The Jump Off
More Madcap Antics from our Angst-Ridden Teenage Anti-Hero...
On approaching the capital, the Sheffield to London whizzed through soulless outskirts like Hendon, Cricklewood and West Hampstead. Kentish Town was the last of these, and alighting there meant a short walk up the road rather than getting the tube back from St Pancras, but Jimmy had never quite got round to it. Today, he decided, was the day. His reasons were twofold. Firstly, the beers consumed the night before made the concept of jumping from a moving train appear perfectly logical. Secondly and more pertinently, that group of attractive French or Italian ladies were still standing around the carriage door…
Boarding at Leicester, he’d instantly calculated his chances of a train kiss and cuddle remote. He’d then spent the journey — approx. 1 hr 10 min, on the new-fangled InterCity 125 train — studiously ignoring them. He hoped this bold stunt, the jumping one rather than the ignoring one, would cement him in their collective memories. Possibly even more than a train-kiss-and-cuddle. Of which, he was a keen advocate. He imagined they would forever recall him as a sort of James Bond figure. Only cooler. The idea of them recollecting him as a fare dodger and a desperate one at that didn’t cross his mind. However, that thought did plague him for years afterwards.
The express slowed through Cricklewood, then West Hampstead. Soon after that, he’d glanced down at the girls, grabbed his hold-all and walked through the crowded corridor. On reaching the end of the carriage, he’d nodded at the door by which the French, maybe Italian girls stood, and nodded. Though somewhat confused, the young ladies made way for him and Jimmy, opened the door and casually tossed out his bag.
That was when things began to unravel. To Jimmy’s abject horror, by the time his bag hit the platform, at one end of the station, his carriage was pulling out of it, at the other. It was obviously moving too fucking fast, but if he didn’t jump soon, he’d run out of platform, and if he ran out of platform, he’d land on those pointy stones used for bedding the tracks… Apart from a nicely faded pair of Wranglers, the bag contained little of any value. He could still close the door and step back into safety, but that would entail looking uncool in front of those French or Italian girls. The French or Italian, possibly Spanish, girls he’d never seen before or would ever see again. It was whilst in mid-air that it occurred that this stunt might be at odds with the vow he’d made only minutes earlier to behave more shrewdly. As disappointing as that realisation may have been, and it had been — Jimmy had more pressing concerns.
During his planning of this operation, he had neglected one vital component, door closure. He couldn’t just leave the thing hanging open; it’d look half-arsed. With that in mind, any disquiet Jimmy had over his conduct, along with any relating to his imminent appointment with the platform, was put on hold. His concentration was focused on reaching around and flicking the door’s rubber seal. He hoped to Christ, he’d got enough on it. His attention then switched to the business of landing, but in truth, other than hoping for the best, Jimmy didn’t have much of a strategy in mind. On hitting the ground, he was surprised by its reaction. Fuck off, it seemed to say. The teenager had mistakenly imagined the platform to consist of tarmac, but this one appeared to have become some sort of trampoline. A very taut and explosive one at that. Flying through the air after landing (briefly) for a second time, the Outside Man was reminded of a craze from his childhood. The Wham-O Superball…
Made from specially formulated synthetic rubber, the Wham-O bounced to extraordinary heights, and during a playtime in the village school’s tiny yard, he’d approached a group of boys playing cricket and asked if he could join in. His request was met with suspicion as it was well known that the Londoner hated cricket. Had he not, only recently, been caned over his refusal to participate? Ultimately, he’d not only talked them into letting him play but also allowed him to bowl, with the Wham-O.
Knowing any velocity would have the specially formulated synthetic rubber bouncing all over the gaff, Jimmy tossed a very gentle underarm, but the ball still gathered pace and began jumping erratically across the ground. It was a testament to Stubbsy, the school’s cricket captain, that he got bat to ball at all. Once he had, it was bedlam. A grinning Jimmy watched as the Wham-O ricocheted around the tiny playground like a bullet in a cartoon, injuring, along with a couple of girls playing hopscotch, Griffo. The insipid teacher had been standing at the gate, flirting with the vicar’s widow, which was something the nine-year-old Jimmy took a dim view of. The Wham-O’s amazing odyssey ended with it crashing through a window of the headmaster’s office. A Steward’s was held, and Jimmy promptly summoned. Once there, he received six of the best from Jacko. The reigning Swimming Champ considered it a small price to pay.
Back in Kentish Town, Jimmy’s third encounter with the platform met with the same response as his first two. Just like the Wham-O, the ascent on his third bounce was almost as high as the first, but at least there was no mid-air somersault involved. It was on his fourth touchdown that the earth relented, and for a brief moment, Jimmy felt as though he’d be dropped onto the world’s fastest-moving treadmill. The next thing he knew, he was curled into a ball and hurtling towards a wall about ten yards away. A wall he hit a split second later — with a tremendous force.
While he did wonder where those yards had gone, it wasn’t a question he pondered for long, as Jimmy faced a far more critical issue. With no little discomfort, he craned his neck to catch sight of the train disappearing over the horizon, with all its doors firmly closed. Due no doubt to shock, a slight concussion and a profusion of cuts and bruises, climbing to his feet was a gradual and painful process. It was while inching up the station’s wooden steps, Levi’s turn and leather jacket scuffed, that it dawned as to why the new trains were called Inter City 125s. That was the speed they travelled at — between cities. Jimmy estimated he’d just leapt from a train doing about 90mph...
After handing his ticket to a befuddled collector, he hobbled out onto the ever-depressing Kentish Town Road and stared forlornly at the state of his clothes. The teenager was about to curse his misfortune when he realised just how lucky he’d been. What were the odds of jumping from a train at that speed and getting the door closed? He needed to drop off his bag, change and get up the street for work. It was Friday, and he was shooting from the West End, down to Lyman’s to meet Tina. No doubt Roy’d be waving over to them from the grown-ups’ bar. The Outside Man’s relationship with Screaton was surprisingly good, and the main reason for that might be attributed to the gangster’s belief that Jimmy was an artist. Oh, yeah, and a poof…
Note to self...
Don't jump out of moving trains