by Duncan James
***
In spite of all their problems, the Bartletts had taken time to get themselves well prepared for Lieutenant Conteh's great day. They had never before attended a Muslim wedding, so they had lots of questions. They had received an elaborate souvenir wedding invitation, which told them everything they needed to know, not just about where and when, but also Conteh's complete family history. But it said nothing about the protocols attached to such an important occasion.
Dress was not too much of a problem, as a jacket and tie was the minimum standard to be expected, and that would not be too inappropriate for them on the start of their 'holiday'. But what should they buy as a present? The best advice was something to hang on the wall, or money. The Bartletts would need all the money they could muster, as they were unable to take much with them, and could not move any out of the country, so Beatrice Bartlett had suggested a rather fine print of Constable's 'Haywain', which had hung in their hallway, and which they had not planned to take with them. Such a classic English rural scene might at least remind the Contehs of them from time to time. Finally, they had been advised to wear a good pair of socks or tights, as shoes would certainly need to be removed before entering the little mosque.
They had finished their final packing. Their suitcases and all their last possessions from the farm had been piled on to the back of the pick-up truck, and carefully covered with tarpaulin to keep off the worst of the dust from the long cross-country journey they were soon to start. It would have been better to have set off at dawn, before the heat of the day, but they had promised Lieutenant Conteh that they would be at his wedding, and so that's what they would do. They owed it to him, after all. But for his efforts, they could well have been hounded off the farm weeks ago, perhaps hurt, or even killed in a violent attack, like so many others. They had arranged to make the twelve hundred mile journey in three stages, anyway. It was too far to go by road in anything less than that, and their first stop would be just over the border. Once that was behind them, they could begin to relax a bit, and perhaps even start to look forward to leaving all their problems behind them and starting anew in the Western Cape.
So they carefully parked their pickup near the tiny mosque, where an usher, another Police Lieutenant, wearing a very smart ceremonial jacket, gold epaulets and his beret with a blue and green hackle, met them. James Bartlett was shown into the male enclosure of the Mosque, leaving his shoes outside, and wondering whether he would ever see them again, while Beatrice was escorted into the segregated female side of the building. Inside, Lt. Conteh was equally smart, attended by his two uniformed best men and four equally military-looking pageboys, all of about five years old, already bored and starting to poke each other with their black and red ceremonial canes. James Bartlett sat watching the other guests arrive. The females were segregated behind a wall within the Mosque but they could be heard chatting. Eventually the Imam arrived followed by a large number of white clad young men who made a wailing noise for about fifteen minutes. At the conclusion of this Arabic chant the bride, resplendent in white and surrounded by matrons of honour, mothers and flower girls, made her way into the female section. The wedding then began in earnest; it was now one o'clock and very hot.
The Imam was leafing through the Koran, and began a loud prayer. He was loud throughout, as he needed to be heard through the wall in order that the ladies could listen to the proceedings. It didn't appear to James that there was any particular order of service, and the Imam seemed to make it up as he was going along. He gave sound advice to the groom, ensuring that Lieutenant Conteh was paying attention by giving prompts like, "Are you listening to me?" He was at one point disturbed by his mobile telephone and started an animated conversation about the price of something or other, which he obviously felt was too expensive. Another whispered message made him break from his matrimonial duties again, when he announced that a set of car keys had been found and insisted that the congregation all checked their pockets. The crux of the Service was reached when the wedding certificate had to be signed by all relevant parties and witnesses, although there was a delay while they found someone with a pen. At this point, the future Mrs. Conteh was invited into the male area for the ring ceremony. By this stage the pageboys had had enough. One had been asleep for some time, another had been removed by his mother who chastised him for losing a sock, while the two others were being physically restrained by best men and ushers, having started to fight. More prayers blessed the rings, there was an offering of money to the Imam, and then cheers rang out as Lieutenant Conteh slipped the ring on his wife's finger.
The whole proceedings seemed to James to be delightfully informal, and he had had time during the ceremony to look around to see who was there. He caught the eye of Kipling Bangura, but could not see old man Mbele, who he knew had been invited. Outside, James was delighted to retrieve his brogues and to be reunited with Beatrice, as they watched the guard of honour form the traditional arch. The reception was in a nearby field, with a small marquee in one corner. The assembled throng had made for another corner of the field, opposite the marquee, which the Bartletts discovered was due to the fact that free drinks were being dispensed from a bar there. Under the burning sun, the guests watched a handful of native dancers perform, before the wedding party arrived to the sound of the local Police Band. During the reception there were a few short speeches, given from the cool shelter of the marquee, while the guests outside were given soft drinks to toast with. The final act, before closing prayers, was when everyone queued to present their gifts. Constable's 'Haywain' was well received.
At any other time, and under any other circumstances, the Bartletts would have found the whole unique event an interesting and amusing experience, but the fact was that they were on edge throughout, and couldn't wait to get on their way south. Conteh's wedding was something they could have done without, if they were honest, and yet it was because of his special day and the negotiations he had so carefully conducted on their behalf that they were able to leave the country of their birth unharmed and with a degree of dignity. Eventually, the Bartletts made their farewells and, as unhurriedly as they could manage, had strolled back to their pick-up to start their long journey into a new life.
For sometime, they drove without speaking, lost in their own thoughts.
Eventually, Beatrice asked, "Are the packages for the customs people handy, James?"
"Yes, I made sure of that. I hope Mr. Bangura has got this right."
"He's been through that customs post often enough himself to know what's required," said Mrs Bartlett.
"If it saves having our belongings pilfered, it will be well worth a bottle of scotch for each of them, with a US fifty dollar bill wrapped round it," said James Bartlett grimly.
"I saw him at the wedding," commented his wife.
"Kipling Bangura? Me, too," said James. "At the reception. I thanked him again for all his trouble."
"Did you see old man Mbele?" asked Beatrice.
"He wasn't there," replied James, sadly. "Bangura had seen him earlier. Mbele had said he wouldn't be going after all. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing us again, for the last time. He didn't want to see us leave."
"I'm glad we've left the house in his name," said Beatrice. "I hope he will be able to lay claim to it soon, and to see out his days there."
"He wept when I told him what we had done," said James Bartlett. "Poor old fellow - left here to face an uncertain future. But I'm sure we've done the right thing. If anyone can eventually run some of the farm again and look after things properly, he can. William wouldn't have been able to, even if they'd allowed him to return here."
"William will be better with us, although I know he wants to come back one day," said his Mother.
They drove on in silence for a time.
"Somehow, we never did say goodbye properly to old man Mbele," said James Bartlett. "I was hoping to, at the reception."
"Perhaps he was there, but too upset to come across to speak to
us," suggested Beatrice.
James sighed, and shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "No. Old man Mbele wasn't there."?
3. THE REUNION?
Group Captain Charles Bowman, DFC, AFC, CBE, had planned something of a reunion.
He had spent a good deal of time and effort in the garden, getting it into good order ready for today. It was not a spectacular garden it had to be said. Mostly laid to lawn, or grass with weeds, really, and with shrubberies down each side and a bit of woodland at the end, it was nevertheless a pleasant retreat, especially on a sunny day. Bowman had fed the lawn, and it had greatly improved the look of the thing as well as getting rid of some of the more obvious weeds and the moss. So much an improvement, in fact, that for the first time he had managed to get decent stripes in it when he cut it yesterday.
He was pleased, too, with the small vegetable garden he had cut out when he first arrived. That was flourishing, and the two small apple trees he had planted in the centre of it had bloomed well and were now bearing quite a good crop of fruit. Sally was particularly pleased with the herbs he had planted there. She delighted in being able to nip out for a fresh bunch of chives, or a handful of mint. 'Always so much better than bought', she maintained. And she had worked wonders on the patio with tubs and pots, overflowing with geraniums and all the other things that did well in tubs and pots.
What with one thing and another, he was sure their friends would be impressed, and would enjoy the garden during their short visit.
Fortunately, it had been a glorious day, and they would be able to sit out in the garden over their gins, or whatever, but Sally was not to be persuaded that it would be nice to have supper on the patio as well. Sitting on garden furniture and using the best cut glass was not a good idea, it seemed. So now the table had been laid and the flowers arranged in the dining room. But perhaps they could have coffee and a brandy outside afterwards, if it was still warm.
Two of his oldest friends and colleagues were due later that afternoon for a quiet drink, and then supper. It was always good to meet old colleagues with whom one had served, and it was now quite easy to organise a get-together like this, since they all lived within a reasonable distance of one another.
When they had first met, they were all serving on the same RAF base overseas, in the Middle East, but that was a good few years ago now. Somehow, they had managed to keep in touch, in some cases thanks more to their wives, who had always got on extremely well. They were in some way rather better at picking up the phone or sending notes at Christmas and birthdays, but it was never easy, in the turbulence of service life, to keep in contact with people living on the other side of the world.
This would be the first time they had all met for - what? It must be about seven or eight years now. Charles had been working in the Whitehall Defence Ministry then as he was now, while Padre Frances Tucker was based at RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire, and his other guest, then only a Squadron Leader, was visiting London for a conference from his posting in Germany. Dennis Hood had managed to bring Gill, his wife, with him from Wildenrath, so they had all congregated at the RAF Club in Piccadilly. That was the last time the six of them had met together, although he knew that Frank Tucker and Denis Hood had met a few times recently. Dennis was back in the UK now, Frank had retired, and they were both living within a few miles of one-another.
Charles Bowman heard the car in the drive, and looked out of the study window. It was Frank Tucker, still driving the rather battered old Rover that he had bought when he left the Royal Air Force.
"Frank and Audrey are here," Charles called to Sally, in the kitchen.??
He knew Sally was almost as excited as he was, and had been making a special effort to ensure that everything was perfect for their evening together. No sooner had the Padre and his wife been ushered into the lounge than Gill and Dennis Hood arrived. The noise and excited chatter that followed was infectious, as they all tried at once to catch up on the all the news.
Eventually, they settled in the garden with a drink, and even Sally managed to join them as she left Mary, her home help, to attend to the final preparations for dinner.
"You don't know how lucky you are to have some help in the kitchen," commented Audrey.
"I do realise that," replied Sally. "Fortunately, one of the airmen's wives was looking for something to do to keep her occupied and earn a bit of pin money to help with the bills, so I snapped her up. She's really excellent, too."
"Those were the days," rued Frank Tucker. "Can't afford that sort of thing now as a civvy vicar, more's the pity."
"I'm sure you could find someone in the parish, couldn't you Audrey?" asked Gill.
"Afraid not," replied Frank. "It's quite a wealthy parish, and not a lot of spare cheap labour about. And the diocese doesn't pay enough for me to hire expensive help, even if there was any."
"Still managing to run that old Rover of yours, I see," said Dennis Hood.
"Wouldn't be without it," replied the Padre. "I can get a made-up nine-foot fly rod in that. It's my fishing car! And I always promised myself a Rover when I retired."
"And I've got my own little one," said Audrey. "Not much more than a shopping trolley with an engine, really, but it's quite enough for me to get about in while Frank's out and about in the parish - or fishing."
"A two car family?" said Charles. "I thought you were hard up and living like church mice!"
"We certainly miss the RAF salary," said Frank, "but we manage. Talking of fishing, how's that boy of yours, Denis?"
"Robin's fine, thanks," he replied.
"I do wish you'd stop calling him 'Robin'," protested Gill.
"But everyone calls him that," Denis reminded her. "With a surname like 'Hood', what else can you expect??? I was always called Robin at school, too."
"It's such a pity - Jonathon is such a nice name," said Gill.
"Anyway, to answer your question, Frank," continued Denis Hood, "he did very well at school, I'm pleased to say. Got stacks of 'O' levels and then enough top-grade 'A' levels to get into Oxford. Doing computer science or something, but then he always was a bit of a wizard at maths. He's due to graduate next year. He's still mad on fishing, though, thanks to you, and that's all he wants to do when he's not fiddling about with computers!"
"Not much fishing around Oxford, as I know from my days at Brize Norton. A few decent fisheries with stocked rainbow trout, but no chalk streams nearby worth talking about. But Robin learnt quickly, and he's become a good fisherman. I always enjoyed his company when we fished together."
"I suppose he'll do something 'in computers' afterwards, will he?" asked Charles. "Everyone seems to be in computers these day - goodness knows what they all do!"
"Oddly enough," replied Denis, "he thought at first he might go into advertising. He seemed to think there's lot of creative work to be done with computers in that field - computer graphics, animation, that sort of thing. So he'd be using computers, and I suppose he thought he would be developing specialised programmes as he went along. A novel approach, I must say. He has always regarded computers as his hobby, although he has recently talked of setting up his own company one day. He has actually written one or two small software programmes already, although don't ask me what they are supposed to do. But he must know what he's doing, even if I don't, since Microsoft has bought one of them. I think that has convinced him that he really ought to set up on his own straight away, rather than wait, perhaps with a couple of others from Oxford."
And so they chatted on, catching up on all the news over dinner.
Charles and Sally Bowman had a rather large house in the Chilterns, near the High Wycombe Headquarters of Strike Command - except that it wasn't strictly theirs. It was a married quarter that belonged to the RAF, but it was a decent sized, redbrick place in half an acre, although it hadn't been much of a garden when they arrived. Earlier occupants had not done much to it.
They were lucky to get the house. Most people working in the Defence Ministry were giv
e quarters in Uxbridge, which were not nearly so comfortable, although they were, it had to be said, handier for commuting into London. But Charles' role in Ops. Planning meant he had quite a lot to do with the people at Strike Command, so it suited them perfectly.
The Hoods also had a nice place, a modernised farmhouse near the old RAF base at Dunsfold, in Surrey. Dennis had been involved with the Harrier jump-jet for several years, and had helped to set up the first operational squadrons in Germany, before working on secondment with British Aerospace, the planes' makers, at their factory at Dunsfold. Since he was soon due to leave the RAF, this couldn't have worked out better for them, as the company had offered Dennis a job at the factory when he retired, working on future development of the aircraft. It suited them all very well. Dennis was doing a job he enjoyed, with what he thought would be a secure future and was still able to get in quite a bit of flying. Gill was more than happy in the old farmhouse, and could get to the shops in Godalming or Guildford whenever she wanted, while Robin, who was then a boarder at Wellington College, had easy access to some of the best chalk streams in the country, and some excellent still waters as well, when he was home at weekends or during the holidays.
Frank Tucker had been given a parish in Farnham when he had left the service, so he too had easy access to good fishing, while Audrey had a comfortable, if large, vicarage to care for, and plenty of parish work to keep her busy. Already that evening, Gill and Sally had been persuaded to help out with the church fete in a month or so, making cushions and cakes and things like that for sale. Charles had agreed to go as well to help run the raffles - if he was free, of course. Dennis would run one of the stalls, and they would all have supper in the vicarage afterwards - another reunion, and quite like the old days in the Middle East. Then, it was almost routine after evensong to retire to the air-conditioned vicarage, as Frank called his married quarter on the desert airfield, for a bite of supper and a game of Scrabble.
"I meant to ask you, Dennis," said Frank, as they sat over coffee, "whether there's any truth in the story I heard that your firm is pulling out of Dunsfold."
"Quite true, I'm afraid," replied Dennis Hood. "The order book for new-build Harriers dried up last year, and Dunsfold has been involved in maintenance and up-rating work. Now that's all being moved up north to Warton, and eventually Dunsfold will close."
"Will you go to Warton?" asked Frank.
"I don't think so," replied Hood. "But obviously I shall have to move, along with some 800 others who work there. Between you and me, I've been half promised a job at the company's new Headquarters at Farnborough, so we shall be able to stay put for once, rather than have to move house again."
"That's lucky," said Charles. "When will you know for certain?"
"Any time, really - I'll let you know when it's official."
"Well," said Charles Bowman, "since we're talking about the future, it seems we shall be upping stumps again at the end of the year, too."
"Where to this time?" asked Frank. "Locally, I hope, now that we've all got together again."
"You will all be more than welcome to pay us a visit at our new posting any time you like," replied Charles. "But I'm afraid it won't be any good climbing into that old Rover of yours. I'm going to Harare as Defence Attache!"
"Sounds a good posting, Charles," said Dennis, "Defence attache, eh? Well done! But Zimbabwe of all places! Couldn't you have picked somewhere more civilised?"
"We are certainly looking forward to it, although as you say, there are better places in Africa than that wretched country. I remember visiting it when it was Rhodesia, and the place has certainly changed a lot since then. You don't need the sort of briefings I'm getting to know that - there's enough in the papers to give you a good idea of what's happening. But I shall actually have quite a large parish, as I shall be accredited to Mozambique, Malawi and Zambia as well, so I shall be able to travel about a bit. Lusaka is a nice place, but I don't know Maputo or Lilongwe at all. The chap I'm taking over from is an Army Colonel, whom I've met, and he has certainly enjoyed it."
"Hearing about your travels, you two, makes me feel I'm missing out," said Frank Tucker. "But I'm not really getting itchy feet again. I shall be quite happy staying in my present parish for as long as the Bishop wants me there. But I certainly can't see us getting to Africa for our next reunion, can you Audrey?"
"Our next reunion," Audrey reminded them, "is the church fete, so let's at least look forward to that."
"You might just get a visit from Robin, though," said Dennis. "He and his current girl-friend plan to take their gap year in Africa after they graduate, since they both went straight to University from school."
"By all means, do get them to look me up, if they can," said Charles. "What's she like, this girlfriend?"
"Excellent girl," replied Gill. "Just the sort Robin needs."
"Is that her future mother-in-law speaking?" asked Audrey.
"Could well be," laughed Gill. "They met almost as soon as they got to Oxford, and have been down to see us at Dunsfold quite often. Although I say it myself, they make a lovely couple, and we both rather hope they will settle down together one day."
"That will put paid to his fishing," joked Padre Tucker.
"You can't honestly say that," responded Audrey. "You don't do too badly as a married man! But it is a pity we'll not be able to have many more of these delightful reunions. It's been so nice to get together again with old friends."
"Talking of old friends," said Charles Bowman. "Do either of you remember Paul Bridges?"
"Used to be Provost Marshal, d'you mean?" asked Frank.
"That's the chap," replied Bowman.
"I knew him quite well," said Dennis Hood. "Don't tell me you've come across him again?"
"I have indeed," replied Charles. "Ran in to him at the RAF Club a week or so ago."
"What's he doing now, then?" asked Hood. "I've quite lost touch with him, as one does when one leaves service life."
"Well, he's left now, too," replied Bowman. "Retired as an Air Commodore, and fell right on his feet, so it seems. Started off as Head of Security at the Bank of England, and now he's working in the Cabinet Office, running the Briefing Rooms - the famous COBR we read about when there's an emergency on."
"Well I'll be damned!" exclaimed Dennis. "I really must try to make contact again, now I know where he is."
"You know," said Sally, "We very nearly invited him this afternoon, but we weren't really sure how well either of you knew him. What a pity."
"Tell you what," said Frank Tucker. "Why not invite him to the fete?? Do you think he'd come?"
"I'm sure he would," replied Charles. "I'll give him a ring next week, and let you know."
"I wonder if his wife's any good at patchwork," mused Audrey. "I could do with a few tea cosies."
The phone rang.
"I'll get it," said Charles Bowman, excusing himself.
It was the office.
"Sorry to bother you, sir."
It was Squadron Leader Gavin Williams, from Charles' office in MOD.
"Are you on duty or something today, Gavin?" asked Charles.
"I am now, sir. Bit of a flap on, and they called me up to go in for a meeting, but I wanted a word with you first, if you don't mind."
"What's going on then?" asked the Group Captain. "It must be urgent - it's Saturday, and Whitehall doesn't usually work at the weekend if it can help it."
"This is actually rather more Westminster than Whitehall," said Williams. "The meeting's been called by the Cabinet Office. I know we're not on a secure line, but, without giving too much away, it's about Zimbabwe."
"What about Zimbabwe?"
"Contingency plans, and that sort of thing. They want to know if we have any."
"Who's 'they' exactly?" asked Bowman.
"The meeting's in one of the Cabinet Office Briefing Rooms in a couple of hours, and it will be us and a couple of other MOD people - Army for sure - and the Foreign Office, Prime Ministe
r's office, Treasury, that sort of thing. Low level at the moment, I think, which is why I've been asked rather than you. At the moment."
"Don't say that," said Bowman. "I've got a house full of dinner guests! But what's brought about this sudden rush of blood to the head?"
"Well, you know the trouble white farmers are having over there. As I understand it, several neighbouring countries are putting a bit of pressure on us to 'do' something, and the Prime Minister had a phone call this afternoon from the President of Zambia. So it set him thinking."
"Governments aren't supposed to think," grumbled Bowman. "They're not good at it, and it always leads to trouble. What do you suppose they want us to do?"
"At the moment, sir, this is just a talking shop, to see what's possible and what isn't. Timescales, costs, that sort of thing. But I wanted some guidance from you about how far I should go about our own contingency plans at this stage."
"Are you quite familiar with them, Gavin? "asked Bowman.
"Yes, sir, I am. We went through them again only a few months ago when it began to look bad for the farmers out there, so I know broadly what we can and can't do."
"O.K. then," responded Sqn. Ldr. Williams' boss. "Use your own judgement about how far you go, depending on the level of chaps at the meeting, but there's no harm in telling them broadly what we can do and what we can't. No clue, I suppose, about what they're 'thinking'?"
"None at all, sir," replied the Squadron Leader.
"Well you know we've plotted three scenarios - evacuation, food airlift, and regime change. If it's the latter, tell them to forget it. Our strategic airlift capability is far too stretched, with Afghanistan, Iraq, the Balkans and everything else even to begin to think about shifting an army half way round the world, and then keeping it supplied for years. You'll have the Army on your side with that one for sure. The other two are more practical, although evacuation will need people on the ground and support from the neighbours because of over-flying. Food can be parachuted in, if we know where it's needed, and the Foreign Office and the charities can sort out its distribution once it hits the ground. But if we need helicopter airlift as well for local distribution, remember how thin on the ground we are there, what with the Chinook problems and everything"
"Got that, sir. Thanks."
"Any problems, let me know - I shall be at home for the rest of the day," said Bowman.
"Right, sir."
"And after the meeting winds up, let me know what happens will you, especially if they are expecting us to 'do' anything in a hurry. I might have to brief the Air Marshal. Doesn't matter what time that is. Otherwise, the morning will do."
"Understood, sir. If it's urgent, I'll keep going and keep you in touch. Otherwise, I'll de-brief you in the morning."
"Thanks, Gavin. Fancy them getting into such a state on a Saturday, and after all this time, too. It serves them right for cutting off the land re-settlement grants that were promised at the Lancaster House agreement."
"Getting into the wrong hands, apparently," said Williams, "although what they expected in a rotten regime like that, I can't imagine. The world's gone mad, if you ask me."
"Well, let's not pontificate," said the Group Captain. "What time are you leaving?"
"I'm at home at the moment sir, but I'll leave in about half an hour."
"I'll ring you at home, then, if anything else occurs to me before you leave."
Charles Bowman hung up, and sat thoughtfully for a moment before re-joining his guests on the patio.
"Sorry about that," he said. "It was for me after all."
"Not the office, surely?" asked Sally.
"Afraid so," replied Charles Bowman. "Government getting its knickers in a twist again, and having a panicky meeting. One of my chaps has been called in, but had the sense to ring me first."
"I hope you won't have to go as well," said Frank. "I was just beginning to enjoy this little get-together."
"Well, my chap did say it was only him 'at the moment', but he said that twice, so you can never be sure. It's apparently only to look at what contingency plans exist - no real emergency at the moment."
"Can we be told what it's about?" asked Dennis.
"Zimbabwe, since you ask," replied Charles Bowman.
"On a Saturday evening? What's the President been up to now, for goodness sake?"
"Nothing new, it seems," said Bowman. "From what I can gather, a few of his neighbours are getting fidgety about the way he's treating white farmers, and want to know what Britain plans to 'do' about it."
"Not our problem any more, I thought," said Frank.??
"Well, the economy is in a pretty poor state at the moment, with most of the farms producing next to nothing, so perhaps they just want some food aid flown in. We shall see."
"I suppose there's no chance of you getting sent out there earlier than planned?" asked Frank Tucker.
"The thought had crossed my mind," replied Bowman.
"Well, I do hope not, my dear," said Sally. "I couldn't face another short-notice move at our time of life. I thought we'd had our share of those."
"I think it's unlikely," replied her husband, "but it may mean a quick trip out there to make sure our planning is going to work. It just depends what, if anything, the Government decides."
"And nothing will be decided for days or weeks, if I know how the machine works," said Dennis Hood. "It sounds a fairly low level meeting tonight, anyway."
"Yes. It is. It could escalate, I suppose, but this is just politicians wanting to be seen to be doing something at the moment. Apparently, the PM had a call from one of the next-door Presidents this afternoon, so is being seen to respond."
"I remember the times when the boot was on the other foot," said Dennis. "Now, here we are jumping about just because some uppity nigger has picked up the phone!"
"Now, now, Dennis," said Gill. "You mustn't talk like that! You can get thrown into prison for that sort of language these days."
Dennis 'humphed', and the others laughed.
"Where's the meeting being held, as a matter of interest?" asked Frank Tucker. "Down the road?"
"No," replied Charles Bowman. "In London, at the Cabinet Office actually."
"Isn't that Paul Bridge's new patch?" asked the Padre.
"Of course it is - I'd quite forgotten," said Bowman.
"I wonder if he's at the meeting," queried Gill. "Wouldn't that be a coincidence, since we were only talking about him a short time ago."
"It certainly would," agreed Sally.
"If he's doing anything, he'd be chairing it, I should think," said Dennis Hood.
Charles Bowman looked at his watch.
"I'll see if I can find out," he said. "My bloke won't have left for the meeting yet. I'll give him a bell."
He disappeared again into the study, looked in his address book, and dialled the number.
"Squadron Leader Williams," the phone was answered.
"Gavin? It's Group Captain Bowman," said Charles.
"Yes sir?"
"Sorry to bother you just before you leave, but have you any idea who is chairing this meeting you're going to?"
"Yes. They said it was the chap in charge of COBR. A retired Air Commodore Provost Marshal, I think they said, but I can't remember his name, I'm afraid," replied Williams.
"Paul Bridges, by any chance?" asked the Group Captain.
"Yes, that's the fellow," replied Williams. "Do you know him?"
"Very well, as a matter of fact. You'll have no trouble with him in the chair."
"Well, that's good news," replied the Squadron Leader.
"Do me a favour, Gavin? After the meeting, give the Air Commodore my compliments, and ask him to give me a ring sometime, will you?"
"Of course I will, sir. Any particular message?" asked Williams.
"Not really," replied Bowman. "It's not urgent, but somebody here wants to know if his wife does patchwork tea cosies.?? Goodnight."
With that, Charles Bowman put down the rece
iver.??
At the other end, Squadron Leader Gavin Williams stared at the phone, with his mouth open.
Now he was quite sure the world had gone mad.