Secret Squirrel

by Secret Squirrel

  We had lots of fun in those days, when health and safety was an unheard-of concept; you had to proceed with caution everywhere you went, especially walking through half open doors, supported in that position with metal buckets full of water on top. One day we had a new bit of kit arrive, which we familiarised ourselves with. It was a new type of stretcher to which a casualty would be strapped prior to being hauled up or down buildings, along with numerous other applications. A rooky probationer fireman was instructed to act as a casualty while we fastened him into the device. He was completely immobile when one of the lads decided that he would undo the fly of our demonstrators trousers and flop his dick out, much to the hilarity of the rest of us (what is it they say about volunteering for anything?). Then another kind colleague hooked the stretcher onto a hose hoist and kindly raised him nearly eighty feet up the side of a hose drying/drill tower. There was this poor lad hung upside down, still exposed to any passer-by who would notice him, while we left him dangling and went on our tea break. The rookie was keen to become one of the boys and when we found out that he had never had a girlfriend or had any sex, he was tormented mercilessly. We taught him all the theoretical rudiments and the basic chat up lines and then it was time to take him out on the pull. We took him into town one night and ended up in a nightclub. He had spotted a girl that took his fancy so we told him to go for her and start a conversation. He moved over to her but dithered and then she disappeared into the ladies’ toilets. We went over to him and told him to stop messing about and get straight in there when she came out of the toilet. “But what will I say to her?” he asked pathetically. “Just say anything just to get the conversation started, like didn’t I used to go to school with your brother. Just say anything that comes into your head,” he was told. So, this girl comes out of the loo and we are pushing him towards her and he says to her, “Hello there, been for a shit, have you?” Well that was the end of that lesson. He did eventually meet an extremely largely proportioned and attractively challenged girl who promised to teach him the rudiments of sex. When she was spotted by some of the lads, he came in for a torrid amount of abuse as they made fun of his acquaintance. “Well,” he said, “Can any of you explain to me what defines an ugly fanny, because to me, they’re all ugly.” He then went on to describe some of his ‘lessons’ received. She used to instruct him to lie on the floor and sit on his face and he described in detail the moment when the ‘meat curtains’ enveloped him and nearly suffocated him; much like having an octopus suctioned onto your face. Well his street cred went up quite considerably after his informative session. He had now raised himself to the level of ‘Weird Bastard’. Every time he came with us on a boozing binge, he would get well pissed, raise his glass and make a toast to: “The wound that never heals.” He was a bit of a ‘Jonah’, an unlucky bugger and he used to repeat that barrel and nipples quote, as he was not very original.

  When I served at a central city fire station, it was custom to go on a pub crawl prior to working a Friday nightshift. Being fuelled with alcohol made everyone even more mischievous. One of the crew, a really rotund fellow, was really drunk and went to bed to sleep it off. It was usual practice to lay your trousers on the floor ready to slip into should a call come in (fire bells). This guy was virtually in a coma as he did not hear his trousers being nailed into the wooden, lino-covered floor of the dormitory. We manually set off the fire bells and hid to watch the reaction, which did not disappoint. The panic-stricken fireman leapt out of bed and jumped into his trousers taking a good portion of lino with him. It was only when he could not enter the pole shaft with the additional piece of acquired width and he heard the raucous laughter that the penny dropped that he had been had. “You bastards!” he bellowed, already plotting his revenge.

  Sleep was very limited on nightshifts due to not only answering 999 calls, but also due to larking about. Regular pranks would be to slip out of the dormitory and fill some individual’s fire boots with water or hide some articles of clothing. It was fatal to visit the toilet as when you were gone your vacated space was fair game and sweaty socks would be stuffed into your pillow. The idiot who left them there would have to endure the discomfort of donning his fire boots without socks on – not a comfortable experience. Sometimes if you were asleep, you would be violently shaken and asked a stupid question like, “Do you wanna buy a battleship?” The gesture would be returned a couple of hours later with the answer, “How much?” All of this hilarity was not appreciated by those who had other jobs to attend to the next day.

  I struck up a friendship with one particular fireman and we used to train very hard at getting as many pints of beer as we could get down our necks on as many afternoons and evenings as we could manage. We would usually visit the roughest bars in town. We had a lot in common and both had fiancées. We also struck up friendships with one or two other ladies around town. At one point we considered setting up our own gymnasium and massage parlour in town and we had great fun ‘interviewing’ prospective masseurs. One Saturday evening, we visited a very popular pub in a coastal town with our two long-term girlfriends. The place was extremely crowed, but we managed to get our girls seats while we went to the bar for drinks. The queue was considerable, but just then we noticed a couple of our acquaintances that were entering the bar. This could have spelled trouble. Thinking quickly, I went over to them and said, “Hi, this is crazy, we’ve been here ages waiting for a drink, let’s go somewhere else!” We ushered them out as fast as we could. They wanted to take their car, but I said that it would be easier to park one car and that we would bring them back later to collect their car. We drove for a couple of miles to another packed venue, sat them down and pretended to go for drinks, except that we went straight back to the car park and hoofed it back to the original venue as quickly as we could. We went straight back to our ladies and said, “It’s absolutely ridiculous trying to get served here, let’s go somewhere else.” So off we went, a considerable distance, to another bar to continue our evening.

  Around this time, the city of Newcastle upon Tyne was paid a visit by one Jimmy Carter, President of the United States, no less. He was given an absolutely thunderous Geordie welcome by a massive crowd. He was so impressed that he said that he harboured a dream to promote world peace by getting people from around the world to have exchange visits to each other’s homes. People would sample each other’s ways of life, both work and social. My wife, who was still a detective in the police force, got heavily involved in organising the first exchange visit to Atlanta, Georgia. We only had six weeks in which to do it. We managed to get a jumbo jet from Pan Am and fill it with 384 Geordies and send it off to Atlanta, where they would take up residence with family hosts. The returning plane was to be full of Americans. We hosted a couple from Atlanta who worked for the Governor of Georgia and did the return trip the following year. At a dinner held for our American guests, our guest kept getting up and leaving the table and I was wondering where he was going. When he returned he leaned over and said, “We bumped into an old pal of yours this afternoon and we invited him here tonight, come with me.” We walked into the far corner of the room where the fire exit was ajar. He pushed the door open and in walked Muhammad Ali dressed in a white suit. When he entered the room erupted, people not believing their eyes. The great man then gave an impromptu speech. He had been visiting the city on another mission and had no idea about so many of his kin-folk’s visit.

  Some truly great friendships were established. This organisation developed to include other continents. My most memorable exchange was to Florida, where the host worked on the Shuttle programme at Cape Canaveral and I had to accompany him to work. While he was working, I had the privilege of attending the astronauts’ training school, a great experience for a technophobe like me. We continued with this organisation for many years and made some great lasting friendships. There was, however, an exception: a great big Austrian woman who was in denial of the problems that the Jews suffered at the hands of the Nazis. It is dif
ficult to take to such people, and once, when she was paddling in the North Sea, I suggested that she move inshore to allow the tide to come in. This was very much appreciated by the accompanying crowd of visitors.

  Chapter Seven

  The Italian Connection

  Another friend who I saw often, as we lived close to one another, was an Italian businessman. He was going to rent my friend and I one of his many premises for use as our gym/massage parlour. He had a very tasty private secretary who pestered me for attention continually. This guy was always very friendly towards me and had a great sense of humour. The strange thing about him was that he couldn’t drive, although he had attended many driving schools. I offered to teach him. So, he promptly went out a bought an Alfa Romeo. Firstly, I showed him around the car, pointing out basic maintenance items such as checking the oil. The next day, I called around to resume where we had left off. I was shocked when he told me that he had to send for a gallon of motor oil to fill the engine and it still wasn’t full. He thought that the engine had to be full to the brim. He had forgotten about the dipstick mark, so I had to crawl underneath the car and release the excess oil out via the sump plug before we could commence our driving lesson. It soon became very obvious why this man had never mastered driving. He had absolutely no fear and after driving at speeds up to 80 miles per hour and negotiating roundabouts the wrong way, I decided that this was going to be a lost cause. We never mentioned driving again. Every time I went around to his house, he would say, “I’lla maka you a sandwich.” To achieve this, he would use a whole loaf of bread with liberal fillings of meat and cheese between every slice. It would look like an accordion and he would serve this sandwich with a crate of Brown Ale, accompanied by many glasses of brandy and espresso coffees. We had many adventures in eating.

  He was always nice and friendly towards me, but he had a darker side and was extremely nasty with others at times. I had my suspicions why this would be and my suspicions were further aroused when he introduced me to one of his business acquaintances, who was a big bloke and extremely ugly, with one continuous eyebrow. To look at him made your blood run cold. I began to do a few jobs for this man such as collecting things from other towns, using his brown Rolls Royce. He was a loner and my connections with him were to be absolutely confidential. We also became good friends. We had a regular Friday evening ’piggy night’, during which we would visit several fish and chip shops, consuming about ten portions of fish and chips, an Indian meal and fifteen or so pints – unless we did this, it was a disastrous night. It would always finish off with a woman hunt at a nightclub, which always ended in failure for him. He told me that he liked me because I was the only man who could out-eat, out-drink and out-fight him. We had many other outrageous nights out. He would think nothing of drinking 15 or more pints and driving about. If he was ever pulled over by the police, the unfortunate constable would be thrown over a bridge or something similar. He had many cars and even more number plates.

  One evening, I was travelling to his house. The road surfaces were extremely slippery with impacted frozen snow. I was pulling up to his front entrance and when I applied the car brakes, the car just continued forward like an out of control curling stone. I was just on the point of stopping when my car slid into another car which was parked in the centre of the road. I got out and went over to the woman driver and apologised for running into the back of her car. There was absolutely no damage and, indeed, she was not aware that I had touched her car. Her car was a bit of a wreck and had no rear bumper section. I thought no more about the matter until a week or so later when two constables came knocking at my door and accused me of not reporting an accident. I explained the circumstances to them, but I could tell that they did not believe me. I was cautioned and this was followed by a letter from my insurance company threatening to cancel my insurance policy. This meant that I would have to pay for the other car’s damage. The lady’s husband, when informed of our slight bump, saw a means of refurbishing their car at my insurer’s expense. I found out where he lived and paid him a visit. I strongly recommended to him that he should drop this very bad idea, otherwise he would be extremely sorry. The silly fool went to the police who came back to my door, now threatening to arrest me for intimidation and threatening behaviour. Unfortunately, the outcome was that I had to report the matter fully to my insurer and I lost out financially. Well, nobody crosses me and gets away with it. I waited about a month and then exacted my revenge. I sharpened a large screwdriver to a point, obtained a large tin of Nitromors and half a dozen house bricks. I parked my car a few streets away from the victim’s home about three thirty, one morning. I then walked to his drive and quietly poured the paint eater over the car roof, bonnet and boot. I then pierced the walls of each tyre with the pointed screwdriver. Now came the noisy bit. I quickly kneed in each door and body panel and threw the house bricks through each car window as I legged it down the road back to my car. A very satisfying act of comeuppance.

  I had a couple of very happy and interesting years with my Italian friend. My wife and I socialised with him and his wife quite a lot, attending each other’s houses for mucho dining. His wife was extremely beautiful, like Gina Lollobrigida’s younger sister. I also made lots of friends and money working at his nightclub and keeping the gorgeous, handpicked staff happy. Then one day he announced that his father (the Don) had died in Italy and as he was the eldest son, he had to return to Italy and take over his father’s position and business interests.

  I did not see him for a further two years when I drove to his home in Italy, with his British business partner in my new Audi A8. It was a very enjoyable experience until we reached the access road to our friend’s palatial property. There was a line of blue and white Alfa Romeo police cars parked outside. The policemen immediately approached us to enquire who we were and what we were doing there. We showed our passports and every bit of documentation that we had and they checked the car and contents very thoroughly. They found a bottle of expensive whiskey that I had brought for my friend. By this time a group of mean looking men had come out of my friends place and started arguing with the police. I could see other men on top of the perimeter wall armed with sub-machine guns watching on. Pretty soon we were arrested and driven at speed to the local nick, followed by another car from our friend’s place. We were extensively interrogated, but we could not understand what was being said most of the time. We asked for a British consulate representative who did not arrive until the next day. It was explained to us that as our friend was who he was that we came in for special attention. We were to be charged with some minor offences such as carrying a bottle of whiskey which had no Italian duty paid on it. We got the message that we were being messed about because of our relationship our friend.

  I was really annoyed that when we were released, we had to go to another location to collect my car. When I saw the state of it, I was really incensed. It had spent several hours in their workshops and every door panel, trim and carpets had been removed and just thrown back together. No point in complaining, I thought. It cost me quite a bit of money to have the car properly reinstated on our return home.

  Our welcome at our friend’s place was also disappointing. After a hug, he demanded that we hand over our mobile phones, which were then switched off and placed in a lead-lined safe. He informed us that the phones would have been used as a satellite. We then had a lecture of do’s and don’ts. It was obvious that our friend’s new position in life made our old friendship impossible. We did, however, enjoy our eating expeditions and we laughed and joked like old times. It was quite an experience being driven everywhere, Italian style, always in the company of sub-machine carrying bodyguards. I was not sorry to leave for home after three days and I never did repeat the experience.

  As I became more acquainted with my Italian friend’s business acquaintance, it became clear that this guy had a real hunger for women, except that he was not very successful at pulling the birds. It was no mystery: he was a fright
ening looking man and put the fear of God into everyone he met. This did not, however, deter his enthusiasm. He was also incredibly clever. During my studies, I had been doing some highly complex mathematical problems, which necessitated many calculations to be carried out before you find the information that you needed before you could start to fathom out the answer. I asked for his help and he did it in his head, correct to four decimal places, in no time flat. He was an absolute expert in mathematics, chemistry and physics. In fact, he was an incredible academic. He was also incredibly violent and quite mad. You know what they say about madmen being clever and mad at the same time – a thin line bordering the two. He fitted that mould. As I became friendlier with him, I found out more of his dark secrets and why he was nick-named by some as the ‘Magician’. Quite simply, he used to make people disappear, never to return. He never bothered to master that bit. One day he took me to his home, a thing he never did with anyone else. He owned a large four-wheel drive, which was exclusively for transporting his ‘clients’. He operated his remote garage door and when it opened it revealed what looked like a workshop with lathes and a range of power saws. The door closed and I saw the full extent of his butcher’s shop, complete with a comprehensive drainage system. Then my attention was drawn to some large white plastic chemical containers which contained pieces of meat and bones. He picked up these containers and started loading them into the back of his vehicle. “Come on,” he said, “Let’s go feed the fish.” We drove the short distance down to the beach and re-loaded the containers into his very powerful twin-engine boat. We sailed at quite high speed up and down the North Sea, feeding the fish on the way by scooping the contents of the containers and throwing it overboard. He joked that the contents of the containers could be bodies, but I knew that he bought whole sides of beef and lamb, because I had bought some from him. This method of getting rid of the scraps was easier than going to the local refuse tip and it smelled horrendous. He then went on to joke that another method of disposing of bodies that he had heard about was to go into cemeteries at the dead of night (forgive the pun) and scoop the flowers from new graves, remove a bit more soil and then place an extra client inside. He laughed but had a strange look on his face which did not match the laughter. This was his strange sense of humour; he would look at your face for the reaction which said, “Is he joking or not?”