Dinner Date At Mt Isa

by Ken Blowers

CHAPTER 5

  GRANDAD

  The ten year old boy looked at his Grandad with some concern.

  The man's face was ashen white, his eyes closed and he sat there all loose and crumpled like an old sock, barely managing to stay upright. The boy touched his Grandad's shoulder nervously, then prodded him a little harder.

  'Grandad. Wake up, Grandad?'

  The old man opened one eye. 'I am awake. I sure am, son. Why?' he asked, 'What's happening? Am I missing anything?'

  'You told me not to let you go to sleep - but you did! You keep going to sleep when you are talking to me, Grandad! You do!'

  'Ahhh no, son. Not really. I'm only pretending to sleep, but really I'm listening to every word you say. But I am tired and I do ache all over.' He tried to sit a bit more upright, but though his mind was willing, his body found it all too hard. 'Did you want something, son?' he asked.

  'You were telling me all about the English archers. How they were the best and most feared fighting men in the world.'

  'So they were, son. So they were. Where was I up to?'

  'Where you said they invented a special two-finger salute. Why did they do that, Grandad?'

  'The two-finger salute? Oh, yes. Yes, but can't it wait, son? Just until I feel a bit better?'

  'No! Grandad. I want to know now!'

  'Oh alright. Let me see, in the 15th Century it was. You see it all came about because archers, then as today, always use two fingers and a thumb to set their arrows against the draw string of their long bows.' He closed his eyes to rest them, fighting the urge to sleep.

  'Grandad!' said the boy, gently shaking him. 'Don't go to sleep...'

  'No, no of course not, son. It's alright. Where was I? Oh, yes. The long-bow was made from the wood of the English Yew tree and they really were long, up to seven feet or just over two metres in length. They were made so that the softer wood was on the inside of the curve in compression and the harder wood on the outside in tension. Fully stretched the bow formed almost a perfect half-circle and a natural and powerful spring. When the archers opened their fingers and thumbs to let the arrows fly they would go for hundreds of metres and

  when they came down they could penetrate the shields and body armour of foot soldiers - and even knock knights on horseback right out of their saddles!'

  Grandad felt dizzy and faint, but decided that he must somehow find the strength to ‘soldier on’.

  'The long bow was the high-tech weapon of its day, son. Vastly superior to the bows used by the soldiers of other countries.' He paused, gave a little cough and the pain in his chest when he did so, was quite frightening.

  The boy took a grubby tissue from his pocket and wiped the old man's chin.

  'That's blood, real blood, Grandad.'

  'Yeah? Really? Just a loose tooth son, that's all.' He tried to move to get a bit more comfortable, but again the pain cutting through his chest wouldn't let him.

  'The two-finger salute, Grandad,' said the boy, shaking him again. ‘What about the salute?'

  The shaking had hurt even more this time, but he tried not to show it. 'The Armies in Europe, who didn't have such powerful bows, greatly feared the English bowmen. In fact, they hated them. Now, back in those days, it was customary for opposing Armies to line up facing one another on the open field of battle. The leaders on either side would then confer with their General’s to discuss strategy; who was going to do what and when, understand? While all this here talking was going on, the common foot-soldiers would entertain themselves by intimidating the enemy. Booing, name calling, making gestures and funny faces... something like you kids do in the school playground, only worse!'

  His lips were dry and when he licked them for relief the bitter, salt-like, taste of blood did little to ease his fears. 'At the time they were doing this,' he said, struggling to continue, 'the English bowmen knew they and their longbows were greatly feared. They played on it, heightening those fears by holding up their two arrow-fingers to taunt the French.' He was stopped there by a shortness of breath due to the war raging deep in his chest.

  ‘Grandad.’

  But the boy was right in reminding him to continue. It was best he keep talking as long as he could.

  'The English bowmen were well disciplined and fired their arrows in unison, on command. When they did so, the arrows rose into the air to form dark clouds that momentarily blotted out the light of day! It was a fearsome sight for the enemy as the ‘cloud’ came toward them. And when they fell it was like a terrible hail storm from Hell – and the battering of arrows upon body, shield and armour could be heard for miles! Neither men nor horses whether covered in armour or not, could withstand those powerful arrows. They caused fear, disorder and panic as the men in the rear saw their comrades go down in front of them - wave after wave...' the old man was again forced to pause for a short break.

  'Grandad.'

  'Alright, son. I hear you. The French were dismayed by the devastating power of the English bowman and enraged by their taunting two-finger salute, to the point that whenever they captured an English bowman, they would cut off the man's first two fingers to make sure he could never use a long-bow against them again.'

  He rested for a moment to ease his discomfort. 'Englishmen and other men too, have been using the two-finger salute as an act of defiance to insult and anger their foes ever since, quite ignorant of its place in British history.'

  'Oh, is that why, when we stopped at the traffic lights the big man got out of his car, pulled you out of ours and beat you up, Grandad?'

  'Oh, oh, yes. I was only demonstrating the two-finger salute for you, wasn't I? I remember glancing at him as he pulled alongside. He must have thought I was giving him some cheek. But for what reason, I can't imagine?'

  'Was he a Frenchman do you think, Grandad?'

  'Possibly, son. Quite possibly. But more likely a mean-mannered bastard, who couldn't find someone his own size to pick on, I shouldn't wonder.'

  'When I get big, I won’t let anybody ever do that to you again, Grandad. I'll beat them up for you!'

  'Well, thank you, son. That's a comfort, that is. A great comfort. He wouldn't have done it if I was twenty years younger, I can tell you!'

  'He wouldn't have done it if Nanna was there.'

  'God, no! You're right. She would have laid into him with her handbag. Sometimes I think she keeps a brick in there for just such a purpose. I'm just glad he didn't touch you, that's all. But he won't get away with it. Crooks never do, you know. Something bad will happen to him.'

  'Yeah, Grandad. Like today for instance!'

  'Today? Why today, old son? You didn't put a spell on him did you?'

  'No, but remember how you told me one day all about when you was a kid and how you were told all the things you had to do if the enemy invaded? Like put sugar in the petrol tank of their cars and trucks and that sort of thing?'

  'Oh, yes. Yes, I do, son. Guaranteed to stop them dead before they got very far that was and no mistake!'

  'Well, I didn't have any sugar, Grandad. But I did have them jelly beans you bought me.'

  'No, no, you didn't?'

  'I did! While he was hitting you, I crept around the back of his car and tipped the bagful into his petrol tank!

  Do you think that will stop him, Grandad?'

  'Do I ever! Ohhh, what a surprise he's going to get. And a big repair bill to boot!' The old man paused with pain as he suppressed a desire to laugh. 'Did you put the bonnet up to show we were in trouble, like I asked?'

  'Yes, but nobody's stopping. Why, Grandad?'

  'Because nobody wants to know, son. Nobody wants to get involved, I guess. But sometimes they do ring the Emergency number; 000. Now listen, is that the Ambulance I can hear?'

  'No, Grandad. It's a Police car.'

  'Oh, look, son. I don't want you saying anything about them jelly beans, right?'

  'Why?'

  '
Why? Because if you do, they may think I told you to do it and then I could get in a lot of trouble. Got it?'

  'Yes, Grandad.'

  ‘Besides, Englishmen never, ever, fought using jelly beans. It’s simply not allowed under the agreed conventions of warfare, ok?’

  'Yes, Grandad.'

  The Police car pulled up and as the Officer got out, the boy ran over to meet him. 'Hey, young fella,' said the Policeman. 'You the one that made the call?'

  'Yes, Sir,' replied the boy. 'My grandad's badly hurt. Is the Ambulance coming?'

  'Any minute now,' replied the Policeman as he came over to look at the old man propped up against the front wheel of his car. He touched the man's shoulder and said, 'Sir? Your grandson said you'd been the victim of road rage. Is that right?'

  The old man opened his eyes and said 'Yes, that's right Officer.'

  'Lot of that around these days,' said the Policeman. 'Now I have to ask, any provocation on your part?'

  'None. Absolutely none, Officer. I just don't think he liked my face.'

  'Well, don't worry about it. I'm not going to move you or anything because the Ambulance should be here any minute.'

  'I've been waiting an awful long time.'

  'Yes, well, I'm sorry about that. It's been one of those days. On the way here we came across another accident. Shocking it was. Some big guy in a four-wheel drive. It looked like he had come to a stop right in the middle of a busy intersection, for some silly reason and a huge semi-trailer had ploughed right into him. He was in

  such a bad way I had to flag down your Ambulance and get them to take him to hospital, straight away. I am sorry about that, I hated doing it, but he was in a very critical condition.'

  'Oh, I wonder what he did to deserve that?' said the old man doing his best to conceal a grin.

  'You're looking a little better, Sir.’

  'I am. Was it a big guy? In a fire-engine-red four-wheel drive with a white top and a huge bull bar and spare wheel up front?'

  'Yes! It sure was.'

  'Then, I'm feeling a whole lot better.'

  'Are you're saying it could be the guy who beat you up, is that it?'

  'It sure sounds like it, but I couldn’t swear to it. In fact, I don’t want to know!'

  'Right. Fair enough. But I'll have to come and take a statement from you later, when you're feeling better.'

  'I ain't laying no charges, if it is him. I reckon the poor bugger's got his come-uppance!'

  'Grandad! Here comes the Ambulance,' the boy excitedly reported as the Ambulance pulled off the road.

  The Ambulance driver, explaining that he was on his own, got the Police Officer to help him load the old man into the back. Then he turned to the boy and said 'Now, son, I want you to ride in the back and look after your Grandad and if there is any trouble, if he stops breathing or anything, just knock on that little window and I'll stop and come in the back. Alright?'

  'Yes, Sir.' the boy replied.

  'Keep him talking if you can. Don’t let him go to sleep. That's important,' the Ambulance man said, as he shut the rear doors before driving off.

  'Grandad. The man said we had to keep talking,' said the boy.

  'Oh, did he? Alright, son. Would you help me play a little joke on your Nanna?' he asked. 'She's going to be mad at me for getting in a fight.'

  'Why?'

  'Oh, women are like that, son. Especially Nanna’s. To save my hide I've got to convince her it really wasn't my fault.'

  'How are we going to do that?'

  'I'm glad you said 'we', son, because I want you to say that big hulk who hit me, had a very pretty young lady with him and she waved and winked at me. She probably mistook me for one of them there film stars. An easy mistake, happens all the time. Nanna will understand that.'

  'But what if she asks why there was only the man in the car when it was hit by the truck?'

  'Good point, son. I’m glad you’re paying attention. But you see, the young lady was upset by what he had done, striking me without provocation and she took off and left him.'

  'I don't feel good about what happened to the man.'

  'No. No, of course you don't, son. I wouldn't expect you to. You may be responsible for the jelly beans in the tank, but you ain't responsible for the semi-trailer not stopping now are you? Some other power bigger than us must take responsibility for that. There is a thing called justice in this world.'

  'But...'

  'Look, son. I tell you what. I swear, cross me heart and hope to die that I will never-ever tell anybody about those jelly beans, if you will swear never-ever to ever tell anyone I called that man a brain-dead, muscle-bound, spineless, dickhead, poofter who couldn't knock the head off a rice pudding. Deal?'

  'Deal, Grandad.'

  The old man hugged his grandson warmly and went on to make a good and rapid recovery. From that day on his bond with his grandson became greater than ever. 'We will stick together,' he liked to say to him, 'like porridge to a spoon. Our love and respect for one another will be greater than all the oceans. We will be mates until all the rivers run dry.'

  I know all this because he was my Grandad - and I do miss him so.