My Giddy Aunt

Some people never learn and my cousin Trevor was no exception. He had sold his soul for the money to repair his beloved motorcycle and now he had to pay the price. Aunt Lillian always exacted sweet revenge on people who broke their promises and he knew it.
Today was the day when he would have to deliver and so he girded up his loins and decided to get it over with. I could not be expected to miss this confrontation and so I was round at her house bright and early.

“That scamp of a cousin of yours is going to take me out today without fail and I am really going to enjoy it. He has been putting it off for ages and everyone knows that promises must be kept,” she chortled.

“I thought promises were meant to be broken,” I muttered.

“Oh no – we shook hands on the deal and spat on them to seal it good and tight. He can’t renege now as it is like a sacred pledge.”

Just then the sound of the motorbike coming up the drive made her jump up and down like a small child.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” I asked tentatively. “You are nearly eighty you know and you have never done it before.”

“What’s that got to do with anything? You are never too old to learn or to have new experiences and I am up for any challenge that life can throw at me. I survived the doodlebugs and buzz bombs that Hitler sent over to wipe me out, I’ll have you know.”
At that moment the door burst open and Trevor came in carrying a black plastic sack which he threw down on the kitchen table: “You will have to wear these as it is against the law not to. I borrowed them from my friend Wilf. If you refuse then we will have to call the whole thing off,” he panted.

Aunt Lillian rushed over to the sack and pulled out the contents. Picking up the leather jacket she shouted: “I just dig this logo on the back. It is just me.”

She turned it round to display a roaring tiger showing all its teeth and holding it up to herself she declared: “Perfect, it will fit like a glove you’ll see.”

It came down past her knees and almost brushed the tops of her home-made Noddy boot slippers which had silver bells on the toes. She really did have an eclectic taste in fashion.
Then out came the trousers which must have been made with a giant in mind but certainly not her diminutive figure which measured five foot at most.

She threw herself down on the mat with great enthusiasm and tried to pull the trousers on. They concertinaed up around her legs and with difficulty she managed to get her tiny size two feet sticking out the bottom. The trouble was when she let go they reverted to their original length.

Trevor and I looked at one another. “They were the only ones I could get hold of. Wilf is quite tall I suppose and she is very short you know.”

“Who are you calling short?” she snapped.

We each took an arm when her feet again appeared and quickly stood her up. She looked like a Michelin man with her legs akimbo almost as though she was the kid on the Thelwell pony.

She looked a bit red in the face after all the exertion but valiantly declared: “I am sure they will be fine once I get aboard. Hand me that jacket.”

We could not resist going along with the charade and helped her into it. Again we realised that she was no Arnold Schwarzenegger; the arms were too long and the tiger sat astride her bottom but she wriggled her hands out of the end and drew herself up to her full height.

At that point she had tripped over and landed in a heap on the floor and the leathers reverted to their original size.

Not to be beaten, she fought with the suit and exclaimed: “How’s that? Fits like a glove as though they were made for me but I think I will give these trousers a miss.”

When he had stopped laughing, Trevor picked up the bright yellow helmet, “Try this for size. We always tease Wilf saying that he has a head like a peanut, so it should fit you.”

“Are you insinuating that I have a head like a peanut young man? I will have you know that my head has been admired by many a hairdresser. They told me it was a perfect shape,” she retorted: “Give it to me.”

She put it on her head and it came down over her eyes and enveloped her ears when she tightened the strap. She looked like a turtle as she pushed it up and peered out from under the brim. “It just needs some newspaper in the top and it will be fine. You need to be inventive in situations like these. What are you both laughing at?”

I wiped my eyes and informed her: “You look amazing. Nobody will recognise you in that outfit.”

“That is what I am hoping,” mumbled Trevor. “Mum will kill me if she finds out about this. She did not want me to have a motorbike in the first place and this will just add fuel to the fire.”

“Are you going to tell her? I know Jojo can keep a secret so how is she going to find out?”

“I think the village will tell her when they catch sight of you,” I said.

“We'll just have to slip through the village like an invisible phantom and then when we get on the motorway we will be doing a hundredweight and will be just a blur on the horizen.”

“It’s a ton up, not a hundredweight,” I giggled.

“Well let’s hit the road and burn some rubber!” she shouted. She was struggling towards the back door with her arms sticking out from her body and the helmet moving from side to side. She looked quite a sight I can tell you. She looked like an overblown Telly Tubby.

Trevor looked really worried. “I wish I had never made that promise. I know I am going to live to regret it,” he whispered.

“Everything will be OK,” I said brightly. “After this you will be off the hook and it will teach you never to make a pact with her. It is worse than making it with the Devil. You should know that by now.”

Aunt Lillian was attempting to get on the bike but her short legs were making this difficult.

“You need a mounting block - I will get a box for you to stand on,” I said: Running to the shed to grab an orange box.

Trevor was now astride his beloved machine and she was mounted up behind him peering round his shoulder.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to change your mind you know,” he said hopefully.

“Just get on with it”

I could see that she was beginning to get annoyed with all the prevarication. “You said you would give me a ride when you had done all the repairs which, incidentally, I seem to have paid for. So I am using my bit of this bike and now it is payback time.”

As they sailed down towards the gate I realised that I might miss the fun so I ran after them and took a short cut across the green towards the church which brought me out by the Mill.
I could hear them as they flew down the High Street. Faster and faster they went; heads were turning and people were pointing. Past the baker where the vicar and his wife were just turning into the door; past the post office that was just closing for lunch and on by the people waiting at the bus stop.

My aunt was in her element, she was the centre of attention, when she suddenly realised that her skirt was blowing up and she was showing her pink drawers. These were the long pink silky ones, often called passion killers or apple gatherers, that ladies wore then and they came down to the knees held there by elastic. Much as she tried, she could not push her skirt down without letting go of her hold on Trevor’s waist.

Everyone turned to stare. The newspaper boy fell off his bike scattering papers in his wake and the local window cleaner spilled water over a passing pedestrian causing her to shout at him.

Havoc ensued as a shopper walked into the barrow where the man was piling up his display of oranges - these scattered into the gutter much to the delight of the local children who ran after them whilst his attention was diverted.

The two dogs that usually sat sunning themselves outside the library decided to give chase, barking loudly and all the while adding to the confusion.

The publican ran out of the Rising Sun to see what was happening and nearly fell into the open cellar where the dray man was delivering beer and just saved himself from a nasty fall by grabbing at a barrel which overturned and ran down the road.

It was a catastrophe and mayhem reigned but then she thought to herself who cares, they have always thought I was a bit odd so now they know I am. It will give them all something to talk about.

But disaster loomed on the horizon because as Trevor took the bend by the mill pond a car was backing out of the butcher’s on the bridge and he had to take quick evasive action veering onto the wrong side of the road and onto the slippery path that led through the stream.

There was a loud crash bang and the bike skidded down the bank and into the water. The ducks, which up until that point had been swimming around minding their own business, flew up squawking loudly.

I ran to the railing and looked over expecting to see bodies strewn over the mill pond.
They had landed in the reeds that encircled the water and luckily neither of them was hurt and Aunt Lillian looked so comical with the weeds draped around the helmet. The jacket had returned to its original size and acted as a life jacket so she floated rather sedately on the surface.

She was spitting a jet of water but managed to shout: “What did you do that for? Don’t think that means you are getting out keeping your promise. We will give it another go when I get dried off. Now help me up this minute.”

At that moment she looked up and saw the crowd gathered on the bridge: “What are all those people staring at?” she asked.

What could poor Trevor say!

She was again the subject of much gossip in the village but poor Trevor got all the blame for taking a ‘poor innocent old lady’ on such a dangerous machine.

Life was not fair for anyone who dealt with Aunt Lillian.

Author: Jay Cassie

Cartoon by: Garry Davies - garry.davies657@tiscali.co.uk