Notes From the Hard Shoulder - James May [61]
Two hours later we were towed to a Fiat garage in Bellinzona, expense mecca of the universe. A mechanic poked around the engine bay whilst discussing the problem with Sophie in the usual rapid-fire and unhinged-sounding Italian. She turned to me with an ashen face. 'The tree of the engine is broken,' she translated. I knew it.
The next day, sitting idly in a Swiss bar awaiting news of our repatriation, the true folly of our venture struck me. We had taken every precaution for its emigration: we had detailed maps and a carefully planned route; the car had been serviced and overhauled; we had the most comprehensive AA cover going and we had taken essential spares. Yes, I had forgotten the toolkit, but that was as irrelevant as all our other expedients. For as I bit into another piece of that cake to avoid paying £5 for a sandwich, I realised that I hadn't cleared the trip with the great Saint.
Broken tree my arse. This was a clear case of divine intervention. This car had returned to its space in the shadow of Antony's tiny chapel every day for the last 27 years. When we drove out of Rezzonico it went missing; as we crossed the border into Switzerland it was clearly about to become lost. And as Sophie had put her foot down, so had he. I had tested the patience of a saint and suffered for it.
Sophie Langella's Cinquecento has since been brought to England by the AA. She now lives happily with the car in Teddington, Middlesex. Following the breakdown, James May returned to Italy and joined the Monastery of St Antony, Padua, where he is said to live a life of repentance. He was prevented by a vow of silence from talking to us.
HARLEY-DAVIDSON, A HANGING OFFENCE
It's not often we have a hanging in Top Gear, so I'm pleased to be able to present one here, for the entertainment of the crowd.
In 1816, long before the motorbike was invented, a man called Isaac Harley was strung up at Ely, along with four other miscreants, for his part in the famous Littleport Riots. They'd only been protesting about the price of bread, for Pete's sake. It's not as if they killed anyone, although one Mr Speechley is said to have died later from the shock of the mob smashing his furniture up. They would probably have butchered a farmer called Martin had they been able to find him, but as they couldn't they settled instead for waving a meat cleaver over his aged grandmother's head. This and a few other minor misdemeanours were sufficient to condemn them to the drop.
From the newly erected gallows near the Ely workhouse, on Friday, 28 June 1816, rioter John Dennis confessed his crimes and implored the assembled people to 'avoid drunkenness, Sabbath-breaking, whoremongery and bad company'. Isaac Harley stated only that he met the death he had expected. Then they were despatched.
Good. It's the only language these people understand.
I hope you enjoyed the hanging as much as I did. Unfortunately, it may not actually be relevant to the story. It all depends on what else is unearthed by the Littleport Society, resident and highly active in the Fenland village of the same name. I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of local historians. They know exactly what everyone's been up to for the past 500 years and might avenge themselves by tracing my ancestry and uncovering someone who was hanged. So we'll come back to Isaac the rioter