John Paul Docherty the Star Rider
A short story by Jeff Price
"Good morning, John Paul. Happy fourteenth birthday," his mother said and handed him a rather dog-eared envelope.
"Thanks, Mam," John Paul replied. "What's for breakfast?"
Birthdays always meant John Paul's mother would make him a big breakfast with bacon, egg, and fried bread. She would also give him a card, in fact, the same card she had given him every birthday. As soon as he opened it and read the familiar greeting, his mother would take the card back and put it in the kitchen drawer for the next year. Birthdays were not a big thing in his house. If you were lucky, you might get a Christmas present, but birthday gifts would be a cooked breakfast, and if Mam was in the mood, she would make a coffee and walnut cake. John Paul couldn't stand coffee and walnut cake.
"Your dad's in the living room. He wants a word with you."
John Paul's heart sank. He racked his brain to think what he was in trouble for, but he came up with nothing.
His mother detected the change in his mood. "Don't worry, it's nothing bad. Now get in there."
John Paul pushed open the living room door, and there it was: the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A bicycle.
"What do you think, son? She's a beauty, B.S.A. Star Rider Sports Cruiser with the old faithful Sturmey Archer 3-speed hub in the rear and the dynamo hub in the front." His father ran a hand along the frame. "Practically new."
John Paul couldn't say anything. His mind had gone into meltdown. Who, what, why, when. Eventually, he stuttered, "Whose is it?"
"Yours, son. Happy birthday."
"Mine!" He paused for a moment and then added, "To keep?"
John Paul's mother came into the room and could see the joy and the confusion on her son's face.
"Yes. To keep," she said. She put her arms around her son and kissed his head. "Yours."
His mind was racing. None of his brothers had ever been given a bicycle. There had to be a catch, but what in the name of God Almighty is going on?"
"Thanks, Dad. That's amazing. I love it. Can I ride it to school?"
"Of course," his father replied. "Sit down, son. I have another surprise."
Once again, John Paul's heart sank. Here it comes, he thought. There is always a catch when it comes to his family, but what it was, he couldn't quite grasp.
"I was in the Catholic Club last week," his father began.
This is not a good start, John Paul thought, as the prospect of keeping this bicycle for more than a few days was starting to look unlikely.
"And I was talking to Mr. Parker, you know, the one with the newsagent's shop."
John Paul's stomach flipped and his knees began to buckle. He reached out for an armchair and steadied himself. “He knows about me pinching that mucky mag from his shop”, he thought, but then he saw the bicycle.
"Mr. Parker was telling me he needs paperboys, and I told him you could do that. It's fifteen shillings a week for morning and evening shifts. That's why you'll need a bicycle. You can pay me back for the bike at ten bob a week. The bike's £5, so you'll pay it off by Christmas. You start on Monday. Seven o'clock sharp."
John Paul was dumbstruck. Once again his father was trying to trick him.
"But Dad, I don't want to be a paperboy, I don't want to start delivering papers at seven in the morning. You can keep your bike and you can tell Mister Parker to deliver his own newspapers." John Paul turned and pushed past his Mother and stormed out the living room and down the corridor to the front door. Seconds later the whole house vibrated with the sound of the door slamming and in the street two seagulls who were devouring a few discarded chips shrieked and flew off in panicked flight
“Well, that didn't go to plan.” his Father said.
John Paul’s Mother went over to the window and looked out. “He’s heading for the park. Let him cool off and I’ll have a word with him.”
Two hours later, hunger had driven John Paul back to the house. He went through to the back kitchen where his mother was sitting at the table chopping vegetables for the evening meal.
“Is Dad here?” John Paul was still angry but at the same time wary of his Father who was sometimes as quick to anger as he was.
“No, he's gone to work. Sit down John Paul, we need to talk.”
“Sorry Mam, I shouldn’t have walked out like that but Dad makes me so mad, I’m only fourteen, I don’t want to be a paperboy.”
“I get that but things are tough at the moment. There are few orders at the shipyard and your Dad is on short time and he’s one of the lucky ones, hundreds have been laid off. We need your help and it isn’t all bad news. If you do this job you have money to buy fancy clothes, go to the pictures, even go to see the football but you can only do that with money you earned yourself.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Go back in the front room and have another look at the bike. We can’t make you do this John Paul but we have to pull together as a family and we all have to play our part.”
“Yes, Mam.”
John Paul looked again at the bicycle. It was fantastic, and his dad was right, it was in great condition. The thought of having fifteen shillings a week was amazing. Maybe this could all work out for the best.
John Paul went back to the kitchen.
“Can I ride it now?”
"Of course you can, it's yours, or at least it will be once you've paid it off."
John Paul pushed his bicycle out of the front door and into the street. It was at that point he remembered one very important fact: he had never owned a bicycle, or in fact, ridden one. He turned back and saw his mother standing on the doorstep laughing.
"I was wondering when you would twig. Leave it with me, tomorrow is Saturday, your Dad can help you in the morning."
John Paul awoke to the sound of his father in the backyard. He looked out of his bedroom window and let out a scream. Scattered across the ground was his precious new bicycle in a thousand pieces. His father heard him and looked up.
"Get out of bed you lazy bugger"
John Paul hurried down stairs and burst out of the kitchen door, his dad looked up at his face flushed with anger. He smiled and said “Glad to see you on parade, son.”
"What have you done, Dad? You've broken my bike."
"Nothing is broken but before you ride this beauty there are a few things you need to know." He picked up an inner tube, took a pin from his jacket lapel and stabbed it. There was a sharp hiss as the air pushed its way out.
"No. Why have you done that?"
"You'll get punctures and you've got to know how to fix them." He handed John Paul the flat tube. "Where's the puncture?"
John Paul looked down and then up at his dad. "I've no idea."
"Right, lesson number one. Fetch a bowl of water from the kitchen."
John Paul returned a few moments later with the bowl. "Take the pump and inflate the tube, then place it in the bowl." John Paul could see a stream of bubbles rising from the tube.
"Here's a puncture repair kit. Wipe the tube dry, mark the spot with the chalk, dab some glue on and stick the patch on. Fixed." John Paul did as he was told as his father guided him through every step. Over the next hour the two of them rebuilt the bike, lining up the wheels, tightening the chain, checking the brakes and calibrating the gears.
"Right, son, you're ready. Now, I’m going to have a cup of tea while you wash your hands and you might want to change out of your pyjamas. "
A long narrow lane ran between two terraces of houses. On Mondays it resembled an old-fashioned sailing ship as dozens of white bedsheets hung out to dry, but on a Saturday it was a football pitch with goalposts chalked on the opposing walls. It was the haunt of the scrap man with his horse and cart, looking for anything he could sell for a few bob, and on that bright April morning it was the launch pad for John Paul's first bike ride.
His dad stood at the front, the front wheel between his legs, as he gripped the handlebars. John Paul gingerly put one leg over the crossbar and sat back on the saddle.
"Take it easy, son. It's all in the balance. I'll hold the seat behind you. Just move forward slowly and get the feel of it. OK?"
"Yes, Dad." John Paul tried his best to sound confident. He looked towards his mother, who was leaning against the back door, arms crossed, a worried look on her face.
His father moved around to the back of the bike.
"Now," his Dad said. John Paul slowly pushed the pedal down and moved gently forward. Suddenly the front wheel began to wobble and the bike swung wildly from side to side.
"I've got you, son. Go a little faster."
"You've got the saddle, Dad?"
"Got you, son," his dad lied.
Moments later he was heading down the lane, slowly picking up speed. "Let go, Dad!" followed by a joyous "Geronimo!" as he flew down the lane, not yet realising that his father was a hundred yards back, watching with pride as his son took his first ride.
John Paul's mother stood beside her husband as their son disappeared down the lane. She took his arm in hers and gently rested her head on his shoulder.
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