The Loner, page 40
“Oh, come on Paul. You’re not afraid of getting wet are you?”
“Of course not,” lied Paul, who had brought no change of clothing. “I’d rather just watch.”
At this moment, Mark appeared, strolling over the lawn in the general direction of the pond. Paul now had the perfect excuse. “Bob, why not try Mark?” he suggested.
Mark was blissfully unaware of these great events. He had not even seen the rafts. All of a sudden he found himself surrounded by a throng of excited children.
“You’re going to be the captain of our Spanish Galleon!” declared one.
“Can we be your crew?” asked half a dozen others.
“Come with me!” they all urged, boiling over with enthusiasm.
They all but dragged Mark to the rafts.
“Avast there!” cried Bob. “Here comes captain of yon Spanish ship. Get into yon galleon, ye coward! Sail out and fight!”
Mark hastily chose a crew of another three eager children, took a stick which was thrust into his hand, and boarded the raft. He pushed the stick into the bottom, and punted the vessel out into the open water.
“Avast there! After them!” cried the redoubtable captain of the Jolly Roger, with a fearful expression in his eyes, a dark eye patch which he had found somewhere, and a white bandage tied round his head. The children laughed as the pirate drove the other craft into a corner.
“She shall not escape!” Bob continued. “Man the guns! Let them have a broadside! Fire!” And with those words, Bob thrust his hands into the water, cupped and showered his opponents. Soon the pond was awash with a mutual cannonade of determined splashing.
“Ah, I have their captain!” Bob bellowed, as a particularly lethal quantity of water inundated Mark.
“Then take that, sir!” Mark roared back, almost inundating the pirate vessel with a great deluge of water.
The dog jumped into the water barking frantically. The children on the bank cheered loudly. This was better than football or telly!
“Stand by to board enemy ship!” bellowed the enraged pirate captain, and with that, he gave his raft a nudge towards the innocent treasure ship. He raised his stick like a stave, and pushed it violently against Mark’s. Mark bent backwards, and Bob cried triumphantly: “I have you now, sir. Do you surrender? Will you hoist the white flag?”
“Never!” And with that, Mark regained his balance, and now it was the pirate king’s turn to stagger backwards. The pirate raft began to rock dangerously.
“See! He dares to insult the Jolly Roger! It’s a fight to the death, shipmates! All prisoners will walk the plank!” The pirate lurched forwards, and this time, his adversary was unable to withstand the onrush of his assailant. Mark fell backwards into the foul smelly water with a great splash.
The pirate king raised his arms jubilantly. “We have won the treasure, me lads!” he exclaimed.
But his triumph was short-lived. His weight was now on a single corner of the raft. A moment later, as the corner sank in the turbulence, the pirate captain lost his balance, and pitched headfirst into the brineless ocean.
The watching children, and the soaked crews laughed and cheered loudly, as if they had never had such fun.
“Hello, Mark. How’s the law then?” Fiona smiled faintly as she opened the door for him. The truth was she had just returned to her flat after playing a hard game of squash. She was tired, and she ought to have been working, and Mark was not very welcome at that moment. But then... studying was tedious, and it could be put off until tomorrow!
“Great! Really great! I’ve been serving writs.”
“You mean those crazy antiquated documents wherein the Queen commands, and the Lord Chancellor prints his signature!”
“They may be quaint, but they’re still used to sue for vast sums of money.”
“Mm...” Fiona hardly seemed impressed. “Is it true you have to show the original to the defendant, and touch him with a copy?”
“That’s right.”
The girl couldn’t understand why Mark was so pleased with himself. “Is serving writs such a difficult job then?” she asked cynically.
“Well, you’re not supposed to accept the copy back and... ”
“And?”
“So, this morning, I served writ on a butcher.”
“I bet he was pleased!”
“Of course he wasn’t. So he tried to give it me back – even tried stuffing it into my pocket. So I ran, and he followed! Can you imagine what it must have looked like? A butcher with white overalls, hat, apron and all, wielding his writ like a cleaver, and chasing a solicitor down Church Street?”
Fiona laughed. “I suppose he deserved it,” she said.
“Oh yes, he did.”
Just then the front door banged, and there was the echo of footsteps climbing the stairs. The door opened and Bob Smith and Sue entered.
Fiona got up at once. “Ah, I am glad to see you, Bob,” she said warmly. “You too, Sue. What was the concert like?”
“It was splendid, Fiona. It really was,” Susan replied. “I haven’t seen such a good performance at the Phil for ages. The Spinners were absolutely fantastic.”
“Well, come in. I’ll just make a cup of coffee. You’re not going just yet, are you, Bob?”
“No! no! Of course not. I’d love a coffee.”
Fiona disappeared and was back within a minute. “Did you go to the pub afterwards?” she asked. “What’s the Phil like these days?”
“Crowded as ever!”
“Whatever makes it so popular?”
“Perhaps it’s those marble bogs!”
The two settees were in their usual place. When Bob and Sue had entered, Fiona had been sitting at one end of one settee, and Mark had been sitting at the end closest her, of the other. Now, Fiona observed sadly, Bob sat down on Mark’s settee, and Sue eased herself into the other one.
“I thought we were going to see you over the weekend,” Fiona mused, addressing Bob.
“I was very busy.” He turned to Mark. “Weren’t we, Mark?”
“Busy?” asked Mark, raising his eyebrows. He had never thought of the excursion to Formby Hall as any kind of work.
“Yes. We took the local kids out to Formby Hall.”
Fiona was surprised. She turned to Mark. “Formby Hall? Where’s that? You’ve never told me about this before, Mark.”
“It’s at Ainsdale, near Southport. It’s a weekend out for the local kids.”
She laughed. “You’re not telling me you’re one of the local kids, Robert Smith!” she said, turning back to Bob.
“No, of course not! It’s run by Social Services for local children, and they like to have local helpers. We,” he nodded at Mark to bring him into the conversation, “we were the local helpers!”
“Did you have a good time?”
“I’m knackered, but it was fun!”
Fiona started to show some interest in the event. Bob was well aware of his friend’s frequent visits to Fiona’s flat, and now sensed he had the chance to help him.
“What did you do with the children?” Fiona asked.
“Everything you can think of short of drowning them! We gave them piggy backs, races, games. We even took them for a midnight run across sand dunes, and we had pillow fights, and even a pirate fight!”
“A pirate fight?”
“Aye! You should have seen Mark.”
Fiona’s eyes brightened. “Mark, why didn’t you tell me about this?” she asked.
“We built a couple of rafts,” Bob continued. “We took some kids aboard on the pond there. We hauled up Jolly Rodger and chased Mark in his Spanish Galleon right across Spanish Main. Then he hove to, and we had a fight. A real good duel, it was. The canons fired, and we all got soaked. I thought I was going to board Mark’s galleon and make Mark walk the plank: but he wouldn’t let me. There was a desperate battle at close quarters, and we both ended up in the drink!”
Fiona laughed. “And the children?” she asked.
“They’ve never had such fun for years. You should have heard them cheer. I reckon me and Mark ought to set ourselves up in show business!”
Fiona turned to look at Mark, who was laughing, but seemed unable to say anything. “Mark you should have told me all about this. I never knew you were interested in voluntary work.” She turned back to Bob. “Tell me more,” she said. “Tell me about the people where you live, Bob.”
“They’re the friendliest people in the world: you’ve no idea,” Bob replied enthusiastically. “Last year, my parents were away from home over the New Year. So I spent New Year in Liverpool instead. One local asked me round to their party. It was unbelievable. We went from one house to another – all loaded with Christmas cheer. At midnight, everyone in the road came out of their houses, joined hands, and sang Auld Lang Zyne. Where else could you find such community spirit? Where else would you be made so welcome?”
“Are they really as poor as the papers make out?”
“They’re desperately poor – but that doesn’t seem to blunt their sense of humour. I reckon nearly a quarter of the men are out of work. The docks are shedding labour all the time. They’re old docks, anyway – not big enough for modern ships. And things are going to get worse – not better. If Common Market comes, it’ll kill Liverpool.”
“Go on!” Susan exclaimed disbelievingly. She had been listening up to this point with a bored look in her eyes.
“Of course it will. The balance of trade will shift to Continent – and Liverpool’s just not on right side of Country for Europe.”
“What are their houses like?” Fiona asked,
“Damp. Many of them very damp, but that doesn’t stop them making good homes out of them – even if it means putting in their own damp-proof courses – or simply proofing their walls with special wallpaper.”
“Perhaps the houses should be knocked down, if they’re as bad as that.”
“What, and destroy the community? They’re better off in the streets they know, than in brand new houses in Kirby or Speke – that I can tell you.”
“You haven’t told us about the children, Bob,”
“Ah yes, the kids. They’re like any other kids really – except tougher. Cheerful, friendly, naughty, full of the joys of life – with absolutely no future to look forward to whatsoever. But that doesn’t stop them from having a good time now. If you’re able to play in the streets and the back alleys, and the street’s the only playground you have, you’ll be happy anywhere.”
Fiona studied the floor thoughtfully. “I’ve never really wanted to see your pad,” she said slowly. “I’ve always thought of Toxteth as a drab place and the least interesting part of the city. I’m beginning to change my mind. You make it sound so exciting.”
“I wouldn’t live anywhere else – not while I’m a student anyway. Why don’t you come and see Buchanan Street sometime?”
Fiona hesitated thoughtfully for some moments. She watched Susan out of the corner of one eye, sitting next to her and deliberately distancing herself from Bob. She felt sorry for her. With all the good qualities Bob had to offer – and to throw them away just because they didn’t want to become too involved. It was so silly.
“Mm... I’m wondering about the teaching,” she mused, “Could you do with some extra help, Bob?”
“Any extra help would be very welcome.”
She turned to Sue. “How about it, Sue?” she asked.
Susan had hardly said a word since she had returned to the flat. “How about what, Fiona?” she asked drowsily.
“Why don’t we help teach these children to read and write?”
Although looking bored, she was not unimpressed by what Bob had said. “I don’t know,” she said. “I get quite tired at work – and then to have to work in the evening...”
“Oh, come off it, Sue; you’ve told me, many times, that job of yours is a real cushy number!”
Susan was not overwhelmed with enthusiasm. “I don’t know, Fiona,” she said hesitantly. “Well I suppose I could. Oh, all right, count me in then!”
Bob Smith smiled happily. “Well, if that’s settled, I’ll find some kids for you both,” he said.
Mark looked at his watch and saw it was getting late. He began to feel uncomfortable, in case he was about to overstay his welcome. He got up to go. “I suppose I’d better go,” he said nervously.
Fiona would have none of this. “What do you mean, Mark?” she asked, guessing his reasons. “Of course you’re welcome. You always are. Besides, you haven’t finished your coffee yet.”
“B-but...”
“Have you eaten, Mark?”
“No. No I haven’t.”
“Then stay for dinner: I haven’t eaten either. I’ll make something to eat for all of us. You’ll be needing a big dinner, if you’re going to take on the Jolly Roger again!”
Mark and Bob left the girls’ flat together at about eleven o’clock that night. Bob looked rather sad. Mark tried to chat to his friend, but Bob showed little interest in talking, and limited his replies to words of one syllable.
“Is there anything wrong, Bob?” Mark asked at last.
“Nothing at all, Mark. That was a really good evening – a real good time, a great concert and a cooked meal afterwards. Ah! What it is not to have to do your own cooking!”
“I t-thought you m-might be staying the night there, Bob. You often do – or don’t you?” Mark blushed as he made this personal enquiry.
Bob shook his head. “Things aren’t at all good between me and Sue,” he said sadly.
They walked on in silence for a while. “You remember when we went down Simpson’s, Bob?”
“Yes?”
“You said you’d take me on a caving trip to practise ladder-climbing?”
“I did,”
“Did you mean that Bob?”
There was something about the pathetic pleading tone in his friend’s voice, which made Bob smile. He began to regain his usual cheerful composure.
“I definitely did mean what I said,” he replied, thinking that a caving trip might take his mind off Susan. “How about this Saturday?”
He had taken Mark quite by surprise.
“T-this S-saturday?” Caving meets were always less terrifying when arranged well in advance.
“Yes, I’ve got just the right cave in mind.” His smile broadened into a grin, as he noticed the tremble in Mark’s voice.
“Y-yes. I-I’d like to – very m-much. Where will we go?”
“It’s called High Hull. There’s too much tackle to carry on my motorbike. So, we’ll have to hitch-hike up to Horton – both of us.”
CHAPTER 28
Vertigo Blues
So, that Saturday morning, three cavers, clad in their wet-suits, and wearing lights and helmets, strode purposefully up the track which leads from Horton to the summit of Pen-y-Ghent. They were loaded with ropes, ladders, and other tackle, and Bob and Dave were pleased to see that Mark was carrying his fair share.
It was a fine spring day. Even the peak of the mountain gleamed brightly in the sunshine, instead of crowning the limestone plateau, as it often did, with a dark and brooding eminence.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” Bob said to Dave. “I didn’t think you were interested in this trip.”
“You’re right about my not being interested,” Dave replied with a grin. “But I am the club president, and I felt responsible. I couldn’t allow you and Mark to go on your own.”
Bob laughed. “Oh yes!” he exclaimed, to show that he was not deceived by this unlikely story. “And it’s just a coincidence, I suppose, that the Sun has started to shine!”
“Nothing to do with it at all,” rejoined the other. “I’ll stay at the top, though – in case you need any help!”
“Thanks, Dave – you’re a real friend!”
As they climbed the path up the hill, Mark looked down. He saw, on the opposite side of the Ribblesdale valley, a circle of tall white cliffs, penetrating deep into the flank of the Ingleborough mountain. It was the huge Horton quarry – an eyesore in the moorland paradise.
“I thought we were in the National Park,” he said. “The quarry down there looks like one of the craters on the Moon. It’s so big and ugly.”
Dave and Bob looked thoughtful.
“National Park? I’m not sure Horton is inside the National Park boundary,” Dave mused.
“Doesn’t look very much like a National Park to me!” Bob said.
Mark insisted that it was. “Isn’t the boundary marked with a sign near Settle?” he asked.
This point was slowly accepted.
“Then why are there quarries like this here?”
“Money speaks,” Bob suggested cynically.
“What do you mean?”
“If you’ve got money, Mark, you can do anything. Nothing will stop you – not boundaries or shaded areas on maps!”
“Come off it, Bob,” Dave interjected. “You’re trouble is they’ve brainwashed you with too much Karl Marx. There’s no suspicion of corruption here.”
“Who said corruption?”
“You did, Bob.”
“No I didn’t. I just said money speaks. It does too. If you’ve got brass, you don’t have to bribe people or do anything against the Law – I never suggested that. All you need do is pay best experts in the country to present your case in strongest possible terms to the planning authority. The more plausible the consultant, the higher his fee, but money speaks all right. If you’ve got brass, you don’t need to bribe anybody – why take unnecessary risks?”
Dave was not satisfied with this exposition of the workings of the town and country planning system. “Don’t you think the consultants would have to put forward a credible case?” he suggested.
“Oh aye,” was Bob’s cynical response. “The trouble is the planning system is full of fantastic contradictions, and every rule is a principal – with umpteen qualifications and exceptions. All the consultant does is put forward best arguments in the most effective way, while demolishing every point which doesn’t help his client. Think of it; there must be plenty of arguments in favour of quarries: the quality of the limestone; the people who will lose their jobs if the quarry closes. And, of course, once you’ve permitted one quarry, it would be unfair to stop someone else setting up another quarry nearby. Soon there won’t be much of Ingleborough left, I’m afraid, and our pretty Ribblesdale valley will become a man-made wilderness.”
