BRRRRMMMM! Brrrmmmmmmmmmmm! BRRRRRRRMMMMMM!

The Pink Panties speedway track echoed to the screaming roar of hurtling motor-bikes. Four young novicettes were taking part in a trial heat. Well out in the lead was Peaches Booth, a speed-mad girl, whose ambition in life was to become a rider in the Pink Panties team.

As Peaches skidded onto the last lap, she flashed a quick glance in the direction of the pits where Poochie Jones, captain of the Panties, was watching the trial.

"I've got to win," Peaches muttered to herself. "I must show Poochie what I can do - make her take notice of little me. This is my big chance!"

Peaches laid her bike almost flat as she took the bend into the back straight. She sensed her three rivals roaring in pursuit, cinders flying in clouds from the spinning rear wheels as they made a flat-out effort to catch her before she crossed the finishing line.

Peaches' tremendous riding brought a gasp of appreciation from Poochie Jones.

"That girl in the lead seems to be made of the right stuff," she exclaimed. "She's about the best we've seen tonight."

Poochie addressed he remark to Titsy Tilson, who stood beside her leaning heavily on crutches. Poochie and Titsy were the two star riders for the Pink Panties, and when Titsy had crashed recently, it looked as if the accident had ruined the Panties chances of winning the Golden Bush again this season.

The Golden Bush was a trophy competed for each year by the Panties and neighbouring clubs. The Panties had won it two years running, each time beating their local rivals, the W.I. Tornados. Once again Panties and Tornados had reached the final, and if Panties could complete the hat trick the Golden Bush would be theirs for all time.

Titsy's accident appeared to have wrecked their hopes, but Poochie was trying to find someone to replace her, although she knew it would be impossible to make a novicette into a speedway ace overnight. There was no lack of volunteers to choose from. All the speed-crazed girls in the district were clamouring for a chance to ride for the Panties. There had been so many of them that Poochie had decided to hold a series of trials, to weed them out.

The girls had proved themselves to be brimful of energy and enthusiasm, although most of them had more daring than skill. A few had real talent and might become good speedway riders in time, but they needed hand training and experience.

Some of the competitors had been using practice machines belonging to the Panties, but the really keen ones, like Peaches Booth, had brought their own bikes, specially stripped down and tuned for the big occasion.

Peaches, who worked in a garage and was a wizard with engines, was now reaping the benefit of the hours she had put in preparing her machine. Even though the bike she was riding would not have normally been allowed on the track in an official competition it was going in championship style.

Brrrrmmmmmmmm!

Peaches was sliding furiously into the last bend now. There was only the finishing straight ahead. She knew that she could not be passed, but she wasn’t easing up. In fact, in a dare-devil effort to stage a sensational finish, she took the last bend faster than ever. The slithering back wheel bucked and tried to throw her, but she held it grimly in check, jabbing her left bootee into the cinders.

Peaches was hauling the machine upright when - bang! There was a loud report as the back tyre burst. The machine slithered towards the wire safety fence and in a cloud of dust crumpled against the wire-mesh. Peaches was thrown clear and landed with a bone-shaking crash on the cinders. She rolled away as the other three riders shaved past her.

Sore and bruised, Peaches picked herself up and rescued her bike. The other riders flashed across the line and the heat was over. A loudspeaker boomed from the stand.

“That is the end of the trials. Thank you, everybody, for coming. If we can make use of any of you, our secretary will let you know in a few days.”

Peaches groaned with disappointment. The trials were over. She had missed her chance. Then she spotted Poochie and Titsy over by the pits. Peaches wheeled her bike towards them just as Poochie was saying:

“Well, that’s that. Plenty of good material, but nothing we could use right now in the Golden Bush match against the Tornados. I suppose it was too much to hope that we could find a sub for you this way, Titsy. Crack riders don’t grow bushes. I mean, grow on bushes.”

“Excuse me,” said Peaches. “I’m Peaches Booth - the one that had the spill in the last heat.”

“Tough titty, Peaches. Are you sure you’re all right?” asked Poochie, then added with a puzzled frown: “Haven’t I seen you before? Your bottom is familiar.”

“I work at the garage down the road, but on match nights I’m up here selling programmes and dildoes,” explained Peaches. “I’m dead keen to join the Panties. Programme-seller is as near as I’ve been able to get so far, but if you want a new rider, I’m your man!”

“That’s the spirit. Keep riding! Keep posting!” grinned Poochie.

“That’s what I wanted to see you about,” said Peaches. “The last heat didn’t give me a chance to show what I can really do. Can I have another go?”

“Sorry, Peaches. The trials are over,” answered Poochie.

“If I don’t get another go I shall pout,” said Peaches.

Poochie wasn’t waiting to argue any more. She walked away, Titsy by her side.

“Why, oh why did they ban caning at speedway clubs?” said Poochie. “Do you remember the old days, Titsy, when any novicette who pouted got six of the best, bending over, touching toes with her pink panties around her knees. You and I used to take it in turns to do the caning and the juice…”

“Peaches is in tears,” interrupted Titsy.

Poochie glanced back. Peaches was where they had left her, cuddling her punctured bike. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the track; couldn’t believe that the big chance from which she had expected so much was lost and gone.

Just then a dusky figure approached them. It was Maria Heaven, the night caretaker at the stadium.

“Time, ladies please!” she said. “I’ve got to lock the gates.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Peaches began. I know a…”

She had been on the point of saying that she knew a way out through the fence behind the pits, but she stopped herself as a sudden idea came to her. She wheeled her bike out. The gate closed behind her and she heard the caretaker, on the inside, turning the key in the lock.

For a few moments Peaches stood hesitating.

“How long will it be before I get another chance?” she said to herself. “If I want Poochie to take notice of me I’ve jolly well got to make my own chances, and I’m going to start tonight!”

Song: HOW’S CHANCES?

How's chances, say, how are the chances
Of making you love me the way I love you

How many young men must I fight with
To be in right with
In right with you

How's chances for one of those glances
A glimpse of the heaven I'm longing to see

How's chances to end all your romances
And start taking your chances with me.

The street grew suddenly darker as Maria Heaven, the caretaker, switched off the floodlights round the track.

Peaches pushed her motor-bike down the road to the nearby garage where she worked. The place was locked up now but Peaches had a key. Her boss knew that she often stayed behind after hours, tinkering about with engines and dildoes, and had given her the run of the place.

Peaches donned a pair of white working overalls and started going over every inch of her bike to make sure it had suffered no damage in the crash. It was almost midnight by the time she had satisfied herself and the bike was in tip-top condition. She remembered reading somewhere that Dirk Bogarde used to have the time of his life sitting on a static, but revving, motor bike gazing at a picture of himself dressed in the black leathers he wore in 'The Singer not the Song'. "Filthy beast," she said to herself, as she changed her grease-stained overalls for a clean pair.

"Now to start my campaign to make Poochie Jones take notice of me and my bike. Midnight! Couldn't be better."

She wheeled her machine back down the deserted street to the stadium, but instead of approaching the gates she made for a faulty section of fencing behind the pits. She cautiously moved a loose board and wheeled her motor-bike through the pits. At the gate leading out onto the track, she paused.

The stadium was in absolute darkness except for a shaft of light that streamed from one window at the end of the long stand. This was where Maria Heaven had her office. Peaches left her motor-bike and crept forward. Silently she peered inside at Maria.

Maria had been doing this job for a few years and nothing had ever happened, so it was hardly surprising that she was sleeping soundly beside the stove. A magazine was open on her lap. It was called 'Sapphic Shudder Stories' and there was a picture on the cover of a hair-raising ghost floating out of the window of a lesbian collective building. Maria's fondness for stories about spooks and lesbians was a standing joke at the stadium. She claimed that they helped keep her awake and achieve orgasm.

Suddenly midnight began to boom from a nearby clock tower. The solemn sound roused Maria, who blinked her eyes and reached for her magazine.

Peaches sprinted back to her motor-bike and ran it forward in a bump-and-grind start. The engine let out a shattering roar, drowning the sound of the midnight chimes.

Maria Heaven leapt from her chair, just as Peaches vaulted into the saddle and zoomed away down the track. For a few moments Maria stood transfixed, then she dashed to the window and peered out into the darkness. It was too dark for her to see the motor-bike, but she could see Peaches, a pale ghostly figure in her white overalls, hurtling down the back straight, hunched tensely, apparently riding on nothing.

Phantom-like, Peaches took the distant bend and swung back towards the watching caretaker again. As Peaches thundered past the window, Maria rushed to the door.

“Hey! Who are you? What’s going on? Come back!”

Peaches kept going, but this time she swerved sharply as she reached the gate of the pits. She shut off her engine and coasted through. Gaining the hole in the fence, she drifted silently through, replace the loose board and wedged it into position.

Now she could hear Maria hurrying through the pits.

“Where are you? Who are you? Come on out!”

Peaches moved silently away, an impish grin on her face.

“That’s given the Panties something to think about,” she laughed. “The fun will start in the morning and I’m going to be here to see it.”

Peaches rode home without another backward glance. Next morning she started out early, to be at the garage before it opened. On the way she stopped at a telephone box and made a call to ‘The Leader’ - the free local paper.

Song: ‘The Leader’ (Tune: ‘Fever’)

Sometimes it comes on Friday,
There’s a pile waiting in the hall.
Sometimes it comes on Monday,
Sometimes it don’t come at all.
It’s ‘The Leader’
Man, where’s ‘The Leader’?
I wanna know what’s going on.
Leader! Yeah, I’m a reader.
To read it doesn’t take that long.

“Tell one of your ace reporters to get down to the Pink Panties speedway stadium,” said Peaches to ‘The Leader’ receptionist at the other end of the telephone line. “The caretaker believes she saw a spooky-spook riding round the track at midnight.”

Peaches rang off without giving her name and waited at the garage until she saw Poochie Jones’ car go by. Peaches rode her bike down to the stadium and was just in time to hear Maria Heaven greet the Panties skipper.

“I resign. This place is haunted,” cried the caretaker.

“Don’t be so silly,” said Poochie. “The only haunted track in this country is Wembley, although there are still many people who don’t believe the story of the green-knickered phantom.”

“It was midnight,” said Maria. “A ghostly rider was whizzing round and round and round the track. Then all at once it rode straight through the fence and vanished.”

Titsy, who had followed Poochie from the car, quietly pointed to the ghost-story magazine on the floor.

“You stupid, stupid woman,” said Poochie. It’s obvious what happened. You fell asleep reading that tripe and dreamed all this.”

Before she could say any more, Vanora, a reporter from ‘The Leader’ arrived.

“What’s all this about you Panties being haunted by a ghosty spooky ghost-spook,” she asked.

“It’s just a false alarm. Maria has ghosty-spook ghosts on the brain. It was a dream,” Poochie broke in.

“I dreamt nothing. I saw the rider, all white and misty and spooky-spook ghost-like and ghosty ghostly tearing round the track. Then it kind of melted through a fence and disappeared.”

“Wait a minute!” Poochie said sharply, and turned to Vanora. “How did you know about this? Did Maria telephone you?”

“Not me!” said Maria.

“Then who did?” questioned Poochie and her glance fell on Peaches, who had been standing there quietly, fiddling and listening to the discussion.

“Peaches Booth, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“I was waiting for the details of the programme for the Golden Bush final,” said Peaches innocently. “If it’s ready I’ll take it to the printers.”

“You stupid, stupid girl. How can I have it ready when I don’t yet know who is going to take Titsy’s place in the team?” cried Poochie. She then turned to Vanora and demanded, “Don’t put this in the evening paper, you bastard.”

“Of course I will,” replied Vanora. “It’ll be the spook-scoop of the decade.”

“But it will make a laughing-stock of the Panties!” said Poochie. “Look I’ve done you a load of favours with cheap fags and vibies in the past, so you owe me one. And if you don’t help me out, the world will know about Cricklewood. Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll have an even better story for you. I don’t know what it really was that Maria saw, but I don’t believe in spooky-spook ghosts. If there is any kinky stuff going on I’ll get to the bottom of it tonight.”

Peaches moved off without anyone noticing that she had gone.

“That’s the story of my life,” she muttered to herself. “No one ever notices me, but they will after tonight.”

Song: The Story of My Life

Someday I'm going to write
The story of my life
I'll tell about the night we met
And how my heart can't forget
The way you smiled at me

I want the world to know
The story of my life
About the night your lips met mine
And that first exciting time
I held you close to me

The sorrow in our love was breakin' up
The mem'ry of a broken heart
But later on, the joy of makin' up
Never never more to part

There's one thing left to do
Before my story's through
I've got to take you for my wife
So the story of my life
Can start and end with you.

It was a day of tedious waiting. To Peaches it seemed as if all the hours would never pass, but evening came at last. Her boss showed no surprise when the time came to lock up for the night and Peaches asked if she could stay on and do some work and fiddling on her own.

Later that night Peaches saw a car go by towards the stadium. In it were Poochie, Titsy and Vanora, the reporter.

Shortly before midnight Peaches donned her white overalls and quietly wheeled her speed-iron to the stadium. She used the secret way through the fence into the pits. She moved cautiously, wondering whether Poochie had set any traps. But everything seemed normal. The light was burning in the caretaker’s room as normal and the stadium was quiet.

Bong - bong!

As the first strokes of midnight began to sound from the clock tower, Peaches ran her machine forward to start it.

Brrrrrrrrrrm!

She roared out onto the track and thundered past the lighted window. Suddenly there came excited cries from the four women inside.

“It’s happened again. Right on time, too!”

“What did I tell you,” shouted Maria Heaven. “It really is a spooky-spook.”

“Goodness gracious!” exclaimed Vanora. “It’s a phantom rider.”

Peaches, a fast-moving, wispy white figure, slid viciously into the bend.

“Now will you believe that the stadium is haunted?” cried Maria.

“No, I won’t,” shouted Poochie. “Switch on the lights!”

Peaches was going down the back stretch when the track was lit by an orange glow which suddenly brightened to a brilliant glare as the powerful floodlights were switched on.

“Look!” cried Poochie. “It’s someone pissing about!”

“But they certainly know how to ride,” exclaimed Titsy. “Look at that cornering. We could do with someone like that in the Panties.”

“It must be one of the team,” declared Poochie. “And I’m going to find out who it is!”

Poochie ran to the pits and grabbed a speedway bike. Then, when Peaches came hurtling round on the next lap, Poochie spurted through the gate and set off in hot pursuit. The others watched in breathless excitement as the two machines thundered round the brilliant lighted track.

Poochie gritted her teeth. She thought it would be easy to overtake the figure in white and force it to stop, but her quarry was riding like a champion, keeping well out of reach. Then Peaches suddenly increased her speed but lost control on a bend and went into a slide. Her handlebars almost scraped the cinders. Peaches fought with the machine as it slid away from under her. Suddenly there was a loud report.

The back tyre had blown out!

The bike bucked wildly, threw Peaches, and then whirled into the fence. Peaches landed on the back of her neck and then somersaulted across the track. A few seconds later Poochie reached the scene of the accident. She saw straight away that the phantom rider was Peaches Booth - and then she saw that Peaches was dead.

****************************

It was decided that despite the tragedy, the Golden Bush Trophy meeting should go ahead as planned. A large crowd watched as Poochie and her team took the first three places in the first heat. Maria Heaven, watched the race from her office and was certain a rider had crossed the finishing line before the Panties girls. She said that rider was all white and misty, but no-one believed her.

The End





Coming in January! A brand new, specially commissioned serial, ‘The Problems with Modern-Day Horse Racing’.