Nut Free Zone

The engine compartment in my brother in laws car burnt brightly for a few moments. 

It was my own fault for not paying attention to the crocodile clips on the terminals of the car battery. The elasticated tension in the plastic cable coating contracted and they came together in a flash of flames. I patted down what I could of the conflagration with my bare hands which seemed the right thing to at the time although a few hours later they really hurt. 

Helping to jump start a car is something that should be taught to a proficient level in schools or in practical motoring courses available to the wider population through colleges or night classes. 

I am not even sure how I knew what to do in the first place but after that frightening episode which could have been so much worse I made a deal with myself never to attempt the jump start again. 

That was until the evening before last. It was the first working day after the clocks changed to herald in the dark winter. 

It felt, after a long drive from North Yorkshire via a few other places, about 9pm but was nearer tea time. 

On the last junction before the entrance to my street the traffic in front had slowed to a stop. There was a woman standing in the road making gestures of helplessness to any car driver who had lowered their window to see what was going on. One by one the vehicles just moved on and there I was, at the front of the line. 

In the inner city location where I live there are often people just standing in the road. They can be looking for an address amongst the closely packed terraced houses, from overseas and confused by the approach of traffic from the other side to which they are accustomed, dragging a shopping trolley around or just plain drunk or of a drug infused zombie-like vagueness. 

My first thoughts on being approached by the woman were not the most philanthropic. I quickly glanced into the car ashtray for any loose change in case it was cash she was after and then pushed the button to lock all of the doors. 

In a sort of knife and fork gesture with her hands she asked in broken English whether I could help to restart her car using, not cutlery, but a set of jump leads. That was when I broke the pledge about getting involved with that sort of thing. 

Pointing into the dimly lit cul de sac across the junction she directed me towards a battered old Rover saloon with Polish registration plates. There was a car sized space in front of the uplifted bonnet and I squeezed into it leaving enough room to get past if anyone lived further down the dead end. 

There was a large moustached man looking at the engine, oily handed and a bit frustrated. The woman danced around me with delight that someone had actually stopped after what had evidently been quite a time trying to solicit assistance in the dark. I was happy to see that the big guy was taking responsibility for the jump start and all I had to do was to provide the donor battery. 

I admit to having no mechanical skills which is a shameful admission given the aptitude that my Father had for that sort of thing. 

As the bonnet on my car went up I panicked. I did not actually know where my battery was and was mightily relieved to find it under a sort of cloth cover next to the engine block thingy. Positive to positive, negative to negative I muttered under my breath. 

During the running of the cables between the two vehicles the woman was on her mobile phone trying to explain to someone that she would be late for what was her first day in a new job. I asked her where she was meant to be working which resulted in an obviously much rehearsed series of driving instructions of where to turn right, left, which roundabout exit to take and a few local landmarks on the way. The place was called Bensons or something like that which I had not heard of before. 

The stricken car spluttered into life, very briefly before dying. Big guy motioned to me to rev my engine to encourage the transfer of battery power which I duly did but with no more success. 

The woman was by now very anxious. I had but two options left. The first was to call it a day, give my apologies for not actually being any help at all and go home. The other, which I opted for was to offer to drive the woman to her place of employment so that she didn’t get sacked on her first shift. 

Being Polish and a bit flustered she attempted to climb into the drivers seat which in a left hand drive set up is the passenger seat. We set off as she recounted the route, a bit like an Eastern European sat-nav and then gave me her life story which she obviously felt was essential by way of an introduction to what was, after all, an unchaperoned journey with a complete stranger. 

I was a bit distracted by tales of wartime experiences of her family and her later decision to study German which had not gone down well at all at home. The journey, no more than 2 or 3 miles seemed to take an age as I was trying to think of how I would have to explain the presence of an unknown woman in my car should there be an accident. This distraction caused me to take a wrong turn on a dimly lit Industrial Estate which again threw up many different potential scenarios in my mind. 

At last we reached the large closed gates of a sprawling factory premises. The building beyond the security fencing hummed and glowed with activity although there were no humans to be seen. The woman jumped out of the car and looked for a buzzer or intercom and slowly one of the wide automated gates opened. 

I drove in keeping the woman in my headlights as she paced strongly towards a distant door in an otherwise featureless white cladding elevation. It was then that I saw a series of red glowing dots in a dark corner of the yard. These began to move and materialise as a group of high-viz jacketed workers just finishing a cigarette break in a purpose built glass sided shelter. 

The woman waved at me as though dismissing my services before disappearing into the building. 

She would certainly be hyped up and energised for her first shift and I felt a bit sorry for whatever would be processed or packaged in that shed of a place. 

It had been an eventful thirty minutes or so.  It may be difficult to avoid bumping into her again in the coming weeks as we are, after all, neighbours.