treasure from each trip, for my treasure chest. The Phantom had a special chest and I would get one too.
Outside, it was now raining, not the kind of rain that makes you run like mad and say Shit! , but the kind that sticks to your clothes on the outside while leaving them dry on the inside; the kind that smells wet: thin, cold rain. Luckily I had my hat on. That hat was my exploring hat, and there was no way I would ever leave the house without it. Dad had a lucky hat; it was a grey blokeâs hat. Granddad had a lucky hat that was brown. And even Blarney Barney had one, a hat with no particular colour. Mine was battleship grey, at least thatâs what I told everyone. Hell, I just liked the words: battleship grey . The hat had my flag-pin collection on it. For every teamthat had come to the Olympic Games there had been a flag, and I had collected most of them, and eaten a hell of a lot of chocolate in the process. But it was worth it. My favourite pin was Denmark: I had to swap three pins for it, but it gave me a chance to unload another one of my USAs.
My work was interrupted by a nasty voice outside.
âGet out of there!â
Tram bloke. I grabbed my stuff and jumped down.
The bloke raised his hand as if to cuff me across the head, but changed his mind. If heâd known that I knew Blarney Barney, he wouldnât have even gone that far.
âWhaddya think youâre doinâ? This is private property,â he growled.
Granddad always says honesty is the best policy.
âMy dog ran in here and I think he probably jumped on one of the trams because when we brought him home from the lost dogs home we took the Camberwell tram, and he liked it a lot.â
âWell, when I see him Iâll put him on a Camberwell tram and send him home. Now piss off.â
Funny bugger.
I headed for the entrance, leaving the bloke to board the tram, to see if Iâd nicked the seats or something, and keeping an eye out for a dog â you never know. Just inside the main gate was the guardâs room, and I ducked in for a quick squiz. Iâd been in a few guardâs rooms, and this one was typical, and even had a few really nice pens and pencils just lying around. On the desk was a newspaper. I could tell the bloke had been looking up the race information, because he had folded the newspaper back in the middle and that was what Dad always did with the Saturday paper, and Granddad, and Mr Platte,down at the shop, and Mr Curran, who always had jam on his chin, and who lived down the corner. There was also a packet of Juicy Fruit on the desk, so I helped myself â both explorers and detectives think best when theyâre chewing. The guard had a nearly full packet of Viscounts, too, so, as I have been known to enjoy the odd puff, I fossicked around in the bin for the empty packet I knew Iâd find there, slipped in one â make it two â of the weeds, and stashed them in my bag for later on, with his matches. Heâd have no trouble getting more matches, as there was a whole match factory next door.
As I walked out of the room I noticed a bin with an umbrella in the Tramways colours sticking out of it, and, as it was still raining lightly, I grabbed it and put it up. Just then a tram swung into the driveway and trundled past the guardâs room. The trammie couldnât see any reason why I shouldnât be there, and I couldnât see any reason why he shouldnât be driving a tram, so we just waved at each other and said âGâdayâ, and I kept on walking.
I crossed the main drag, as everybody calls Church Street, and went straight down the first lane I came to, Kupsh Lane, with its entrance almost invisible between John Guffey and Sons, a small factory that did chrome-plating and smelt sharp, and a motorbike repair shop called General Air-cooled that smelt like a cross between Dadâs Triumph and Uncle Noelâs Matchless, only paintier. Down the lane were the
Outside, it was now raining, not the kind of rain that makes you run like mad and say Shit! , but the kind that sticks to your clothes on the outside while leaving them dry on the inside; the kind that smells wet: thin, cold rain. Luckily I had my hat on. That hat was my exploring hat, and there was no way I would ever leave the house without it. Dad had a lucky hat; it was a grey blokeâs hat. Granddad had a lucky hat that was brown. And even Blarney Barney had one, a hat with no particular colour. Mine was battleship grey, at least thatâs what I told everyone. Hell, I just liked the words: battleship grey . The hat had my flag-pin collection on it. For every teamthat had come to the Olympic Games there had been a flag, and I had collected most of them, and eaten a hell of a lot of chocolate in the process. But it was worth it. My favourite pin was Denmark: I had to swap three pins for it, but it gave me a chance to unload another one of my USAs.
My work was interrupted by a nasty voice outside.
âGet out of there!â
Tram bloke. I grabbed my stuff and jumped down.
The bloke raised his hand as if to cuff me across the head, but changed his mind. If heâd known that I knew Blarney Barney, he wouldnât have even gone that far.
âWhaddya think youâre doinâ? This is private property,â he growled.
Granddad always says honesty is the best policy.
âMy dog ran in here and I think he probably jumped on one of the trams because when we brought him home from the lost dogs home we took the Camberwell tram, and he liked it a lot.â
âWell, when I see him Iâll put him on a Camberwell tram and send him home. Now piss off.â
Funny bugger.
I headed for the entrance, leaving the bloke to board the tram, to see if Iâd nicked the seats or something, and keeping an eye out for a dog â you never know. Just inside the main gate was the guardâs room, and I ducked in for a quick squiz. Iâd been in a few guardâs rooms, and this one was typical, and even had a few really nice pens and pencils just lying around. On the desk was a newspaper. I could tell the bloke had been looking up the race information, because he had folded the newspaper back in the middle and that was what Dad always did with the Saturday paper, and Granddad, and Mr Platte,down at the shop, and Mr Curran, who always had jam on his chin, and who lived down the corner. There was also a packet of Juicy Fruit on the desk, so I helped myself â both explorers and detectives think best when theyâre chewing. The guard had a nearly full packet of Viscounts, too, so, as I have been known to enjoy the odd puff, I fossicked around in the bin for the empty packet I knew Iâd find there, slipped in one â make it two â of the weeds, and stashed them in my bag for later on, with his matches. Heâd have no trouble getting more matches, as there was a whole match factory next door.
As I walked out of the room I noticed a bin with an umbrella in the Tramways colours sticking out of it, and, as it was still raining lightly, I grabbed it and put it up. Just then a tram swung into the driveway and trundled past the guardâs room. The trammie couldnât see any reason why I shouldnât be there, and I couldnât see any reason why he shouldnât be driving a tram, so we just waved at each other and said âGâdayâ, and I kept on walking.
I crossed the main drag, as everybody calls Church Street, and went straight down the first lane I came to, Kupsh Lane, with its entrance almost invisible between John Guffey and Sons, a small factory that did chrome-plating and smelt sharp, and a motorbike repair shop called General Air-cooled that smelt like a cross between Dadâs Triumph and Uncle Noelâs Matchless, only paintier. Down the lane were the
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