15. FISH AND CHIPS

Sergeant Jenson arrives with technical help...

While the twins were busy washing and changing … the shower in Rosie’s caravan was really efficient unless the water barrel ran out part way through a shower, in which case someone had to replace it with a full one or refill it … Rosie decided to leap onto the Internet using her smart phone and check up on one or two things.

Firstly, after quite a search she discovered that the Cyclemaster that had apparently born the registration OAC 63 was, in fact, a small petrol engine crammed into the enlarged hub of the rear wheel of a push-bike and, seeing a picture of one, instantly felt she’d be eccentrically at home if she arrived at work on one.

The good old days weren’t all bad, she thought.

Next, the Amstrad computer with its odd disc was easier to find, it being a great deal more recent. She had one on her table, the one from the caravan, and when she switched it on (her caravan was connected to mains electricity, a facility that was charged for on her nightly fee for using Twelve Trees) the screen did what the photo on her phone suggested it would, and announced itself. But when she slipped the disc she’d retrieved from the Coppleby caravan it did nothing. She typed run disc and got the same error message as she’d got before. Further reading revealed that her sergeant, Peter Jenson, was probably right and that the disc drive needed a new rubber belt.

“A daft arrangement,” she grunted as the twins, towelling themselves, gathered round her to see what she was looking at.

“You two are the nosiest parkers ever spawned in Brumpton,” she told them.

“I’m hungry,” announced Jack.

“So am I,” confirmed Jill.

“Then I’ll feed you. Will fish and chips from the take-away do?” asked Rosie, examining the computer disc thoughtfully.

“With mushy peas,” decided Jack.

“Me too,” added Jill.

“And pop,” grinned Jack.

“Pop we’ve got in the fridge. Now let me phone the chip shop and ask them to deliver.”

“Fish and chips are my favourite,” announced Jack, pulling his shorts on whilst simultaneously still towelling his cropped hair.

“Then you can count yourself as a really lucky boy,” Rosie told him. “Now let mummy do a bit of thinking. Sergeant Jenson shouldn’t be too long.”

“Uncle Peter,” grinned Jill, “I was hoping you’d have to turn to him and drag him out here before long!”

“I’m not dragging him anywhere, cheeky,” Rosie told her daughter. “Now you two make yourselves decent because it won’t be long before he’s here.”

“Make ourselves decent?” said Jack, “you’re a fine one to talk, a woman who likes lounging around in the nuddy!”

“Now we’ll have less of your cheek,” demanded Rosie, and she perked her ears up, “that must be the good sergeant now. I’d recognise that motor bike of his anywhere.”

Jack and Jill ran to the door and clambered down the steps together in order to greet the sergeant they had called uncle for a year or two by then. Being a single man he found himself looking on them as a surrogate family when he was with them. He and Rosie Baur had a happy relationship, friendly rather than emotional, and he’d much rather it stayed that way rather than end up as a bedroom disaster. The good thing was she felt very much the same way about him.

“A glass of red?” she invited him.

“I’m on the bike, so make it a small one,” he replied, “now where’s this old computer?”

She indicated the table where it stood, still switched on.

“It’s what I thought,” he said, “or at least I hope it is. My dad had one of these back in the day, when he was alive. He used it for all sorts of things, writing letters and stories and stuff, though I secretly thought he spent most of the last few years of his life controlling the antics of an egg that bounced around screen after screen in search of a variety of unlikely things.”

“There’s some fish and chips coming,” Rosie told him, “I hope you can manage a plate full because I ordered some for you.”

“I can always manage fish and chips,” he said, “now shush you three and let me see what I can do.”

The twins stayed next to him while he unscrewed the base of the computer and removed the disc drive. “My dad had to do this once,” he said as he worked, “and when he’d done it the machine worked perfectly again. Now give me some space and I’ll get it done tout suite.”

He might have had trouble dislodging the twins but was assisted by the arrival of the delivery of fish and chips. Very soon the caravan was filled with the aroma of fish and vinegar and all four of them ate their fill and still had a pile of chips left over.

“I’ll put these in the fridge and shove them in the microwave for supper,” said Rosie.

“I’ve just about done,” announced Peter, tightening up the last few screws. “The old belt was truly rotten. It had gone brittle and would never have worked. Lucky I had a spare in my late father’s oddments drawer. I’m damned glad I didn’t clear it out like I planned to or we’d be spending the next for-ever trying to find a new belt for this little beastie.”

When he was quite sure that he’d finished the job he switched the computer back on and the familiar announcement of the computer’s manufacture appeared on the screen. Then Rosie passed him the disc, and he slipped it into its housing and typed cat.

“That’s short of catalogue, he told them.

This time the screen blanked and then a list appeared.

“It seems to be working!” murmured Rosie, “but what’s that list all about?

“It’s a list of document files,” Peter told her, “and from the look of them they’re all quite short. Whoever last used this disc had a word processing program running. Let’s see what’s on the other side...”

He removed the disc and re-inserted it the other way round, and typed cat again, and the same kind of list appeared.

“They’re all document files,” he said, “The disc’s full of them, and what we need is a program to read them. I was hoping it would be on this disc, but it doesn’t seem to be. Back in the good old days all programs had to be run from a disc before anything could be done on computers. That way the very little memory they have wasn’t cluttered up with dozens of programs waiting until they were wanted like they are today, only one of which would be run at the time anyway.”

“Thanks for the I.T. lesson,” said Rosie drily, “but are you trying to say that even with your repair job we can’t actually access what might be vital information on this disc?”

“Oh ye of little faith,” grinned Peter Jenson, “remember I mentioned my dad’s oddments drawer? Where I found the spare belt? Well, I picked this up too.”

He searched in his pocket and produced a second disc, the same type as the one Rosie had found in Tom Coppleby’s exploded caravan.

“This might do it,” he sighed, and slipped it into the machine, “now let’s see what we shall see...”

He typed run disc, and the screen cleared.

TO BE CONTINUED…

© Peter Rogerson 04.04.17