A Funny Thing Happened (2) ...............
(Don't blame me, they were sent in by your fellow members .....)
THE NIGHT BEFORE ...................
(From a contributor in the USA, Brian Richardson)
'Twas
the night before the Holiday race,
Not a "Rocker" was stirring, not even at the Ace.
Battery tenders were attached, to their terminals with care,
In hopes that St. Lucas soon would be there.
The "Mod's" were nestled all snug in the beds,
While visions of zener-diodes danced in their heads;
And me in my Barbour’s, and pudding bowl cap,
I had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out in our garage, there arose such a clatter,
of 50 weight oil, and cold piston chatter.
I threw open the shutter to see what was the matter,
Would it be Geoff Duke eating a fish & chips platter? (ok, that's really bad I
know)
The moon on the breast of old British chrome,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the Wolverhampton home.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an ancient Steib sidecar full of draft Guinness beer!
With a fiddly old rider, slightly off his Rocker,
I knew it was St. Lucas, the original little shocker.
More rapid than Tritons, the Mighty-ones came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Commando! Now, Now Atlas!, and Model 18 too!
On, Navigator! On Dominator! On, Manx! They all flew!
To the bend at Brands Hatch! to the top of the Mountain Mile!
Now came in hot! and slid by with great style.
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, they wheelied to sky.
So up to the house-top the Nortons they flew,
With the panniers full of parts, for me and for you.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Lucas came in a bound.
He was dressed all in waxed cotton, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with burnt Castrol soot;
With Amals, and Avons he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know, I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He filled batteries with smoke, then turned with a jerk;
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
SPLAT! a blue spark .. up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his Steib, and gave just one kick,
All eight bikes started, one hell of a trick.
But I heard him exclaim, as he wheelied out of sight,
"Happy Holidays" to all, may your Norton thump through the night"
The Bard of Blue Grass
Thanks
Brian.