Ian Fleming - Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

“Good heavens!” said Mimsie.

“Gosh!” said Jemima. “My hat!” said Jeremy.

And, for a moment, they all sat thinking about this colossal adventure. Then Mimsie said, “But we haven’t got any passports!”

And Jeremy said, “But don’t they have different money in France—francs they’re called. What about francs?”

And Jemima said, “What about the language? I’ve only learned ‘oui’ which means ‘yes,’ and ‘non’ which means ‘no.’ That’s not going to get me very far.”

Commander Pott said firmly, “That’s no way to treat adventures. Never say ‘no’ to adventures. Always say ‘yes,’ otherwise you’ll lead a very dull life. Now then, passports—we’ll make for Calais, which is dead ahead, and go to the British Consul who represents all English people, from the Queen down, in Calais, and get provisional passports. Money? We’ve got pounds and we’ll change them into francs. Language—Mimsie and I both talk French a bit and if we can’t make ourselves understood, we’ll find someone who talks English. More people in the world talk English than any other language and we’ll soon find someone. Right? Then that’s settled. CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG’S going to take us right across the English Channel to France. Now then, we’ll turn on the radio and get the weather report for ships and we’ll steer a bit more toward the north as there’s quite a current running down the Channel and we don’t want to be swept along with it and suddenly find ourselves in Portugal or even in Africa.” He chuckled. “Do we?”

And all together, and very loud and definitely, they all said, “No, we don’t!”

So Commander Pott fiddled with the dials on the radio and out came the familiar voice they had never bothered to listen to before. But now it was very important indeed. It said: “And this is the shipping forecast—North Sea and English Channel: dead calm. Patches of fog near the English coast. Further outlook, unchanged.”

Commander Pott switched off the radio. “Well, that’s all right. But now we’ve got to keep our eyes and ears open. The English Channel’s always crowded with shipping sailing up and down from London, which is the biggest port in the world, and from Belgium and Holland and Denmark and Sweden and Norway—even from Russia—on its way to and from Africa, India, America, and even as far away as China and Japan. Ships of every nationality use the English Channel and we’d better watch out or we’ll be run down.”

And, even as he spoke, they heard the giant beat of the engine of a big ship approaching, and Commander Pott quickly sounded the klaxon as a foghorn and it said “GA-GOOO-GA, GA-GOO0-GA,” to warn the big ship. Back out of the fog came a series of huge “MOO’s” just like the noise a vast iron cow might make, and through the fog, coming straight at them, was the bow of a gigantic white liner.

Well, all I can say is that she missed them by a cat’s whisker, and they just had a glimpse of lines of passengers a hundred feet above them, staring down with astonishment at the sight of a green motorcar, using its wheels sideways like propellers, in the middle of the English Channel. Then the huge stern disappeared into the fog leaving them pitching and tossing in the choppy wake.

“Whew!” they all said, more or less together. “That was a narrow squeak!” And Commander Pott added, rather unfairly, the

others thought, “CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG, for heaven’s sake keep your eyes open and watch where you’re going!” This gave him an idea, and he switched the fog lights on and kept on making frequent “GA-GOOO-GA’s” on the klaxon.

Well, they heard many more ships passing in both directions, up and down channel, and once the periscope of a submarine came shooting up out of the depths to have a look at them and then quickly slid down underwater again. They imagined word being passed round among the eighty or ninety men of the crew (yes, big submarines carry as many crewmen as that!) “Great Scott! There’s a confounded motorcar overhead!”

Then suddenly the fog cleared and they were out in the sunshine with the big white cliffs of France showing up on the horizon and they all let out a cheer that quite surprised the crew of a Dutch SCHUYT (a kind of small barge you see a lot of in the Channel, though, when it’s at home, it pronounces itself SKOOT) that happened to be passing. The Dutch crew let out a big HURRAH too, as they gazed in amazement at CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG whizzing across, the calm sea.

They sped happily on, getting nearer to France, and Commander Pott said it was now time to steer north so that they would arrive in the harbor of Calais. But this was easier said than done. The strong current kept drifting them southward and every time Commander Pott turned the wheel to steer north, CHiTTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG had to slow down because her wheels couldn’t go round and round like propellers and change direction at the same time. Commander Pott, and in fact all of them, began to get quite worried because there was no doubt that they were going to land on the beach at the base of the gigantic French chalk cliffs that are just as high and steep as the ones on the English shores near Dover. Sure enough, the water got shallower and shallower until they touched the beach and the violet light on the dashboard blinked urgently and said “TURN THE KNOB.” When Commander Pott turned the knob, there came the same purr of machinery under the chassis and the wheels straightened out and clicked back into the straightforward position and they bumped and churned their way up on to the beach.

Of course everyone was very glad to be on dry land again, but nothing could alter the fact that they were stuck at the bottom of giant cliffs that soared up above them toward the sky and the tide was still coming in and it was half past six and there would only be about three more hours of daylight. It really looked as if the whole family, and CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG, were in the most dreadful and dangerous situation.

Commander Pott said decisively, “Well, it’s no good just standing here making long faces. We must split up into two parties and hurry along under the cliffs to right and left and hope that we’ll find a little bay somewhere where we can shelter for the night above high water mark. Right? Well now, Jemima, you come with me along to the left, and Mimsie and Jeremy run off to the right, and let’s hope we find a safe place, because otherwise we’ll just have to put to sea again and none of us wants to spend the night out in the Channel. All right then, off we go!”

It was Jeremy, running on ahead of Mimsie, who found it. Round a big headland, tucked right in under the cliff so that you couldn’t see it from seawards, was the mouth of a CAVE! The sideways opening was quite big, about as big as garage doors, which was the first and most important comparison that came to Jeremy’s mind. He called Mimsie and together they went in, over the tide line of seaweed and washed-up cans and bottles and bits of plastic bags and all the other junk that gets carried in on the tide. They could see that, farther in, the cave widened out and got bigger. But then it got a bit spooky and they both decided that the thing to do would be to bring CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG in with her tremendous lights before they went any farther. So they ran back, scrambling and rattling over the beach, and shouted and called for Commander Pott and Jemima, who presently came back to where Jeremy and Mimsie waited beside CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG whose back wheels were already being dangerously approached by the rising tide.

When Commander Pott had heard what they had to say, they all climbed into the car and, with her usual two sneezes and two bangs, she turned and moved slowly, humping and bumping over the beach, toward the cave. At the noise of her great rumbling exhaust, the sea gulls flew screeching out from the top of the cliff and the vibration of her rumble even dislodged small pebbles and scraps of chalk that came tumbling down the gigantic high cliff and once or twice made them cover their heads with their hands and duck.