This book is for Harry and Ruaridh
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Freddie Mole, Lion Tamer
This is the story of Max Champion and a great thing he did. Max is the hero of this tale because that is what he was, by nature and by deed – a hero.
His full name was Max George Henry William Champion, but nobody needs that many names and so he was simply called Max. He lived with his mother, who was called Molly, and his grandfather, Augustus Monty Champion, known as Gus.
Their home was at the end of a track on the edge of town. It was not a large house – in fact, it was rather small, only having three tiny rooms and an outside shack. This meant there was a bedroom for Molly, one for Max and a room that was used for everything else, including cooking and washing. Baths were taken in a tin tub behind a curtain; there was no hot tap, and so water was heated on the stove before being poured into the tub. It was all rather simple, but it was a comfortable tub and nobody complained.
Grandfather Gus lived in a small shed in the back yard. Max had offered him his room and said that he would take the shed instead, but Grandfather Gus simply shook his head and said he would not hear of it.
“I slept in all sorts of places in my younger days,” he said. “I’ve slept in tents and igloos. I’ve slept in haystacks and caves. I don’t mind a shed one little bit – in fact, I think this is one of the most comfortable places I’ve ever slept in my life!”
The Champion family did not have much money. Grandfather Gus had a small garage, where he had worked for as long as anybody could remember. This garage was right next to the house, which meant he did not have far to walk to get to work. It was always surrounded by the old cars Gus fixed. These cars belonged to people who could not afford newer cars, and it was only through Gus’s efforts that they were kept going at all.
“If only I could buy better tools,” said Gus. “Then I could fix some of the more modern cars too.” He sighed. It was not easy fixing these old cars, but it was his work and he did it as cheerfully as he could. The Champion family was not the sort of family who complained about anything – they made do with what they had.
Everybody had to earn what money they could – even Max, who had a part-time job when he was not at school. Molly, his mother, worked as a sandwich-maker in a nearby town; Max’s job was to cut people’s lawns. For this, he had an old lawnmower that just about worked, although it needed a lot of pushing and shoving to do anything very much. On the afternoons that he cut grass, he would come home completely exhausted by all the effort, hardly finding the energy needed to eat the dinner his mother had prepared for him.
“I’m sorry you have to work so hard, Max,” his mother said. “Other boys have time to play – I wish you did.”
Max told her not to worry about him. “I’m doing fine, Mum,” he said. “I like my work – I really do.”
She knew he was being kind and he was just thinking of her feelings. That made her proud: her son was a hard worker and always shared what he earned. Even so, it was difficult to make ends meet, and at the end of each week there was never much money left in the jar in the kitchen where they all put their earnings.
On Saturday mornings, before he went off to mow lawns, Max helped his grandfather in the garage. He was not allowed to do the difficult things that only a mechanic could do, but he could help in other ways. He could unscrew the nuts that let dirty oil drain out of engines. He could do that quite easily, and could collect the old oil in deep trays. He could also change the rubber blades on windscreen wipers, fill a cooling system with water and check the air pressure in tyres. All these could be done while Grandfather Gus was attending to the more complicated issues of brakes and lights and gearboxes.
Another thing Max could do was clean cars. Many of the vehicles that were brought to the garage for repair were very dirty, and needed to be thoroughly washed before being returned to their owners. Max liked this job, as there was a high-pressure hose he could use to remove layers of grime as easily as if it were icing on a cake.
“Be careful with that thing,” warned Gus. “It’s very powerful. Make sure that you don’t damage the cars.”
Max was careful, and after he had removed the outer layers of dirt, he would often complete the job with a bucket of warm water, some soap and a cloth. In this way he would coax the last of the dirt off the car’s bodywork. Then he would polish so hard that the car would end up gleaming and looking almost as good as new. The owners of these cars would marvel at the transformation.
“You’ve made my poor old car look brand new,” exclaimed one of them. “Max – you’re a real hero, you know!”
Max was modest. “I’m glad you like it,” he said.
It was while he was cleaning a car one Saturday morning that he made his discovery. He was working in the garage with his mother, who sometimes stood in for Gus if he was called away to deal with a breakdown. She was not a trained mechanic, but she had picked up a lot over the years and could fix most simple things that went wrong. That morning a car had been brought in by its owner, a farmer, who apologised for its dirty state. He had meant to clean it before he brought it in to be fixed, but had been too busy getting his pigs and sheep ready for market.
“Don’t worry,” said Molly. “My son is pretty good at washing and polishing. I’ve never known a car that he can’t sort out, given the chance.”
Max beamed with pleasure at the compliment. He was pleased that his mother was proud of him. And so he set to work on the car, which was so covered in mud that it was hard to tell what colour it was underneath. It could have been blue, but then it could equally well have been red or white, or even some shade in-between.
Max applied the high-pressure hose to the back of the car, to remove the worst of the mud before he started to scrub the bodywork with his cloth. And that is when he saw it: underneath the grime was a line of raised metal lettering.
This car was an unusual shape, and Max was keen to discover what make it was. The lettering, he thought, would give him the answer.
Slowly he uncovered the half-hidden letters. First there came a C, then an H, and after that an A. Now he was interested: he had not heard of a car whose name began with those letters, and he was keen to find out what followed. It was an M, and then, immediately after that, a P. At last it was fully uncovered: Champion.
Max stood back and scratched his head. Champion? Why would a car have that name on it – which happened to be their family name? He was puzzled, and could think of no reason to explain this strange discovery.
His mother was working on a tractor that needed new brakes, and was at a tricky stage of the repair.
“I’m busy,” she said, when Max asked her to come and see what he had found. “Later on, please, Max.”
“But, Mum,” protested Max, “there’s a car over there with our name on it.”
Molly stood up straight, wiping her hands on her overalls. “Did you say our name?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Max. “It says Champion.”
“I think I should take a look at this,” said Molly, as she made her way to the other side of the garage.
Bending down to examine the lettering, Max’s mother gasped in surprise. She turned to Max, a broad smile on her face. “Do you realise who made this car, Max?” she asked.
Max shook his head.
Molly’s smile became even broader. “Grandfather Gus,” she said proudly. “He made it.”
; It took Max a few moments to grasp what his mother had said.
“Grandfather Gus?” he asked. “Do you mean he made this car … himself?”
Molly pointed to the front of the car. “I think we should take a look inside,” she suggested. “Come with me.” And with that, she opened one of the car doors, gesturing for Max to slip in beside her.
If the car had been dirty outside, inside it was a different story. The farmer who owned it had been careful to keep it clean, and there was hardly a speck of dust on the instrument panel or the steering wheel.
“It’s beautiful,” said Max, feeling the soft leather of the seats. “This is a really nice car, Mum.”
Molly looked proud. “It is, isn’t it? And there are very few of these around, Max – maybe ten, maybe not quite that many. You never see them on the roads these days.”
There was so much Max wanted to ask his mother, that he did not know where to start. But Molly settled that question. “Would you like to hear the whole story?” she asked. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I never got around to it.”
They sat in the front seats of the car, just the two of them, which was a good place to hear a story, as it was warm and comfortable.
“Well,” began Molly, “this is how it starts …”
Max closed his eyes. He had always done that when he was told a story, as it somehow made it easier for him to picture what was going on.
“Your grandfather,” said Molly, “used to have a factory. It was not a very big factory – not much more than a rather long shed, in fact. He bought it very cheaply because the man who used to own it had stopped making things. He used to make metal spoons for marmalade jars, and suddenly everybody stopped using them and bought plastic ones instead. So he sold the factory to your grandfather for next to nothing. He gave him the machines as well – they could cut metal and mould it into various shapes, and that, I suppose, is why your grandfather thought he might make a car – just to see how things worked.
“Now, most of us would not be much good at making a car, but your grandfather, Max, is different. He’s a type of genius, you know – an inventor! You didn’t know that, did you?”
Max shook his head. Grandfather Gus was just … well, he was just Grandfather Gus: it had never occurred to Max that he might have been able to invent things.
“There he was with his factory,” continued Molly. “And he decided to make a car from the ground upwards. So, he bought some wheels from somewhere or other, and then he built the chassis – that’s the car’s skeleton, you know – and then he worked out how to make an engine, from bits and pieces he bought here and there. And then …” Max’s mother paused, “… it worked. The car actually started.”
Max opened his eyes and stared at his mother in astonishment. “It started?” he asked. “And then it actually …”
His mother nodded. “It ran as sweetly as a bee,” she said. “So he put his name on the back and began to make another one, and another one after that.”
“What did he do with them?” asked Max.
“He sold them,” said Molly. “There were plenty of people who wanted a car like that, and they were happy to buy one. In fact, he had a waiting list for Champion cars.”
Max shook his head in wonderment. “I had no idea,” he said.
“Your grandfather’s a very modest man,” said Molly. “He’s never been the type to boast. So he didn’t go around talking about how good his cars were. But he did write everything down in his Ideas Book.”
“Ideas Book?” asked Max.
“Yes,” replied Molly. “That’s where he sketched out the plans for his cars. There were hundreds of drawings in it – a real treasure trove of ideas.”
Now Molly looked sad, and Max knew that the story was not going to end well.
“Have you heard of a man called Grabber?” she asked.
Max shook his head.
“This Mr Grabber,” said Molly, “saw that your grandfather was doing well, and he did not like it. He had his own car factory. His cars were not much use, to tell the truth. He cut corners when he made them – saving money, even on things like brakes. But he still wanted to do better than anybody else, and so he cooked up a scheme.”
Max waited.
“And this scheme,” she continued, “was to somehow stop your grandfather from making his cars.”
“How did he do that?” asked Max.
“It was complicated,” explained his mother. “But Mr Grabber found out that Grandfather Gus had borrowed money from a bank to buy some new machinery. Now, the bank that lent him the money was not big at all – in fact, it was very small – and so Mr Grabber was able to buy the bank itself, lock, stock and barrel. Then, once he owned it, he simply said to Grandfather Gus that he had to pay the money back immediately.”
Max’s face fell. “And he couldn’t?”
Molly shook her head. “I’m afraid he couldn’t. So Mr Grabber was able to move in and take over his business. He took the factory and everything inside it. He wasn’t allowed to take Grandfather Gus’s papers, but he did that nonetheless. He took the Ideas Book.”
Max drew in his breath. “With all the plans? With all the ideas?”
His mother nodded sadly. “Yes, he stole the Ideas Book.”
Max wondered why his grandfather did not go to the police, and Molly explained to him that he had no proof Mr Grabber had taken the book. So the police were unable to do anything.
“After that,” Molly said, “Grandfather Gus more or less gave up. He had just enough money to buy the garage, and since then he has spent the rest of his time working here. He does not make much money, as you know, but he helps lots of people keep their cars going. He is proud of that.”
Max waited for more, but it seemed this was the end of the story. What he had heard made him feel sad and angry – at the same time. It seemed so unfair that Grandfather Gus should have lost everything, and it seemed so wrong that Mr Grabber should have got away with it. He wondered about Mr Grabber – was he still around? Was he still getting away with it? This is what he now asked his mother.
“Oh, the Grabbers are still with us,” said Molly. “There are two of them now – Mr Grabber himself and his son, Pablo Grabber. He’s about the same age as you are, and he’s every bit as nasty as his father.”
“Where do they live?” asked Max.
“Not far away,” said his mother. “You sometimes see them going past in their big car. They still make cars – and race them too. Just like your grandfather did.”
Max had not heard that before. “So Grandfather Gus was a racing driver?” he asked.
“Yes,” said his mother. “He took part in those long road races – rallies – where they drive ordinary cars. He was very good at it.” She paused. “He often beat the Grabbers, which they didn’t like one little bit. People like that want to come first in everything.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not,” said Molly. “But, there we are. We should just get on with our lives as best we can – and I think we’re doing that, don’t you?”
Max nodded. He was glad that he was a member of a happy family, even if they did not have much money and had to scrape around a bit to get by. Grandfather Gus had often told him that the most important thing in life was happiness – the happiness you feel inside you – and his mother had said much the same thing. Max thought they were both right, although sometimes there were things that could make you feel quite unhappy – as the story he had just heard from his mother had done.
Molly opened the car door for her son to get out. “I think we should get on with our work,” she said. Then she added, “You should ask your grandfather about his days as a car maker. It’s an amazing story.”
“Yes,” said Max. “I’d like to hear it.”
He spoke to Grandfather Gus that very evening, seated around the small wood stove that the old man had in his shack. At night this was what kept the shack warm, alth
ough sometimes, when it was very cold outside, small patches of ice would form on the inside of the windows. This did not worry Grandfather Gus too much, as he said that it was not good for you to be too hot.
Max told him about how he had discovered the car.
“So you found an old Champion,” said Grandfather Gus with a smile. “That’s quite a thing to discover, Max – there aren’t many of those around these days.”
“It was very well kept inside,” said Max. “The wood panels were polished and all the steel gleamed like new.”
Grandfather Gus nodded. “They were great cars, those Champions,” he said. “Very pretty machines. Do you know they could go at one hundred miles an hour, sometimes more?”
“That’s very fast,” said Max.
“And they were as comfortable as a living-room sofa,” went on Grandfather Gus. “Even on bumpy roads, your skeleton never complained. It was like riding on air, people said. That was the suspension I designed – it was very special.” He paused, as if about to reveal a secret. “And you know something, Max? That suspension was really special – it was the only suspension in the world, as far as I know, that used marshmallow. Would you believe that?”
Max looked astonished. He knew that marshmallow was spongy, sweet stuff that quickly melted in your mouth, but he had never heard of it being used to make suspension for cars.
Grandfather Gus looked dreamy. “Ah,” he said, “I remember some of the drives I had in one of the first Champions I made. She was a lovely car, she was. I gave her a name, Arabella, and I used her for years. I was making other Champions for people in those days, but I always kept that one as my personal car.”
“You must have loved her,” said Max.
“Yes,” said Grandfather Gus. “I did. And I had some amazing adventures in her. Did I ever tell you about those?”
Max shook his head. “No, but I’d love to hear them.”