A Fizzy History (well mine anyway)

[davecumbria]

Now then Dave do you want to assist me writing this book as you have a naturel talent there pal!

What books that one then??

[marky]

Now then Dave do you want to assist me writing this book as you have a naturel talent there pal!

What books that one then??

the a to b of sports mopeds

[pertheswede]

Now then Dave do you want to assist me writing this book as you have a naturel talent there pal!

What books that one then??

Life as a spotty fizzy riding teenager in deepest darkest Cumbria in the late 70's!!

[garyb]

i didnt know you could write!! funky draws

[flapinflares]

good stuff.

[davecumbria]

I’ve never really sat down and thought about these times before, and writing has placed some focus on trying to remember the exact sequence of events. I’d even gone to the trouble of going through old boxes in the loft to see if I still have information to confirm the exact date of these momentous events, but as always things get lost or thrown away,

All I can recall was ….it was my Payday!!

And there, when I got home was a brown window type envelope with my name and address printed on some green squiggles. Carefully peeling the envelope open and looking at the enclosed piece of paper, which took some time for me to recognize as a cheque……..

It had boxes with £100,000 £10,000 £1,000 £100. Ten, One, and Pence

Nil. Nil. Nil. Three, Seven, Seven, 50. Eh? Scanning up and down the cheque it took a couple of seconds to click. Rooted to the spot, I got that jelly sort of feeling in the knees

Three Hundred and Seventy Seven Quid, Three Hundred and Seventy Seven Bloody Quid,

I was cold, then my ears went hot…… DAD!!! THREE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY SEVEN QUID


What the hell do I do with a cheque?? I was on the dole, I didn’t have a bank account!

So the following morning I entered the marbled hall of the Yorkshire Bank in Kendal. At the time you couldn’t just open a bank account by just turning up at the counter with a gas bill and driving license, you had to make an appointment to see the Manager (or the assistant manager depending upon your status in society)

So I was ushered in to the Assistant Managers office, with me wearing the remains of my School uniform which had been updated with the addition of a pair of fluorescent Green socks with two black rings around the tops of them. I seem to think that they were the “in” thing at the time, It was when instructed to take a seat in the low chair across the room my trousers shot up to half mast, exposing the aforementioned socks in full view over my Dr Martin shoes.

The Assistant Manager, who was a short, stocky chap, leaned forward over his Green leather inlaid desk and peered at me through his Jam-jar glasses as I fidgeted nervously in the specifically not designed for comfort chair.

“So Master Ellis, you wish to open an account with us” he emphasised the master, adding “now you have been introduced to us by your father but we will need to write for a reference from your employer and we would like one further reference from a person of stature not a family member."

Oh buggar, I thought, well the references were going to take some time although the family solicitor would provide the second reference. “erm how long is this going to take?” I inquired, the response was not what I wanted to hear, “oh these things do take time, usually two to three weeks” he said leaning back in his leather chair, adjusting his “comb over” hair as he did so. “How long did you expect it to take?”

I explained that I had a wage cheque, which was marked A/C payee only (so it could only be paid into my account) and I hoped that it would be sorted out so that I could get some money out of my wages.

He inquired what I did for a living and I explained the job that I was doing and that although it was only for six months, I was hoping to find further employment to maintain my income at its current level.


Now, just to clear things up, £377 in 1976 is worth around £1650 at current value, just to illustrate how big the wage cheque was for counting people on and off buses, and once the local paper found out there was an almighty fuss kicked up because some of the older people who were doing the survey were actually getting paid more that the Bus Drivers!





Mr Strange (that was the assistant managers name) leaned forward again, aimed his Jam Jar bottoms squarely at my Dayglo socks, and almost sneeringly asked, how much my paycheque was for, probably expecting about thirty quid. I stood and removed the now crumpled and folded cheque from my pocket at flattened it out on the desk.

Strange how peoples’ attitudes change isn’t it?. A broad smile appeared to be turned on by a switch, the comb-over was readjusted with a few deft strokes and the whole persona switched to smarm mode.

Mr Ellis I’m sure that we can come to some arrangement over this, we will still need official references, but I’m sure that won’t be a problem, pressing a buzzer a lady cashier entered the office “ This is Mr Ellis, he is opening a current account with us this morning would you please open a numbered account for him and pay in this cheque if you could take him through and get his details and arrange for him to be issued a cheque book."

And with that and a few more smiles and gestures I was ushered out of the office and found myself sitting in the altogther warmer and more friendly area behind the Counter giving all my details to the cashier.

Of course I asked when I could take some money out, she smiled and explained that I couldn’t actually take any money out for three full working days. I guess the crestfallen look on my face said it all, “just wait a minute” she said and disappeared back to the office, which we had just come out of. A few minutes passed (though it seemed like hours) when she returned smiling and said “Mr Strange has agreed to let you draw up to Forty Pounds against your cheque until it clears” and with that and a few signatures and forms filled in I stepped out into the street with twenty five pounds in cash in my pocket


Guess where next!

[allspeed]

Brilliant Dave...more more more

[pertheswede]

...applause, applause..more, more!!!

[davecumbria]

I suppose that I could have held out and simply gone to a dealer and bought a brand new or good second hand bike. HP was a difficulty though as my Dad though probably willing to sign a guarantee, would have had to get past my Stepmother so it was just a non-starter.

I have one of those independent streaks and without even consulting aforementioned parents I found myself once more on the bus down to Burton to the garage.

Strange isn’t it, these days you would ring up before going, e-mail and check that the bike was still for sale, not me in 1976! So sitting on the bus, which seemed to be going so slowly I had a very nervous and worrying ride down. Was it butterflies in my stomach, or the fact that I’d not eaten since breakfast? What if the bike had been sold?, what if he’d decided not to sell it?

My fears were allayed as the bus pulled up at the stop and I peered nervously across the forecourt and I saw the bike still where it had been when I came down the day before.

Walking into the workshop the mechanic clocked me and smiled, pointing over to the office where the boss was sitting talking on the telephone, I stood outside his office on pins looking at the pictures of Austin Allegros and Maxis on the dealer display board trying to concentrate on other things like quartic steering wheels and velour interiors rather than Yamaha FS1e’s. After what seemed an eternity the telephone call was finished and I was brought back to reality with the call “come in lad!”

So I paid my deposit and was handed a receipt for Twenty Pounds and after some discussion about when I would come to pick it up and he would get all of the bits of the bike together for me, I headed back to the bus stop to get the next bus home.

I’ve always liked traveling on buses you can look out of the window and see what’s going on and now in the long sun late afternoon with mist starting to appear, I looked through the glass thinking about the next stage of the adventure, telling Dad, and thinking how I was going to get the bike home.

[davecumbria]

Some parents are easy going, others are somewhat more demanding……..

Luckily I caught up with Dad first when he got home from work, and I explained what I had done, reckon he was quite impressed with the independent streak in me. He told me to keep the fizzy quiet for the moment until he had “cleared things” with my Stepmother.


Now, in the 21st Century, and I suppose older and wiser, the terms “bi-polar” and “PMT” are more recognized and understood than they were in 1976. (as is Paranoid bloody schizophrenic)


All I knew as a sixteen year old was to run and hide every fourth Sunday, as any object not screwed down was liable to be thrown in your direction if things kicked off, one time I felt the breeze as a kitchen knife flew past my ear and embedded itself in the door. All I will say any further on this matter is that it’s a privilege to say that I now haven’t seen or spoken to that person for twenty-five years. (I wonder if she’s calmed down yet)


So after the wage cheque had finally cleared and I had withdrawn Eighty Pounds from the Yorkshire, Saturday morning bright and early, we jumped into the minivan. By minivan I mean a Mini Van not some GM produced monster truck, me in the back with Dad and Steve, my stepbrother in the front, down to Burton again. Interesting how once again things stick in your mind, I recall being rather pleased that it wasn’t raining, this was due to the fact that you could see the road passing by through the holes in the back doors of the van, along with the tyres through the holes in the wheel arches. I consoled myself with the fact that the sheet of plywood screwed to the floor of the back of van on which I was lying, was substantially contributing to the structural strength of the floor-pan.


Anyway we reached the garage and as arranged, the bike was ready for collection, loaded into the back of the van on its side with the forks, front wheel and mudguard, along with a load of new parts in a cardboard box. I handed over the remaining Eighty Quid, signed the log book and

Was now the proud owner of a Popsicle Purple FS1-E (LBV 174N if you are interested)


Setting off back to Kendal me once again in the back, along with my Fizzy. After a couple of miles I began to smell a strong whiff of petrol, looking down I saw fuel running out of the bottom of the engine. Bloody hell! the petrol is still turned, on which way is off??

Finally identifying the off position, which wasn’t easy as whichever position it was in, the fuel still ran out. I sat in the back of a petrol fume filled minivan for 10 miles. The situation was only slightly improved by ventilation supplied by pulling forward the rear section of the sliding glass windows that Mini’s were fitted with at the time.

So back home the bike was lifted out and set up in the garage for its rebuild, the contents of the parts box examined. There was a scrape on the leading edge of the mudguard, but the bike had new headlamp ears, and a new bowl for the headlamp, headlamp ring and glass, but the bowl was black, two new indicators and a couple of other bits and bobs, all the bolts were in a margarine tub. Now all we had to do was to figure out how it goes back together!