Practical joke

I am not by nature a prankster – I never try and fool anyone on April 1st, and though I enjoy a clever prank, rather than a slapstick one (I used to like Jeremy Beadle’s well-planned and executed tricks, but “Just for Laughs” leaves me cold), have never been much for playing them myself. I think it because I am intrinsically too honest, and do not like lying to, or deceiving, others.

However many years ago, while living in Mozambique on the banks of the Zambezi, I succumbed to temptation. Back in those wonderful carefree days many of us teenagers (16+) owned 50cc motorbikes – of the non-restricted variety, so they were capable of 50-60 mph flat out – and though there were no tarmac roads then all the bikes were road-going versions, so not really suited for the terrain! Mostly we owned 2-stroke Suzuki’s, but that was primarily because the Sugar Estate used them extensively, so could get them cheaply, but Pete had a 4-stroke Honda, which had a distinctive engine noise that everyone recognised. Most of us had learnt to ride on an old BSA, called Flash, that now had a 50cc Suzuki engine in it, the old one having died many years before, and this now belonged to Pete as well (his father ran the engineering workshop that maintained all the company vehicles).

Anyway, on that particular day Pete had taken his Honda in to be serviced so was riding Flash. The Zambezi was prone to flooding so they had constructed dykes along the riverbank, and another set inside to protect the village, and we often used to ride up on to these – or rather try and ride up on to them as in most places they were too steep for the little engines, especially with a 50-60 foot drop into the Zambezi just behind!  This day we had got on top further along and were riding along the footpath on top of the dyke when we came across a group of younger boys, probably 10-13 years old, who we vaguely knew. As 2 English boys we were recognisable to everyone! One of the boys asked where the Honda was – we all aspired to ride the 4-stroke as it sounded so much more macho than a 2-stroke engine – and Pete started to respond. Fortunately his Portuguese was not that good so I jumped in and the deception started!

I told them that earlier in the day we had been riding up on to the dyke and Pete had over-cooked it and ridden straight into the river! Bearing in mind that the Zambezi at this juncture is over a mile wide, and has a peak flow of some 300,000 cubic feet per second, so is some river. I continued that Pete had to abandon the bike and so it was probably at the bottom of the river. That was going to be the end of it, but one of them asked if we were going to fish it out, and, if not, could they try. I am sorry, but I could not resist this! I told them to help themselves if they wanted to, never believing that they really would, and we went on our way.

Four hours later, the Honda newly serviced, we passed by the same way, and noticed that there was quite a commotion by the water’s edge. There were two boys, plus an African domestic, tethered by ropes wading around in the water, and another 4 boys on the bank shouting encouragement. They saw us and called up asking if they were in the right spot, so I said they were about 10 yards too far down the river, but maybe the bike had been washed down by the current. All the time Pete was sitting on the Honda revving the engine, and suddenly the penny dropped! One of them noticed the deep 4-stroke engine noise – there was stunned silence before they came running up the dyke to where we were. Pete could hardly contain himself, but I compounded their misery by saying that Pete’s Dad had sent a team of men there to fish it out just after we left earlier – while they were gathering ropes and more help!

They just calmly accepted this, and wandered off, soaking wet and possibly having caught something nasty in the dirty river – I never owned up, and I guess they never knew the truth.