Part 30 (2/2)

”Yes, of course, but not right at this moment and I might want eight.”

”Ey up! Are that ready or what?” said a loud voice in my ear.

I very nearly tumbled off the bridge, and turned to face the taxi driver standing with hands on hips. ”I've got a lot o' calls to neet tha knaws. Can't be messin' abaat whilst that looks at t'river. It's been theer since Battle o' Ribsd.y.k.e 'undreds o' years back. It'll still be theer in t' mornin'. So let's be 'avin' thee.”

Christine and I hooted with laughter so loudly that it was the taxi driver's turn to jump with surprise.

”Are you two all reight?”

”We're champion, aren't we, Chris?” I exclaimed robustly, in true Yorks.h.i.+re fas.h.i.+on. ”Just champion!”

Remember Me? ”Do you remember me?” asked the young man.

The old man at the bus stop, Shabby, standing in the sun, alone, Looked round.

He stared for a moment s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his eyes, Then shook his head.

”No, I don't remember you.”

”You used to teach me,” said the young man.

”I've taught so many,” said the old man, sighing.

”I forget.”

”I was the boy you said was useless, Good for nothing, a waste of s.p.a.ce.

Who always left your cla.s.sroom crying, And dreaded every lesson that you taught.”

The old man shook his head and turned away.

”No, I don't remember you,” he murmured.

”Well, I remember you,” the young man said.

end

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