Revenge

Revenge

I played around with two friends after school and, unlike them, took the tram home, knowing that my school tram ticket could not be used after four-thirty in the afternoons. I often boarded just in time, sometimes to see the regular conductor (I called him Mopey) looking at his watch and hoping, I thought, that he could expel me at the next stop. His dislike was, however, due not to my tardiness but to the prank my friends and I played, often during his shift.

Along the route there were easily accessible storm water culverts in which, initially as a dare, we would hide from view, before the tram was in sight , and enjoy the thrill of the tram passing overhead, its visible underbelly a source of wonder as we blocked our ears to the deafening clatter above. We were not entirely concealed from the driver if he by chance looked at the track just before crossing the culvert. This sometimes happened and we were obliged to make a hurried exit in case he stopped the tram and gave chase, which he never did though the conductor, from the tram’s rear, took up the shout with waving fist. We then developed our game by deliberately exiting from the culvert when the tram was almost upon us, delighting in the alarm and anger on the driver’s face and hooting at the conductor.

The day came when I was late on Mopey’s shift and, despite my pathetic plea, he gleefully put me off the tram. I was faced with a six-mile trudge home along the track, a walk of about two hours with some explaining when I finally arrived. The same tram on its successive trips that day, passed me twice, when Mopey waved and laughed vindictively, relishing his revenge.

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