VOLKSWAGEN

8
Punk, VWs and electricity
It was the late Seventies in Northern England, Punk was alive and well
and vintage Volkswagens were cheap, numerous and unwanted.
At that time my appearance was, how can I say this? A little ‘alternative’,
but I knew what I liked and driving around in my ‘51 bug wearing
Vivienne Westwood bondage trousers and a swastika T’-shirt was where
it was at for me. Although my appearance or choice of car was not to
everyone's taste.
I shared my time between ‘pogoing’ in the basements of music stores
to that weeks new releases and hunting the country for Volkswagen
treasure which gave my ears time to recover and the spit to dry in my
spiky hair.
I searched everywhere, gardens, lockups and
fields but I always seemed to turn up the rarest
stuff at farms. So this is where this story will
start.
I had been driving around most of the early
morning, with the sounds of X-Ray Spex still
ringing loudly in my ears and my vision still a
little blurry from… well that stuffs best left out
of this. When I happened to see the unmistakable
shape of an early Kombi in the remnants of a
derelict cow shed. It was a good way off in the
distance, but it was clear enough for me.
I followed a couple of roads until I found myself at the entrance to a farm
house, and with my usual gusto I parked my car and swaggered in, only
to be greeted by an horrific sight. Straight ahead of me was a tractor
embedded in a large electrical pylon with the farmhand hanging out
of the cab violently shaking. Anti-establishment or not, I knew I had to
help! I remembered from school not to touch anyone being electrocuted,
so I looked around and picked up a large wooden pole and ran as fast as
my Doc Martins would carry me screaming something along the lines of
“Don’t worry I’ll get you!”
As I approached I couldn’t see the mans face but as I got within a few
metres his ghostly white face turned and as his eyes rolled in his head
towards me, he gave out a scream, leaped up and ran out of the farm
yard, over a five bar gate and out into the fields.
It transpired that he had rested the tractor against the pylon as the
handbrake didn’t work and was shaking the mud of his gum boots when
in the mirror he saw a young, rather large punk running toward him
waving a four by two, ranting something about getting him. Guess I
would have ran too!
Never did get the Kombi but thought you might like the story.
ANON.