The Carriage Office

Made my second appearance at the Carriage Office fifty six days later, still not having bothered to buy a bike or do anything other than give the occasional look at the map.
Again, I sat cold in front of Mr. Wicks.
"Well", he started off, affable enough, the Sun streaming through the tall, ugly windows. As usual, when seeing the Sun from within a situation such as this, tried hard to see how I had manages to do it to myself ... What was I doing in this grotty dungeon? ... In this bare room? ... With these men? ... did not quite know. Aware of being 'bottom of the class'. realised this after meeting one of the men out on his moped. I had been in the car, just casually, stopped, curious. A look of disbelief when saying just cruising about in the car, by way of seeing 'what it was all about' ...
"But what do you do about 'points'?" he said after further telling him that I only had a map ... my face had stayed blank
... "What are points?".
He whipped out yet another book full of countless names of buildings, hotels, livery clubs, night clubs, gentlemen's' clubs, theatres...infinite.
"Go on", he said eagerly, "Ask me anything, open it at any page".
Took the book very dubiously. Could not imagine any person being able to swallow so many pieces of information. Yet he had a veracity for it ... as if his very existence verged on the contents of the so worn pages, written in a large, almost childish hand writing.
"Well, go on ... ask me something"… insistent.
"The Russell Hotel".
"No that's too easy, try something harder."
Did not know what was hard or what was easy. Passed back the book.
"You have to leave it on the left you know", he said to my silence ... "Don't get caught by the 'President Hotel', which is next door ... it's hard to drop there coming from the West End. Have you been round there yet?". He went on almost to himself. Did not know the 'Russell' or the 'President', or whether easy or hard to drop, or on which side you may, or may not leave it. A whole new atmosphere surrounded my thinking of the 'knowledge'. Briefly, I had driven a cab in Adelaide. All I had to do for a licence was to point out various roads on a map which was placed in front of me, the procedure taking twenty minutes.
This business was more of a university course, a computer being needed - hardly a brain. This trick with the points threw my confidence. Obviously, knowing the whereabouts of Oxford Street, or even every store in the street, was nothing.
Johnny Watts, as he introduced himself, was smiling, well satisfied. The amount of effort he had packed into the work should have qualified him for a brain surgeon's job, given that direction. Very happy with his motor bike which someone had given him 'twelve thousand miles on the same spark plug'. It turned out that he was ex-Merchant Navy.
Knew Port Adelaide. Knew about the two girls that ran the cafe at the 'Outer Harbour' and how much they could be induced to 'come across' for. He had been shrewd enough to buy a bungalow and a piece of land down at West Kingstown for two thousand pounds. Hardly knew what to say when I heard of his Spartan existence. Wood gathered from the surrounding countryside for heating and cooking ... rabbits or anything else that could be shot or trapped for the pot. Up at dawn to tend the goats. No newspapers or TV allowed in the house in case they distracted him. Out on the bike in all weathers six days a week. I did a quick calculation, that he was doing one hundred and fifty miles a day, flat cap pulled well down over his eyes - trousers lashed to the tops of his old boots - his face beaten to leather by the elements.
Mr. Wicks sat looking at me carefully. He knew the score, the man did not sit in that seat five days a week for nothing…a long procession of anxious faces. Obviously there were ways of dealing with people such as myself ... give them enough of the 'fifty six days' treatment and they would simply disappear.
Finally he said, "Do you know Regency Street?"
Amazingly I did. This piece of illumination must have shone out of my face. I sat there going through the possibilities surrounding this rather obscure thoroughfare ... Vincent Square, Peel House, Hyde Towers, Horticultural Hall, Napier Hall, Silvertown House. The 'points' were endless ...
"Well", he said, with perhaps the faintest trace of a smile about his lips, "Take me from Burton Court to Lime Grove".
Sighed to myself ... went out into the clear Sunlight with my fifty six days' appointment.
Ruth took my excursions to Lambeth somewhat more seriously than I.
"What happened?", she was quizzical. "Did you get a reduction?"
Shrugged at her concern, wondering what her attitude would be if I did a 'John Watts' and put everything else behind in my efforts to get through. It would be interesting to see what she would do without her chauffeur, handyman, cook ... Not too well, I should imagine. She wanted it both ways. I was perfectly aware that with the right amount of application, virtually anyone could get through the 'knowledge' in twelve months or slightly longer. For my part, in nine months, had answered half a question.

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