A Brush with the Law

The scooter was a vintage Lambretta 175. Not modified in any way, like the skinhead scooters you saw loaded down with mirrors and sporting fancy exhausts. This one was in its original early 1960's livery, covers intact, an ordinary scooter. Not a 125, the slowest sort, nor one of the modern 225's you saw only ridden by flashy skins. Just an old scooter. And of course, it didn't work.

Naturally, the gang despised scooters. They dreamed of motorcycles. Not Japanese bikes, but Triumphs, Nortons, BSA's, Vincents and Harleys. Real bikes with a proper exhaust note. Certainly not scoots, which had all the cachet of a lawnmower and were associated with skinheads or suedeheads - not their scene at all. "Hairdryers" as Stu referred to them, dismissively.

Two-wheeled reality for the teenagers was in fact bicycles: Stu's customised blue machine with ape-hanger handlebars, chopper-style, a banana seat and 3-speed Sturmey Archer hub gears; Steve's bike, faster - a modified 10-speed racer, white with cow-horn handlebars and sporting half-mudguards, good for wheelies; Kel's red 5-speed racer with drop handlebars, black plastic mudguards and a dodgy derailleur. They raced around the Parkside housing estate, visited each others' houses and occasionally went further afield, on the dual carriageway to Stone where they insolently rode three abreast, ringing their bells at the car drivers who honked at them. They had recently run into a band rehearsing when out on a ride. The youths had been cycling past a hall when they heard 'Get Back' playing. They had eventually dared to enter the building, where they had witnessed their first live performance. They now referred to the group as 'The Dudes' (Question: who are you? Answer: we're just a bunch of dudes from college…). It had been fascinating to watch The Dudes, there was a thrill from the volume. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to recreate a song you knew and liked, to play an instrument? Stu was going to learn guitar, Steve said he was more interested in drums.

Right now, though, Stu was particularly into Harley Davidson motorcycles and had a thing about Hell's Angels. The gang emulated them in a mild way, wearing denim jackets with badges and studs ('colours'), earning disapproval from parents and siblings. Stu's jeans had not been washed for a long time: he was cultivating a set of 'originals', and now made a point of always wiping his greasy hands down them after rebuilding his pushbike, which was a fairly frequent occurrence. Stu's orange hair was now getting long. It was parted down the middle. Despite his slight build, the kid was getting attitude. Steve and Kel were somewhat less enthusiastic about the Hell's Angel lifestyle, but wore their hair long, too. Steve's, almost white in colour, framed his high cheek bones and blue eyes. His wiry frame with square shoulders was in contrast to the stockier Kel, whose dark brown, shoulder-length hair shrouded blue eyes which peered through black-rimmed 'Buddy Holly' glasses.

The gang had recently acquired a den. It was in fact a garage which they rented from a man on the housing estate. There were some relics in the garage. There was the 12 volt car battery which had made huge sparks after Kel shorted the terminals with a screwdriver. And there was the scooter which didn't work.

The den was lit by a stolen paraffin lantern, taken from the site of the new road that was being built from the housing estate. The inside of the den was decorated with flashing warning lamps and traffic cones, also removed from building sites. Only recently, they'd lured some girls in there. The problem was, the garage had no light, and the paraffin lantern with its red glow soon filled the place with sooty smoke when the swing door was pulled down. Not a romantic venue by any stretch of the imagination.

There had been a motorbike. A BSA Dandy: a small 2-speed 70cc bike which had been 'scrambled' round the common, until complaints and the threat of prosecution had prompted the boys to stop. Then it broke down. Steve and his brother had removed the engine, but the boys still freewheeled on the engine-less bike from time to time. No question, though, it had been more fun as a working motorbike.

One Sunday afternoon, when Stu and Kel were hanging out in the den and at a loose end, Kel wheeled the scooter out and this time it fired up immediately. The two boys felt a thrill of excitement as they breathed in the heady two-stroke fumes. Brilliant! It was working! Without hesitation, pausing only to close the door of the lock-up, they both got on board. Stu discarded his cigarette, Kel let the clutch out and then they were on the road. Unaccustomed to the bulky handlebar-mounted gear change, Kel twisted the grip and then suddenly they were in second gear and the scooter seemed to be leaping forward. Why did it suddenly work now, all of a sudden? The two-wheeler rounded a bend and pulled strongly up the hill, only slowing for a junction. The brakes, where are the brakes on this?

Round the corner, it nearly stalled, no cars, alright, open the throttle, third gear, this is much faster than the bike was!

They seemed to be going very fast. Kel looked down and tried to read the old-fashioned speedometer with its yellowed plastic clock.                           
                                                     

They skidded slowly to an inelegant halt.

No, we've stopped.

The scooter had stalled. The boys got off slightly shakily, grinning hugely, thrilled with the charge of excitement that the short journey had given them. "That was ace!" said Stu. They took it in turns to kick the engine over, but it was dead once again. Despite energetic kicking, it refused to respond, so the two boys ended up pushing the Lambretta back to the lock-up.

They agreed to meet up again that night with some petrol. They would try to get it going again.

9.30 p.m. In the darkness, the Lambretta fired up straight away. It wants to go! The headlight cast a strong beam onto the empty road. Stu smiled broadly at his mate as they clambered on. They moved off briskly, the gearchange seemed easier, now. As Kel wound open the throttle, the cool night air whistled round their heads. Kel headed straight for the dual carriageway where they would be able to take it through its paces. Stu would ride up front on the way home.

Regrettably, the boys' night time excursion did not go to plan, not that there was much of a plan. Half a mile down the road, the scooter's engine died, and the headlight dimmed before going out completely as they coasted to a halt. The pair pushed the inanimate lump along as they tried in vain to start it. Now they were on the dual carriageway: Kel was running behind, pushing and Stu sat on the scooter trying to bump the engine into life.

Then bright lights behind them, a blue flashing light oh fuck it's the police what do we do?

"Run for it" said Stu.

Panic stricken, they ran. They dropped the heavy scooter and legged it down the road. Seconds later, Stu found himself in the arms of a large policeman. Kel stopped running when he saw that his friend hade been caught, and then they were both in the back of a police car.

"I'm Detective X and you'd better come clean or I'll throw the book at you".

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The policemen drove the boys to the police station. There then followed a lengthy interrogation: name, address, any previous convictions, where did you steal it? What were you doing? Why? Whose scooter is it?

Three and a half hours later, the policemen finally took the dazed boys home, finally satisfied that they had not really stolen the scooter, somewhat disappointed that they were not hardened criminals with 'form'. Late night phone calls had been made which corroborated the youths' stories. The scooter owner did not want to press charges. Stu and Kel had sensibly stuck to the line that the scooter never actually ran, thereby limiting the scope for possible prosecution (riding without a licence, riding without insurance, MOT etc). At that time, crash helmets were not mandatory.

No-one had seen fit to call the boys' homes. Their mothers were waiting up for them, wide-eyed with concern. "Where have you been? Why didn't you phone? I was getting worried sick."

Some days later, the boys' fathers received letters summoning them to the police station with their errant sons. Stu and Kel were officially cautioned.