Here's another sample of the story to whet your literary appetites:
The following month, the heavy
equipment, the diggers, bulldozers, vans, and trucks descended on the town.
Surveyors had already sectioned off great swathes of woodland to be cleared and
levelled to accommodate the main part of the new highway. Working in rolling twenty-four
shifts, all we could hear through the day and much of the night was the howl of
chainsaws and rumble of engines.
Each step of the way, Berk Beckingham supervised
their progress. To all intents and purposes, he became part of the crew
himself. At first light, he’d be seen with his clipboard and tape measure, overseeing
every part of the project, scribbling down notes, recording measurements, asking
incessant questions of the workers and the men in charge of them. But rather
than express disgruntlement, the men looked upon Berk as an amusing
distraction. His manner was so earnest, they couldn’t help but furnish him with
all the information he required, even listened intently when he offered advice on
compacting both the naturally occurring and processed soil that would
effectively provide the foundations of the new road surface.
“I don’t believe that the section to the
right there has been compacted sufficiently, sir. By my calculations, there’s a
quarter of a millimetre discrepancy.”
“Why, I believe you’re correct, son,” said
the foreman, after confirming the measurements himself. “Say, if you hadn’t
thought about it before, you’d make a fine land surveyor one day.”
“But, sir, I already have a full-time
position here, taking care of the new road which will ensure my home town’s
future prosperity.”
Once the soil had been compacted, a layer
of aggregate, fine and course particles obtained from rocks, was added on top
along with binders comprising a mix of further aggregate, bitumen, and sand.
Having been provided with a hard-hat and hi-vis jerkin by this point, Berk walked
alongside the foremen and inspected every section of the new road as it was
prepped for concreting. Bar one query with the drainage provisions for a
naturally low-lying area, Berk happily signed off this part of the construction
process as complete.
“You’re free to proceed now, sir.”
In the final days of the project, the
entire stretch of road was concreted and covered with a layer of asphalt, then
levelled and steamrolled. Even today, the townsfolk speak with special fondness
when recalling the sight of Berk Beckingham sitting alongside the driver of one
of those steamroller contraptions, levelling off the last section of road. He
had such a huge smile on his face, it would’ve been enough to melt the heart of
the even meanest of surly souls.
Two days later, once the tar dried out and
the crew had performed a few final checks, some dignitaries visited the town
for the official opening ceremony. It was quite the occasion, with bunting and
banners, tables and benches outside every home, crammed with the finest
homecooked foods and locally distilled wines and spirits. Having heard of Berk
Beckingham’s interest and, in complete fairness, active participation in the
construction of the road, the mayor went out of his way to call the young man
up in front of the townsfolk, and pinned a red rosette to the hi-vis jerkin
which he wore at all times now, to acknowledge his contribution.
“Thank you for all your hard work, young
Mr Beckingham. I now pronounce this new road open.”
If you would like to download the magazine and read the story in full, click on this link.
And if you'd like to learn more about Neil Randall's published work, why not head over to his amazon page.
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