In between completing The Amazing Adventures of Jimmy Crikey and beginning Jimmy's new adventures in the skies, I am also working on a memoir 'Consorting with the Enemy'.

I wanted to include the following humorous anecdote but could not fit it in - worth recording? What do you think???

The most expensive battery recharge EVER .

One very cold winter’s morning, many years ago, my first car, a Mark I Cortina, refused to start. I rang into work to advise my boss about the situation and apologised that I was going to be an hour or two late.

Not a problem as I had a battery charger. Because the garage had no power and was twenty yards away across a busy road, I had to disconnect the battery to carry it into the house to get some charge into it. 

Suitable spanners in hand I began the task of loosening the retaining nuts/bolts. Unfortunately, they were immovable. Not to worry ‘cos I had a can of WD40. Sprayed the nuts and left to soak for a few minutes. Returned to complete the job. Still a bit stiff so employed a bit of oomph! Not a good idea as the battery terminal sheared off. The other terminal disconnected easily.

Purchased new battery at Halfords. I was assured the new battery had a bit of charge in it, sufficient to get a vehicle to start up. Got it home, reconnected the connectors, turned on the ignition and after the first whirrrrrrr ... nothing. Disconnected again and carried battery over the road to home to put on charge for an hour or so. Telephoned boss and explained further delay.

Two hours later with the battery now charged and reconnected, turned on the ignition and the engine fired and swung into life. Success!

Got out to retrieve tools and drop the bonnet. Just as I closed the car door there was an enormous clashing sound over the noise of the still-running engine. What the hell???

At first, I couldn’t work it out. Where were my spanners? Found them on the ground under the front of the engine. As I reached under the bumper I felt water dripping onto the back of my hand. I retrieved the spanners and searched for the leak. I wondered about switching the engine off, but would it start again? Then I spotted where the water was coming from. There was a hole in the back of the radiator. So, I switched the engine off. Only then did I spot the damage to the fan blade. There was a chunk of metal missing from its leading edge.

The vibrating engine block had dislodged the spanners from the top of the radiator. They had dropped down onto the rotating fan. One of the spanners had hit the fan and was projected at force into the radiator. 

I telephoned my boss again. His response was, “Come and see me in a day or two’s time when you get things sorted.”

So, after buying a new battery, having the car recovered to a garage, it was fitted with a new radiator and fan. I collected it two days later and was operational again.

“Another time,” my boss said, “please call out the AA.”

I never again tried to repair a car.

That’s a lie! 

About twenty years later my wife’s Citroen Vantage needed an oil change. It wasn’t worth paying for a service because she had put on such low mileage. “I’ll do it,” I confidently offered. “It won’t need a new oil filter so I’ve just got to drain the old oil and fill up with whatever’s recommended in the handbook”.

Following the handbook, I got under the car and drained from the oil from the sump plug. I was a bit surprised that I didn’t need all the containers I had assembled in readiness. Then got the gold spot oil I had bought and poured it into the oil filler cap. It overflowed rather quicker than I thought and I wondered why I hadn’t used all the oil I’d purchased.

Job done!

Next day Pat made a short journey to the shops in town. When she returned she complained it was making some strange noises. I drove it around the block to see if I could identify the problem. There was a definite graunching sound. I had no option but to call the local garage for assistance. Next day the mechanic returned the car and reported the car gearbox had been almost dry. He refilled the gearbox and detected no further problems.

When I explained what I had done he burst out laughing. “You didn’t drain the engine, you drained the gearbox. You’ve been very lucky.”

I showed him the handbook. “There’s your problem,” he said. “When you’re under the car the gearbox sump is closer to the front than the engine sump. Shall I change the engine oil for you?”

That is why I’ll attempt to repair anything - except a car.

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An Unplanned Operatic Foray

As a youngster I had a very acceptable soprano voice. After the inevitable voice break had settled down, I was left with a passable tenor tone which was only ever heard in chapel gatherings. They became less frequent as I grew older until, eventually, they were non-existent. My heart and beliefs never changed, and I continue still to live the best life I can outside of the chapel environment.

There came a day, in my late twenties, early thirties when my wife Pat asked me if I would help out her work colleague of many years, in his hour of need. Apparently, Alan, also a a local government officer, was also the part time Musical Director of the local Spennymoor Junior Operatic Society and he was in desperate need of a practice pianist. The previous pianist had just unexpectedly given up. So, I met Alan and explained that while I enjoyed playing piano and organ, I was not at a professional level. Alan assured me that as long as I could play the melody that would be sufficient for the singers to follow the tune, “it’s only for practice,” Alan assured.

And so, for many weeks during the late summer months I attended practices in a school hall in Spennymoor. I struggled to play several passages but Alan loaned me an LP of the film sound track – “You’ll be able to pick it up better once you’ve listened to it a few times.” And it did help, until it came to practicing the choreography. Then much more accuracy was required.

As autumn approached, a few weeks before First Night, I approached Alan and asked when the professional pianist make an appearance for the actual show. “Don’t worry your head about that. He’s a professional just like the rest of the eighteen members of the orchestra. He could turn up at the last minute. open the music and play it perfectly.”

In fact, the musicians were predominantly semi-professional, most had day jobs and played in bands or orchestras during evenings and weekends. They were paid a token fee by the Society to cover expenses. They gave up their time to support the kids. The children’s ages ranged from seven or eight up to eighteen or nineteen.

Dress rehearsals including the full orchestra were planned for Wednesday nights in the Spennymoor Town Hall and the show would start on a Thursday running through Friday and two performances on Saturday: a matinee and the Saturday night.

Sometime during Tuesday Alan got a message to Pat: the pianist could not turn up until Thursday evening. He would be in time for the show, so, could I cover dress rehearsal on Wednesday?. I did not smell a rat.

 After dress rehearsal Johnathon, the Producer Director, expressed confidence that this production of The Sound of Music would run smoothly.

Relaxing in the pub afterwards Alan asked, “You are coming to the show, Wallace?”

“Of course I am.”

“Well,“ he continued, “do you have a bow tie” The penny dropped with an enormous thud.

“There is no professional pianist. Is there?”

“Wear a white shirt and a bow tie and you’ll fit in just fine, The other musicians will support you all the way. Nothing to worry about.”

Perhaps they would support me but there was no one there that night in the pub to pick me up off the floor. 

Thursday night nerves had almost robbed me of mobility but I turned up as I had promised I would. The musicians gathered in the corridor, just beyond the temporary theatre wings, blowing the smoke from their cigarettes out of the opened window. I could not remember ever having been so nervous in all of my life. One member of the wind section spotted my nervous discomfort and approached me offering a slug from his hip flask. I was not a heavy drinker but the warmth of the whisky going down my throat rapidly spread throughout my body. “Thanks,” I managed. “Take another,” my new ‘friend’ offered and gratefully I accepted.

Within two minutes the orchestra was tuning up with me occupying centre placing in the ‘pits’, giving them the tuning  notes they variously called for. Then, silence, followed by applause as Alan took up his elevated position with baton in hand,

The prologue was over before he I realised it. I was in front of house, in centre position, playing the piano with an orchestra before of an audience of approximately three hundred bodies.

I would never claim to be note perfect, but the orchestra masked my occasional missed beat or note. My senses were on overload, in awe of the surrounding orchestral strains.

Show finale, a short speech, final applause and the orchestra broke into the National Anthem. The orchestra did but the pianist didn’t. I could never play a tune by ear. I needed the black notes to be on paper in front of me. My embarrassment was total. I could only sit with my hands by my side, doing nothing. I will never make that same humbling mistake again.

For me the highlight of the whole experience was the last night’s presentation of a steel sculpture, large matchbox size, of a sitting pianist at a stylised piano. It was an unexpected greatly appreciated ‘thank you’ from the Society for my contribution. It remains a highly treasured memento.

There may be another story ot two to come from this association with The Spennymoor Junior Orchestral Society, because two or three years later Johnathon moved on in his endeavours to become a professional Producer Director. Unexpectedly the Society turned to me and pleaded that I become their next Producer.Director: Johnathon was generous in his time and without his tuition I might never have succeeded. There followed happy stressful days which I will never forget. Highs and tearful lows that were richly rewarding.

If there is a message to be passed on to the reader it is: if an opportunity to try something different comes your way do not be afraid to pick up the reins and give it a go. If you put your heart into any new venture the chances are you will succeed and success brings its own rewards, not necessarily measured in monetary terms. New paragraph