Essay : [Autobiography Of An Old Bicycle]
English Essay on "Autobiography Of An Old Bicycle"Autobiography Of An Old Bicycle
I am a 'Raleigh' bicycle. I was manufactured in England and arrived in Malaysia a few years before the Second World War. When I arrived in Penang you could hardly recognize me, for the various components of my frame had been packed in separate boxes. Having put me together and tested me, a bicycle dealer in Penang 'placed me on show in front of his shop. A young Malay clerk who had come all the way from Taping bought me. I have forgotten the price he paid, but it was nothing with what you have to pay for a new bicycle these days.
My young master was a very considerate fellow. He cleaned me every morning before taking me out. I was always greased and oiled. The only distance I had to cover daily was the double journey between his house and his office. He was a stay-at-home type, and I was seldom required to go out in the evenings or even during holidays-long or short. After two years he decided to buy a car. But this did not stop him from looking well after me so long as I was still with him. On the, contrary, he cleaned me even more carefully than ever. He wanted me to fetch a good second-hand-price.
At last, one day, a Chinese form Kuala Kangsar bought me from him. I did not like to leave my first master. But how could I protest I was carried on the top of a bus' of Kuala Kangsar, where I was soon fitted with a large carrier, and a small wooden saddle was mounted on the top bar of my frame. This Chinese gentleman had no fewer than ten children, and, at times, all of them would carve a lift on me. The father was only too willing to oblige. Some of them perched on the carrier, some on the frame, and the remaining one or two, on the shoulders of their father, who sat on the saddle. I went creaking and groaning under their weight.
Now I was not cared for a before. But I was not even left to myself. Whenever my master was not at home his children pushed me here and there and spoiled my paint.
All through the Japanese occupation of Malaysia, I remained hidden in a small room at the back of my master's house. He was afraid that some Japanese soldiers might take a fancy to me. It was a long holiday, even if it was imprisonment.
After the war, I was sold to milkman. He lived in a Village, and the only access form it to the main road was by a narrow muddy a branch road, covered with pot -holes and ruts,. Every day he placed a heavy can of milk on top of my carrier and hung one 00 either side of it.(4essay.blogspot.com) One or two smaller cans were hung from the handle-bars. My two tires and inner tubes were the only parts of me cared for by the milkman. I was never cleaned or overhauled, He seldom oiled me, either, for the was strong enough to move things much heavier than and un-lubricated bicycle.
Though he had worn me out within the first year, he continued to force me to labor for him another ten. When ultimately I was found to be completely unfit for duty, he sold me for a few dollars to this scrap-iron dealer, who is thinking of exporting me to Japan. But before he does so, he will remove, from my frame, any nut or bolt which may still be of some services. I do not know what I shall become I my next life.
My young master was a very considerate fellow. He cleaned me every morning before taking me out. I was always greased and oiled. The only distance I had to cover daily was the double journey between his house and his office. He was a stay-at-home type, and I was seldom required to go out in the evenings or even during holidays-long or short. After two years he decided to buy a car. But this did not stop him from looking well after me so long as I was still with him. On the, contrary, he cleaned me even more carefully than ever. He wanted me to fetch a good second-hand-price.
At last, one day, a Chinese form Kuala Kangsar bought me from him. I did not like to leave my first master. But how could I protest I was carried on the top of a bus' of Kuala Kangsar, where I was soon fitted with a large carrier, and a small wooden saddle was mounted on the top bar of my frame. This Chinese gentleman had no fewer than ten children, and, at times, all of them would carve a lift on me. The father was only too willing to oblige. Some of them perched on the carrier, some on the frame, and the remaining one or two, on the shoulders of their father, who sat on the saddle. I went creaking and groaning under their weight.
Now I was not cared for a before. But I was not even left to myself. Whenever my master was not at home his children pushed me here and there and spoiled my paint.
All through the Japanese occupation of Malaysia, I remained hidden in a small room at the back of my master's house. He was afraid that some Japanese soldiers might take a fancy to me. It was a long holiday, even if it was imprisonment.
After the war, I was sold to milkman. He lived in a Village, and the only access form it to the main road was by a narrow muddy a branch road, covered with pot -holes and ruts,. Every day he placed a heavy can of milk on top of my carrier and hung one 00 either side of it.(4essay.blogspot.com) One or two smaller cans were hung from the handle-bars. My two tires and inner tubes were the only parts of me cared for by the milkman. I was never cleaned or overhauled, He seldom oiled me, either, for the was strong enough to move things much heavier than and un-lubricated bicycle.
Though he had worn me out within the first year, he continued to force me to labor for him another ten. When ultimately I was found to be completely unfit for duty, he sold me for a few dollars to this scrap-iron dealer, who is thinking of exporting me to Japan. But before he does so, he will remove, from my frame, any nut or bolt which may still be of some services. I do not know what I shall become I my next life.
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