by Nathan Davey
Grumsby Manor was a very large estate. It had three stories with balconies, wide windows, conservatries, turrets, towers and hundreds of windows looking into hundreds of rooms. The Union Jack was flying from a flag pole on the roof, the gentle wind was making it gently sway. At the front were two large iron gates which were three times the height of me. We drove up to one of the gates where Harry leaned out of the sidecar to talk into one of the speakers.
“Open the door Freddie” he said, “It’s me, Harry”
“Righto!” another well pronounced voice called back.
The gates automatically opened with a loud and metallic creak. Once the gates were fully opened, Lizzie drove the Moped right up the gravel path towards the entrance. We passed trimmed hedges, flower arrangements, fountains and verandas as we drove on through a very long front garden. Butterflies were fluttering to and fro from the bloomed flowers. Bees were buzzing along. Birds were singing and swimming in birdbaths. It was a very pleasant place to be. The kind of place where I would have never guessed, in a million years, I’d have the pleasure to visit.
Another boy around Harry’s age was standing at the top of the marble staircase. I guessed that this boy was the “Freddie” that Harry was just speaking to. Freddie was a ginger lad with hair that had been perfectly slicked back with gel. He wore hunting clothes and wore Sherlock Holmes style Deerstalker hat on his head. He held a long rifle in his hand which was polished to a shining gleam.
As we came closer to the staircase, Freddie came down and stared at us in confusion.
“Who the bloody hell are they?” he asked, “They look like Chavs. Are they Chavs? If they are, you are in so much trouble. What has Daddy told us about talking to poor people?”
“Lighten up Fred!” said Harry, we had arrived at the staircase where Lizzie stopped the Moped for us to get off, “They gave me a lift home. There’s no need to be so unpleasant”
“But they’re commoners!” said Fred, “dirty, council house scoundrels. I’m surprised that they didn’t stab you!”
“Now stop it!” insisted Harry, “These chaps helped me get back home without a second thought. I thought it would be nice, to say thank you, to invite them to a round of shooting”
“As if Daddy will allow that!” retorted Fred, “You can ask him all you like, but you know ruddy well that he’ll have none of it”
“On the contrary, I think he’ll love the idea” said Harry, “he’s not some bigoted toff like you!”
“I’m just warning you before you even try” explained Fred, “That Daddy will not agree to such rubbish!”
“What wouldn’t I agree to?” asked a voice from behind Fred.
A middle aged man came out from the front door and stood next to Fred on the top of the stairs. The man also wore simpler shooting gear as Fred, maybe just a bit nicer then Fred’s, and held a long rifle in his hand. The man was slightly tanned and had a slightly greying hair. There was a fair amount of stubble across his face in a stylised way. Like the others, he spoke in a posh voice.
“What are you two arguing about now?” he asked,
“Harry got a lift from some Ghetto roughens!” said Fred,
“No need to jump to such dire assumptions” said the man coolly, “they don’t look like roughens to me. Your not roughens are you?”
“No” replied me and Lizzie,
“You see” said the man, “Your just being closed minded again, my boy”
“Harry wants them to come shooting with us!” said Fred,
“Does he?” asked the man, “What a splendid idea!”
The man climbed down the stairs to meet us, leaving Fred at the top looking deeply irritated. The man stood before us and put out a friendly hand for us to shake, which we did. Harry was making faces at Fred in triumph. Fred showed his fist to Harry in a threatening way, before heading back inside the massive Manor.
“Welcome to my home” said the man, “My name is Lord Grumsby. I hope that your stay here will be a pleasant one. May I ask you what your names are, by any chance?”
“Lizzie Penny” she said,
“Aaron Connor” I told him,
“Charmed” said Lord Grumsby, “come inside chaps, we’re about to begin the shooting. I’m sure we can arrange some refreshments for you two”
“Thank you very much, sir” I said, “I’ve never done clay pigeon shooting before, I’m buzzing”
“Buzzing?” asked Lord Grumsby,
“Oh, it means “excited”” I explained, I kept forgetting that not everyone used modern slang like I did,
“I see!” said Lord Grumsby, “well, I’m buzzing myself don’t you know? Come in, come in”
I, Lizzie and Harry followed Lord Grumsby up the marble stairs and through the large double doors into the building. It was incredible. I’ve never seen so much marble in one place. Everything was sparkling clean. The first room we came into had a tall ceiling, like in a church, and from the ceiling hung a huge crystal chandelier. The floor was so clean and reflective that we could see ourselves in it like a mirror. All around where painting of naked women and baby angels, classical paintings is probably the best way to describe them. Directly in front of us was a massive self portrait of Lord Grumsby himself, looking very regal and grand indeed. This is what I imagined the inside of Buckingham Palace looks like.
Through a long window I could see lots of people on a stone balcony, which looked out onto miles of private land. The people were all wearing shooting gear and drinking with thin glasses of wine. A classical string quartet was playing on the balcony, the music rung loudly and added to the ambience of a place of pure class. It felt so unreal, that people like me and Lizzie would find ourselves spending a day with such people. It was pretty cool.
Lord Grumsby led us to where a wooden rack stood which was designed to hold many rifles. Most of the spaces were empty, as the people out on the balcony had already taken them, but some were still left for the taking. Right at the end was one more gun for Harry and three spares. Lord Grumsby handed Harry his gun, which was engraved with his name, and handed Lizzie and me with the two spares.
The guns were real. I know that that’s an odd thing to say, but I’d never held a real gun before. The gun was surprisingly light even though it was made of real wood and metal. Both of us were holding the guns in an awkward way, unsure what to really do with them.
“Come along” said Lord Grumsby, “I’m sure that you’ll make quite a stir among my guests. Let’s see how shallow these bastards really are”
Lord Grumsby led the way out of the room and onto the balcony. Instantly the faces spun around to a mixture of reactions. Some were indifferent while the others looked at us in disgust. The Lord chuckled and leaned in to tell us something.
“Talk to the ones who are not pulling a stupid face” suggested the Lord, “Ignore the others, they’re just being bloody daft”
We had a nice little chat with some of Lord Gumsby’s guests. I would tell you more about what they were said, but they were so frightfully posh that I had no idea what they were saying. That isn’t to say that all upper class blokes are like that, what I’m saying is that these blokes were hard to understand. I swear that I even got some plashes of spit on my face, trying not to react was unbelievably hard.
“Righto!” called out Lord Grumsby after a few minutes of casual conversation, “enough talk, let’s shoot some clay pigeons!”
“Well said!” said one women with the face of a horse,
“Time to blast those blighters to bits I say!” said a man with a beard worthy of Father Christmas,
“Then let’s make haste!” cried Lord Grumsby.
The crowd went off down the stone steps and onto the grassy field. Some blokes just to the side of the field had catapults ready to fire the clay pigeons from. The guests began to load their guns with skill and experience. I and Lizzie stood there looking none the wiser, in fact we had no idea what to do with the flipping thing.
After much turning, flip
ping, pulling and spinning around of our rifles, Harry came over and gave us a hand. Whatever he did he did it fast. The guns became a blur where I could hear some loud clicking and snapping. One second the gun was empty and useless, the next it was handed back to me all ready to go. The same was done with Lizzie’s gun that got the same bizarrely fantastic treatment. The gun was handed back to her. Harry gave us a nod and walked back to his Father without a word.
Both I and Lizzie knew that it wouldn’t be a good idea to try and go first. We simply stood and watched the other more experienced people, take part in the sport in a hope that we could mimic their techniques. Lord Grumsby went first. He brought the gun up to his shoulder, waited for a few moments before shouting: “Pull!” In reaction to this, one of the people by one of the catapults released the clay pigeon. The pigeon flew high into the sky where it was shot by the Lord with much expertise.
There was a fair amount of gentle clapping, “golf clapping”, from the Lord’s guests. Lord Grumsby stood back and invited Harry to have his go. Harry did the same as his father and shot the pigeon just before it had to chance to fall back down to Earth. Several more people had a go, all of them shot the pigeon without any hassle. It was actually entertaining to watch. Each person had their own speed and style to shooting, each more unique then the last.
Of course, Lord Grumsby did forget us or long. After a fair few people had their go, the Lord brought his attention to us by looking towards us with a broad smile. Many of his guests followed his gaze and laid their eyes on us. For many of them their smiles faded, for other’s their smiles grew larger from amusement. It was then that I realised how much me and Lizzie stood out from the others. The contrast between them in their shooting gear and the two of us in our tracksuits was pretty considerable.
“I think it’s time for our unexpected guests to have a go” said Lord Grumsby, “time to show us what you’re made of, How about you dear?”
“Me?” asked Lizzie,
“Yes, you” said Lord Grumsby, “why don’t you have a go?”
“Well . . .” said Lizzie thinking,
“Go on darling!” said Harry, “give us a run for our money”
“Ok” said Lizzie smiling, “I will”
“That’ a girl!” said the man with the large beard.
Lizzie walked forward a few steps, as the others had done, and took the same pose that she saw the others do. Bringing the gun up to her shoulder, I began to feel a bit nervous, hoping that nothing would go wrong. Once she was ready, Lizzie cried: “Pull!” and had the clay pigeon released. She stood strong and shot the pigeon perfectly. This shocked the group of guests and led to a much louder round of applause. Some of the older ones even wolf- whistled her. She came back to stand next to me, grinning and looking very happy with herself.
“Very good young lady” said Lord Grumsby, “was that your first time?”
“Yes” answered Lizzie,
“Well, I say!” exclaimed Lord Grumsby, “most extraordinary!”
“What about you Aaron?” asked Harry, “If Lizzie could do it first time round, I don’t see why you couldn’t”
“Quite right” seconded the horse faced woman, “Let’s see you shoot young man”
“Right” I said, “ah mate, I’m buzzing”
“Buzzing?” asked the horse faced woman,
“It means “excited”” explained Lord Grumsby, “honestly, you’re so behind the times Lady Waters”
“I guess so” replied Lady Waters humorously.
I stepped forward as Lizzie did before me and took the same pose. I brought the gun up to my shoulder and took a few moments to get ready. The air was still and all was silent as I prepared myself. Lizzie had set the bar quite high with her last go, so I knew very well that this had to be something special. I took a deep breath.
“Pull!” I shouted.
The man by the catapult released the clay pigeon. It went shooting through the sky at top speed. I aimed and pulled the trigger. The powerful force that came from the rifle caused me to fall over backwards and onto the grass. It was as if someone strong was pushing me over. It happened so fast. One moment I was standing up and the next I was laying down in the grass. I completely missed the pigeon which landed safely on the soft grass some distance away.
The air went blue with laughter from myself, Lizzie and all of Lord Grumsby’s guests. Some were laughing so hard that they fell onto the ground and couldn’t get up, like those people at the bottom of the Cheese Race. I laughed with them. No point getting embarrassed over something as silly as that, especially when it was as funny as that.
CHAPTER TWENTY
We stayed with Lord Grumsby for another hour or so. After that the guests began to disperse and make their way back home. I and Lizzie thought that it would be best to be off ourselves. We made our way outside onto the large marble staircase and began to descend it towards the Moped. When we were getting the helmets out of the boot, we saw Harry rush after us down the stairs.
“Hold on chaps!” he cried, “I’ve got something for you!”
We stopped what we were doing and looked at him. He came up to us and was holding in his hands two lanyards. On the lanyards were V.I.P passes to something called The Occasion? I and Lizzie were confused for a few moments, but Harry soon explained it to us:
“My Father hosts The Occasion, it’s a Music Festival. He lets the organisers use his land to have the festival on. It’s huge! There lots of famous people playing there. With these passes, you’ll get in for free, get free drinks and get to stay in a luxury tepee. They were for me and my fiancé but, I thought you guys might like them. We’ve been dozens of times anyway. I think we’ll go to Centre Parcs instead.”
“Thank you so much!” said Lizzie, “I always wanted to go to a Music Festival.”
“Haven’t you ever been?” asked Harry,
“Well, no” answered Lizzie,
“There you go!” cried Harry, “more reason for you to go. I hope you have a lovely time. Thanks again for the lift home and for your very entertaining company. It was . . . buzzing! Ha-ha! I love it, I’m going to use that term all the time now. Thanks again you two, good luck on your journey.”
He was about to leave us, but forgot to tell us where the Festival was. He realised this and headed back towards us with a guilty smile on his face.
“The Festival” he began, “is down the left road. My Father owns all of the land for a good few miles on the left hand side of that road. Just keep going down there, you should see a very big sign which tells you where the Festival is, right at the end. Is that alright?”
“Perfect” I replied,
“Jolly good” he said, “cheerio then, pop by anytime!”
“We will” said Lizzie, “thank you”
“No” said Harry, “Thank you”
Harry then left us to our own plans. We both put on the lanyards that Harry gave us, ready for when we arrive at the Festival. It was my turn to drive so I took the position at the front and roared the engine into life. It wasn’t long before we were driving through the countryside once more. We kept on down the road until we could see tents, lights, stages and such like on a hill in the distance. The signs began to appear on the road, all of them told us to keep on going to find the Festival.
At the end of the road was a large painted sign which said: The Occasion in large fancy letters. All around the words were paintings of flowers, leaves, vines, fairies and pixie dust. At the front gate were two young ladies in reflective jackets and fairy wings letting people in. We joined the back of the queue of cars and waited patiently.
We could hear the music coming from inside the tall, iron walls which enclosed the event. Some of the music sounded live and others I recognised to be recordings from CDs. The song that was playing as we were going in was Dirty Harry by Gorillaz. I looked up the line of cars and saw that everyone was singing and dancing along to the song. As the line queue was going so slowly, we saw no harm in having a little dance
as well. It’s a very catchy tune and always a great one to play aloud.
Some girls were even getting out of their slow moving cars to have a little dance. One bloke who was dressed as Gorillaz bass player Murdoc climbed onto the top of his car, in only his boxers and a cape, and began to dance with a lot of thrusting. Girls in bikinis and denim hot pants join boxer pant man for a dance. The car kept on moving underneath them but, as the car was moving so slowly, they didn’t fall off at any point.
Soon everyone in front of us was through the gates and was heading for the car park somewhere inside. It came to our turn the women at first looked confused. They couldn’t work out among themselves how people as scruffy looking as us, as we hadn’t had a wash for a while as we hadn’t the time, could have gotten V.I.P passes. After a few moments thought, they just shrugged their shoulders, decided that it wasn’t any of their business and let us through into the Festival.
Inside was a long dirt road leading into the festival. We went right, then left, then right again and then left. The dust from the road was being brought up into the air by the cars in front, casting me and Lizzie into a mist of dirt and sand. My guess is that this is to disillusion anyone trying to sneak inside, by deliberately making it complicated to find the entrance. They even went as far as to make dud roads, dirt tracks to go out from the main road and leave you in the middle of nowhere. There’s going to be some confused gate crashers tonight! I thought.
After what seemed like a century of winding along dirt track roads, we finally came to a massive collection of field which was being used as a car park. Ii seemed like we had rode miles of grassland before we could find a parking space. We got off, put the helmets into the boot and headed for the V.I.P exclusive entrance.