Same as, a lot o’ bikes now, you’re supposed to tek ‘em back to t’ workshop for servicin’ an that. (He laughs).   You can’t do that wi’ these lad, no good pluggin’ these into Mission Control.  Ther individual pigs these are, you’ve got to know ‘em. (He strokes the bike)  Give ‘em the personal touch. (He chuckles and takes out ten No.6, offers one to VINCENT) Wanna fag?

VINCENT: Eh? I’ve stopped.

CHIPS:  Stopped? (VINCENT waves the cigarette away.) ‘Ell fire!

He 1ights his own.

RODERICK: Mm. I say, it’s like Fent’s was.

VINCENT: Eh?

RODERICK:  Chips’ bike. It’s like Fent’s was.

CHIPS: Oh come on Roderick.

RODERICK: Aye. I went up the scrapyard  last Tuesday fer a door  ‘andle. Fent’s bike’s  right next to t’ gate’ole.  Yer can’t miss it. (Slight  pause) ‘Cept you wouldn’t bloody recognise it if you didn’t know.  Forks are under  t’ back wheel near enough.

They look at each other

VINCENT:  Phew!  Fuck’n bad business alright. (He moves across to the bench stage left.)  Nice first time out for Celia, eh?

RODERICK:  Yep. (Slight pause.)  She was wearin’ Fent’s helmet. ‘Ave you seen it.

He stoops and picks it up from under the bench.

He throws it across to VINCENT.  It is badly  scraped  and split almost in two halves.

VINCENT whistles in surprise and alarm.

VINCENT:  Hell’s Flamers lad!  (He examines it briefly and puts it down stage  left.)

She’d have been a mess without that.

RODERICK:  They never stood a chance Vincent.  Bloody great eight-wheeler, tipper, pullin’ across t’ road. at Church Corner. Tryin’ to back into t’ new road workings.  She hit the cab, Celia. (Slight pause.)  His back wheel locked, shit on t’ road like.   He slid under t’ lorry some’ow.  Finished up in t’ Church gateway.

Pause.

VINCENT: And what did he do? What happened to him?

CHIPS: I told you in me letter.

VINCENT: Aye, you did.

CHIPS:  Collarbone, ribs, elbow, left leg in three places. (bright)  ‘E’s in fine form now though. Wa1kin’ about.

RODERICK Aye, eight weeks on ‘is bloody back.

VINCENT:  Shit!

CHIPS: An’ the bikes all ready for ‘im. For when ‘e’s ready for it. (excited)  I haven’t said anything about it.  Haven’t told ‘im like. It’s finished though. Ready. Just as he wanted it. I’ve managed it.  Runs as sweet as a nut.  Shall I start it?

VINCENT:  No.

RODERICK:  I shouldn’t bloody go on about it yet Chips if were you.

CHIPS: ‘Ow do yer mean. ‘E’ll need it now. (proud) An’ it’s ready.

RODERICK  looks at his watch.

RODERICK:   Please yersen. (He moves.)  I’ll have to bloody go, anyroad.

CHIPS: You can’t, not yet

RODERICK:  Look, I’ll ‘ave to.

CHIPS: E’ll not be long. Can’t you just ‘ang on?

RODERICK:  (at the door) Give ‘im my regards. Tell im I ‘ad to tek me mam into town.

VINCENT: Hey, when did you get the car?

RODERICK:  Oh, ‘bout two months sin’.

CHIPS:  Bloody Ford Escort.

RODERICK:  Tha what?  Two Litre Escort lad!  RS de luxe!

CHIPS: (derisive)  Go on, tek thi mother to town.

RODERICK nonchalantly waves two fingers at CHIPS.

RODERICK:  Don’t forget to give ‘im my regards,  Celia an’ all. Tell ‘im  I’ll call in tomorrer  if I can.

CHIPS:  Yeh, right.

RODERICK leaves.

CHIPS moves to the door and looks off to his left.

Large diesel engines can be heard in the distance.

CHIPS:  ‘Ave you seen how far they’ve  come Vincent?  They’ll be up ‘ere with their earthmovers next week.

VINCENT: Aye.

CHIPS:  All this lot goes. Right  up as far as the apple tree.

VINCENT  is idly picking thing up on the bench.

VINCENT:  Fuckin’ ‘ell!

CHIPS:  (spins round.) What’s up?

VINCENT is holding up a cardboard box.

VINCENT: My fuckin’ hamster.

CHIPS: (grimacing)  Oh no—ooo!  ‘Ow long’s that been there?

VINCENT:   Must be nearly six months. Eugh! I dare not look.

CHIPS:  Go on. Knock t’ lid off.

CHIPS moves  to him and picks up a screwdriver.

CHIPS: ‘Ere y’are!

VINCENT  holds the box away from him.  With some difficulty CHIPS  levers  the lid off.  They both recoil.

Slowly they look inside. Both show amazement. They look at each other.

VINCENT puts his hand in the box, prises open a small hole, and pokes his finger out through it.

VINCENT: Will you look at’ that eh?  Chewed its’ way out, the little bugger.

They laugh.

CHIPS:  Ee, it’ll be ‘avin’ the time on its life lad. It’ll ‘ave started whole new colonies of field-hamsters, an’ house-hamsters!  It will.  (CHIPS  takes out another cigarette, points  the packet at VINCENT.) Ave you really stopped?

VINCENT: Aye. Really stopped.

CHIPS lights a cigarette.  The sound of’ the earthmover has died away.

CHIPS Never thought you’d stop.

VINCENT:  Neither did  I.            (He starts to move towards the, door and suddenly stops. )  Listen.

They do so. We hear a car draw up in the near distance on the road in front of the house.

Car doors open and close.

CHIPS and VINCENT go to the door and watch.

CHIPS: Yep.  It’s them.

VINCENT: God,  look at his dad.  Stooping.

CHIPS: It’s put years on ‘im man. Celia’s his pride an’ joy.  There she is. Oh no it’s not, it’s Christine.   (Pause. They watch.) Celia’s not there.

VINCENT: Who’s the bird?

CHIPS: Christine Green, she works in me dad’s office.

VINCENT: Is Celia supposed to be coming home today?

CHIPS: I’m not sure.

Pause

VINCENT: Should we go over to the house.

CHIPS: No no, ‘e’ll  come over here. ‘E‘s expectin’ us. I told ‘im we’d all be here.

Pause.   VINCENT  turns inside the shed abruptly.

VINCENT: He’s coming.  Give us a cig  Chippy.  No, don’t.

He moves  down to the bench stage  right.

CHIPS: Oh, bloody Christine’s comin’.  Oh no, she’s off in the ‘ouse. (excited) ‘E’s comin’.

CHIPS moves further in, near the bike.

They wait nervously.

Enter FENTON.  He has a stick which he leans on when still. His  hair is washed and brushed forward  conventionally, no Brylcreem. He is wearing suit trousers, open neck shirt, V-neck pullover and shoes. He looks at them and winks.

FENTON:  Chips. Vince. Hey, 1ook at the bloody soldier.

They laugh, tension broken.

VINCENT: Aye, that’s right.

CHIPS:  See me bike?

FENTON: Yeh. (he motions outside)  Yeh, I saw it  Chips. Looks smart.   (Pause.   He  moves in a little.)   So,  P.T. instructor now Vince eh?

VINCENT grabs the  chair and places it.

VINCENT: Here, do you want to sit down?

FENTON: No,  I’m OK  ta.

CHIPS:  Sat down for long enough, ‘aven’t you mate?

FENTON grins compliantly.

FENTON:  How’s things then Vince.  With the Professionals, like?

VINCENT: Ch, short an’ sweet. Fairly sweet. I’m leavin’!

CHIPS: Eh?

FENTON:  What, buyin’ out’?

VINCENT: Gettin’ chucked out. They decided I’ve got a weak chest.

CHIPS:  Nivver!

VINCENT: Dicky lungs.

FENTON moves and sits on the chair.

FENTON:  I ‘eard you passed A1 fit.

VINCENT: I did, I did. When I was goin’ to be an instructor though,  there were another load o’ medicals.  And…    (he grins, and does the thumbs down.) At first they said my breathing was affecting ma stamina, I thought it might be the stone dust or something.  Anyway, then the bugger collapsed, right lung, bloody thing. Put the ki-bosh on it.

CHIPS: ‘Ave you only got one workin’ then?

VINCENT:  No, they blew it up again wi’ a foot-pump.

They laugh.

FENTON:  Well, it’s a bugger that.

VINCENT:   Oh, sod it man. Most of ‘em are head-bangers anyway. (Slight pause.) Any case, I feel perfectly OK.  Doesn’t affect  my performance.

They chuckle.

CHIPS:  What are you goin’ to do now then?

VINCENT: Back to Scotland laddie. Met a guy can set me on. Something to do with servicing the rigs.

CHIPS: Oil rigs? North Sea?

VINCENT: Yeh, shore job at one of the depots.

CHIPS:  Plenny o’ money?

VINCENT: Chippy,  I shall make maself a huge pile o’ money. Do you know what I’m goin’ top do then?

CHIPS:  No.

VINCENT: Spend the bastard! (He laughs uproariously, they join in.) And I get some bread off this mob when I 1eave. So, canna grumble. Oh, they also taught me to’ drive.

CHIPS:  Nay, what about thi van?

FENTON: (grins)  You’d not passed your test?

VINCENT: (twinkling) Passed me test? I never had a fuck’n license of any sort. Didn’t believe in ‘em!

They laugh

FENTON: Mad bugger!

VINCENT: Hey, where’s Celia?

FENTON: Er…  she’s not ready to come home yet. Oi, did you ever hear anything else from that  Wendy?

VINCENT pats his nose.

VINCENT: Nosey bastard. Aye I did. She used to come and see me once a fortnight. (laughs)  Wearin’ her nurse’s uniform.

FENTON: Great!

VINCENT: I think she had a thing about uniforms. P’raps we both had. (They laugh.) Didn’t last long anyway. She packed in nursing an’ pissed off wi’ some prat who owns a carpet firm in Dewsbury. Bryn Garner has moved in with the landlady of the the George Hotel. Now, she’s got a seventeen year old daughter, and by all accounts  Bryn’s givin’ ‘em both a seeing-to.

CHIPS:  ‘Ell fire.

VINCENT gives CHIPS  a friendly push.

VINCENT: Shut up Chippy.  Have you used it yet?

CHIPS:  What? Used what?

VINCENT:  Oh dear, obviously not.

They chuckle.

CHIPS: Piss off.

VINCENT: I had a good time wi’ Wendy though. Mind, she’s tough. Knows what she wants and she takes it!  (grins, turns to FENTON) Now, what about this Christine Green business then?

FENTON: (non-committal) Oh, yeh.

Pause.

VINCENT: Yeh. (teasing)  Yeh?

FENTON grins, forced to say something.

FENTON:  Yeh, well yeh. (shrugs)    She’s OK.  Piss off Vincent.

VINCENT:  (grins)    Actually, I shall have to do just that. (He moves nearer to FENTON)   Listen, I get discharged in about three weeks.  I’ll nip down and see you again, OK? Before I head North?

FENTON: OK Vince, take care.

VINCENT pats him on the shoulder.

VINCENT:  Aye, see you.

VINCENT  makes a mock aggressive run at CHIPS who recoils, then 1aughs.

He leaves, giving a wave.

Pause.

CHIPS:  Well. Goin’ back to Scotland then, eh?

FENTON: That’s what the man said Chips.

He stands, and leans on the bench stage right.

CHIPS:  Er . . . Christine Green’s been askin’ me dad about holidays.

FENTON:  ‘As she?

CHIPS:  Yep. Goin’ on about you needin’ sun.  An’ lots o’ rest.

FENTON:  Sounds good to me.

CHIPS: She goin’ with you then?

FENTON: Might be a case of me goin’  with  her. Sounds as if she’s sortin’ it all out.

Pause.

CHIPS: Where are you thinkin’ o’ goin?

FENTON:  She hasn’t said. Might be Tunisia, I saw some brochures an’ that in the car.

Slight pause.

CHIPS: ‘Asn’t she even asked you? (incredulous) Didn’t she even want to know where you want to go?

FENTON: (gently)  She’s organising  it Chips. She’s alright you know, she’s a good lass.

CHIPS: Well she’s certainly kept you company enough in hospital.

FENTON: Yep!

Slight pause.

CHIPS:  Don’t spend up though, will you?

FENTON: Eh?

CHIPS:  Isle o’ Man TT in June. Want some brass for that! (slightly anxious) We’re still goin’ aren’t we?

Slight pause.

FENTON: It depends really Chips .

CHIPS:  Oh don’t worry man, you’ll be alright be then.  An’ if you’re not, you can go pillion, back o’ me. We shall ‘ave to book up pretty soon.

FENTON: It depends on whether I went to go or not. Lots o’ things. Whether she wants to go… wants me to go.

CHIPS: Who? Christine?

FENTON: Look, Chips, I can’t stand still forever. (He moves slowly towards the bench stage left.) Bulldozer’ll  be through ‘ere next week.  (nods towards the garden.) Boundary markers right across t’ lawn.

He sees the battered helmet on the bench and picks it up.

CHIPS:  I can ‘elp you build a new shed. (Pause.)  Ey, you’re not goin’ to marry owd Bigtits are you?

FENTON chucks down the helmet on to the bench

FENTON:  (bright)   Chippy!  I probably am. That’s  just about the first thing I’m probably goin’ to do. (Slight pause.) No. I tell a lie. First thing I’m goin’ to do is cadge a cigarette off you.

CHIPS: Ooh. Right. (He rushes over, gives him a cigarette and lights it for him.)  Oh, Roderick had to go, but he sends his regards.  And to Celia.

FENTON:  Oh, right, ta.

CHIPS:  How long will she be?

FENTON: Mm?

CHIPS: Celia. When’s she comin’ home?

FENTON: Not yet.

CHIPS: Eh?

FENTON: Me fags gone out.

CHIPS: Oh, here!

He relights it.

FENTON:  Ta. (then…pointing with his cig)  Made a fantastic job o’ that me old son.

CHIPS: (proud) Eh?

FENTON:  The bike. Thanks for that. Thanks a lot mate.

CHIPS glows.

CHIPS: Oh, that’s alright. (He moves to the Speed Twin)    It’s a great  pleasure.

(looks at FENTON)    It’s all ready for yer Fent. Like a little sewin’ machine it runs. Ticks over like a clock, doesn’t  miss a beat.

FENTON looks at the broken helmet.

CHIPS:  Shall I start ‘er up?

He climbs up to the bike, still on its rostrum,  turns on the petrol and tickles  the carburettor.

Finally got the timin’ just right last night.

He pulls the clutch, and  works the kickstart  to free the clutch plates.

Are you right Fent?

He sits astride the bike and switches on the ignition

First time, I  ‘ope!

He jumps up in the air and swings  down on the kickstart. The engine starts with a loud roar  and  then runs very sweetly. CHIPS whoops excitedly.

(shouting) Oh great!  What about that eh? Just listen to that Fent.

He blips the throttle a couple of times.

Sweet as a nut  Fent. Eh?

FENTON:  Switch it off Chips.

CHIPS: (elated) What?

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