by Ronald Cove
Having arrived at our digs Dave announced ‘a quick cupper wouldn’t go amiss after that performance we’ve just experienced out there’ and I thoroughly agreed. Nevertheless I thought it rather strange, although we’d heard the air raid warning when we’d first arrived that day, nothing further untoward seemed to have disturbed this little village since, until suddenly from out of nowhere Jerry appeared, and had a bloody good go at eliminating me and Dave with some indiscriminate bombing. And of course don’t let’s forget our own bloody driver DC Willis who’d frightened the bleedin’ life out of us with that poxy motor hooter. All this happened within a couple of seconds, not five minutes ago. So I’d say yeah a cuppa would go down a treat.
I was drinking my tea and studying a string of well-formed smoke rings DI Selby had just sent floating around the room, when he bestowed upon me his newly arrived at plan. “Look Bill,” he began, “I expect the ‘super’ will be satisfied just seeing me tonight, so while lover boy Willis drives me back to the station, perhaps,” and that’s when I held up my hand indicating he should say no more “Yeah I know, perhaps I could rustle something up nice to eat, like a cooked dinner for a change” I finished his sermon with a smile, which he returned “there you are, right first time,” he told me.
*
Reg. Martin departed the train at Heathway station, made his way along a rain drenched platform, climbed a set of stairs, handed over his ticket and walked out into one hell of a thunderstorm. However he could not help noticing the Heathway cinema which stood right opposite to where he was then standing. ‘So’ he thought, in order to while away an hour or two of daylight, it would be a good idea being entertained by John Wayne in his latest film called ‘Stage Coach’. Martin strolled across the road, bought a pack of cigarettes at the cinema kiosk, paid for a ticket and was escorted through the darkness to a back row seat by a young lady carrying a torch. He settled back, lit a cigarette and began revelling in the pleasure of watching John Wayne shoot so many Red Indians. Ten minutes later a notice appeared on the screen stating that ‘An air raid is now in progress’ however Mr: Martin was enjoying the film so much, he therefore chose to ignore the warning, he was in fact quite content to stay watching the slaughter now running rife on the cinema screen.
Of course at that point Reg. Martin had no knowledge of the carnage raging outside, for all he knew Dagenham could have been obliterated outside, for in fact at that particular moment he was sitting in a building that had been built to last. No sound of anti-aircraft guns penetrated those walls and no exploding bombs were audible. It wasn’t until sometime later a further message began winging its way across the screen announcing the ‘All clear’, as John Wayne bounded from one horse to another, that Mr: Martin gave any thought at all as to what was going on outside. It was none the less when a sudden blast from a rogue bomb exploded close to the back of that plush cinema, causing two heavy blackout curtain covered doors to swing wildly open leaving the curtains flapping inwards, that he thought it was time to leave.
*
The meal we finally got around to that night was not of my making. What I’d actually done in Dave Selby’s absence, was to phone Florrie May my dear wife who was at our home in London. I asked her for suggestions and true to form dear old Flo immediately said ‘what’s wrong with fish and chips’. I sent two kisses down the line, gratefully thanked her and hung up, then took a brisk walk into that little Hornchurch village where I immediately found the local ‘chippie’. I came away carrying two sixpenny pieces of cod and four penneth of chips. So that was the feast Dave and I sat down to that night. It was however whilst devouring this concoction, lavishly garnished with salt and vinegar, that my dear friend Dave endeavoured to narrate in his clumsy cockney way exactly what had transpired earlier between himself and the superintendent. “Look Bill I’ll give it yer straight, like superintendent Jarvis ‘anded it to me,” he began. “Ok,” I said while stuffing more chips into my mouth, at the same time Dave blew on a hot portion of fish before gingerly popping it into his mouth. “Yer see Bill, our forensic boys are not ‘appy,” he went on. “Yer don’t say, why’s that?” I asked. “Well it appears those two men recently found dead, or should I say ‘murdered’”. At that point he must have seen the doubtful frown on my face. “You know, one on that bomb site near Farleigh and that one ‘ere in Hornchurch ‘Stanley Road’” he jogged my memory. He then pushed away his plate and lit a cigarette (no smoke rings this time) which was just as well because it gave me a few minutes to digest what he was trying to explain. “Oh yeah I remember” I assured him. “Right so bear in mind two murders giving us two separate autopsies, one in Essex and one in London, and would yer believe, to quote Jarvis, ‘both pathologists agree the modus operandi in both cases is the same, and that in turn gives us one perpetrator that committed these atrocities’ which of course we now know is the RAF corporal. And there you ‘ave it my ol’ mate, that’s as near damn it” Dave ended his sermon. “Are you sure about all that Dave?” I queried. He blew a smoke ring towards me, gave me a non-plus look and rattled off rather loudly “Course I’m bloody sure, ol’ Jarvis even showed me the bloody report he received signed by two coroners and a Dr: Ronaldson, what else yer sodden need, yer silly bleeder”. I glanced sternly at him “Who you calling a silly bleeder?” I challenged, and made to cuff him round the ear. He ducked back with a broad smile. “Alright yer grumpy bugger, was there any mention of them two brilliant detectives that was coshed?” I asked jokingly.
*
Stepping outside the cinema, Martin could see at once it was beginning to get dark. He studied the darkening sky for a moment, then stepped back inside through the blackout curtain into the semi dark of the foyer, located a nearby toilet. While inside the toilet Mr: Martin quickly transferred five grenades from his small case into his coat and trouser pockets, along with their primers. When entering the cinema he had noticed an alleyway which ran down the side of this particular cinema. He therefore decided to prime his last hand grenade so if possible he could lob this down said alley as a special thank you gift.
After delivering this grenade into an appropriate place alongside a few old dustbins, Martin nipped smartly across from cinema to Heathway station, paused, waited for the explosion to occur, which was taking longer than he’d expected. So while waiting decided to remove himself from the scene and in fact was about to enter a Woolworth store, when quite suddenly an explosion finally occurred coming from a direction diagonally opposite to where he then stood, and of course what followed was the inevitable chaos. Women screaming and all sorts of vehicles screeching to a sudden halt. Several shop windows breaking, and many police cars and fire engines arriving, people running in all directions. All this followed by an ambulance with bells ringing.
Reg. Martin could do no more than smile at the panic just one hand grenade could create. It was as he began to leave Heathway High Street and head towards Fords and Briggs factories, having already passed a small fire station, and was now cutting through a side street named Armsted Walk, that an authoritative voice behind him growled, “Oi you, hang on a minute”. Reg. Martins blood ran cold, he turned ready to deliver a karate chop, but was relieved to see a middle-aged man wearing a tin hat with three letters adorning it ‘ARP’, offering him a walking stick “Ere mate you dropped this outside Woolly’s” he was told. On accepting his walking cane he thanked and made to shake hands, but instead received a caution “Your gas-mask, where’s your bloody gas-mask? You know it must be carried at all times” he was severely reprimanded. Martin lowered his head, slowly stroked his beard, looked slightly sheepish “Yes I am sorry about that, you see I lost it in that bombing which just occurred” he offered in defence, at the same time indicating back towards the cinema. “Oh well, nip along to the Town Hall, get a new one” he was advised.
22:
THE UNKNOWN SIDE TO PLUMPKIN
“For Christ sake Bill, give it a rest” DI Selby, my long-time friend implored me. “Give it a bleedin’ rest, give
it a bleedin’ rest be buggered, just let me get my ‘ands’ on ‘im, that’s all,” I retaliated.
This of course was part of a minor confrontation I’d had with DI Selby earlier that morning, then there had followed a brief spell of silence between us. After a while I’d realised how stupid it was, two grown men walking around the flat ignoring each other. I therefore decided enough was enough, and so with my irresistible smile glued to my face offered my old pal Dave a cigarette, said, “‘Ere yer flat nose git, your turn to make the bloody tea ain’t it?” He was sitting at the table, placed the cigarette in his mouth, was about to light it, but instead he leaned back then sprung forward with a lightening left hand jab which came straight towards my face. I parried this blow with my right hand, took a smart step back, well out of reach and yelled “Sorry, sorry you’re not a git” to which he replied with satisfaction “That’s better yer little squirt”. “Yeah but you’ve got a flat nose anyway, and it’s still your turn to make the bloody tea” I growled at him. Dave stood, walked over and studied his face in the mirror, turned to me with a grin and said “Yer know, yer bleedin’ right Bill, I ‘ave got a bit of a flat nose ain’t I, never mind I’ll make the tea” he chirped.
It was five minutes later when we heard our front door bell ring “Who in Gods’ name is that?” Dave groaned. “Well it ain’t me, I’m ‘ere with you, ain’t I?” was my quick reply. However within two minutes I’d opened the front door and in strolled dear ol’ Plumpkin, our long lost pal from WW1 whom we all thought to be dead, but as we’d recently learnt had proved us all wrong. On entering he gave me a dig in the belly “Slow, always keep yer guard up Bill” he advised. “Right” I replied giving him a weird look as we went on through to the front room, where DI Selby sat having a quiet smoke and releasing several smoke rings which hung just below the ceiling before slowly fading away. As we were still engaged in drinking our tea, Plumpkin indicated he wouldn’t be averse to a cuppa himself, so once again it was Dave on tea duty. After we’d exchanged pleasantries, Plumpkin got around to disclosing the reason for his visit. “Yer see sarge” he began, still addressing DI Selby as ‘sergeant’ which of course was Selby’s rank in 1916 when we served together. Nevertheless at that stage neither Selby nor I bothered to correct him, instead we both smiled and Dave released another smoke ring.
In any event Plumpkin added “As you may ‘ave guessed by now I’m with MI5” and that’s when Selby raised his hand “‘Ang on a minute ‘ere, are you telling us, that tubby corporal we used to call Plumpkin is now a bleedin’ MI5 agent? If so I don’t believe it” Dave rattled off shaking his head. “Well it’s bloody true” Plumpkin continued “and what’s more I’ve been assigned to clear up this bleedin’ Danny Ross murder case, that I believe you and young Billy ‘ere made a right balls up of sergeant” Plumpkin stated with emphasis on the ‘right balls up’ part. Dave still couldn’t accept it “No, you acting corporal Plumpkin, no mate I just don’t believe it, MI5?” he further exclaimed. I also found this hard to swallow. “Well I’m sorry sarge but that’s the way things are” Plumpkin firmly stated, then began chuckling. “Yeah, well let’s ‘ave less of the sergeant and more of either ‘Sir’ or ‘Detective Inspector’ from yer now on ol’ mate” Dave raved at a then morose looking Plumpkin “and just for the record” Dave pointed at me “yer ol’ mate Auger there is the sergeant now” Dave snapped. “Well yer maybe DI Selby now me ol’ mate, but you’ll always be that ‘RB’ Sgt: Selby we first met sitting in that dugout on the Somme battlefield in June 1916, so there!” Plumpkin remonstrated defiantly. Nevertheless Selby scratched his head, looked towards me and mumbled “‘Im, MI5?” Plumpkin nodded his head and said “Listen”
*
By the time he’d arrived at Fords Motor Company, Martin was undecided as to where he should deliver his remaining five grenades. However on thinking back to that solitary grenade he’d deposited alongside Heathway cinema, Reg. Martin came to the conclusion that he’d armed it with one of Germany’s new type of time delayed action primer. So therefore Sally, his landlady, must have inadvertently placed the wrong detonators with these grenades. None the less it now occurred to him this could in fact lead to his advantage, in as much as it would lengthen the period of time he had to vacate any area he chose to deposit one of these death-dealing contraptions.
Reg. Martin spent roughly half an hour reconnoitring Fords factory. On reflection decided just getting through the gate would present an unnecessary problem in itself, he therefore concluded Fords should be avoided completely and in preference concentrate on Briggs Motor Bodies, it was therefore to this end that Martin settled on exploring a part of Briggs known as the River Plant. He at once realised this part of the factory was decidedly easier to enter than Fords had been. He strolled casually through an open gate and on into what appeared to be a dining hall, no doubt for the workers, he thought. Martin then moved further on and slipped through another unlocked door, where he discovered a row of musical instruments, consisting of bagpipes and drums. He concluded this was also for the workers, a recreation room no doubt obviously used by the firms’ band. It was however a constant humming coupled with the continuous individual revving of engines, that attracted him to a window which was slightly higher than usual, cut into an internal wall. Nevertheless he found by standing on a chair that stood just under the window, he was allowed to view a complete assembly line of Bren gun carriers seemingly in the final stages of completion. On studying this spectacle further, he noticed that as each vehicle reached the front of said assembly line it was then shunted to one side, in order to be replaced by another.
*
Plumpkin went on to explain just how he’d managed to convince the authorities that he was well suited to become a member of the MI5 fraternity. Nevertheless Dave Selby and I found it extremely hard to believe dear old Plumpkin was a ‘secret squirrel’, even though he went out of his way to explain how on being demobbed in 1919, he’d spent two years studying and had subsequently passed all relevant exams. After this another year of studying had followed, and then he was put into a training programme which went on for another two more years. At the end of this he was finally accepted on a temporary basis for a trial period, until he’d proved himself as a qualified field operative.
Even so, Selby still had reservations and insisted on the last word. “Well I can only congratulate yer Jeff on yer achievement, but to me you’ll always be that dozy ‘Acting Corporal Plumpkin’ from ‘2’ Platoon 1st KRRs” Dave chuckled. “Well I wouldn’t ‘ave it any other way mate” Plumpkin retorted as he handed round a pack of cigarettes, then a period of silence followed. I could see Plumpkin studying both Selby and me as he sat puffing hard on his cigarette, then suddenly our old mates face creased into a wide grin and as his eyes went to each of us in turn, he recited the following; “‘Yer know I still can’t believe I’m sat ‘ere with my two ol’ pals, Billy Auger, the barrow boy, our platoon marksman and finally company sniper, and his bleedin’ mentor Sgt: Selby, the battalions favourite Sergeant. The very two men I went over the top with in that butchers field, the bleedin’ Somme, all them years ago”. Needless to say by the time Plumpkin had quit reminiscing, all three of us were well and truly choked up with emotion. I even found myself mopping a tear from the corner of my eye.
However, in the middle of this nostalgic scene DI Selby found cause to rush out and open our front door. To his amazement he discovered DC Willis, hammering madly on the door. Plumpkin and I looked at each other in puzzlement, then we heard Selby bark “Alright son why all this bloody excitement, where’s the bloody fire for Christ sake?” Suddenly the room door where Plumpkin and I sat burst open and both men entered with Selby still persevering “alright, alright calm down son” he tried, showing a touch more patience. I offered Willis my half-smoked cigarette, after one gigantic puff it was back with me. “Now lad just sit quietly and tell us what’s ‘appened,” Selby said in a fatherly tone.
*
Martin quickly observed t
he putty holding the observation window in place was still slightly damp, and could therefore easily be removed. He first made sure the door through which he’d entered, was closed. He then scraped a good deal of putty from around said window, making sure to leave just enough to hold the glass in place for the time being. After this exercise he carefully armed his five remaining grenades, placed three of them near to hand, replaced the remaining two in his jacket pocket. Next he silently removed the glass and lowered it carefully, after which he took two grenades, pulled the pin from each of them, released their safety levers and in an underarm fashion, tossed both missiles through a now clear space. Both grenades ended their journey alongside the conveyer belt. He quickly repeated the process with his third grenade, which rebounded off a leading carrier straight into a vehicle that had already been shunted to one side. He then very swiftly gathered together his walking stick, hat and small case, studied his surroundings for a moment, decided to leave it undisturbed and left.