(86) 'The Hells Angel's Unwanted Gift'

[Ken]

This is a short story of an event that occurred in the mid 1970's.  It began in, The Bricklayers Arms, the Shamley Green village pub I often frequented.  It was on a Friday night and the time was just after 11pm and last orders had been called.  Wilf, my regular driver from the Guildford firm, City Cabs, had popped his head into the bar to let me know he had arrived.  What he would have seen was a somewhat different client'al from the happy crowd whose company I normally kept.  For that night the pub had been invaded by a huge gang of Hells Angels and, as Wilf was later to say, a more murderous bunch he had never seen!

I had known many of my single friends would be absent, for two car loads were away on holiday.  It was sods law that my married buddies, Bojey, Maxi and Bernard, would also fail to come out that evening, so I found myself alone apart from some of the older customers.  At this point I should say that I have known many bikers and almost all of them have been decent chaps, but this mob was different. They revelled in their aggressive stance and delighted in the uneasiness their presence created. I recall, Walt Knight, decided on an early evening and so did several other regulars. I thought that Walt proved himself to be no 'Knight' in shining armour, but, in my mind I was, and I would not be intimidated by a gang of thugs. I could also see Bert and Sylvie, the pub owners, wanted me to stay and so, unwisely, that's what I did.

I am human, and if I drink a lot, I widdle a lot, and I visited the Gents toilet regularly that evening.  In those days to get to it you had to leave the main bar and pass through a room that contained a three quarter size snooker table.  You then had to go out of the back door to the car park where some ten metres away was the Gents Loo.  Every time anyone needed the loo they had to walk past these menacing strangers who sat on all the available chairs and awkwardly on the floor itself.  The chairs had been moved to make passing them difficult and every time nature called I found myself having to work my way through this minefield of sprawled legs and pint glasses .  As the evening progressed these ruffians started to sit on the snooker table itself and their pints were selfishly placed on the expensive green baize surface cloth.

In those days I was always dressed smartly and I could tell that my sartorial appearance did not endear me to either sex of our pubs unwanted guests, and one nasty looking piece of work stared at me constantly all evening.  I was, therefore, secretly quite relieved when my driver arrived and, as Wilf waited patiently in his car, I finished my pint and my conversation with the worried landlord.  I then went to the loo one last time to ensure I had a comfortable ride home.  As I walked past the back car park I saw it was crammed full of the high powered bikes and I hoped our peaceful village would not see such a site again. The front entrance to the pub was also full of bikes and I noticed their inebriated riders were giving my cab driver the evil eye as I walked to his car.  I could see the poor man was mightily pleased when he saw me and he eagerly started the car as I got in. As we were about to depart I sensed a movement from the nasty bit of work mentioned earlier and I told a reluctant Wilf to wait a second.  Opening my door I glanced back and found, in an attempt to puncture the tyre, a pint mug was placed against the cars rear wheel!

I reached back to remove the glass and saw the offender was grinning, obviously pleased with himself, as he continued his constant stare.  I took in the other bikers as they expectantly awaited my reaction and I found myself doing an unwise thing. Holding the yobo's stare I grinned back and taking a coin out of my coat pocket, I threw it to him saying, "CATCH," for all to hear.  As he automatically did so, I added pleasantly, "buy yourself some sweets for your tenth birthday!"  There was possibly twenty seconds of silence then all hell broke loose. The main yob, no longer grinning, charged at the car and, as I tried to close the car door, he grabbed the outside handle.  Wilf's cab took off like a rocket as the yob and I played tug of war with the door handle but, thankfully, the cars acceleration aided me for I saw my would be aggressor thrown to the ground.  I looked back to see him jump up but by then we were speeding away to what I hoped was safety!  

No such luck, for as we sped through the village, I could hear the sounds of bikes being kick started into action.  Poor Wilf kept saying various versions of, "We're f*cking dead," so I proceeded to tell him what he must do.  I obviously knew Shamley Green better than him, or the bikers, and I informed him we would soon reach some crossroads and when we did he was to turn left.  There was no need to tell him to hurry for he drove like his life depended on speed and perhaps it did. We roared past the Nursery Hill turning and then we were rapidly passing the entrance to my old school. I was constantly looking out of the back window hoping we would reach the left turn before any bike came into view. Within seconds we reached the crossroads and Wilf speedily turned left up the narrow road that led to the village of Blackheath.  As I glanced back I could hear the roar of the approaching bikes but, thank heavens, none were close enough to see our left turn.  Almost immediately, however, we could hear the sound of bike after bike roaring past the crossroads but they remained on the main road.  We had escaped in the nick of time for as we drove further up that quiet lane there was soon no sound of any bike at all!

I have always been able to appear calm when threatened, but poor Wilf was the opposite.  I suggested he stop for a few minutes, for he was visibly shaken and needed to compose himself.  As he slowly began to relax, he told me I was one cool customer and asked why I hadn't been scared.  I cannot recall what I said, but I didn't tell him that I too had been scared sh*tless, but just hid the fact well.  Back then, I had this self image that I always tried to live up to and that was one where I would never admit to fear.  So, we drove calmly, but using all the small back roads in case the bikers were still searching for us. When we reached White Lane I knew we were safe and within minutes I was home and saying my goodnight to dear old Wilf.  I was always generous with my tips for good service and on that night I was even more so, for Wilf had done well by me.  I soon went to sleep reflecting on an unexpectedly eventful evening and I wondered if the bikers would be at the same pub again the following Friday.  I knew, without doubt, I'd be there and my friends would be back from their holiday!

In the week that followed I found out that all the Bikers had left the pub in pursuit of me, much to the relief of the owners, Bert and Sylvie.  I also discovered that the yobs had snapped off Wilf's radio aerial at some time during the troubled evening which I paid for when he visited my Head Office.  While he was there he told his version of the Friday night trouble to my warehouse staff and no doubt he exaggerated the evening.  The story of my lack of fear soon travelled from branch to branch and when mentioned to me by my staff I downplayed the event as of no consequence. The following Friday I was once again at, The Bricklayers Arms, but this week so were all my friends.  I'm pleased to say there was no sign of the Hells Angels but there was much laughter from everyone when two strangers on mopeds arrived.  It was also a very nervous Wilf who arrived to collect me later that evening.  Was it sensible to throw the fifty pence piece at the maleficent biker and say, "buy yourself some sweets for your tenth birthday!"  Of course it wasn't, but if I hadn't used that sarcastic put down line, there would have been no Friday night adventure to tell of in this, my eighty sixth, Cosy story.  Friends and relatives I wish you well!    

[Ken]

This tale tell of a dangerous moment when I gave a gift to an obnoxious biker intent on causing trouble and of the adventurous journey that followed my ill chosen words.