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Two days ago I would never have dreamed such, a thing possible but anyhow here I was on, the Isle of Man. waiting for the start of the T.T.
It all started by me seeing a competition in the newspaper.
Of course, I never thought I would ever gain anything by writing
to the newspaper.
As it was I found myself absentmindedly answering the questions, folding the paper, and placing it in an envelope and finally posting it. From
that time on I forgot about it. The thing that probably goaded me into entering was the reward of a week on the Isle of Man, to witness the T.T.
with all expenses paid.
Imagine my surprise when three days later a very businesslike letter was delivered to me, and the thrill, when upon opening it, I found that I had
gained: first prize in the stated competition.
Two days, were spent packing and saying goodbye to friends., then a glorious journey to the Island and the comfort of a luxurious hotel.
That is the beginning of my story, the rest follows on from the start of the T.T, The hot sun was beaming down on the stands and pits, drenching
everything in a stifling heat.,
The smell of petrol impregnated the air; the exhaust fumes, the smell of oil, and the murmuring crowd added to the excitement of the afternoon.
Suddenly, there was a large resounding report, and the motorbikes began to move: towards the starting line. Many nations, were represented this
year, among them England, France, Germany, Italy, and a. host of others,
Great Britain, represented by George King, was considered the favourite. His machine was looking very resplendent in scarlet and silver, and
gave the impression of hidden speed.
The starter's flag hung poised in the sweltering heat, and all eyes were on, it.
Throttles were opened and the bellow and roar of highly tuned engines increased in volume till the very stand seemed to quiver. Helmets were
given last minute adjustment, goggles* pulled down over the eyes, to shut out the glare of a shimmering road, and all competitors eyes riveted
on the flag. Abruptly it fell, and with it the machines were off, with an extra bellow from the exhaust. Clouds of dust rose on the still air and
hung for some time.
I adjusted my binoculars and waited for the leaders, to flash into sight. Suddenly a cry of, "Here they come" brought me back to my glasses.
A subdued murmur rose to a whine, a whine to a roar and after to a crescendo of noise, and a silver and scarlet machine flashed by> closely
Followed by a jet: black one, Italy's only entrant. One by one and some in groups, the rest of the competitors flashed by. Then I settled down to
wait for another lap to be completed.
Meanwhile, what was going on in the actual race? King on his super Norton was striving to hold his roaring machine on the winding road,
throwing his weight this way and that, each time he rounded a corner. Six laps and then, a stop for refuelling; a brief space of time and King was
off again one lap behind, Pinto el Sisla the Italian rider.
King knew it was now or never that he must crack on speed and maintain it throughout the race. He gave the throttle a, full turn, and felt the
machine buck under the extra power he had unleashed, he felt the wind increase, trying to pluck him. from his seat, but sheer will power held
his grip steady, his. eyes alert, and body, straining, to the saddle.
One by one he overtook the stragglers and eventually only el Sisla remained to be beaten.
On they flashed together and the crowd knew that it was now a, race between Britain and Italy.
Sisla., sensing the presence of a challenger gave his machine full throttle, and leapt away from his rival. In the nick of time he also opened wide
his throttle. The Norton bucked and swayed, and it seemed that only a miracle could hold it on the road. Miracle it was, King was gradually
losing strength. The machine was terrifically hot and seemed to be alive under him. His leather leggings and paddings seemed to be absorbing
the heat making him want to stop and recover.
Twenty yards behind his opponent ten yards, then abreast, and gradually overtaking him.
Another half lap to go and King in the lead, with the Italian striving to overtake his opponent. But it wag of no avail. King had. the lead and
kept it.
With a death defying roar he flew over the finishing line, and to victory.
The crowd got to it’s. feet to give him the cheers that he truly deserved.
King dismounted and went to receive his victor's prize. A reporter shouldered his way towards him and asked him the question. "Now that
you've won what do you want most?" Mustering a smile King gave him. the answer, "A cold bath, a feather bed, and an. alarm set for a week's
time."
BRIAN STEEPLES.
BURSTING THROUGH
"Well" said Mr. Jenkins "If you win the race against my car I will take your new carburettor system up".
Do you think you will win?" exclaimed Jim later on.
"I don't know but I will do my best." They made their way slowly towards the garage.
"I'll just give her a check before we go" said Jim.
The two of them were brothers and had made their own car in their spare time. Having looked it over they were just about to leave the garage
when they saw a man coming towards them.
"Just a minute" he shouted.
"Yes, what is it?" Jim exclaimed.
"Do you want to sell your car?"
"Sell our car", Jim said "Not on your life".
"I'll give you £1,000 for her".
"I told you I do not want to sell it".
"All right", he said and moved swiftly away.
"I wonder what he's up to?"
"I don't know but it must be something very special".
That night they could not go to sleep owing to the excitement of the race the following day. They were lying in bed. thinking about the race:
when, they thought they heard a faint sound.
Slipping their clothes on they quietly made their way down stairs and into the dark.
"It came from the garage", whispered Jim. "Listen, there it is again. They quietly made their way to the garage when, suddenly they .stood stiff
in horror. It lasted only a few seconds. John managed to blurt out "Fire".
"Quick, make for the car", he yelled. They ran to the garage and pulled frantically at the car.
"Quick help me to drag her out". The car was dragged to a nearby field. By this time there was quite a crowd, including Mr. Jenking’s.
"What happened?" exclaimed Mr. Jenkins.
"Some one started, a fire", replied John.
After the fire died down they moved away. The car was found, to be all right the following morning. The race was to start at 12 o'clock p.m..
They checked the car arid the van came half an hour later and moved the car to the track.
They were both, looking round at the other cars when, suddenly John's eyes rested on the man who offered to buy the car. He was staring in a
peculiar manner. They were on the starting line with. John at the wheel and Jim. beside him. The race was announced.
The brothers were leading with the man who offered to buy the car. They were only a foot apart. They were level now. It did. not last long for
the brothers were coming through a narrow stretch of track. John tried to force his way through and would have succeeded had not the stranger
blocked, his way. They were turning a bend. The stranger skidded and crashed. This was John's opportunity. He thrust the accelerator down as
far as it would go and sped over the winning line. It was discovered afterwards that the stranger was the man who tried to get rid of John's car.
He did it because he did not want John to show his carburretor system in case he lost his job as driver.
A. GAFFNEY.
ANCIENT PLYMOUTH
In modern times Plymouth, is not too famous., but many famous and courageous, people have been born and have died there.
Most famous, no doubt, is Sir Francis Drake. The actual bowling green where he played his famous game before beating off Philip of Spain's
Armada is still to be seen. Many statues and inscriptions remind Plymouthians of this brave man who fought and died for his country.
Also a great friend of Drake's was born in Plymouth, Sir John Hawkins, who went on many voyages with Drake. He also was very brave and
served his country well.
Sir Robert Falcon Scott was also born there; the ruins of his actual house are still to be seen by many visitors. There is a large statue to be seen
of this great man who ventured to the South Pole, In the centre of the city, there stands a mighty museum., also at the Hoe there is a beautiful
aquarium. Many bus routes take you to small country places where you. can spend the day admiring the scenery. Thousands of new houses,
have been built to replace the thousands of bombed houses. Also Plymouth has a very good football team who last year regained promotion to
the second division.
The dockyard has well and truly done its duty in times, of war and in peace time. Many warships have been repaired there.
Swimming baths and other amusements are to be found on the Hoe which in summer is very beautiful and popular with visitors.
All Plymouthiaris, as I am, should be proud of this wonderful city.
GRAHAM FERRIS.
BOOK REVIEW
My book choice for this term would be a fiction book called, "Died in the Wool/' by a brilliant writer, Ngaio Marsh.
This story, takes place on a New Zealand sheep farm. It is quite unique in itself and the way it is written.
It starts in a novel way, by a fleece packer finding the body of a lady in a bale of wool.
Gradually the story unfolds and various figures come to light. The main figure is an outback detective who goes to this farm high, in the hills,
and pieces the murder story together. Finally he solves the case, and returns home, leaving life on the sheep farm much the same as it was before
the interruption.
Altogether the book is a delightful story and I am sure that anyone who likes, reading to any extent will enjoy this book.
It is published by the "Youth Book Club" and is in the
Library at Goldings.
BRIAN STEEPLES.
A SAILING ADVENTURE
Three years ago I lived in Australia near Sydney. My father owned a little bungalow in which I was born There was a garden in front of the
bungalow with a wooden shed at the end of it. In the shed my father kept his sailing equipment and Sally the yacht. The sea was beyond the
garden., so it was quite easy to launch 'Sally' into the sea. It was in Sally that I nearly lost my life.
It was a very warm afternoon on the fourteenth of June, nineteen forty eight, when my brother Bill, my father and myself went for a quiet trip
and a spot of fishing. We were about two miles, out to sea when, my father hoisted full sail and. we began to pick up speed and rock violently.
I was leaning over nearly touching the water keeping the yacht's, balance when, suddenly, the rope I was holding snapped. I fell with a dull
splash into the shark infested waters. I felt a chilly feeling going down my spine as I rose to the surface. The yacht was now twenty feet away
and I started swimming towards her. I was too late. A shark was already after me. My brother dived in with a knife while I swam as fast as I
could. The shark was "very near now and my brother was at its side. He plunged under-water and stabbed it in the stomach.
Back at home Bill was a hero and father rewarded him handsomely.
My brother still lives in Sydney and when my mind turns homewards, I always think of my dangerous activities. I shall never forget the courage
of my brother.
G. SMITH.
AIR RAID
A high pitched wail and the dreaded sound of the, Stuka dive bomber roaring down to drop its load of destruction on us, was the first warning of
an air attack on this night fighter station hurriedly constructed out in the country.
Search-lights pierced the thin mist and swept across, the sky to settle on the dark raiders, but too late to stop them from dropping their terrifying
load of death and destruction on us.
Soon the anti-aircraft guns, and light machine guns took up the. task of bringing down these dark forms, that spat fire at us from the darkness.
There was chaos on the aerodrome. The N.A.A.F.L was burning sending up columns, of black smoke that hampered the searchlights in their
ever increasing task.
Aircraft were burning up- in their hangars and the control room. and the adjoining buildings were now a mass of burning rubble and screaming
voices. Suddenly an engine that I knew at once to be a Beaufort roared across the drome and I heard the expected crash as/ the aircraft collided
with the tangled mass of an enemy aircraft that had been brought down, by our gallant gun batteries.
As suddenly as it started it finished. We heard the engines of the Junkers 87's growing fainter in the distance. Some in perfect time, some
struggling along damaged by the anti-aircraft fire, only the alert but tired pilots to guide them safely to their lines,.
The aerodrome was a mass of smoke; and flames shooting from the debris reddened the night sky for several miles.
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