Jenny's Sledge

On the first day it snowed very heavily and very quickly, as though the snow itself had something to prove. On the second day it wasn’t quite so keen, and by the third it was very much an ‘Oh, do I have to’ sort of affair, when anyone could count each lonely snowflake – if they felt that way inclined.

Professor Medwin (the third) did exactly that. He laid out an enormous black ‘snow catcher’ on his five acre field and sat up all night with a hot flask of rum and coffee counting flakes. When he got to three thousand he lost his voice and fell asleep, and was soon dreaming about receiving some big flashy award in the shape of a giant gold snowflake.

Most of the children in the little village of Meedham were all snowed out. They’d thrown snowballs till their fingers were numb and made so many snowmen and women that they outnumbered the villagers two to one. The one thing they hadn’t done was sledge.

It wasn’t as though there was a shortage of hills, or snow for that matter. It was mainly because of the ‘incident with the Lord Mayor’ which meant that all sledging was banned for the next five years. Anyone caught with a car inner tube or a tea tray would have it taken away and placed in an empty police cell until after the ban. There were even sledge police who patrolled the village in hollowed out snowmen disguises, so they could spy on any would-be sledgers with super-powered binoculars and beefed-up microphones

They were quite easy to spot, with radio aerials poking out the top of their round snowy heads and large glass eyes that blinked in the winter sunshine. Even ‘accidental sledging’ was frowned upon, and children and old people were encouraged to wear huge heated boots that hissed when they walked, leaving large steaming footprints wherever they went.

That was four years ago.

Jenny was exactly twelve years old and had never even seen a sledge. She’d seen home videos of her Brother Albert sledging down Bandstand Hill with Mum and Dad. She always paused the film at the bit where Alby shot through some old guy’s legs and scattered a group of people like skittles. Even though she knew what was coming she still roared with laughter and pushed her nose into the TV Screen when he ploughed into the small crowd.

Dad had promised to build her the best sledge in the world, once the ban was lifted. She even bought a special ‘1 year to go’ calendar so she could cross of the remaining days with a thick red marker pen. Today was day number 350, and she felt 15 days was ample time to build a super-fast, show-stopping sledge. After seventy four pleases fourteen car washes and countless dog walking, he finally gave in.

            “I’m gonna get a sle-edge, I’m gonna get a sle-edge” sang Jenny, doing that ‘stirring with a large wooden spoon’ victory dance that girls of a certain age like to do. Meanwhile, her father started thumbing through the yellow pages for flat-pack sledges. It turned out there weren’t any such businesses and even those companies that did do flat pack furniture hadn’t got anything remotely sledge like. It was no good; he’d have to go round all the second hand shops in the village and look for an old sledge to do up. How hard could it be? A pot of varnish, some rust remover and a few new screws would surely transform any creaking, wonky death-trap into a sleek snow-lovin missile.

The huge ‘DO NOT DISTURB – MASTER SLEDGE BUILDER AT WORK’ sign, propped up against the garage doors only made things worse. Instead of acting as a deterrent it turned his daughter into a proper ‘Peeping Jenny’.

            “Da-ad, is it finished yet? I think the snow’s melting.” Inside, Dad sat in his old battered armchair banging a plank of wood with the head of a broken hammer, sighing heavily.  

            “Not quite Jen. You don’t want me to rush and spoil it do you?” Jenny’s face hatched another frown, and she kicked at the snow.

            “Spose not. I don’t mind if it’s not the best sledge in the world. The second best will do fine – honest.” This made her father’s voice change from a confident deep baritone to a rather strained tenor.

On day 364 Jenny could hardly contain herself. In terms of nervous excitement, Christmas Day was a walk in the park compared to this. Each time she tried to steer her Dad towards the ‘big unveil’ he steered her back to safer territory like cute boys and X-Factor. In the end, her mum beat her to the punch line.

            “For heaven’s sake Roger, is it finished or not? The forecast says it’s going to turn to slush by Friday.” Roger winced at the mention of the ‘S’ word and waited for Jenny’s reaction.

            “Slush! Slush! If it melts I’m going to live with Candice. Her Dad’s built her and her brother a sledge each. And they’re convinced theirs are the 2 fastest toboggans in Meedham.” She glared at her Dad before storming out of the room. Roger felt like the Grinch who’d stolen Christmas and Easter. He decided to take the dog for a long walk, so he could think what to do next.

Brinks, the podgy Labrador was already on his third dream and had to be tipped out of his giant padded life-raft. Roger clipped on his extendable lead and dragged him out of the house. The night was cold and clear and the moon looked so big and so near that he almost ducked underneath it as he closed the front door. He liked this time of day. The roads were quiet. He also liked sneaking a peek through the windows of the houses as he trudged along. Brinks was slowly coming out of unconsciousness and began sniffing his favourite yellow snow. Roger realised he hadn’t got any poop bags in his pocket, so every time Brinks approached a lamp post he yanked him away.

On the edge of the village he decided to walk as far as the canal and come back via the new gated estate, so he could check the football scores on the big plasma tellies. He passed a large Skip and Brinks started doing that ‘special walk’ that all dog owners dread.

            “Brinks! No! Not here! It was too late, Brinks meant business. After an awkward thirty seconds with lots of whistling and pacing, Brinks scratched a hole through the snow and started pulling like a homesick Husky. Roger almost fell over, and steadied himself on the top of the skip. As he stood up he noticed something sticking out from under a large plaster board. He tilted his head sideways and couldn’t make his mind up whether it was a rocking chair or a… He leaned in a little closer. It was a sledge. A very old, rusty sledge, but a sledge nonetheless. By now, Brinks was straining and grunting and Roger was almost pulled off his feet.

            “Brinks! Stop that!” The tension in the lead relaxed a bit, and Brinks sat down. Roger had a quick look around to check no-one was about, before hauling the sledge out of the skip. It was definitely a two-seater and had the words DAVOS painted in black along both runners. He placed it on the snow and tied the dog lead to the front.

            “Mush Brinks! Mush!” Brinks looked back over his shoulder, his tongue fell out the corner of his mouth and he lay down.

            “Come on Brinks. Home!” This seemed to do the trick. Brinks heaved himself up and started walking. Roger thought he’d better not sit on the sledge in case Brinks had a heart attack, so he walked alongside, kicking the runners to get it back on track. The grooves left by the sledge slowly changed from rust to beige, until by the time they reached the house they were standard snow colour. Roger also noticed that he didn’t have to steer the sledge as often and it glided almost noiselessly across the icy pavements. In fact a couple of times it went so fast it hit Brinks up the bottom, making him yelp with surprise.

Roger picked the sledge up and was amazed how light it was, as though the journey home had burned off a few woody calories.  He placed it on the garage floor behind his armchair, and closed the heavy doors. Tomorrow he would assess the damage. With any luck, by lunchtime Jenny would be shooting down Bandstand hill like it was her very own Cresta Run. 

That night neither Roger nor Jenny slept very well. Every time Roger turned to the right Jenny turned to the left, like very bad synchronised snoozers. At 6am they met on the landing, muttered ‘morning’ to each other, before going their separate ways.

Roger left a note on the kitchen table. It said:

IN GARAGE WAXING RUNNERS – WOULD LOVE A COFFEE AND 2 ROUNDS OF TOAST AT 10AM. P.S NO PEEKING JENNY.

In the daylight the rescued sledge looked even better. It was a vintage wooden toboggan fixed together with wooden dowels. The only none wooden bits were two strips of polished steel riveted to the runners. The varnish had flaked off here and there, but that could be easily fixed. Roger opted for a more modern, distressed finish and scrubbed the whole thing with a coarse wire brush.

For some reason, Brinks had decided to follow Roger into the garage and if he didn’t know any better he was sure the dog looked a little slimmer.

            “It must be all that pulling you did last night boy”. He gave Brinks a friendly pat on the head and set the sledge down on the ground. “I think my work here is done Brinks.” The dog went over to the sledge, sniffed it, growled and then barked once before backing away.

            “What’s up lad, can you smell another dog?” Brinks was out of the garage before Roger had finished speaking. He threw an old towel over his new baby and went to find Jenny and her Mother. He didn’t have to go far, as they were standing outside the garage comforting Brinks, who was whimpering softly.

            “Right, said Roger. Would the Meedham Ladies Bobsleigh team care to inspect their new beast?” He opened both doors and gestured for them to follow. With a rather tuneless trumpet fanfare and his best bullfighters flourish he swished back the towel.

            “Da-da!” Jenny ran forward and immediately sat on it, jamming both her feet into the upward curve of the runners.

            “It’s big isn’t it Mum?” Her mother smiled, folded her arms and raised both eyebrows.

            “Where d’you get it? Junk shop or Skip?”

            “I, I … found it in a skip, near the canal. It was in a terrible state. I had to virtually rebuild it and make all the dowels…” The look on mum’s face had ‘pull the other one’ written all over it. Jenny was too busy negotiating imaginary obstacles on her maiden run to notice the parental stand-off. She didn’t see her Dad placing an index finger to his lips, or Mum unfolding her arms to give Roger a grade 1 hug.

            “We need some string, on the front. So I can pull Davos along” said Jenny, getting off the sledge and running her fingers over the name on the side. Her Dad did another, quieter ‘da-da!’ and produced a pair of pink leather bootlaces tied together. He looped the ends around the runners and carried it out of the garage. As soon as the runners hit snow Jenny was away, up the drive, pulling her sledge and whistling  

            “You’d better get after her, Master Sledge Builder.” Roger mimed ‘thank you’ and started running. He finally caught up with her as she rounded the bend near the police station. All the policemen were in the garden having a big bonfire. Jenny wasn’t quite old enough for irony, but she still thought it odd to see them throwing Snowmen into the flames, and doing a sort of weird fist-pumping war dance.

            “I can’t see many sledges”. Said her Dad, slightly out of puff.

            “I must have scared them off.” Said Jenny, laughing. A few minutes later they both realised why there weren’t any sledges in the streets. 

At the entrance to Meedham Park they could see Bandstand Hill covered with people, most of them pulling sledges. There were home-made sledges, plastic car-shaped sledges, sledges in the shape of animals, as well as padded bin bags and old tea trays. Presiding over this ‘Sledge Fest’ was the Mayors number two. The Mayor didn’t want to tempt fate and risk another repeat ‘incident’ so he barked orders at the little man through a megaphone from the safety of his swanky limousine.

Jenny and Roger made it to the top of the hill just as the Deputy snipped the red ribbon strung between the bandstand and a large oak tree.

            “Happy sledging!” shouted the deputy. His good wishes were drowned out by the deafening sound of two hundred excited children and parents all screaming “Go!” Jenny and her Dad squeezed onto Davos and started scooting along using their feet. Whether it was their combined weight or the fact there was a slight incline before the crest, who knows. By the time they got to the down slope, most of the sledges were being pulled back up for a second run. Jenny felt silly inching down the hill in her two man hearse and snatched the laces off her Father when she got to the bottom.

            “This is not how I imagined it!” she said, marching back up the hill without him.

            “You go on your own. I’ll wait here with my camera and capture your big finish.” Jenny wasn’t listening. She felt so embarrassed she could almost taste it. When she did get to the top, Candice and her brother Charles were waiting for her.

            “What sort of stupid name is Davos?” said Candice, pointing at Jenny’s sledge.

            “Is it Swedish for loser”, said Charles, moulding a fresh snowball.

            “Actually it’s in Switzerland and is Europe’s highest town.” Where did that come from? Thought Jenny as she lined Davos up next to the ‘smug twins’. She bent down to tie her laces, and when she stood up Davos had slid sideways off the crest of the hill, coming to rest underneath the oak tree.

            “Fancy a race?’’ said Candice, grinning like an idiot.

            “Just you and me then” said Jenny. She looked over to where Davos had stopped.            “I’ll start over there, if that’s ok with you?”

            “Start where you like. I’ll see you at the bottom.” Candice pushed past Charles and jumped onto her sledge, lying face down. She ordered her brother to give her a push start. Jenny hadn’t time to call her a rotten cheat. She ran down to Davos and did her own running start. The sledge hardly moved at first, sinking into the deep snow, and Jenny had to do a sort of swimming action to get any movement at all. Meanwhile Candice had just disappeared from view and was already flying down the hill.

            “Come on Davos! You can do it”. As soon as Jenny placed her hands back on the sledge something very strange happened. She felt as though the sledge was rising up through the snow. As it started to lift, the speed increased. The loud creaking stopped and was replaced by a sort of soft whishing sound, like the sound the reeds made next to the canal when a light breeze blew in. Jenny glanced over at Candice, who was still way in front. Then, she felt a jolt in her back and had to hang on for dear life. The whishing stopped and all Jenny could see were the other sledges going backwards. She felt the icy wind pushing against her face, and for one brief moment she thought she might break free from the ground altogether.

Her father didn’t press the shutter on his camera phone, because he never saw her. He did see a red blur fly past him and thought it was just a piece of the giant ribbon blown by the wind. Jenny came to a stop half way up the next hill and rolled off Davos, breathing hard. She gazed up into the blue sky, until the face of her Father loomed over the top of her.

            “Did, did you get me?” said Jenny, smiling broadly, her hands still frozen in the    ‘hanging on position’.

            “Erm, I think so.”

            “Well did you or didn’t you?” Roger felt a shiver run down his spine because Jenny sounded just like her mother.

            “Not really”, said Roger sheepishly. Jenny got to her feet, brushed the snow off herself and looked back up the hill. She looked first left and then right. Where are my tracks? She thought. Her Dad was busy examining Davos. He was ninety nine per cent positive he hadn’t varnished it. He gleamed, like a brand new, fresh out of the wrapper sledge. The painted lettering along the side looked almost wet. The runners shimmered like polished silver and Roger thought he could smell fresh Pine resin.

Candice slunk into view, shook Jenny’s hand and slunk away, muttering something about ‘a fix’. Jenny didn’t pay her much attention. She just gazed back up the hill with her mouth open and pointed. The last few flakes of snow slowly turned first to sleet and then rain.

When everyone else had gone, the only people left at the bottom of Bandstand Hill were Jenny and her father, sitting silently next to each other on Davos. Both of them were staring back up the hill as patches of grass started to appear through the grey slush.

The rain was falling quite heavily now, and the Mayors Limo glided past with the back window down.

            “It’s raining you know. Haven’t you got a home to go to?” No one answered. Neither Roger nor Jenny seemed that bothered by the downpour. They just stared up the steep hill, looked at each other and smiled.