“You know, you really shouldn’t swear, young man,” said Granny. “Now, I’m going to step on it so hold on tight!”
A moment later, a particularly big petrol tanker thundered by, inches from their heads, beeping its horn.
“Big hairy bottoms!” said Granny.
“Granny!” said Ben, shocked.
“Whoops, that one just slipped out!” said Granny. Grown-ups never lead by example.
“I’m sorry, Granny, but I am not sure this thing is built for a motorway,” said Ben. Just then an even bigger lorry blustered past. Ben could feel the wheels of the scooter lift off the road for a second, as the slipstream dragged it in the lorry’s wake.
“I’ll take the next exit,” said Granny. But before she could, flashing blue lights began to spin behind them. “Oh no, it’s the fuzz! Let’s see if I can outrun them.” She slammed her foot on the accelerator, and the scooter leapt from three miles per hour to three and a half miles per hour.
The police car drove alongside them, and the officer inside gestured angrily for them to pull over.
“Granny, you’d better pull over,” said Ben. “We’re done for.”
“Let me handle this, my boy.”
Granny stopped the mobility scooter on the hard shoulder as the police car parked in front of them, blocking any chance of escape. It was a big car, and dwarfed the scooter like a very tall person dwarfs…well, a dwarf.
“Is this your vehicle, Madam?” said the police officer. He was fat and had a small moustache, which made his fat face look even fatter. He also had a smug expression on his face that suggested telling people off was his favourite thing in the world. Or maybe second favourite, after doughnuts. His name tag said that he was called PC Fudge.
“Is there a problem, Officer?” said Granny innocently, her diving mask a little steamed up from all the excitement.
“Yes there is a problem. The use of motorised mobility scooters on motorways is strictly prohibited,” said the police officer in a patronising tone.
(Other modes of transport not permitted on a motorway are:
Skateboard
Canoe
Roller skates
Donkey
Shopping trolley
Unicycle
Sledge
Rickshaw
Camel
Magic carpet
Comedy ostrich)
“Well, thank you so much for pointing that out, Officer. We’ll remember for next time. Now if you’ll excuse us we are running a little late. Goodbye!” said Granny cheerily, as she restarted the mobility scooter.
“Have you been drinking, Madam?”
“I had some cabbage soup before I came out.”
“Alcohol, I mean,” he sighed.
“I had a brandy liqueur chocolate on Tuesday night. Does that count?”
Ben couldn’t help but chuckle.
PC Fudge’s eyes narrowed. “Then would you care to explain to me why you are dressed in scuba-diving gear with your handbag wrapped in clingfilm?”
This was going to take some explaining.
“Because, because, erm…” Granny was stumbling over her words.
They were done for.
“Because we are from the Clingfilm Appreciation Society,” said Ben with authority.
“I’ve never heard of that!” said PC Fudge dismissively.
“We are very new,” said Ben.
“Just two members so far,” added Granny, continuing the lie. “And we like to keep the society low key, so we have our meetings underwater, hence the wetsuits.”
The policeman looked utterly baffled. Granny didn’t stop talking, apparently in the hope that she might baffle him further.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us, we are in rather a hurry. We have to get to London for an important meeting with the Bubble Wrap Appreciation Society. We are thinking of merging the two organisations.”
PC Fudge was all but lost for words. “How many members have they got?”
“Just one,” said Granny. “But if we join forces we can save money on teabags and photocopying and paperclips and the like. Goodbye!”
Granny put her foot down on the accelerator and the mobility scooter lurched off.
“STOP RIGHT THERE!” said PC Fudge, holding his podgy hand out straight in front of him.
Ben froze in terror. He wasn’t even twelve yet, and he was going to spend the rest of his life in jail.
PC Fudge leaned over and put his face next to Granny’s.
“I’ll give you a lift.”
∨ Gangsta Granny ∧
24
Dark Waters
“Just here, please,” said Granny directing from the backseat of the police car. “Just opposite the Tower. Thank you so much.”
PC Fudge strained as he unloaded the scooter out of his boot. “Well, next time, please remember that mobility scooters are meant only for pavements, not main roads, and certainly not motorways.”
“Yes, Officer,” replied Granny with a smile.
“Well, good luck you two, with the whole…erm…clingfilm-bubble wrap alliance thing.” And with that, PC Fudge sped off into the night, leaving Granny and Ben gazing at the magnificent thousand-year-old Tower of London on the opposite bank of the river. It was particularly spectacular at night, its four domed towers lit up, its reflection shimmering on the cold dark River Thames below.
The Tower was once a prison, with an illustrious list of former inmates (including the future Queen Elizabeth I, the adventurer Sir Walter Raleigh, the terrorist Guy Fawkes, the senior Nazi Rudolf Hess, Jedward*).
≡ I lied about that last one, but I would like to see Jedward locked up for ever in the Tower of London for crimes against music.
Now, though, the Tower is a museum, and home to the priceless Crown Jewels, housed in their own special building, Jewel House.
The unlikely pair of gangstas stood at the riverbank. “Are you ready?” asked Granny, her mask completely steamed up from sitting in the back of a police car for over an hour.
“Yes,” said Ben, trembling with excitement. “I’m ready.”
Granny reached out to hold Ben’s hand, and then she counted, “Three, two, one” and on one they leapt into the dark waters below.
The water was freezing cold even with the wetsuits on, and for a few moments all Ben could see was black. It was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
When their heads bobbed out of the water, Ben took the snorkel out of his mouth for a moment.
“Are you OK, Granny?”
“I have never felt more alive.”
They doggy-paddled across the river. Ben had never been a great swimmer and lagged behind a little. Secretly he wished he had brought his armbands or at least a lilo.
A huge party cruiser, with music blaring and young people shouting, chugged down the river. Granny had swum ahead, and Ben had lost sight of her.
Oh no!
Had she been crushed by the cruiser?
Was Granny in a watery grave at the bottom of the Thames?
“Come on, slowcoach!” shouted Granny as the party boat passed and they caught sight of each other again. Ben sighed with relief, and continued doggy-paddling across the deep dark dirty water.
According to the diagram in Plumbing Weekly, the sewage pipe was situated just to the left of Traitors’ Gate. (This was an entrance to the Tower only accessible from the river, where many prisoners would be taken to be locked up for the rest of their lives or beheaded. Nowadays Traitors’ Gate had been bricked up, so the pipe was the only way into the Tower from the river.)
Then, with a rush of relief, Ben found the pipe. It was partly submerged under the water. It was dark and eerie, and he could hear the echoes of lapping waves reverberating inside it.
Suddenly Ben began to have second thoughts about the whole adventure. As much as he liked plumbing, he didn’t want to have to crawl up an ancient sewage pipe.
“Come on, Ben,” said Granny, as she bobbed up and down in the wa
ter. “We haven’t come this far to give up now.”
Well, thought Ben. If a little old lady can do it, then I certainly can.
Ben took a deep breath and propelled himself into the pipe. Granny followed close behind.
It was blacker than black in there, and after he travelled a few metres he could feel something crawling across his head. He heard an eek-eek noise, and could sense something scratching his scalp.
It felt like claws.
He put his hand on his head.
He touched something big and furry.
Then he realised the awful truth.
IT WAS A RAT!
A giant rat was clinging to the top of his head.
“AAAAHHHHHHHH!” screamed Ben.
∨ Gangsta Granny ∧
25
Haunted by Ghosts
The sound of Ben’s scream echoed through the length of the pipe. He whacked the rat off his head and it landed on top of Granny, who was crawling up the pipe just behind him.
“Poor little rat,” she said. “Be gentle with it, dear.”
“But – ”
“He was here first, now come on, we have to hurry. The sleeping-tonic chocolate cake I gave the guards will be wearing off very soon.”
The pair crawled further up the pipe. It was wet and slippery, and it smelled awful.
(Unfortunately for Ben and Granny, it turns out that ancient poo does still pong.)
After a while, Ben could see a shaft of grey in all the black. It was the end of the tunnel, at last!
He hauled himself out of the ancient stone privy, and then reached down the pipe to help his granny clamber out. They were covered from head to toe in disgustingly stinky black slime.
Standing inside the cold dark toilet, Ben spied a glassless window in the wall. They clambered through this and landed on the cold wet grass of the Tower’s courtyard below.
For a few moments they lay there, gazing up at the moon and the stars. Ben reached out and held Granny’s hand. She squeezed it tight.
“This is amazing,” said Ben.
“Come on, dear,” she whispered. “We’ve barely started yet!”
Ben stood up and helped Granny to her feet.
The old lady immediately started unwrapping the clingfilm that she had waterproofed her handbag with.
This took several minutes.
“I think I may have overdone the clingfilm. Still, better safe than sorry.”
Eventually the mile-long roll of clingfilm was off, and Granny took out a map Ben had cut out of a book in the school library, so the two unlikely thieves could locate Jewel House.
It was eerie being inside the Tower of London courtyard at night.
The Tower is said to be haunted by the ghosts of people who died there. Over the years, several guards have run away in terror, claiming that at the dead of night they had seen the ghosts of various historical figures who had died there.
Now, though, there was something even stranger roaming the courtyard.
Granny in a wetsuit!
“This way,” hissed Granny, and Ben followed her down a walled passage. Ben’s heart was beating so fast he thought he was going to explode.
After a few minutes they were standing outside Jewel House, overlooking Tower Green and the monument to those who were beheaded or hanged there. Ben wondered if he and Granny would be executed if they were caught stealing the Crown Jewels, and a shiver ran down his spine.
Two Beefeaters were lying on the ground, snoring loudly. Their immaculate black and red uniforms emblazoned with ‘ER’ were becoming soiled on the wet ground. Granny’s herbal sleeping tonic in the chocolate cake had worked.
But for how long?
As she hurried past them, Granny let out a familiar quacking sound from her bum. One of the guards’ noses crinkled at the smell.
Ben held his breath – not just because of the smell – but because he was afraid.
Was Granny’s bottom burp going to wake the guard up and ruin everything?
An eternal moment passed…
Then the guard opened one eye.
Oh no!
Granny pushed Ben back, and raised her handbag, as if to clobber the Beefeater with it.
This is it, thought Ben. We’ll be hanged!
But then the guard closed his eye again, and continued snoring.
“Granny, please try to control your bottom,” hissed Ben.
“I didn’t do a thing,” said Granny, innocently. “It must have been you.”
They tiptoed to the huge steel door at the front of Jewel House.
“Right, I just need your dad’s power drill…” said Granny, reaching inside her handbag. With a juddering whirr, she started drilling through the series of locks on the door. One by one the metal locks crumbled to the ground.
All of a sudden the guards snored extremely loudly.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZ ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ ZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Ben froze and Granny nearly dropped the power drill. But the guards slept on and, after a few nerve-racking minutes, the door was finally unlocked.
Granny looked exhausted. Sweat was dripping down her forehead. She sat down on a low wall for a moment, and then pulled out a thermos flask.
“Cabbage soup?” she offered.
“No, thank you, Granny,” replied Ben. He shifted uneasily. “We’d better get going before the guards wake up.”
“Rush, rush, rush, that’s all you kids do these days. Patience is a virtue.” She poured the last of her cabbage soup down her throat, and rose to her feet.
“Delicious! Right, let’s do this!” she said.
The huge steel door creaked as it opened, and Ben and Granny entered Jewel House.
Out of the dark came a flurry of black feathers, hitting Ben and Granny in the face. Ben was so startled he screamed again.
“Shush!” said Granny.
“What were they?” said Ben, as he saw the winged creatures disappear off into the black sky. “Bats?”
“No, dear, ravens. There are dozens of them here. Ravens have lived at the Tower for hundreds of years.”
“This place is spooky,” said Ben, his stomach knotted in fear.
“Especially at night,” agreed Granny. “Now stay close to me, boy, because it’s about to get a whole lot spookier…”
∨ Gangsta Granny ∧
26
A Figure in the Dark
A long winding corridor stretched out ahead of them. This was where tourists from around the world queue for hours to see the Crown Jewels. The old lady and her grandson tiptoed their way silently along it, dripping smelly icy water from the Thames in their wake.
Finally they turned a corner, into the main room where all the jewels were kept. Like the sun bursting through the clouds on a grey day, the jewels illuminated Ben and Granny’s faces.
The pair of thieves stopped in awe. Their mouths fell open as they looked at the treasures laid out before them. They were more magnificent than anyone could imagine. It truly was the most superb collection of precious objects in the world.
Dear reader, not only were they beautiful and priceless, they symbolised hundreds of years of history. There were a number of royal crowns:
St Edward’s Crown, with which the new king or queen is crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury during the coronation ceremony. It’s made of gold and decorated with sapphires and topazes. Proper bling!
The Imperial State Crown, in which were set an incredible three thousand gems, including the Second Star of Africa (the second largest stone cut from the largest diamond ever found. No, I don’t know where the First Star is).
The breathtaking Imperial Crown of India, set with around six thousand diamonds and magnificent rubies and emeralds. Unfortunately not in my size.
The twelfth century gold Anointing Spoon, used to anoint the king or queen with holy oil. Not to be used for eating Coco Pops.
Not forgetting the Ampulla, the gold flask in the form of an eagle which contains that holy oil. Like a really posh th
ermos flask.
And finally, the famous Orb and Sceptres.
That’s a lot of gear.
If the Crown Jewels were featured in the Argos catalogue, they would probably look like this:
Granny took out the rolled-up supermarket carrier bag she’d kept in her handbag, ready to put the Crown Jewels in.
“Right, we just need to break through this glass,” she whispered.
Ben looked at her with disbelief. “I’m not sure we are going to get all of these jewels in there.”
“Well, sorry, dear,” she whispered back. “You have to pay five pence for plastic bags at the shops these days, so I only bought the one.”
The glass was inches thick.
Bulletproof.
Ben had smuggled a few compound chemicals out of his Science class, and combined them to go…
KKKKKKAAAAAAA
BBBBBBBOOOOO
MMMMMMMM!!!!!!
…if set alight.
They stuck the chemicals to the glass with some BluTack. Then Granny attached one end of a ball of pink wool to the BluTack. (Wool would be the perfect fuse.) Then she produced some matches. They just needed to make sure they were far enough away from the explosion. Otherwise they might be blown up too.
“Right, Ben,” whispered Granny. “Let’s get as far away from the glass as we can.”
The pair retreated around a wall, unravelling the pink wool as they went.
“Do you want to light the fuse?” said Granny.
Ben nodded. He really wanted to, but his hands were trembling so much with excitement he didn’t know if he could.
Ben opened the matchbox. There were only two matches inside.
He went to strike the first, but his hands were shaking so much that it broke in two when he did.
“Oh dear,” whispered Granny. “Have another go.”
Ben picked up the second match.
He tried to strike it but nothing happened. Some river water must have leaked out of the sleeve of his wetsuit. Now both the match and the matchbox were soaking wet.
Gangsta Granny Page 8