\u201cFlying Squadron?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLeft three hours ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPedallers?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLeft three days ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSpeleologist Squadron?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLeft three months ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYeah, I\u2019m not sure we\u2019ll be seeing them again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey\u2019ll be all right. As soon as Harry Pine runs out of cigars they\u2019ll be straight back up to the surface.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMaybe. Anyway, what other options are there?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I passed around the Woodbines, and took a deep draught of Butler\u2019s. Though the rail strike, effective as of midnight that night, had not been entirely unexpected, we had held onto our hope that a deal could be reached between the NUR and the government, or at least that negotiations would drag on until after five o\u2019clock on Saturday. In doing so, we\u2019d knocked back a number of alternative travel options, including a pleasant sojourn by canal barge and a fiendishly-complicated road route in which two dozen Wolves supporters tagged onto multiple house removals throughout Staffordshire, Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire and the West Riding. Now we stared grimly down the barrel of a Wolves-less weekend. The beer tasted flat and cigarettes scratched the throat. Around us the pub was in happy Friday spirits, but nothing short of a miracle would cheer us up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Lemons of the world, unite!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Oh, Christ,\u2019 said Jack suddenly, as I stared morosely into my pint, \u2018Keep yer bloody head down.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018What\u2019s the matter?\u2019 I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Lemons of the world, unite!\u2019 came a cackling voice from behind me, \u2018\u2018Tis the dawn of fruit, natural fertilizer and other products available long before the fat fingers of capitalism tickled this town! Awaken! Awaken from your fetischist slumber! The windows to the world have been cleansed!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Oi\u2019ve towelled yow lot before!\u2019 shouted Ted Adey from behind the bar, as diluted fruit juice rained down, \u2018Not in moi house!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Dunstall Dada were unwelcome in most pubs of the town, but I was amazed to see them set foot in the Colonel Vernon. Adey ran a very tight ship, loathed radical politics and had no interest at all in art beyond the sentimentally representational.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mathieu Noir (alias Mattie Black of Horseley Fields), Dic-Dat Django (alias Pete Strong of Staveley Road) and Dave Begley (alias Klaus Weiss, of Werd, Z\u00fcrich) stood at the door of the public bar, in white pancake, with thickly-painted beetle-brows and upcurled moustaches, holding the bellows they\u2019d used to squirt their \u2018anti-capitalist acid\u2019 on the assembled clientele. There were some mumbled threats and exhortations to be gone, but the pub was in good spirits and happy for Ted to deal with things.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Tais-toi<\/em>, capitalist ghoul!\u2019 shouted Mathieu Noir, \u2018Have you not heard, ze wevolushern has begurn!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Out yer goo!\u2019 said Ted Adey, with a severe nod of the head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Burt, is raining?\u2019 said Mathieu, less aggressively now, \u2018And\u2026, we are sirsty?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Out, I said!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Sree pants of peter, s\u2019il vous plait<\/em>.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n I decided to intervene. \u2018Hold on, Ted,\u2019 I said, standing up from the table from which Jack was now looking up at me with some irritation, even mild panic, \u2018Lerrum have a pint. Just,\u2019 I looked at the Dunstall Dada sternly, \u2018No squirting, no proselytizing, and no\u2026 whatever it is you do.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Action poetry!\u2019 answered Mathieu, as if I\u2019d asked a question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Just sit down and have a drink,\u2019 I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018This one\u2019s on you, Gonby,\u2019 warned Ted, \u2018any commie talk or scripted interactions with the customers and they \u2013 and you \u2013 are out.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018They\u2019ll be good, Ted,\u2019 I promised, looking uneasily at Dic-Dat Django, who waggled one of his painted eyebrows suggestively.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018You have absinse?\u2019 asked Mathieu, a question which was met by a silence that quickly changed his mind. \u2018Sree pants of peter, s\u2019il vous plait<\/em>.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018What are you doing?\u2019 hissed Jack, while Ted poured the avant-garde collective their drinks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018You\u2019ll see,\u2019 I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Within a couple of minutes, the Dada was sat at our table, and Mathieu Noir was handing out the Galloises. \u2018Sanks so merch, Gonby,\u2019 he said, \u2018I owe you one.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018How\u2019s the car?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018What car?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018The, whachyacallit. The Dada Charabanc?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Ze Dadabanc? Tr<\/em>\u00e8s bien!<\/em> We\u2019re taking it out tomorrow.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I thought we were calling it the Random Charabanc\u2026\u2019 said Dic-Dat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Where you going?\u2019 I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Gonby, you know I can\u2019t tell you that. It\u2019s a random charabanc. It never has a set destinashun.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018So it is the Random Charabanc?\u2019 said Dic-Dat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018It\u2019s a random charabanc. It\u2019s not Zee Random Charabanc. I don\u2019t sink. Maybe.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018How\u2019s the pint?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Not bad,\u2019 said Mathieu cautiously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018It\u2019s just that we could do with a lift tomorrow. And there are no trains, you know, because of the\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Ze wevolushern, yes. Up ze workers!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Oi\u2019ve warned yow!\u2019 came the cry from behind the bar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Sorry, Ted,\u2019 I said, then turning to Mathieu, \u2018Maybe we could make it sort of semi-random.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Semi-random?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Get to Leeds before three o\u2019clock using\u2026 random roads.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Zis is not possible. Wandon means wandom.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018We\u2019ll chip in for petrol.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mathieu considered. \u2018Never. We cannot sell out ze wevolooshun like zat.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018How about this: we go to Derby \u2013 big railway city, Derby. You do some action poetry in support of the strike\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Revolooshurn.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Revolution, whatever. Then we get to Leeds for three o\u2019clock.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Zis is Bourgeois. Zis is tertally Bourgeois.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Via Crewe?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Bourgeois.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Via Manchester?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Bourgeois.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Dewsbury?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Zat\u2019s worse! Petit Bourgeois!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Rochdale?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Bourgeois.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n The conversation continued in this way for another forty minutes or so. Jack got a round in, I shared the Woodbines; I got a round in, Jack shared the Senior Service. Dic-Dat Django got a round in; Dave Begley shared the Davidoffs. Et cetera. Et cetera.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Stoke.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Bourgeois.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Nantwich.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Bourgeois.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Leeds,\u2019 said Jack Dudley.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Leeds via Leeds?\u2019 I asked with a roll of the eyes. There followed a strange silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Magnifique!<\/em>\u2019 cried Mathieu, with enthusiastic nodding from the hitherto-inexpressive Dave Begley.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And so it was that the Dunstall Hill Dada picked us up outside the Stafford Road railway works early the next morning in their Random Charabanc \/ Dadabanc, a Leyland Torpedo daubed with one of Dic-Dat\u2019s sound poems. Their number had grown considerably since I\u2019d last seen the vehicle, when it still sported bold, vaguely-cubist zig-zags later plagiarized by the Royal Navy. Today their outfits were less homogenous; among a (male) nun, a septuagenarian lady in communion dress, Boer-War soldiers and an Elizabethan peasant, Mathieu Noir was dressed in newspaper collage, while Dave Begley had shaved his head and wore antlers soaked in animal urine. Dic-Dat Django was driving, kitted out in immaculate white chauffer\u2019s uniform.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Can we move this trunk?\u2019 I asked as we climbed in through the rearmost doors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Imposseeble,\u2019 said Mathieu Noir.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018What\u2019s in it?\u2019 asked Jack Dudley, reaching for the catch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Stop! When ze trunk opens, ze shourney ends!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n With all pretence at randomness abandoned we made quick time, and were ordering breakfast at Harry\u2019s Cafe, Halifax by twelve o\u2019clock. On the street outside, some of the Dadaists staged a rather half-hearted tableau, with the nun spanking the soldiers with a rolled-up typescript of Dic-Dat\u2019s sound poetry. On the next table, a prosperous-looking group of businessmen were discussing books, but \u2013 as far as I could gather \u2013 not the artistic kind. I accidentally caught the eye of a pudgy man with receding hairline.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018That lot with you?\u2019 he asked, nodding towards the window, through which one could now see the soldiers marching behind the nun in tight circles, reading different pages of the typescript simultaneously to create a cacophonous sound collage that at once suggested the chaos of war and capitalism while simultaneously eschewing traditional notions of representation and classical reason.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018That lot with you?\u2019 he asked, nodding towards the window, through which one could now see the soldiers marching behind the nun in tight circles, reading different pages of the typescript simultaneously to create a cacophonous sound collage that at once suggested the chaos of war and capitalism while simultaneously eschewing traditional notions of representation and classical reason.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Sort of.\u2019 I replied, \u2018We\u2019re going to the football at Leeds.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Not dressed like that you\u2019re not. Herbert Chapman, Leeds City.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n I shook the outstetched hand and then straightened my tie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Not you lot. I\u2019m on about the decadents,\u2019 he eyed Dave Begley\u2019 antlers and gave a disdainful sniff.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018They\u2019re not really interested in football,\u2019 I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Bourgeois,\u2019 agreed Mathieu Noir haughtily, \u2018and depuis-garde, aussi!<\/em>\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Interesting vehicle you\u2019ve got out there.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Ze Dadabanc? \u2018Tis mooer zan a veer-cull. \u2018Tis a scalpel viz vich to curt ze societee.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018A scalpel with wheels,\u2019 agreed Dave Begley.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018You could fit a whole football team in there,\u2019 said Chapman, looking around at his fellow directors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018You could,\u2019 agreed Noir, \u2018Or you could fit a critique of western society and ze future of artistic expression in a world in which bourgeois values and ze narrative of nation have collapsed.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Probably not both at the same time, though,\u2019 said Jack Dudley.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Agreed,\u2019 said Mathieu Noir.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Is it for sale?\u2019 asked Chapman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At this, Noir and Begley rose from the table, spat on Chapman\u2019s shoes and walked out of the greasy spoon. Within seconds the engine had started and the charabanc was spluttering onto the road without us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018There was no need for that,\u2019 said Chapman, to which we all agreed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I don\u2019t suppose you know if there\u2019s a bus to Leeds?\u2019 asked Jack, as the caf\u00e9 owner brought us our full Englishes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Don\u2019t you worry, lads. You can squeeze into our Daimler. Just don\u2019t start spanking anyone with rubbish poetry.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1<\/p>\n\n\n\n After leaving Harry\u2019s Cafe we headed for a couple of pints at the Ring O\u2019Bells before squeezing into the Daimler and making our way to Elland Road. The tongues of Messrs. Chapman, Connor and Clarke had been loosened by strong drink, and they filled us in on the details of Leeds City\u2019s considerable difficulties.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I should never have promoted him,\u2019 said Chapman of a man called Cripps (it appeared that the principle attribute for gaining a position of power at the club was to have a surname that began with \u2018C\u2019).<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018I told you that at the time,\u2019 muttered Connor darkly from behind the wheel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Now this Copeland chappie,\u2019 continued Chapman over his shoulder, \u2018a thoroughly average footballer, appears to have become a rather more formidable blackmailer.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Don\u2019t worry,\u2019 said Alderman William Clarke, re-lighting a rather well-chewed cigar, \u2018This will all blow over.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Will it \u2018eck as like,\u2019 snapped Connor, \u2018Were you not listening when they gave us till October the sixth?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018But we are Leeds.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018We are Leeds, we are Leeds, we are Leeds; that\u2019s all we ever hear from you. These fellows aren\u2019t just here to say \u201chow do?\u201d You need to understand that.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018You need to do something about those papers, Clarke,\u2019 said Chapman coldly, \u2018You\u2019re the lawyer. Find a way.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n It all sounded rather dirty. I tried to change the mood with talk of the Harvest Festival we had put together for the oldsters of Whitmore Reans, but this only led Connor to bleat about some payment to a local infirmary and all sense of good cheer was gone by the time we arrived in Leeds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As we pulled up on Park Lane (Alderman Clarke needed to store some papers at his office) we became aware of a great kerfuffle outside the Town Hall, with banging and shouting, some mechanical creaking, and cacophonic sound poetry. The trunk which we\u2019d spied in the back of the Random Charabanc \/ Dadabanc was on the pavement, opened to reveal an assortment of heavy spanners, wrenches and sockets. Next to it, the nun was handing out spark plugs to passers-by. I walked over to investigate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018What is going on?\u2019 I asked, as Mathieu Noir carefully placed some bricks under the jacked-up front-right axle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018When ze trunk is opened, ze shourney ends,\u2019 he said, lowering the car down onto the bricks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Who opened it?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Dada!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n As a crowd fought over the newly-liberated front wheel, I headed back to the Daimler and lit a cigarette. \u2018We\u2019re going to have trouble getting back,\u2019 I said to Jack, passing him a Woodbine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018You still sinking of buying ze Dadabanc, Chapman?\u2019 shouted Mathieu Noir from across the street, with a maniacal laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1 \u25a1<\/p>\n\n\n\n The game ended 1-1, and was just about absorbing enough for us to put our transport difficulties to one side. At half time, I ran into Harold \u2018Chimdy\u2019 Potts who informed me with regret that there was no room in any of the Flying Squadron\u2019s dirigibles; as for the Honourable and Worthy Pedallers, they would take us, but it would mean getting seaties all the way back to the Molineux Hotel, and I didn\u2019t feel that was fair on us or the riders. Though we scoured the pubs after the full-time whistle, the men involved in the complicated house removal chain were nowhere to be seen, and neither was the canal expedition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And so, with some trepidation, we decided to stay on in the West Riding rather than try and walk home. City were due to play at Molineux the following week, and we hoped that, if the strike hadn\u2019t ended by then, we might be able to find a route back to Whitmore Reans with some of their away following. It was a decision that would prove to be one of the most fateful of our lives, and give us a week of political intrigue, financial skulduggery and unconventional sound poetry that neither of us would ever forget.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The trains are on strike, art is dead and some plain-talking Yorkshiremen have ‘lost’ their bought ledger. All aboard the Random Charabanc!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":730,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[46,64,89],"class_list":["post-725","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-dada","tag-leeds-city","tag-rail-strike-1919"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/725","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=725"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/725\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=725"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=725"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=725"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}