by Brian Alford
“Yes, yes, whatever you say come on let’s go.”
With unusual speed and urgency Henry bolted out of the lounge door. After Bill and Henry had left the still, and now even more curious Colin, was shocked to find that Henry had not finished his drink. In the annals of Barndem this was a unique event. Henry must have been in a state of considerable anxiety to have been so remiss.
Albert’s Village Provisions, a small overly cluttered shop in the high street had survived on the simple principle of selling everything and anything. Whatever the customer wanted, Albert sold with one notable exception, tinned tomatoes. The current jovial proprietor was not the original Albert; that was his father. Albert the second had taken over the business from Albert the first upon his sad demise. Albert the first had been rummaging in his overcrowded stock room one day when a pile of cartons had toppled over and crushed him. Albert the second found his unfortunate father buried under several cartons of tinned Italian plum tomatoes. An obsessive fatalist, from that day onward Albert the second never stocked tinned tomatoes.
A loud bell announced the arrival of Bill in Albert’s Village Provisions and summoned Albert into the shop. Every customer was assured a friendly smile and courteous service, unless of course they were foolish enough to ask for a tin of tomatoes. “Good day sir. What may I do for you?”
“I’d like some sandwiches please. Do you have any beef and mustard?”
“Indeed yes, it’s one of our most popular lines: freshly made daily.”
“How many do you have?”
Albert was puzzled. “Sorry?”
“I’m giving a little celebration bash and I’d like to take as many as you’ve got.”
“Oh I see. Wouldn’t you prefer a variety? If I sold you all my stock I’d have to disappoint my other customers.”
“No, its a sort of traditional old English supper. It’s got to be beef and mustard.”
“Very well, but you’re going to leave me with a lot of upset customers today.”
Bill muttered to himself. “Better upset than ill.”
“Sorry sir?”
“I said could you give me a bill. You know for the sandwiches.”
Albert gathered twenty packets of sandwiches and placed them in a carrier bag. This was welcome news since Henry had delivered twenty to the shop that morning which meant none had been sold. The transaction complete Bill rejoined Henry who was anxiously waiting round the corner out of sight. Bill held up the carrier bag in triumph but rather than looking relieved Henry still looked miserable.
“What’s the matter with you? We’ve got the sandwiches back so you’re off the hook.”
“We haven’t got all the sandwiches back.”
“I have a feeling I’m not going to like the answer to this question, but what do you mean we haven’t got all the sandwiches back?”
“I, delivered some more this morning.”
“Where to?”
“Barndem Town Hall.”
“Barndem Town Hall? You mean where the Department of Health is, the department that is investigating the mysterious outbreak of food poisoning?”
“Yes. They wanted me to supply sandwiches for a couple of days while the canteen is being inspected and cleaned. They’re worried about food poisoning, some talk about an outbreak”
“Good grief! Were there any beef sandwiches amongst them?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Think Henry.”
“Well probably, it was a mixture of all sorts: egg, cheese, tuna…”
“Beef and Mustard?”
“Well, yes. It’s very popular.”
“Good grief. Come one, we’ve got to get them back before lunch time.”
Jumping into Bills’ car they sped off towards the town hall. They had no idea of what they were going to do simply trusting to luck that inspiration would strike once they had arrived.
Parking in the visitor’s car park Bill and Henry sat in silence staring at the ancient flint and mortar building. Still staring transfixed ahead Bill broke the silence. “Where do you think they will be?”
“Where will what be?”
“Dammit Henry the sandwiches, where will the damn sandwiches be?”
Henry was slightly shocked. He was not used to seeing Bill angry. “Oh right. The tea trolley, you know: the thing the tea lady wheels round. It will be in the kitchen in the basement. She loads it up in the morning and leaves it in the cool cupboard.”
Bill had calmed a little. “How do you deliver the sandwiches?”
“In my car.”
Bill gripped the steering wheel of the car in anger and glared alarmingly. “I mean how do you deliver them into the building?”
“Oh I see, sorry. There’s a back door with one of those entry code things. I knock on the door and if I don’t get a reply I let myself in.”
“Right, come on then.” Bill hurriedly got out of the car.
“Where are we going?”
“To pick bluebells, they’re really nice this time of year.”
“Bluebells?”
“Where do you think we’re going? To find your bloody sandwiches. Now come on. Let’s go round to the back door.”
“And then what?”
“You’re going to find the tea trolley and get the sandwiches back.”
Henry was about to speak but thought better of it when he saw the distinctly unfriendly look on Bill’s face. Getting out of the car Henry followed meekly as Bill strode purposefully towards the town hall.
Round the back the door in question was already slightly ajar and the two men crept quietly inside. Henry was dispatched to the basement while Bill kept watch. Quite what he was going to do if they were spotted he was not sure, probably plead ignorance, or better still ask if this was the way to the Social Security office. He could pretend that Henry had gone off in search of the toilet and that he was waiting for him.
After a few minutes of worried contemplation Bill’s thoughts were interrupted by Henry returning. He looked distressed but more significantly he was empty handed.
“Where are the sandwiches Henry?”
“Gone.”
“What do you mean gone?”
“She’s already done her round and they’ve all been sold.”
“So that’s it then. You’re buggered.”
Henry leant against the wall for support and wallowed in his misery. As he shook his head in despair a small read box caught his attention. It was fixed to the wall at about waist height and had a large plaque above it which read ‘IN CASE OF FIRE BREAK GLASS AND PRESS BUTTON’. Henry stared at the box while an idea fermented in his mind. Below the box hung a little metal hammer. Henry grabbed the hammer, smashed the glass and pressed the button. Immediately a loud siren began to wail.
Bill had watched the procedure aghast. “What the hell did you do that for?”
“It’ll be chaos in the offices. Now’s our chance to get the sandwiches back.”
Henry dashed into a nearby corridor beckoning Bill to follow. Seeing no other alternative Bill meekly obeyed though at that moment he would rather have been somewhere else, anywhere else than following the lunatic ahead of him.
One by one they searched the offices grabbing any of the offending packages in which the sandwiches were wrapped. If it was not beef and mustard it was unceremoniously dumped back on the desk. Otherwise the package was clutched to Henry’s chest as he moved on. Henry avoided the attentions of a curious fire marshal by suggesting that there was a problem in the basement that needed the marshal’s attention. In answer to a challenge in another office Bill reasonably explained their rummaging through desk drawers by claiming that they were looking for a bomb. In yet another office Henry fobbed off the attention of the occupants by claiming himself to be a marshal and ordering them to leave immediately. Without question they marched out while Henry and Bill proceeded to rifle their belongings.
Their sacking of the town hall took them all the way to the third floor and the mayor�
�s office which proved to be deserted, the mayor being away on business in another town. Having finally checked all the offices Bill and Henry sauntered down the stairs and out of the back door by which they had entered. Fortunately for them the marshalling point for the offices was in a park opposite the front of the building, so their escape went unnoticed.
Such excitement was not good for two men of such accumulated years. Panting heavily from their exertions they sat in the car and tried to regain some semblance of composure. Henry clutched the offending sandwiches on his lap while Bill looked at them with curiously.
“They look harmless enough sitting there. Now then Henry, are you sure that is all the sandwiches?”
Henry breathed a long sigh of relief. “Yes.”
“Definitely?”
“Definitely.”
“Then let’s get back to the club for a drink. And we’ll have a serious review of your business activities.”
Unfortunately that was not all. Henry had forgotten one last sandwich; the sandwich which at that very moment was being examined suspiciously by Wingco. In fact it was a sandwich Henry had delivered the previous day and which had resided the club fridge overnight. The chilly residence had obviously not done much to improve it.
With considerable disgust Wingco open the sandwich and sniffed the dubious contents which purported to be beef and mustard.
“Er, Colin, I hope you don’t mind my saying but this sandwich doesn’t seem to be up to your usual standard. Is it one of your efforts rather than your wife’s?”
“Oh, sorry. We didn’t actually make it, its one that I bought in.”
Wingco was still sniffing the sandwich and making a pained face. “Bought in? Where the hell from?”
“Henry. Its a new job he’s got, Mister Quick Nibble franchise. He supplies the sandwiches fresh each day which saves the misses worrying. We still make a small profit. Henry makes some money to pay for his roof repairs. Everbody’s happy.”
“Huh! Everybody except the customer. As for these being fresh, have they changed the meaning of the word? The only thing fresh about this is the bacterial growth. That’s definitely fresh.”
Wingco shoved the plate away in disgust and fortunately for both himself and Henry decided not to eat it. Colin refunded his money and when Bill and Henry returned from their foraging demanded to be reimbursed by Henry. That was the final straw for Henry and he decided there and then to abandon Mister Quick Nibble and hope that the fuss would die away.
And Henry’s roof? Well it so happened that one of the members of Barndem was a builder, or rather he owned a local building company. An affable and generous man, when Geoff Old heard that a fellow member was in difficulties he immediately offered to help. He ordered his men to start work on Henry’s roof straight away. It took longer than anticipated due to the workers being taken ill with some stomach bug. It was probably something they ate though no one was sure what.
On completion of the work the concessionary cut-price cost was set aside for Henry to pay as and when he found the funds. A knowing wink from Geoff as he presented Henry with the bill was taken to mean that payment was expected sometime, probably never. Mercifully, Henry resisted the temptation to offer Geoff payment in kind in the form of sandwiches.
10
Sid’s Revenge
Every year, June the twenty first, the longest day, saw the reigning Barndem club captain perform a strange and unpleasant ritual. From first light to last he would sit in the muddy green water of the large pond that lay between tee and green of the short seventh hole. The expanse of water was not exactly a lake since it was very shallow and liable to drying out in drought conditions. There was however sufficient water to support a variety of wildlife and the insects in particular added considerably to the discomfort of the sitting captain.
The reason behind this strange ritual lies with Sid Pooley, now deceased but once a Barndem member . Sid was a man who possessed wealth beyond the dreams of most. Though he had been a cad and womaniser in his youth, in old age he harboured a hostile and vociferous hatred of women due to having been snubbed in later life by the one woman he actually loved. In his declining years the one remaining love in Sids life was golf and it was to this great love that Sid left a large portion of his wealth. His legacy to Barndem was considerable and the regular annual windfall from the trust did much to support the continuance of the club. But there was a catch, Sid had added a caveat to the will which was to remain with Barndem for all time. The annuity could only be drawn from the trust on condition that the club captain sat in what came to be known as Pooley’s Pond for the entire hours of daylight on the longest day.
A strange condition but one with a simple explanation. It was the club captain incumbent at the time of Sids death that had many years earlier stolen the affections of the woman Sid loved. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but hell had nothing to match the spurned Sid, for Sid was a seriously vindictive man. His perverse mind saw the proscribed ritual not only as an uncomfortable indignity for the captain but also as a way of cleaning the offending part of the captains anatomy. There was also a suspicion that Sid knew that the resultant state of the part in question following eighteen hours submersion in water would have rendered it inoperative for at least one particular function. The captain may have stolen his woman but there was at least one night when she would lie cold in her bed.
Several captains had attempted to extricate themselves from the uncomfortable ritual but the terms of the trust were quite clear. Without the annuity from the trust membership subscriptions to the club would have risen sharply. It was therefore a trivial question of a minor inconvenience to the club captain versus the considerable hostile opposition of Barndem members to increased subscriptions. The continuance of the annual ritual was testimony to which of the two options triumphed. Sid was as clever as he was vindictive. He had been aware of the continued difficulty his legacy would cause. It would be a perpetual reminder of how he was wronged and the shame of the guilty club captain. Sids revenge would continue as long as Barndem needed money and the need for money was sure to continue as long as Barndem continued.
Chris Conrad had accepted the office of club captain gladly; it carried prestige and respect. It also carried the increased likelihood of his becoming Grand Master of the local lodge of Freemasons, a position which itself bestowed considerable business and financial benefits. Considering the potential social and fiscal benefits the duties of captain were fairly light, the worse problems being the frequent mediation that was required between various warring factions within the club. And even in this he was fortunate that Wingco as Honorary Life President felt it his duty to act as the main peacemaker. His only reservation had been the annual ritual of Sids Revenge.
As the awful day approached Chris’ mind increasingly focused on the logistics of sitting up to his waist in cold, muddy water for eighteen hours. What should he wear? What about food? Should he take some food with him or arrange to have it brought to him? It was to his considerable misfortune that the day before the appointed day Chris should have been sitting on his own in a corner of the spacious club lounge bar contemplating his fate when Henry walked in.
“Wotcha Chris. Ready for the big day then?”
“Huh, is a lamb ready for the wolf?”
“Eh?”
Chris reached for the glass on the table in front of him but as he tried to drink found that it was empty. “Doesn’t matter. Can I get you a drink?”
Though his hearing was fading Henry never failed to hear the offer of a drink. So acute was his reception to such offers that he had been known to hear some that had not even been made. Eagerly Henry settled himself in a chair at the same table and waited while Chris signalled to Colin.
“So what’s up then?”
“That’s a pretty damn fool question Henry. You know what’s up: the prospect of spending God knows how long up to my navel in sludge.”
“Duty calls Chris. It’ll soon be over and you’ll be
laughing about it one day.”
“Possibly, provided I don’t catch pneumonia or something worse from that filthy pond.”
At that moment Colin arrived bearing two large whiskys which he placed on the table taking pointed care to avoid the smug look on Henry’s face. The arrival of the drinks seemed to further reinforce the mass of concerns that were fermenting in Chris’ mind. “I know it sounds silly Henry but its the silly things that worry me like what to do about eating and drinking while I’m sat there.”
While his right hand held the glass of whisky, Henry explosively gestured with his free left hand. “No problem, I’ll bring it to you.”
“You will?”
“Of course. We must stick together through these trials and tribulations eh?”
“Well I must say that’s jolly decent of you Henry, jolly decent. Have another drink.”
Even for Henry the offer of two drinks within the space of a few minutes was unusual manna from heaven but his response to the offer was most certainly unusual if not unheard of. “No thanks Chris. I’m OK for now.”
Chris was so preoccupied with what lay ahead he failed to notice the rare event of Henry refusing a drink. “OK fine. Well if there’s anything else I can do for you…”
In a flash Henry seized his opportunity. “Um, there is just one small favour that would be nice. My slate, the committee’s coming a bit heavy about paying. You couldn’t just put a good word in for me could you? Its just that I’m a bit stretched at the moment and ….”
“Say no more Henry. I’ll see what I can do. As you say we must all stick together through these trials and tribulations.”
“Yes right. So what about this drink then.”
Despite his worried state Chris had the vaguest of feelings that somehow he had just been conned. But the thought was quickly dismissed as he recalled Henry’s kind offer and a host of other worries flooded back.
On the appointed day only Chris and Wingco were present at the Pooleys Pond to watch the sun rise over the East hills of the course. As the first rays flickered over the horizon Chris looked pleadingly at Wingco and with a sigh of resignation waded slowly into the pond and gently sat down. Wingco had watched this moment many times and always felt a sense of responsibility to stay at least until the sun was fully risen and the unfortunate captain was bathed in daylight. It did not seem right to abandon the unfortunate man while it was still half dark. Truth to tell also he had been charged with the responsibilty of ensuring that the captain did actually stay put and not emerge when non-one was watching. But he knew Chris to be a man of integrity and departed soon after with the intention of returning every couple of hours to satisfy the executor of the trust.