A Time to Blossom

Monday morning: Ex omnibus, Ebor.

“Good morning, gran,” said Craig as he bounced into the kitchen. “I’ll help you make breakfast. Grandad’s just getting up, I heard him in the corridor as I came downstairs, and mom and dad are stirring too.”

“How about Nathan, Craig? How is he this morning?”

“Still out like a conker. I looked in on him and he was fast asleep. I’ll take him breakfast in bed. You don’t mind, do you, gran?”

“No, of course not, Craig. I think it’s sweet of you.”

“Sweet? Sweet? It’s not sweet!” snapped Craig, much to his gran’s amusement.

“If you say so, Craig. And Nathan’s probably sleeping late because of the painkillers he was given at the hospital.”

“Well, it’s definitely not because of the whisky dad gave us last night. So stingy! About half a thimbleful shared between the two of us,” said Craig.

“Maybe that was because of the painkillers too, don’t you think, Craig?” replied his gran.

“Oh, yes, maybe so, gran. Not good to mix too much alcohol with medicine. That’s probably what dad was thinking.”

“Right. Now, can you get me some bacon from the fridge, Craig, and sausages too?”

“Sure, gran. Mushrooms and eggs? Oh, and do you know how to make potato waffles? Americans like potato waffles. We could make some for Nathan. He’d like that.”

“I think I can make potato waffles. Get me a few potatoes, an onion and the grater, Craig, then roll your sleeves up. We’ve got a breakfast to make.”

* * *

It was almost an hour later when Nathan sheepishly pushed the door open and entered the kitchen where everyone else bar Craig was sat at the table talking, drinking tea or reading the newspapers. Craig was at the sink, washing up the breakfast pots.

“Good morning,” said Nathan. “Sorry I’m late. Nobody woke me until Craig turned up with a breakfast tray.”

“Chuck it here,” said Craig, looking at the tray Nathan was carrying, “Then sit down and help yourself to tea. I can make you a pot of coffee if you prefer.”

“No, tea will be fine,” said Nathan, placing the tray on the worktop near Craig.

“Sit down, Nathan,” said Craig’s grandad, lowering his newspaper. “Tea? How are you feeling this morning? Like you’ve been dragged through a hedge back’ards I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Yes, how are you?” asked Craig’s mum. “I think you should rest today, don’t let Craig talk you into doing anything else foolish.”

“I’m okay,” smiled Nathan. “A little stiff and bruised, but I’m pretty much okay. I’ve learned my lesson.” He turned and smiled at Craig’s gran. “Those potato waffles were awesome, just like I have at home. Some onion in there definitely, and maybe a hint of cheese and pepper too?”

Craig’s gran smiled. “You’d have to ask Craig that, he supervised me making them. Said it was something he learned from your housekeeper.”

Craig grinned at his father then smirked at Nat. “Remember that Porsche you promised me, dad?  Like in a fairy tale? Well, I think I just earned it, and settled the debate with Natters about who’s the wife.”

As Craig’s dad started to laugh, Nathan looked puzzled.

Craig smirked. “You: Sleeping Beauty, Nat. The princess. Me, Prince Charming: woke you up with a kiss and a tray of waffles.”

* * *

About an hour later, Nat, Craig and Craig’s mum and dad were in their VW Polo and driving towards York. It wasn’t long before Craig was complaining.

“Mom, can you slide your seat forward a bit? I’m crushed here in the back. I keep telling you we need a bigger car.”

Craig’s dad, who was driving, glanced in the rear-view mirror and smiled at Craig. “We could always try the Procrustes solution: chop your legs off. Then you’d have plenty of space.”

“Err, no thanks, dad,” responded Craig sarkily. “It’s okay for you in the front, you’re not the one getting his growth stunted all the time…”

“Neither are you,” said Craig’s mom. “Most of the time it’s just the two of us using the car and so you’re sitting up front. I’m sure you can manage just a few miles in the back now and again when your dad is home.”

“Do you have enough leg room, Nathan?” asked Craig’s dad, who was sitting directly ahead of Nathan.

“I’m fine, Mark,” said Nathan, “And we’re not going far.”

“Very diplomatic,” laughed Craig’s dad. “I can feel your knees pressed into the seat behind me. This car wasn’t really designed to have strapping six footers in the back. Maybe we should look at something bigger for the future, especially as my next posting will be a home posting.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Craig triumphantly. “Maybe we could have a…”

“Hold on, don’t go getting too excited, Craig,” said his dad, “I’m not talking about buying a new car this very afternoon! It’ll be much later this year after I finish in America, if at all.”

“Yeah, I know dad, but we can start looking at options, thinking things through. And I ought to have a say in it, I’ll soon be old enough for driving lessons and then once I’ve passed my test …”

“Driving lessons? You’ve about a year and half still to go until you can start driving lessons, Craig,” said his mum. “You know that.”

“That would make him seventeen before he’s allowed on the roads,” said Nathan. “That’s late. We can get a learner’s permit and start driving lessons back home at sixteen. I’ve already got my licence. Quite a few states let beginners learn at fourteen.”

“Travis – he’s a guy in Nathan’s dorm, isn’t he Nathan? – can drive in Dakota already and he’s the same age as me, mom. And Nathan’s got his own car, a Mustang. It’s awesome to drive. Just like the college Humvee was.”

“You’ve been driving in America?” asked Craig’s mum, turning to face him in alarm.

Nathan intervened quickly. “It was under supervision, with a proper instructor, and not on public roads. Just on the college grounds, wasn’t it Craig? And yes, he did have a go in my Mustang, but that was on our land. He’s a good driver, very safe. Aren’t you, Craig?”

“He is,” said his dad, keen to calm things down. “I let him drive the Land Rover on shoots, all on private ground, and he’s not bad at it.”

“Not bad? Gee, thanks dad, that’s me damned with faint praise. I’m way better than ‘not bad’ mom,” laughed Craig. “Not bad indeed, dad. I’ll get you for that.”

Craig’s dad turned off the main road and into a large car parking area on the outskirts of York. “Here we are, everyone out.”

“What’s this?” asked Nathan as he climbed out of the car and looked over towards where the towers of York Minster climbed skywards a couple of miles away.

“It’s a ‘Park and Ride’ scheme, Nathan,” said Craig’s mom. “York is a really old city and not designed to cope with lots of traffic, and many streets in the centre are only for pedestrians, so they encourage visitors to park here on the outskirts and catch a bus into the centre. There will be one along in a moment or two. We queue up over there.”

Nathan turned to Craig’s mom and smiled. “I’ve never been on a bus before. We drive everywhere back home.”

“Aw, diddums,” grinned Craig, “You’ve really had a deprived childhood haven’t you? Tell you what, if it’s a double decker when it turns up we’ll let you sit upstairs at the front and pretend to drive it. I used to love doing that when I was a kid. I took Shane on a double decker in London.”

“I know,” laughed Nathan, “Shane kept telling us all about it for weeks. And a black cab too, when Kyle and Lee had a drop too much ‘shandy’, so I hear.”

“Too much ‘shandy’?” began Craig’s mum, but was interrupted by Craig’s dad. “Boys will be boys,” he said,” And they are both over eighteen, aren’t they Craig? Craig was the sensible one and got them all in a taxi. That’s right, isn’t it Craig?”

* * *

Barely twenty minutes later all four of them were disembarking from a double decker bus near York’s centre.

“Okay boys,” said Craig’s dad. “I’m sure you’d much rather be off on your own exploring rather than tagging along behind a couple of decrepit old has-beens. Craig, how about we meet up again for lunch down by the river at, say, thirteen hundred? That’ll give you four hours to show Nathan around. You remember the landing stage down near the river, by the York Dungeon, where the river cruise boats leave from? We can have lunch on a boat as we cruise down the river for an hour, let Nathan see the city from the water.”

“I’d like that very much, Mark,” said Nathan before Craig could speak. “That is if you and Julie don’t mind. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“No trouble at all, bud,” smirked Craig’s dad, mimicking a New York accent. “Go have fun discovering Old Yawk…”

“So, Nat, where do you want to go?” asked Craig as his parents wandered off.  “There’s the Railway Museum, they’ve got some of the best trains in the world there. Or York Dungeon and its torture chambers. Jorvik Viking Centre is good too. Not to mention Shambles. That’s much more modern, only about 1600 I think: old streets with rickety timbered buildings. Or the Roman bits. Or the castle and castle walls. You can walk around the whole city on them, just about, looking down into the city. Then there’s Clifford’s Tower, that big fortification we saw from the bus on our way in. The Minster too, if you are into old cathedrals.”

“Whoa, hold up a moment, Boots,” said Nat. “You’re losing me here. That’s what I like about England. So much old stuff everywhere and you don’t even realise it. How about we just walk along this street here and see where it leads, then the next street? Just let things happen?”

Craig smiled, then agreed. “Okay, fine. This way leads towards Shambles, then the cathedral. Which is actually a Minster, a special type of cathedral, Nat.”

* * *

“Boots, do you mind if we go in here?” asked Nat as he looked into the window of a small watch repair shop. “I scratched the glass of the Vostok watch you bought me when I crashed the land yacht. Maybe they can fit a new one for me. It says they do ‘while you wait’ repairs.”

“It was doing its job, Nat,” said Craig. “Imagine how bad it would be if you had scraped the glass on the Patek Phillipe your grandad gave you. The Vostok is cheap enough just to replace rather than repair.”

Nat nodded. “Maybe, Craig, but it’s the watch you bought me, so I want it repaired. It’s a keeper. Come on, let’s go in.”

The old mechanical bell attached to the door jangled as Craig and Nathan entered, summoning a middle-aged man through an internal door and into the shop. He smiled and nodded as they approached.

“Good morning, gentlemen, what can I do for you today?”

“I was wondering if you could have a look at this watch for me please, Sir,” said Nathan, slipping it from his wrist and placing it on the counter. “I managed to scratch the glass yesterday and your signboard says you do glass repairs.”

“Crystals,” said the watch repairer, picking up the bright red watch. “Technically, we call them ‘crystals’ rather than glasses, though that’s a misnomer too. Most of them are mineral glass, though a few higher end watches use synthetic sapphire, which actually is a form of crystal. American, aren’t you?” he asked. “I imagine you’d like it done right away.”

Nathan smiled as the man continued to look at the watch. “Yes please, if that’s possible, though I am here for a few days so I could leave it with you and pick it up later. That would be okay, wouldn’t it, Craig?”

Craig nodded. “Yes, if we left it, I’m sure dad or grandad would give us a lift back into town in a couple of days. Or we could come in on the bikes.”

“A Kommandirskie,” said the watch repairer, “Or Russian Rolex as some people call them. Quite an amazing watch for the price. A lot of history to them.” He looked up at Nathan and smiled. “Yes, I can put you a new crystal on this. It won’t take long. You can either leave it with me and collect it later today, or stay and watch. It’s not a big job.”

Without waiting for an answer, the man reached down and opened a drawer, slipped out several small cardboard boxes and rummaged through them. After a moment, he placed three small tissue paper packages on the counter, one from each box. “You have a choice. I can fit you an original acrylic crystal. It’s the cheapest option, and in keeping with the original design. A lot of people think the Russians used an acrylic crystal simply because it’s cheap and easily mass produced, but there is more to it than that. Or,” he added, opening the second tissue package and taking out another crystal, “I can fit a mineral glass crystal. It costs a few pounds more, but it is brighter and clearer, and withstands scratches better. The final option,” he added, unwrapping the third tissue package, “Is to fit a synthetic sapphire crystal. That’s more expensive, but far stronger and very scratch resistant.”

“How much are they?” asked Craig before Nathan could speak. “The watch itself isn’t worth a lot of money. It might be better just to replace it, Nat.”

“It’s worth a lot to me,” said Nat, speaking directly to the man. “I’d prefer to have it repaired rather than replaced.”

“The cost of the work would be twenty pounds,” said the watch repairer, “Which would include the acrylic crystal. If you wanted the mineral glass, it would be an extra three pounds, or an extra eight pounds for the sapphire. There is a cheaper option though if you think twenty pounds is too much. These scratches will polish out.  I can’t do that for less than twenty pounds, I have to charge for my time, but if you were to do it for yourself then it would be virtually free. You don’t need any special equipment, just a soft cloth and some toothpaste. Acrylic is soft, which is why it scratched easily in the first place, but that means you can just use the abrasive nature of the toothpaste to polish the scratches out.”

Nathan smiled and glanced at Craig. “Those prices are very fair, even for the sapphire crystal, but I’d like an acrylic one so it remains original please.”

“Certainly,” said the man, “That would have been my recommendation too. Always try and retain originality and, in this case, there’s another good reason for acrylic too. Pull up one of those stools if you’d like to wait and watch, I can do the job right now, here on the counter, no need to go into the repair room out the back. It’s simple enough.”

Craig and Nathan both pulled up one of the stools that were in the shop and settled down to observe as the man picked up a tiny tool and deftly popped out the retaining pins securing the metal bracelet to the watch. He placed the bracelet to one side and then produced a small press from under the counter. As Craig and Nathan watched, fascinated, he screwed the watch head into a small, velvet covered, brass holder and twisted it, popping out the scratched crystal.

“You can keep that,” he said, placing it in the tissue from which he had just taken the new acrylic crystal and passing it to Nathan. “Polish it with a bit of toothpaste and an old cloth when you get home and you’ll have a spare. Can’t easily do that with mineral glass or sapphire, but you can with acrylic.”

“You said the Russians didn’t just use acrylic because it was cheap and easy to work with,” asked Craig, “So what other reason did they have?”

“Ah, well,” said the man, warming to the topic now he had an interested audience, “They were very smart. The Komandirskie model shares a lot of its parts with another watch in their range, the Amphibia, which was a diver’s watch. The Russians still make those too. Makes sense to have commonality of parts where possible. Economies of scale in manufacturing, reduced spares holding. These were designed to be low-cost, high-volume military watches after all.”

Craig nodded approvingly.

“The Amphibia was a genius of a design. Back in the fifties, early sixties just about, the Russian Navy needed a strong, waterproof watch for its divers. At that time the world leaders in dive watches were the Swiss, Rolex and Blancpain in particular. Between them, they had the best designs patented and the market sewn up. Of course, the communist Russians weren’t going to buy thousands of Rolex watches from us evil western capitalists, or licence the patented designs for their own manufacture. Assuming they could even master the exceptional precision engineering needed. No, they set about things in their own way. Their designers were told they had to design a simple, easy to make, cheap watch that was just as waterproof as the best Swiss watches. Or go to the Gulag, I shouldn’t wonder.”

Nathan and Craig exchanged glances and chuckled as the watch repairer fiddled with the press and continued talking.

“So, instead of tackling the problem of high force by machining a watch case from solid steel, finished to a few microns of accuracy and sealing it with ultra-high quality gaskets against which a synthetic sapphire crystal, able to withstand enormous pressure, would be locked in place, they did just the opposite. Totally ignored the Swiss solution, the oyster shell principle, as it was called. Their solution had no need for precision machining, which costs money and takes time. The Russians simply used a soft acrylic crystal held against a roughly machined case. As the watch goes deeper and the water pressure increases, it exerts a force on the acrylic. The acrylic deforms a little, effectively flowing into the rough steel and sealing itself in place. The deeper it goes, the more waterproof it gets.  Ultimately it just flattens out whereas a hard sapphire crystal would eventually shatter.  If the diver made it back to the surface from such a great depth, the acrylic would just pop back into shape and the watch would be as good as new. The Russians can probably make a thousand of these for the price of a single Blancpain 50 Fathoms, and in the same time too.”

“That’s impressive,” said Nathan. “I’ve noticed it’s not as accurate as my other watch, this one loses or gains about twenty seconds a day, but realistically that doesn’t matter. My Patek is good for just two seconds a day, but I never need that level of accuracy.”

“Exactly,” said the man. “Swiss watches are an absolute marvel of precision engineering, and truly worth every penny you pay for them in those terms, but realistically, even a minute per day is an adequate level of accuracy for most people. A cheap Casio or even a Vostok watch is good enough for practical purposes. The people who pay more usually do it either to show off or, more rarely, because they truly appreciate quality.”

Nathan smiled. “I hope I fall in that last category. I love my Patek, it’s a family heirloom too, but this watch will always be just as valuable to me. And I won’t be polishing the scratches on the bracelet out either, they tell a story.”

“There we are,” said the watch repairer, pressing down on the handle of the press and squeezing the new acrylic crystal into place with a flourish. “Just as good as new. I could pressure test it for you for five pounds more, to prove it’s waterproof still, but to be honest, there’s no need. It will be waterproof. I’ll guarantee it. If it ever lets water in, bring it back and I’ll replace it free of charge.”

Craig laughed. “That’s a fair gamble, Nat’s hardly likely to fly back across the Atlantic to get it fixed under warranty.”

“True,” laughed the man, “But the offer’s there. I’ll stake my reputation on it being waterproof but you’re welcome to have a pressure test if you want.”

“No, Sir, no need,” said Nathan, picking up the watch and then counting out three ten-pound notes from his wallet. “I’ll trust your workmanship. And thank you for explaining how the watch was designed.”

“My pleasure,” said the watch repairer, “And that’s only the tip of the Amphibia story. There’s far more to the design than that…”

Back outside in the narrow alleyway, Nathan adjusted the watch on his wrist and smiled. “As good as new.”

“Apart from the scratches on the bracelet,” laughed Craig, “Some of those are real deep. Probably still got tarmac down at the bottom of them.”

Nathan nodded. “Yup, but every one tells a story. They’re like war wounds, Boots. I’ll remember the blow-karting every time I look at this watch.”

* * *

They had only taken about half a dozen paces down the alley when Nathan stopped again, this time to look in the window of a small shoe shop.

“Hey, Craig, look at these shoes.”

Craig looked. “Yes, Nat. They’re shoes. Full marks for observation. Now come on, let’s get a move on. We’re only a few minutes away from the Jorvik Centre. That’s the Viking place. We’ve got time to have a good gander in there at the swords and stuff before we meet up with mom and dad.”

“No, seriously Craig, let’s go in here first. I like those shoes. I could do with another pair of good shoes, and where better to get them than England?”

Craig sighed and followed Nathan into the shop.

“Looks like it hasn’t been modernised since Dickens was a lad,” whispered Craig, taking in the wooden panelling on the walls and red leather armchairs. There were a few glass showcases scattered around, sparsely populated with shoes, none of which bore a price tag. “And it looks bloody expensive too.”

“Quality doesn’t come cheap,” said a young lady who appeared seemingly from nowhere, “But it is remembered long after the price is forgotten. I’m Catherine, now how can I help you?”

Craig blushed with embarrassment as Nathan smirked and stepped forward. “Good morning, I’m Nathan Bauer. I saw a pair of shoes in the window. Red leather, with fancy stitching. Could I have a closer look?”

“Of course you may, I’ll get them for you. The burgundy semi-brogues, I assume. Just a moment. Please take a seat.”

Nathan sat down in one of the armchairs and nodded to Craig to do the same. Craig pointedly glanced at his watch and silently mouthed the word ‘Jorvik’ to Nathan, who pretended not to notice.

“Here we are,” said Catherine, returning from the window display and passing a pair of shoes to Nathan. “They’re by Loake, hand-lasted on Goodyear welts. Very similar in fact to the pair your friend is wearing, I can spot the brand a mile away. Traditional styling, superbly comfortable and can be re-soled time and again as they wear. Polish them as well as your friend polishes his and they’ll last you a lifetime.”

Nathan turned the shoes over in his hand and studied them slowly as Craig sat and glared. “Could I try a pair, please?” asked Nat. “In a size ten.”

Catherine smiled. “Certainly, though I assume you mean a US ten, Master Bauer. That’s closer to an English nine. I’ll bring you an English nine and a ten if we have them so you can get the better fit. I’ll just be a moment. Help yourself to a coffee from the pot over there if you wish.”

As Catherine disappeared into what Craig presumed was a stock room, Nathan stood up and walked over to an antique sideboard on which was a coffee pot and a tray of cups. He poured two black coffees and passed one to Craig before sitting back down and taking a sip from his cup.

“Not bad for English coffee, Boots,” Nathan smirked. “And you can stop scowling at me, we won’t be long here. Catherine spotted your shoes right away, too, she seems to know her business. You have to admit Boots, you wear some decent stuff yourself. We all commented on it back in the dorm. You didn’t bring much, but everything you had seemed good quality. Shane was keen to get a coat like yours when he was in London, and Kyle is having a tux made to measure for him from your tailor.”

Craig grinned. “She’s got you sussed too, Nat. Knows you Yanks always try and claim to be a bit bigger than you really are…”

* * *