Page 80 - Kol Bogrei Habonim - Winter 20

Simon looked at the papers, and back at the As I expected, Jim was enraged about the
sidecar and began giggling again. How would
we get back? It was much too far to walk. The
papers were probably soiled and mixed up,
and most important, we had to get attention
for Simon's ripped hand and get my shoulder
X-rayed. The papers that he picked up would
probably be blood-stained anyway. What a
Seder night that would be! The sacrifice and
blood all over again.
We heard a car approaching the bend and as
it slowed, we flagged it down. The driver
must have seen the wreck in the headlights.
He turned out to be a neighbour from down
Starling Green Lane. Sympathetic and glad to
be of help, he brought us right up to the
mansion, our precious, besmirched papers
and all. I made a mental memo to write him a
letter of thanks. We left a note for the early
shift not to wake us as we'd been in an
accident. I also wrote a message for Jim
Hobbs (the farm manager and instructor),
letting him know we'd be coming in late for
work. But from that angle, we couldn't expect
too much sympathy. At most, some
consideration. Jim was a stickler for work
ethics.
At breakfast time, I staggered down to eat,
still knackered, and was immediately
surrounded by all the chevra excitedly
enquiring what had happened, where was
Simon and was he alright? Jack, our
dairyman, then informed me that Jim Hobbs
was waiting for a full report on the accident,
and unless something serious was amiss, he
expected both of us to report for work
immediately. Blimey, I thought, no peace for
the wicked. Simon's injured thumb and my
painful shoulder both needed attention.
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whole affair, business-like about the accident
and unconcerned about the Haggadah
booklets we'd gone to such pains to produce.
But it all had to be done in our own time, after
work, of course. We'd done precisely that,
and our little accident was the result. He used
my desperate exhaustion to launch a furious
attack on the whole chevra and its short-
sightedness. About most things he was
usually right, maybe this time, too.
"So, how do you feel? My wife dressed
Simon's hand. It will heal up alright. Now.
Look you 'ere, Maurice. YOU have to be the
one to set the example. You lot seem to think
that running a farm is some kind of game.
You can't print that book for Passover, run up
to London, and then run the farm in your
spare time. The two things just dawn't mix,
lad. You, I mean YOU personally, have to
deal out responsibility. One person can't
possibly do all these jobs alone, and now with
all what's happening with your Garin group –
those going out in October. Just be realistic,
lad. How do you think they manage in a
kibbutz? One person is farm co-ordinator and
Garin secretary and conducts the choir and
also writes the Passover show? Course not!
It's probably four different people, and none
of it on farm time, either!" Jim Hobbs hadn't
yet finished with me, nor with our chevra.
But at twenty-three, who didn't think he was
omnipotent?
The Famous Motorbike, before the accident