Tales From The Parish

Does Nathan have what it takes to win the Wacky Race?

AUGUST Bank Holiday meant one thing in Moreton-on-the-edge: the Wacky Race. Teams raced home-built push cars down the escarpment on which the village was built.

It was the reverse of the May Bank Holiday Cheese Race, where fit villagers ran uphill with a heavy cheese wheel on their shoulders.

The Wacky Race had been dubbed “The Lazy Race”, which suited Nathan very well, as he was always last at games.

This year his dad and their neighbours on either side, Grant and Mr Barrington, had formed a team and had asked him to drive.

“We’ve done our bit. Now it’s your turn, young man,” Grant, who built the car’s chassis and controls, said.

Mr Barrington had made the bodywork and painted it in British racing green with a beautiful Union Jack.

“Try not to scrape the paintwork. We wouldn’t like to see scratches on the photos of the winning car.”

Nathan swallowed. What if he didn’t win?

His dad patted his shoulder.

“You can do it, my boy.” Teams were paired by draw and were going to race each other in a process of elimination.

The presenter shouted into the microphone.

“Buckets are going round for your donations towards the refurbishment of our Electric Picture House.

“Our next race is Firemen versus Primrose Close!”

Oh, no, the firemen were last year’s winners!

The firemen struck the bell of their miniature fire engine and squirted water from their toy hosepipe.

They were everyone’s favourites. Nathan’s palms turned clammy.

Even if he managed to snatch victory, the crowd would be disappointed.

Was Katie cheering for him or for the firemen?

He scanned the crowd. No sign of her.

He took out his hearing aid, shoved it into his pocket and put on his helmet.

He felt his dad, Grant and Mr Barrington take hold of the back of the car.

Four beefy firemen got into position behind theirs.

Three pushers weren’t going to cut it against four! Nathan scanned the crowd in panic.

Father Okoli caught his eye, nodded, then walked up to the race director and asked him something.

Next thing, Father was behind the car, ready to be the fourth pusher.

The flag went down and his team gave a mighty shove, but the fire engine lurched out like a Formula One car and was hurtling downhill, spraying water on the ecstatic crowd.

The fire engine was heavier than Nathan’s car and accelerated faster.

At the first corner, the engine wobbled, drawing gasps from the crowd.

Nathan took the chance to overtake his adversary.

At Old Oak Corner, Nathan leaned over the side so much that his elbow rubbed against tarmac, but he managed not to brake.

He saw the chequered flag. He was winning!

Just then, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the engine. It overtook him and crossed the finish line a millisecond before his car.

He took off his helmet, wiped his brow and put his hearing aid back in, in time to hear the crowd cheer. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “What for?” Grant asked. “Losing, after all the work you’ve done on the car.” Grant laughed.

“I’ve loved every bit of the work. I would have been gutted if you won and wrecked the car.”

“Quite! I don’t care whether we win or not. I just like people admiring my paintwork,” Mr Barrington said.

Suddenly, a girl ran out of the crowd. Katie!

“Congratulations, Nathan!” she said. “What for?” “Haven’t you heard? You won! The fire engine went off the road at Old Oak Corner. Spectators helped it back up and pushed it, so the team is disqualified.”

Nathan didn’t care whether he had won the race or not. Katie had come to watch him.

His chest swelled with happiness.

His dad came forward. “Well done, my boy. Now, say goodbye to Katie and push the car back up the hill to race again.”

“Remember. Careful of the paintwork,” a smiling Mr Barrington said.

More next week.