In summer, the time of the accident, the gully was dry but the local people knew that the heap of gravel must be cleared away as soon as possible; if there was a thunder-storm or a cloudburst, floodwater from the moors would normally flow safely down that gully and into the river, but if the water’s route was blocked, it would overflow on to the road and could cause flood damage to houses and farm buildings. The heap of gravel was causing that kind of blockage and although there was no immediate urgency to remove it, it should be done as soon as possible. The hot, dry conditions could quickly give rise to thunder-storms and sudden heavy rainfall.
In the pub that day, some university students, on an expedition of the surrounding moors to gather information about a future campaign against grouse shooting overheard part of a conversation relating to that accident. They heard only a few words but as they were animal activists of rather a militant frame of mind, they felt they had stumbled upon an awful plot against the animal kingdom and decided to take positive action.
What they heard was a man, who was in fact a member of the county council’s highway maintenance section, saying,
“We’ll have to get rid o’ them chimps as soon as possible. Ah’ve had words with our gaffer, Ah managed ti catch him just as he was leaving t’zoo after we’d finished that last job, and he reckons they can be left on t’moor overnight. They won’t be in anybody’s way up there but we’ll have to get rid of ’em as soon as we can. There’ll be trouble if they’re left there.”
His pal had said, “We could allus chuck some of ’em down t’cliff into that awd quarry, that’d get rid o’ some.”
“We can’t leave ’em blocking that gully; a pile o’ chimps in that spot’ll send t’flood watter down inti Aidensfield.”
“We could allus flatten some wi’ shovels and spades,” said another.
“We’ll need a wagon handy ti cart ’em off,” was another suggestion. “They’re quite heavy, too heavy and too many to shift by hand. Mebbe we should fetch an excavator?”
What the students did not know was that ‘chimps’ is a local word for pieces of gravel. When small piles of gravel are placed at intervals along the verges for use on the roads in winter conditions, we always call them, ‘Chimp heaps.’ Chimpings is an old word which, I believe, originally meant husked, unground oats, these pieces also being known as grits. In recent years, however, chimps has come to be used to describe small pieces of gravel or road grit. For the people of the moors a pile of chimps means a pile of gravel or grit.
Those students, however, in eavesdropping upon part of that conversation, assumed that the men were going to secretly and cruelly dispose of some chimpanzees which lived in the local zoo. They thought the men were part of a conspiracy to kill the chimps by battering them with shovels and spades; the men would carry their bodies on to the moors in a lorry, and then get rid of them by throwing the corpses into a quarry. It had the elements of a fiendish plot by uncaring country folk.
The students decided to halt the slaughter; they would create publicity for their new-found cause by organizing a protest at the gates of the zoo. It was with some surprise, therefore, that early the following morning the proprietor of the zoo found two dozen students outside his front entrance, all waving banners saying “Save the Chimps.”
Mr Lawrence went out to talk to them with the intention of finding the reason for their presence.
“We want to stop the slaughter of the chimpanzees,” said the student leader.
“What chimpanzees?” asked the puzzled Mr Lawrence.
“Your chimpanzees. We’ve overheard a plot to kill them by inhumane methods, and to dispose of their bodies on the moor,” was the answer. “It smacks of Fascism and capitalist cruelty.”
“You must be joking!” he laughed. “Now look, there is no such plan, I assure you. Our chimps are healthy and well cared for; we have no plans to dispose of any of them and if one is ill, we always secure the services of a vet. We’ve never had to kill one and have no such intentions. If we did want to get rid of any of our animals, it would always be done with compassion and by experts.”
“That’s exactly what you would say,” shouted one of the protesters. “It’s a cover-up, and we’ve heard the plotters . . . we have called the press and we intend to draw the attention of the public to this gross act of Fascist cruelty to animals and to the uncaring attitudes of capitalist zoo-keepers . . .”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” responded Mr Lawrence. But after speaking to the protesters for several minutes without convincing them of his innocence, he rang Sergeant Blaketon. Blaketon rang me.
“Rhea,” he said. “I’ll pick you up in quarter of an hour. We’re going to the zoo.”
“That’ll be nice,” I joked. “I could do with a day out.”
“Don’t be facetious, Rhea. It’s work. There’s a protest of some kind. Lefty students waving banners and shouting slogans.”
I groaned. At that time, left-wing students and their rent-a-mob pals were protesting about almost everything and as we drove to the zoo, Sergeant Blaketon explained our mission.
“They are blocking the road, Rhea, they’ve congregated outside the main entrance but have the sense not to trespass inside. They’re asking visitors to join them in their protest. The press has been called by the student leader too, so we’ll have to tread warily. We don’t want our pictures in the papers; you know how some students throw red paint over themselves to make it appear we’ve clobbered them or spread marbles on the road to make it impossible for police horses to stand upright.”
“Have the mounted section been called out?” I asked with some surprise.
“No, they have not. I’m just warning you about the dirty tricks some left-wingers play to gain public sympathy.”
“What are they protesting about?” I asked. “Did Mr Lawrence give you any idea?”
“Something about slaughtering monkeys,” said Sergeant Blaketon. “They’re objecting to that.”
“Is the zoo slaughtering monkeys?” I asked.
“How should I know what they do with their old monkeys?” Blaketon shrugged his shoulders and we drove on.
When we arrived, we were greeted by catcalls and jeers from the scruffy bunch of layabouts which had gathered at the entrance, but Blaketon ignored them as we drove into the zoo and parked before the office block. Mr Lawrence came out to meet us.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. “That lot’s upsetting our visitors. I’ve had the press on to me as well, about slaughtering chimpanzees by inhumane methods. Sergeant, I’ve no idea what they are talking about or who sent them here.”
“You do have monkeys here?” asked Blaketon.
“Yes, a wide variety of them, all well cared for. It’s chimps they’re talking about, they say they overheard a plot to kill our chimps and dispose of their carcasses on the moors.”
“And you have no such plans?” asked Blaketon.
“No, of course not. If we do dispose of any of our sick or dead animals, we would never dump their bodies on the moors anyway. That lot out there are puddled, Sergeant; God knows what rumours they’ve heard.”
“Show me your chimps, Mr Lawrence,” said Blaketon. “And Rhea, you go and have a word with the student leader. Find out just what he has heard and why he’s brought this scruffy mob here.”
I walked out of the main gate and called for the leader to come to me. His companions were shouting abuse at my uniform but a small, bearded youth with granny specs and ten days’ growth of unwashed dirt about his face and clothes, now stepped forward with a swagger.
“You’re on his side, mate,” he spat on the ground. “You’ll make us clear off and those animals will die . . .”
“I want you to tell me what you heard,” I said quietly, ignoring their behaviour.
A girl said, “They’re going to get rid of the chimps . . .”
Another butted in, “And dump them down a quarry after flattening them with spades and shovels . . .”
“Where did you hear this?” I asked.
“In the pub at Aidensfield,” said the leader. “Last night, a bunch of Fascists talking about it, we overhead them.”
“And they were talking about getting rid of the chimps?” I asked, having now gained their attention.
“Yep, they were. One of the men had been to the zoo . . .”
As they outlined their version of the conversation they’d overheard, I thought quickly. Now I knew what they were talking about, I knew about the pile of chimps in the gully and the worries about moving them, because I had dealt with the lorry accident. And I also reckoned these protesters needed to be taught a gentle lesson.
“I know where you mean,” I said. “I saw the chimps there myself, but they’re not from this zoo.”
“Not from this zoo? Then where are they from? And what are you doing about it then?” The words came from a smelly face which leered into mine. “Bloody capitalists, making capital out of captive animals, getting rid of them in this cruel manner when they’ve earned filthy money to line their pockets . . .”
“I’ve made a report, they’re coming to move them today,” I said, looking at my watch. “About now, in fact. Now, I’m a believer in kindness to dumb animals, so if you like, I could take you there . . .”
“With the press?” The leader did not entirely trust me.
“With the press,” I agreed. “They can come too. But I must first have words with my sergeant and Mr Lawrence. And I reckon you owe an apology to Mr Lawrence. You’ve picked the wrong target this time, lads.”
At that moment, Sergeant Blaketon reappeared and called the leader to him. “I have inspected the chimpanzees and they are all present and in good health,” he said. “If you, the leader that is, would care to accompany me, I will show you the chimpanzees, with the approval of Mr Lawrence. You can inspect them yourself, you don’t have to take my word.”
The leader looked at me and shook his head. “No, no need, not now. We want to go with the constable to see the ones that we really ought to be looking at. It’s not those at this zoo.”
Sergeant Blaketon looked at me. “What’s all this, Constable Rhea?”
“These people have made a mistake, Sergeant, and they accept it. The chimps they are protesting about are out on the moors above Aidensfield, they’re there now, I saw them myself.”
“You did? Where, Rhea?”
The expression on Sergeant Blaketon’s face was a joy to behold and none of the protesters missed it. His reaction confirmed my story and I had them on my side now, they trusted me.
“I’ve promised to show these people the place and the chimps, Sergeant. Most of the chimps will still be there, council workmen are planning to move them this morning.”
“Why didn’t I know about this?” bellowed Blaketon.
“It was your day off yesterday,” I reminded him. “Perhaps you hadn’t time to read the Occurrence Book before you were called out here?”
“Rhea, I don’t know what’s going on but . . .”
“Trust me, Sergeant,” I hoped he wasn’t going to make a mess of my plot. “I think this gentleman wishes to apologize to Mr Lawrence, and when he’s done so, I shall be happy to guide him and his friends to the site on the moors. It is only fair, after all, these people have made a legitimate protest but at the wrong place, and I can only be fair to them by showing them the chimps in question. These are the chimps referred to in the pub last night. What action they take is then up to them, so long as it is lawful. And I’ll show the press too.”
“I don’t know what you’re up to, Rhea, but I’ll need a full report of this when it’s all over!”
The students cheered at him and I smiled at them conspiratorially.
“Yes, Sergeant,” I concurred.
Minutes later, watched by a puzzled Mr Lawrence, we prepared to drive off in convoy. I called to him, “I’ll ring you later Mr Lawrence, to explain things.”
The convoy of scruffy old vans and scooters, with two press cars in attendance, then followed us from the zoo. As Blaketon drove along, he was silent and then he said,
“We’re going to look real fools over this, Rhea, you showing this mob some chimps that have been dumped on the moor. It’ll only make them protest more . . . where the hell have those chimps come from? And who dumped them on our moorland?”
“They’re from an accident involving a lorry,” I explained. “Chimps is our local word for gravel, Sergeant. I’m going to show them a pile of gravel that’s being cleared away right now. And I’m going to get the press to take a picture of them looking at chimps but looking like chumps.”
“You mean they got it all wrong?” he chuckled.
“Yes,” I said. “They overheard some chaps in the pub and got the wrong end of the stick. It serves them right for eavesdropping and for interfering in the business of others. Now we can teach them a lesson.”
“I’m going to enjoy this,” smiled Oscar Blaketon.
But when we arrived at the scene of the crash, the damaged lorry had been removed with heavy lifting gear, and a replacement had been manoeuvred into the gully so that it was in position to be loaded with gravel. Then things took another startling turn.
The highway department’s lorry was parked with a plank leading from its rear down to the ground at the base of the huge pile of gravel and several wheelbarrows and shovels stood by. The council workmen, three of them, were sitting in a canvas hut on the moor having their mid-morning break. As Blaketon and I eased to a halt, the convoy of battered vehicles and scruffy protesters pulled up.
“Down there!” I waited until everyone had joined me, including the press reporters and photographers, then pointed to the heap of chimps in the gully. “The chimps are down there. I’m going to have words with the foreman first!”
My intention was to explain the course of events to him and to let the press take their pictures as I explained that the pile of gravel was the ‘Chimps’ about which they were protesting, but as I walked across to the canvas hut, I heard the leader shout, “You mean down there? Under that pile of grit?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll explain in a minute . . .”
“Right lads,” said the leader. “Grab some shovels, shovel all that grit back into that bloody wagon! They’ve buried the bodies under this pile of grit . . . the bastards . . .”
“Rhea,” said Sergeant Blaketon. “They’re going to shovel that grit away
“Which is exactly what we want, Sergeant, isn’t it?”
When I told the foreman what was happening, he chuckled and said his men could have a longer break with more time to play cards, while the volunteers shovelled away the huge pile of gravel. I had words with the journalists who were standing aside and suggested they take pictures of the action.
“I want to see them uncover the chimps,” said one photographer.
“That’s just what they’re doing. In this part of Yorkshire, chimps means gravel. That is a pile of chimps, that’s what these idiots are protesting about — we were going to get rid of this pile of chimps, not kill chimpanzees in the zoo.”
“Really?” beamed the photographer who then told his colleagues, and so they secured some excellent shots of the protesters shovelling away the pile of gravel. As the energetic shovelling reached the bottom of the heap, it was gratifying to see the wagon fully loaded; as the foreman, beaming at his good fortune, secured the tailboard, the leader came across to me and Sergeant Blaketon.
“There’s no sign of the chimps,” he was angry now and sweating profusely from his actions, “Are you sure they were buried here?”
“Absolutely,” beamed Sergeant Blaketon. “Five tons of ’em. You’ve done right well for the highways department by shifting those chimps.”
“I’ve not seen any chimps,” he said, frowning.
“Between you, you’ve shovelled the best part of five tons of them,” I l
aughed. “Perhaps it will teach you a lesson about good behaviour and a lesson in local language. The chimps that were going to be got rid of are those — the gravel. Chimps is our local word for gravel . . . the few bits you’ve left will be thrown down the quarry, as you overheard, or washed away by the next heavy rainfall.”
“You bastards . . .” he cursed. “You’ve taken us for a ride . . .”
The press men were rapidly taking pictures of the departing council wagon, into which someone had stuck one of the banners. The lorry departed with the slogan ‘Save Our Chimps’ waving from the heap of gravel in the rear.
The photographers hurried off with their pictures and I wondered what the rabble would do. Would they become violent? But they turned their anger towards their leader and began to curse him as they all trooped back to their old vehicles and scooters before disappearing over the horizon.
Later that week, the local paper had a lovely photograph of them removing the pile of gravel beneath the slogan, MONKEY BUSINESS AMONG THE CHIMPS.
Mr Lawrence was delighted when I told him the story and I learned that the publicity had also helped the zoo. The highways department enjoyed it too — they sent a gift of a load of chimps to be spread upon the path outside the chimpanzee enclosure.
* * *
Misunderstandings of a more elementary type also occur, often through one party misinterpreting the instructions of another. There are lots of humorous examples, such as the question from a rail passenger who asks, “How long will the next train be?” whereupon the porter answers, “An engine and five coaches.” There are many examples where people have placed a precise meaning upon the words of others and Mary, my wife, encountered an example when she was working in Brantsford Orthopaedic Hospital.
CONSTABLE AROUND THE GREEN a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain's best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 12) Page 19