Mr Dibbs Fixes Bikes

11

At the sight of a pair of horses in a paddock, the lad ran like the wind, pressing his face against the fence and causing the nearest horse to toss its head, snort and bound away, yet even that caused the lad to giggle in delight, watching as the horse ran, tail whipping behind it, mane rippling. No longer half-asleep, Frederick revelled in the new sensations that Alfie doubted he had even seen on tv, or in books.

The lad had grown up in London, a place Alfie had had no inclination to ever visit. A teeming, over-crowded place where anything green no doubt stood before black and grey houses and warehouses. Oh, Alfie knew they had green spaces alright, but nowt like the countryside. The land up here had a presence to it, a character all its own. Something that a native Yorkshireman could feel in their bones. In their soul. And, seeing this young man take such delight in Alfie's home made his chest swell with pride.

Questions spilled from the lad in a torrent, asking about the names of birds and trees, how old things were, whether they had always stood there. So many questions that Alfie had difficulty keeping pace, trying to remember names of things that he took for granted, explanations for objects that he had never paid much attention to in his own life. Everything was new to Frederick, even the ancient and weathered.

The turn for the canal came up faster than Alfie had expected, the time walking filled with the lad's exuberance that both exhausted Alfie and energised him. He had forgotten the power of a young mind to carry the old and weary along with them on fresh-eyed journeys to new-old places. Forgotten the energy that children had, allowing them to launch from sloth-eyed, partial sleep, to racing, screaming flashes of movement that tricked the eyes as they tumbled and laughed and roared around in unashamed joy.

A racing that came to an abrupt stop as the lad saw the canal for the first time. A lazy curve in the lane hid the canal and all that came with it until the last moment and Alfie watched in silence as the rush became a stroll, became steps and then stopped. Not quite as beautiful as it once was, the canal could still catch breaths, especially for one so young who had only, possibly, seen the industrial canals of the capital.

The lock gates, painted black with white edges only a scant few years before, stood before hanging willow trees, branches curling and dipping to touch the undisturbed surface of the canal water, like a ballerina bending at the waist to waft a hand against the floor. Etherial and elegant, graceful and haunting. Even as he took his first glance, Alfie could see several varieties of ducks upon the surface waters, legs paddling furiously below gliding bodies.

"It's a river, innit?" Frederick turned around and looked at Alfie for the first time, uncertain whether to grin or continue to gaze in wonder. "It don't look like no canal I seen before."

"Aye. I reckon mebbe not at that." Alfie gave a nod, turning toward the towpath that hugged the canal side. "Nature's got a way of taking things back, 'less thy stops it. Best not to stop it too much, though. Looks better this way."

He stopped as his old ears caught the sound of something he expected the lad would like to see and, turning back, he could see his ears had not deceived him. A canal boat, chugging along at a leisurely pace, approached the lock, the man and woman at the tiller tip-toeing to see their next obstacle. An early start for more than Alfie and the lad. He caught the lad's eye and nodded to the boat that came to a stop, the woman jumping to the canal side, windlass in hand.

"Good morning!" A little too loud for this hour for Alfie's liking, the woman strode toward the first lock gate. "Fishing? Good show!"

"Aye. Fishing." He gave Frederick and amused smile at the woman's obvious question. He could have answered sarcastically, had he wanted to. "Boating?"

The woman looked up from turning the lock key and gave Alfie a furrow-browed scowl before glancing back to the canal boat, as though wondering whether Alfie couldn't see how obvious it was to anyone but him. She nodded, missing the grin that he hid with the handkerchief as he rubbed his nose.

The lad, obviously, had run to the edge of the lock-side, dropping to his knees and watching as water rushed into the lock, readying it for the slow shift between the differing heights of the water. He wasn't a daft lad, though, sat a good two feet from the edge, in no danger of falling in. Alfie had no doubt the lad's mother would have fussed and flustered, calling him away, telling him he'd fall in. Such were the ways of mothers and it did no harm to care that much, but, sometimes, children needed that little freedom. That chance to creep toward the border of danger without fear of crossing over. The lad appeared bright and sensible enough to Alfie to make that decision himself.

Still, old as he was, Alfie didn't want to stand too far from the lad. He'd never cross the distance fast enough with his knees the way they were. He moved nearer, setting the fishing tackle upon the ground and stood beside the lad, hands in his pockets. Near enough to catch him, should he move too close to the lock, but giving Frederick that space to know Alfie wasn't hovering, expecting the worst.

Back in his day, were the canal not the filthy thing it was back then, he would have swum in those waters, not a care whether his mam or dad were near or far. Parents, people, didn't hover, back then. Children ran wild and were, as far as Alfie felt concerned, the better for it. But those were different days and this boy wasn't his to allow to run wild. He had no need to worry, though, Frederick proved he had good sense about him and didn't edge closer, a smile as wide as the canal itself on his face.

Alfie wished he could see the world that way, once again, one last time.