Issue 425 19th February 2016

What makes a good driver? Blog opportunity ...

2

FLASH FICTION: cider, poker, vehicle, luxury, gorse, turnstile, stretch,

aggravate, roses

Assignment: biscuits

A warm welcome awaits. COME to WORKSHOP ... Every Monday 1.30 start Rising Brook Library

Observation: When politicians refer to the electorate, they always call them ‗hard-

working men and women‘. I‘m sure they have different opinions amongst themselves!

Where would we be without volunteers? Volunteers aren‘t paid because they are ‗worthless‘ ... They are ‗PRICELESS‘...

Bank of snowdrops.

February: Aberfoyle

Why is it when crooked

politicians are caught fiddling

their housing expenses ...

they can simply repay the

thousands they nicked without

appearing before a judge?

If something looks like

corruption and smells like

corruption then ...

Isn’t that what it is?

11th Feb Facebook

Very old

Poster.

Does

anyone

know

anything

about it?

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=15

Random words: worms, card, wheelbarrow, loaf,

substitute, junk-shop, biscuit, city, perturb, monitor,

eye, blushing.

When the TV cameras rolled into town to film an episode of ‗Biggest Bargains‘, everyone was very

excited, especially Joan, the owner of ‗Joan‘s Junkshop‘.

The expert introduced himself to her with a handshake, and Joan, somewhat shy of the cameras,

found herself blushing a deep crimson.

―Keep your eye out for anything unusual.‖ The expert told his two contestants. ―Use your loaf.

We‘re looking for quirky!‖

―How about this?‖ John asked, holding up a beautiful solid silver Edwardian biscuit barrel.

―Oh no. Far too ordinary!‖ the expert said scornfully. ―I can see I will have to monitor you two

closely. For ordinary, let‘s substitute off- the- wall!‖ And he pointed to a rickety old wheelbarrow in

the corner.

―It looks as if the worms have had a good meal on that.‖ Jim answered, perturbed. ―It‘s full of

holes.‖

―Holes to you, are age and history to an antiquarian.‖ The expert sneered. ―They speak of an inter-

esting past life.‖ Reluctantly, they bowed to their expert‘s superior knowledge and bought the bar-

row.

Auction day came round and when their lot came up, John and Jim were amazed at the sea of bid-

ding cards held in the air for their item. It reached a staggering £100 and helped them blow their

opponents out of the water!

IN MEMORIAM In memoriam .... In memory of .... How do we make people remember and what sot of things do we want our friends, our enemies, or the world at large, to remember about us. Sometimes memory centres on something someone says. I can remember a favourite story that my father used to tell. I can still hear him chuckling as he told it. It went like. This. Driving the Jaguar he was so proud of, he was stuck in a traffic jam on the Hagley Road in Birmingham; the traffic solid, just inching slowly forward, starting and stopping - barely moving at all. In the entrance to a side road on the left a taxi driver was fuming because no one would let him through to turn right. Father did the decent thing and the taxi driver squeezed through, then he stopped, wound down his window, and shouted across the traffic, 'Thanks mate! You're the last bloody Christian in Birmingham!' Now, besides being a successful and well regarded business man, father was an elder and leading member of the church we attended each Sunday. Maybe that's why the story tickled him so much. I think perhaps he thought that the taxi driver had a better idea of the way Christ wants his followers to behave in the world than some of us regular churchgoers sometimes have. At any rate, Father's enjoyment of the story is still a vivid memory. Sometimes people build a memorial or put a plaque on a wall. I remember as a boy finding a plaque fixed to an old stone wall in Shrewsbury. It was stunning! I was thrilled to bits. Now I could really brag to my friends at school about a famous ancestor. They'd none of them beat this one, just listen. This is roughly what the plaque said 'On this spot on the twenty third of July, in the year of our Lord one thousand four hundred and seven, Sir Richard Venables was hung drawn and quartered for high treason.' What about that? And what had Sir Richard done? I think he'd just backed the wrong side in a local civil war. The victors wanted to make sure that the memory of his rebellion, and of course, the memory of his punishment was not forgotten.

St.Valentine’s Day 2016

I don’t want a dozen red roses,

Or box of chocolates tied with gold string.

Leave perfume up on the shelf,

Along with the over-sized bling.

I don’t want a meal in a restaurant,

When our kitchen table suits me fine,

Steak and chips sounds very tasty,

And so does a glass of white wine.

Put your money away in your pocket,

A simple card with a message will do,

We’ll toast all those years together,

And truthfully say, I Love You!

On the other hand…..

A ring made of sapphires sounds lovely,

With diamonds to add to the shine.

An armful of colourful tulips,

And a bottle of Baileys – divine!

Chocolates tied in red wrappers,

Will make an acceptable gift,

Or a series of pampering treatments,

Winter’s gloom rubbed away, spirits lift.

On St Valentine’s Day I’ll be waiting

To see if you heed my call.

Will it be sapphires, tulips and chocolates

Or will my words just bounce off the wall?

Communication I believe that a conversation has two distinct, separate but intertwined, facets. The relative values of

these facets varying from moment to moment, and person to person.

Information. This is purely the sounds we make. The language used being irrelevant as long as all parties understand it.

Emotion. All information exchanges have, whether we believe it or not, an emotional content. However, the emotive component changes with the language habitually used and the accustomed sur-

roundings. If you are talking to, say, a Canadian or an Australian, you may share a common root lan-guage, however, the ways of intonation, gesture, and body language used may not be quite the same

as you may be accustomed to. If you are speaking to someone from France, Spain or Italy they will be very different.

Emotion may be conveyed in a number of ways. The most visible is body language: the way a per-son stands or sits, holds, or fails to hold, your gaze, moves their arms or legs during the conversation,

personal space infringement, etc. There are few constants in this facet, but there are many similarities that are learned in childhood.

[NB: Personal space infringement. How close they get to you before you feel uncomfortable, or how close you get to them before they feel uncomfortable. You may want them to feel uncomfortable as a

part of your emotional message to them. (In the UK, 'personal space' with strangers is about arm‘s length)].

Conversation from a distance, e.g. By Telephone, has the effect of partially isolating the parties from

each other, but, as it instantaneous, allows questioning. If it is by written means, ALL emotional content is barred by the medium. Here the requirement is for the writer to either – very carefully - select the appropriate wording and punctuation or advise the

recipient of the emotional state. ―THAT MAN! I hate that man.,‖ said X, is different to: I hate that man!‖ said X, or, ―I hate that man,‖

Probably none of these correctly express the intended meaning but do go some way towards it.

If the conversation is complicated by deafness of some degree this may exacerbate the problem. Those who have lip-reading skills will know that this is an aid to understanding. Nevertheless, as lip-reading is an art, not a science, mistakes often occur resulting in conflicting signals.

Editor note: But, do have a care because over emphasis by use of caps and bold is one of the things beginners have to learn to curb. Allowing the reader to work out things for themselves without ram-ming a point home with a sledgehammer is often too big an ask for some writers and it holds them back.

A glut of everything!

My purple dwarf French beans have cropped very impressively producing pounds

and pounds of small, round beans that do not seem to go stringy however big they

get. The plants themselves don’t look very big in the ground, but get absolutely cov-

ered with beans, so much so, that mom has been topping and tailing them before

blanching and freezing bags and bags of surplus. Consequently, when I wanted to

make room for some autumn planting vegetables, I removed the earlier planted row,

leaving the later planting to go on a bit longer. One of the local garden centres had a

promotional offer on Autumn vegetables as well, so being lazy, we got some trays in-

stead of sowing seed! These included some varieties of Cauliflowers, Cabbage and

Broccoli that can be planted now along with some rather ―late‖ Spring Onions, as I

call them, White Lisbon, that will just crop before the winter. have also bought some

Autumn planting (Japanese) onions, to go in where I have cleared a little more space.

Curly Kale will grow through the winter, but mine went in far too early on in the

season and it would have been much better to have planted only few at time. It has

matured far too early and in such quantity we are having difficulty finding enough

people to eat it. We have even resorted to giving the odd plant to a neighbour for her

Guinea Pigs that has developed quite a taste for it. However, I think it would proba-

bly live on one plant for a week and we have dozens! What I have done is cut the tops

off the plants, leaving just the stalk in the hopes that they will shoot again with some

nice, soft, fresh, new growth through the winter.

Even the beetroot has developed into nice sized roots, although they were sewn

in cells with 3 seeds to each for an early start and then transplanted, which the gar-

dening aficionados always used to say you shouldn’t do with ―Root Vegetables.‖ We

have been pulling a couple of clumps of beetroot at a time to fill a saucepan and boil-

ing them up so that they last for a few days at a time and we can have fresh, cooked,

beetroot every day instead of pickled.

The Pumpkins have been growing everywhere as they have gone rampant and

would have covered half of the surrounding plots and paths if they hadn’t been ruth-

lessly hacked back and composted! We are still a few weeks from Halloween, but are

finding willing takers for them. One local school was having a harvest festival and all

the little children were carrying in cans vegetables of this and that, when a Lady

teacher I know walked in with a rather large Pumpkin I had given her. She said that

the children’s faces were a picture! Another Pumpkin went to a local shop for a Hal-

loween display. I think some people have tried eating them, but they take a bit of eat-

ing as they are so big and we have a half eaten one in the fridge that has been there

for over a week!

Now that the weather has turned a little cooler and wetter, (ignoring our short

―Indian Summer!‖) the Leeks are coming on better and the ―Runner Beans‖ are still

flowering, but one, odd, cold night, a couple of weeks ago, did tip them causing many

of the top leaves to shrivel. The change in weather also brought on

the red and yellow Autumn Raspberry canes that were planted

very late on in the season. I lost all the yellow canes at my other

allotment site and 2 out of the 6 at Hixon. However, when I dug up

the remaining 4 canes, I Actually ended up with 10 nicely growing

plants! The Autumn ―Red’s‖ all ended up being given away as I

had far too many canes. I made a lot of friends on the site that day!

“ALL THAT

JAZZ”

Won the vote and

will be the next

RBW farce.

ALL THAT JAZZ. CAST OF CHARACTERS

Many of these characters are two dimensional as yet: where you have a physical description in mind please write it in some-where so that we all know about it. AND check these notes for updates and send in any updates please.

Hotel staff free for all to use - opening gambits by CMH. Nigel Thomas Bluddschott – Manager part owner of ‗Hotel Bluddschott'. Married to Winifred. Tubby, balding, brown hair,

brown eyes, 34, 5' 7‖ tall. Tenor voice but wobbly and hesitant unless using a prepared script. Not good at thinking on his feet. If something CAN go wrong it WILL. Smuggles brandy, fags and other taxable goods as a part time job.

Winfred Alice Bluddschott (nee Gray) – Manager part owner of ‗Hotel Bluddschott'. Wife of Nigel. Plump more than tubby, brown hair bleached blonde, brown eyes, 35, 5' 6‖ tall. MUCH more capable than hubby with a hard edge to her speech.

CMH.

Sally Gray. - A MYSTERY WOMAN in any case. Don't know (yet) if she's staff, entertainer (torch singer or fan dancer) or

guest. Youngish woman. Tall, hazel eyes, auburn hair, very capable. I have her earmarked as an ex-QA/WRNS/WRAF

officer who has just completed her time & wants to 'get away from it all'. BUT, she could be something entirely different! Norbert Bunbury. Staff, driver and odd job man at the HB. Was Infantryman – possibly W.O.2 (Sgt. Maj.) or higher. I fancy a field promotion, mid 1918, not a Sandhurst man – with a few gongs to his credit. Tall, brown eyes, dark brown hair. Well built.

Blackleg Bill Bluddschott - the ghost of. AT and CMH Comic relief characters. You never know! These ladies may, possibly, be descended from those who went with Captain Fowlnett onboard 'The Star' in 'Packet to India'. They are middle aged, overweight, often slightly 1-over-the-8 and about to be tented! Vera Accrington -

Gloria Stanley - Dorothy Calcutt (their much younger niece) Ronnie Manservant only lasts a day.

NP Griggleswade (Griggles). Flyboy. Ex-RAF now working for M.I.5 (or something) as some kind of 'Air Detective'. Ch. Supt. Chorlton-cum-Hardy. Previously Colonel. Griggles superior officer in M.I.5

Mossy. Working with Griggles. Windle. Working with Griggles. Jones. Aircraft mechanic works for Griggles.

Wilhelm von Eisenbahn, aka Osbert Lessly or 'Big Shorts'. Khaki Shorts leader. Comrade 'Ironside' aka Joseph. Lenin boys leader. Comrade Plotskie aka Leon. Assistant to 'Ironside'.

ACW.

Christiana Aggott posing as Lady Arbuthnot Christian. Novelist. Actually married to Col. Beaumont Walsgrave but using a nom-de-plume for secrecy; & for advertising purposes about her new book, 'The man who shed crocodile tears'. (This neatly gets the requisite reptile into the plot line)

Arbuthnot Aggott or Uncle Arbuthnot. Head of a Security Organisation (Home Office?) Christiana is working for him.

General Arbuthnot Aggott. Christiana's father and brother of Arbuthnott Aggott. Something in the War Office (as the

MoD (Army) was known then) to do with Counter Espionage. Col. Beaumont Walsgrave. Christiana's sorely missed hubby.

Bright Young Things: Ruby Rawlings, Charlotte Ponsonby-Smythe & Katherine Wallasey. Bright Young Things brothers: Everet Rawlings, Eugene Ponsonby-Smythe & Virgil Wallasey.

Communists et al ACW Comrade St. John. Lenin boys Comrade Bunson-Smythe. Lenin boys

Bro.?? Muckleby. Leader of 'The Workers Party' also something to do with Arbuthnot Aggott. Bruder Wilhelm Bergmann. German trades union leader.

Bro. Kevin Harvey. A Workers Party member. (Changed from Hardy) Ernst Graf von Rockenbaker. Sir John Keithly.

Lord John Markham. Sir Martin Wickham.

SMS. Barnard Hot Sax Player Musician and nice guy. Errol Holiday. Band leader and piano player Tallulah tubby torch singer Errol‘s girl friend, hates Jo-Jo Jo-Jo. Fan dancer from Red Parrot Club, Paris sister of Errol. Hates Tallulah.

Cpt Digby Makepeace — hotel guest Barrington nephew of Makepeace knew Jo-Jo in Paris and knows PoWales.

LF Rooster Pearmaine detective — drunkard

Balsom Fry valet Cpt Hove-Brighton assistant on trail of missing novelist

AP

Boys and Girls Camp‘s characters and storyline Gilbert and Walter

Simon Bligh pack leader Jenny H.B. STAFF LIST. Awaiting names/descriptions and free to use. Head Waiter. Head Gardener. Head Chef. (Unnamed but has been used) Geordie pretending to be a French Chef, as they get paid more. No good at accents. Head porter/Concierge. 'Dell boy'. He knows about the smuggling racket. Wine Waiter/Sommelier/barman. All on the take from the 'duty free' wine.

CMH Helpful ? NOTE 1. If you are going to involve Security Forces (police and military) then please note that there was nothing like the MoD, it was FOUR (4) separate organisations. Admiralty for the Royal Navy. War Office for the Army. Air Ministry for the RAF. The Home Office for the Police. However, Policing was done by County/Borough. The Home Secretary couldn't give orders to the Chief Constable and the Met. was ―Asked to assist‖ if he thought they were required. I would think that Trentby, being a City or Borough would have its own Police force. Just to make things interesting H.M.Customs was – still is - a part of the Treasury. As civil servants, they did NOT have military rank equivalence or titles nor, except for two of the higher grades, dress uniforms. It gets complicated because in 1923 there were a few organisational 'hold-overs' from earlier times and some officers did get working uniforms issued.

The Chase ACW

Beaumont‘s turn at steering on the bridge of the motor yacht on that bright summer‘s day seemed routine, until he heard the noise of another ship astern and espied a cargo ship, obviously

unladen as high on the waterline and coming at full steam behind him, festooned with a red flag. Beaumont gunned the motor and began a cat and mouse turn and turnabout to prevent the

cargo ship coming alongside and the crew boarding them. Christiana came up onto the bridge. Beaumont ordered, ‗Get back down below woman, we‘re being chased for some reason.‘

Christiana informed, ‗There‘s a senior communist leader and his wife in the state bedroom, who are very cross indeed.‘ And ran back down below deck.

The cargo ship hove alongside and turned to hit the motor yacht amidships. Beaumont shouted, ‗Brace‘ and swiftly came about to avoid the ships colliding, and ran for an is-

let in the hope that the shallower draught of the motor yacht would defeat the cargo ship following.

A heavily muscled man in his 30s, sheet white in the face from rage, hurled into the bridge and began to struggle with Beaumont. Both opponents being equally strong and in recent battle experi-

ence. Shots ploughed a furrow in the timber of the bridge, smashing window glass, and ricocheted off

the metal work on deck and other upper housing of the motor yacht, coming from raking fire of ri-fles aimed at them from the cargo ship.

Beaumont and his opponent had to crouch down to take cover and the motor yacht turned crazily

about, port and starboard. The leader‘s wife came up on deck and took cover by the lifeboat.

As the yacht turned too abrupt, the communist leader was slammed against the rail and then fell overboard.

His wife jumped into the sea after him. The cargo ship cut its engines and abandoned the chase to pick them up, giving Beaumont the

chance to take a commanding lead and make good their escape.

Up on the cargo ship, the sodden couple were helped on deck with the aid of a rope ladder. ‗Shall we pursue to regain your yacht, comrade Eisenbahn?‘ Suggested the Skipper.

Hugo Eisenbahn, the communist leader, ordered, ‗No, make back for the island with all speed, before they kill my daft brother as a fascist plotter. Turns out the Khaki Shorts plans never came to fruition as every blessed man was an undercover spy of some sort.‘

The laughter of the crew was cut short by the look of thunder on Hugo‘s face.

''Course not,' said Walter, swallowing.

'I wouldn't normally,' said Gilbert apologetically, 'but I seem to have a blister on my heel.'

'Don't think about it,' said Simon. 'Mind over matter and all that. Now, which way?'

They came upon the wagon exactly as they'd left it. 'There it is,' said Walter with some pride. 'See all the wood we col-

lected? We had to take some off to lighten the load so we could push it. Not that we couldn't push it, it's just that we

wanted to get back quickly so you could have your fire an' your dinner an' that...' He became aware his words were falling

on deaf ears. Everyone was either pulling the wagon against the sand or collecting the timber that had been flung off.

'Put your shoulders to this, can't you?' shouted Simon, who was straining every muscle against the back.

'Try digging it out,' yelled someone else.

'Heave it this way,' came another voice.

A gust of wind flung a flurry of sand into eyes, mouths. The landscape became greyer. Walter thought of the warmth

of his comfortable bed, his mother bringing his cocoa. 'Push!' screamed Simon. Walter pushed.

At length the wagon came free and, by carrying much of its burden in their arms, heads down against increasing

squalls from the sea, they all managed to make the tree again. 'This is where it was,' gasped Walter collapsing.

'But it wasn't full of wood, was it?' said Simon. 'Didn't you say there was a cave? Just show us where the cave is and

then the other Trackers will take you back to camp. I'll stay and transfer by myself,' he added magnanimously.

Now the cause of this magnanimity was threefold. Firstly, as previously mentioned he knew he was being assessed for

promotion, and he suspected his fellow trackers would give a low leadership mark to someone who worked a couple of

new recruits to death, or who interfered too much with their own sleep if it came to that. Secondly he was, really, a kindly

sort of lad and the young boys' exhaustion was getting to him. But thirdly, and for this reason he would have moved

twenty times that weight of wood twenty times as far with nobody at all to help him, thirdly he would be standing where

Jenny Buckle had stood, stacking where she had stacked, using skills she had used so the timber would be aerated but

firmly built, so it would dry but not come down if some individual of lesser experience tried to take a piece. For yes, this

was undoubtedly the stash used by the Lady Vixen to keep her charges warm, fed and content.

Simon therefore worked happily, trotting up to the wagon and down to the cave, only vaguely aware of the ever ris-

ing wind and the ever falling dark. When he finished he had no desire to return to his own camp, to his own charges. He

stood there in the black cave breathing in the essence of Jenny that writhed like invisible vapour all around him. She

must have walked on this very floor, leaned on this very wall. How often, she must have stood here over the years, on

firewood duty as a young Kit, leading a group of little ones as a kindly Grey Coat, taking more responsibility as a

Golden Eye, then finally being crowned Lady Vixen.

It was certainly getting rough out there, he half noticed, but here inside the cave, nothing stirred. Here he could stand

just dreaming about her, contentedly gazing out to the boiling sea, as she must have so often have done. The moon came

out briefly from behind the raging clouds. Hang on, was that a light? He strained to see. No, he was mistaken. Just surg-

ing blackness, pounding against the rocks... suddenly he was aware of a presence behind him. Not a sound, not a move-

ment, just a… he spun round and flashed on his torch. And there it was—the dancing smile beneath the sweet little nose

flanked by merry cheeks and silken curls.

'Simon!' said Jenny. 'What are you doing here?'

He felt the blood rise to his ears. 'I just… I just… I…'

'Just came to return the wood your lads took?'

'You knew?'

'My girls watched them all the way.'

Simon tried desperately to summon up a little insouciance. 'So you felt you couldn't miss this opportunity to meet

up?' How he wished his voice would behave, not crack and falter like that.

Hers was perfectly controlled, sweet and low as ever. 'Well,' she said. 'Well actually no, I couldn't.'

Simon did not believe his ears.

'You mean you …?'

In the light of his torch she met his eyes. Her own torch dangled at her side. 'I do want to meet up, Simon,' she said

softly. 'It would be lovely to spend some time with you, to get to know you better. But not here. Shall we have lunch at

the Hotel tomorrow? We can talk then to our hearts' content. Now go back quickly before this storm becomes impossi-

ble.' And she put her hands on the shoulders of the flabbergasted Simon and planted her lips on his cheek.

He spluttered. 'Jenny! Oh Jenny...'

'Go,' she said. 'Go quickly and safely.' She stepped away and kissed her fingers to him. Reluctantly he kissed his fin-

gers back, then turned and leapt across the spray-whipped rocks like a springbok on helium.

5

When Simon reached camp the enormity of the storm burst upon him for the first time. This was because tents were

billowing like bubbles from a giant's wash tub, poles were lurching at crazy angles and every Tracker in his patrol was

straining on a guy rope. Except two. Well three actually. Simon, with an enormous sense of guilt, flung himself into the

fray. Feeling his love was watching him somehow, he took control at once, giving the clearest orders, leading his men in

heaving, hammering, bailing out, fetching rocks to weight edges and groundsheets, diggging channels to divert the gath-

ered water, and resurrecting flattened windbreaks. Eventually the ring of tents stood to attention, the guy ropes pulled in

harmony and the ground was no longer one huge puddle. The exhausted Trackers could at last gather in the tucker tent,

light up the primuses and brew some cocoa. 'Well done skipper,' shouted someone and a round of applause broke out.

Simon’s heart swelled fit to burst. 'Well done men,' he answered, and felt that Jenny Buckle was applauding too.

He snuggled into his sleeping bag in a warm and rosy glow. He was bound to get promotion now. At last he felt wor-

thy of her. He saw them both wandering arm in arm down a sunlit lane, into a whitewashed cottage with smoke curling

gently from the chimney. He saw her laying dinner lovingly before him on a snowy cloth before the cosy fire. She would

have made his favourite sage and onion to stuff the chicken, roasted potatoes and parsnips he'd grown in the garden, a

garden with a white picket fence to stop the babies wandering. A chubby boy in dungarees and his little sister in a pink

sunbonnet, all smelling sweetly of baby soap. Maybe they would have a springer spaniel, maybe a couple of… and in

spite of the roar of the wind and the lashing of the rain, Simon slept.

5A

He was woken suddenly by a sound. Not the gale, which still raged, but by a sharp thin cry above it. He sat up and listened. It sounded like 'Help!' He stopped breathing, listened with all his being. Yes, it was defi-

nitely that. 'Help! Help!' a long thin wail. He pushed his head out into the wild night and heard the call again. It seemed to be coming from over the hill. Quickly donning oilskins and boots he set off into the blinding bar-

rage of rain. When he reached the summit he saw, down below, a tent which had come away from its moor-ings. Forwards and backwards it lurched, crooked and bent as if on a hinge. Ridge pole's gone, thought Simon, and running and sliding he raced towards it, wondering who it could be in such a predicament. Not

any of the Trackers, they were all safely behind him. The girls were snug up in the ruins and those strange

Khaki Shorts men were in the trees way over to the south. Anyway, this was a female voice. But whoever it

was, they were in a dire situation; any moment now the whole tent would take off into the sky. For a moment the clouds were flung away from the moon and he saw a figure in a long white wind-whipped garment, hair fly-

ing, trying desperately to hold the ridge pole together. Another clung for all it was worth to a guy rope. Both were female and obviously terrified, not to mention soaked by rain and the saturated canvas.

He drew level with them 'Get you coats on,' he yelled. They turned to Simon with mouths agape. He saw that the one holding the pole was much the younger. It was she

who recovered first. 'Oh, thank goodness you've come,' she cried. 'Our tent seems to have broken.' 'Yes,' he said. 'We'll have to get you into the hotel for the night. It's just down the road.' The women looked at each other and then at him. 'But there is no room in the hotel,' said the older woman. 'That's

why they've stuck me out here. And my daughter Geraldine,' she added as an afterthought. 'Disgraceful I call it. We booked in absolutely properly you know, and then when we get here...'

'Just leave it to me,' said Simon, with a certainty that surprised himself. He had no idea at all how he was going to deal with this situation, but deal with it he would. He helped them into their warmest clothing and away from the flailing tent. 'This way,' he said as he guided them gently over the grass and on to the road. 'It's not very far.' And indeed he

could already see a light through the front door. 'Look,' he said. 'There's the night porter.' But it was not the night porter. Behind the desk the figure of Nigel Bluddschott himself was busy counting out money

from the till. He started as Simon pushed the door open. 'We're closed,' he said. 'These people need help, their tent's blown down' said Simon. 'Lucky we caught you.' 'Caught me?' What do you mean? I'm just doing my accounts. Managing a hotel isn't a nine to five job you know.' 'I know, I'm sure you work very hard, I know you do, but I also know you're a kind man and these ladies are in such

a dreadful predicament that I think only you have the power to help them.' 'Oh.' Slightly mollified Bluddschcott regarded the dripping figures before him. 'But we're full up,' he said. 'If you could just get them towels, dry dressing gowns perhaps, and let them rest in the lounge till morning.' 'We booked in perfectly properly, you know,' said the woman. 'I have a good mind to write to my MP. Look at us.

Scandal I call it. Yes, just as soon as we get home that's what I intend to do...' 'Oh,' said Bluddschcott again. 'Oh, all right. Just wait till I… till I… ' and clutching a fistful of notes that seemed to

have come from the till he bent down beneath the desk, where they were apparently grabbed by an unseen agent for he straightened up empty handed and kicked the trapdoor closed. 'Safe – keeping,' he explained briefly.

'What's this? What's this?' They turned as one at the voice. It came from a pink candlewick robed figure on the stairs whose head appeared to consist of orange sausages. 'What is going on?' asked Mrs Winifred Bluddschcott.

'It's these ladies, dear. Their tent has blown down and I was just about to get them a towel.' 'A towel! What use do you think a towel will be? Honestly Bluddschcott I despair of you. What they need is hot baths

and a liberal sprinkling of brandy. Unless you want them to die of pneumonia. Come along my dears,' she addressed the ladies in more soothing tones. 'I'm a trained nurse, you know. And I'm sure we can find you a nice room for the rest of

your holiday.' So, wreathed in reassuring smiles, she led them away.

5B

Morning brought a sky washed pristine blue in which the smell of frying bacon hung. 'Chop chop,' grinned Simon poking his head

through the consciousness of Walter and Gilbert. 'If you want breakfast you'd better get up before it's all gone.'

Seeing the sense of this they leapt out of their pyjamas, into their uniforms, out of the tent—and straight into a deep and soggy

trench. 'Hey!' cried Walter as he struggled upright. 'Who put that there?'

'We did,' said a beetle-browed youth. 'And you should have been helping us. Can't believe you slept through that storm last night.

If we hadn't dug that trench you would have been drowned. You should be grateful we weren't all snoring away like you.'

'Oh,' said Walter gruffly. 'Oh, thanks.'

The boys ate their breakfast in silence as they listened to the day's orders. They were to leave at ten-minute intervals with a map

containing various check points. These would take them little by little to supplies and equipment until they judged they had all they

needed for a dinner.

'You'll see a splash of white paint on a rock or a tree,' said Simon. 'That's where you'll find what you want. Sure you two will be all

right on your own?'

'Of course we will,' chorused Walter and Gilbert, determined to make up for their recent slackness.

'OK, go first,' said Simon. 'Jim and Bill you go second and keep an eye out for them. I'll meet everyone back at camp at twenty

hundred hours.' For of course he intended to make lunch with Miss Jenny Buckle last as long as possible.

So off our heroes set. 'Here's the path,' said Walter at once. 'Look, it goes up to that big rock there. Bet you it's covered in white

paint. Come on, race you.'

'I'm not sure…' began Gilbert, but Walter had already set off and of course nothing on this earth would have stopped Gilbert, who

was the better runner, from taking up the challenge.

They arrived at the rock together, and it was totally paintless. 'Oh,' said Walter.

'I was tryin' to tell you,' said Gilbert. 'We were goin' the wrong…'

'It must be this way then,' said Walter. 'Come on, we don't want those others to catch us up.'

'No, I don't think...' said Gilbert, who had once pulled a compass out of a Christmas cracker and learned a little of north and south

on a map and the position of the sun at mid day. But Walter was already careering across the meadow. So, breathing a sigh of resigna-

tion, he followed.

'Oh dear,' said Walter when they reached the next unadorned stone, 'Oh dear' and 'Oh dear' for the subsequent five that presented

equally as nature intended, until he sank down with a dejected, 'We need a bit of a rest.'

Gilbert, seeing at last a means of relieving his frustration, grabbed the map and lined it up. 'Now,' he said, 'This must be where we

are. See that building? Prob'ly the Hotel marked here. And those ruins where we went yesterday are here, and the coast and the

sun are in that direction, so we must be in the middle.' He waited for Walter's response, and as none came, added, in a daring bid

for leadership, 'Stands to reason.'

Walter snatched back the map and studied it. It was true, the ruins did lie just to the left of them and what was more they

sported a large cross indicating a check point. 'That's what I meant,' he said. ' That's why I brought you up here, so we could see

everythin' clear and decide which paint we were goin' for first. I say we go for the ruins, bet there's a whole dinner there.'

They looked over at the ruins and saw a slim figure strolling along the road towards the hotel. The sun shone on her golden

curls and even from their position the boys could see every step indicated merriment. And here, hurrying to meet her came an-

other figure, one they definitely recognised. It was Simon. He was positively exuding joy. They met, exchanged greetings, and

then proceeded happily arm in arm towards Bluddschott Manor.

'Wow!' said Walter. 'Look at that!'

'Can't see any check points marked down there,' said Gilbert.

'Plain cheating, goin' to a hotel for your dinner whilst the rest of us have to scrabble about with maps,' said Walter.

'Never mind,' said Gilbert. 'We only have to go over there and we'll find everything we want.

But when they reached the old stones they realised there were quite a lot of them. The first one showed not a trace of paint,

nor the second. 'Maybe it all got washed off in the rain and that last night,' said Walter, his spirits sinking again. He continued to

the next wall, and the next until at last, Hey!' he yelled, for there, blazoned in white, was the coveted mark. 'Hey!' he called again,

expecting Gilbert to come running. But Gilbert did not. 'I've got it!' shouted Walter. Still no response. Walter looked behind him

and saw only blue sky, long grass, and a few shrubs among fallen stones. 'Gilbert?' he called. Then 'Gilbert! Gilbert!' He retraced

his steps, peered north and south, east and west, but there was no sign at all of his friend.

6

'Gilbert?' Walter spoke more softly now as anxiety gripped tighter. He peered round a couple of stones. Nothing. He moved a

little more quickly between them, began to run. Round and round he went, nausea rising from his stomach, 'Gilbert! He shouted –

and the ground gave way beneath him.

'Hello,' said Gilbert.

Walter sat up in a tunnel walled by solid rock and stretching each way into blackness. It had a hole in the roof curtained by

greenery through which shafts of sunlight (and recently Walter) fell. 'How did you get here?' he asked.

'Same way as you,' said Gilbert. He was rubbing his knees vigorously. 'Looks like a tunnel,' said Walter.

But Gilbert had had time to think further. He lowered his head and said, 'I think it's the smugglers' tunnel.'

William stared at him. 'Stands to reason,' went on Gilbert, who was getting to enjoy the phrase. 'If the cave with all the wood

in was the smugglers' cave, this tunnel could easily have joined to it.'

'If you're right,' said Walter, 'and I'm not saying you are mind, if you're right and we go along here we should come out at

there.'

Suddenly Gilbert had a thought. 'What if the cave's full of smugglers?' he whispered.

Walter realised his chance of firming up his grip on leadership had arrived. He drew himself up to his full height, straightened

his tie, adjusted his cap. 'I'll go so quietly they won't hear me,' he said. 'They'll never know I'm there. You needn't come if you

don't want to.' But Gilbert, who had no wish to be left on his own, assured Walter, and attempted to assure himself, that he would

not miss this particular adventure for the world. So, fingers to lips, the boys started creeping slowly, slowly along beside the wall,

until at last , they could hear breaking waves smell salty sand, and the light in the tunnel increased. 'It is the place,' Gilbert was

about to shout in triumph, but realised he could not because Walter's hand was across his mouth. For Walter had rounded the cor-

ner and seen that the cave was not empty.

7

The man the boys now peeped at was immensely tall, hefty and sported a bushy beard. He gazed out to sea, which they con-

sidered very lucky for them as they edged backwards the way they'd come, holding their breath. When they could hold it no

longer they leaned gingerly against the wall, took in gulps like a couple of goldfish, and crept on further until they needed to gulp

once more. At last they reached their point of entry and, still silent, summoned all their strength to pull themselves up into the

sunshine again. Then they ran as far as they could before collapsing in a heart-thumping sprawl.

Walter eventually recovered his breath.'Wow,' he said. 'That was close.'

'Did you see the size of him?' said Gilbert in awe.

Walter had seen the size of him.

'Did you see that beard?'

Walter confirmed the beard. 'And those earrings!' he said. Gilbert could not really remember the earrings – they hadn't exactly

hung about – but if Walter was convinced he must have been sporting a pair... 'Pure solid gold, I 'spect,' he said.

'And that scarf thing he was wearing on his head.'

Gilbert wasn't so sure about the scarf either. 'Was he?'

'Course he was. All smugglers do.'

'Sure that's not pirates?'

'Both. And daggers.'

'I don't remember…'

'Well it would've been hidden, wouldn't it? Stands to reason you can't walk around in front of everyone with a dagger show-

ing. You'd soon get locked up wouldn't you? And that would be the end of smugglin' for you.'

'S'pose so,' said Gilbert. 'Prob'ly had his pistol hidden too.'

'Real hairy legs,' said Walter. 'Like a gorilla.'

'Yes,' said Gilbert. Funny to see a smuggler in shorts.'

'My dad's got some like that,' said Walter. 'Needed them when he was in Gallipoli because it was so hot. Wears them for gar-

denin' now. I expect it's heavy work smuggling all those barrels and things and you'd get too hot if you wore regular trousers.'

They lay there contemplating the blueness of the sky and their own lucky escape.

8

Meanwhile Simon was contemplating the blueness of the eyes gazing into his own. As he took another sip of the amber liquid be-

fore him he realised what an 'out of body' experience meant. He was getting used to the brandy now. It warmed smoothly as it went

down, and the eyes became even bluer. 'You are so… so… beeyoo… so beeyoot…' he said and slid from his chair to the floor.

Jenny sprang up with a cry as did the two other occupants of the dining room. Waiters came running. 'Get Mrs Bluddschott,' one

shouted. But it was Mr Bluddschcott who bustled up.

'What's this? What's this?' He leaned over the flushed but foolishly grinning face beneath the table. 'We'll have to get him out of

here,' he muttered. 'Can you give me a hand?' But as Jenny bent to grasp an arm she was swept away by the landlady of the establish-

ment.

'I'm a trained nurse,' she informed the room. 'He's just fainted with the heat. I'll sort him out in no time.' And off she strode half

carrying, half dragging the poor lad.

'Oh well,' said Jenny. 'He seems to be in good hands so I'll get back to my girls,' and she headed for the door, but not before she'd

slipped a piece of paper to mine host. He transferred it swiftly to his back pocket, watched with interest by the younger of the diners

present.

9

The boys up on the hill began to feel the cravings which torture when stomachs have been neglected for too long. They therefore

stood up to set off for the ruins, but immediately dropped flat again as a bearded face appeared over the cliff. The face was followed

by burly arms and a stomach over which binoculars dangled. 'It's him,' Walter mouthed silently to Gilbert. They flattened themselves

against the grass hardly daring to breathe until curiosity became too much and Walter risked raising his head ever so slightly. He fell

back down at once. 'He's behind a rock, watching that girl who was with Simon,' he whispered, aghast. 'I can see her comin' along the

road from the hotel, and Simon's not with her.

'Why?' muttered Gilbert.

'Still eating?' Walter suggested.

'No, I mean why's the smuggler watchin' her?'

Walter shrugged his shoulders to indicate he did not know.

Human nature then dictated that Gilbert must check up on Walter's assessment of the situation so he too raised his head. 'You're

right,' he breathed as he sank down again. She's nearly up to the ruins and he's watching her through those things.'

'Binoculars,' hissed Walter. 'All smugglers have binoculars.'

'Why?'

'Stands to reason. They need to be able to see the police comin'.'

'She's not the police. She's too small and… and... like that statue my mother has in the china cabinet.'

'That shepherdess thing that your mother's always sayin' is fragile?'

'Yes. Nobody fragile could get into the police force.'

Walter had no answer for this logic so he raised his head again and carefully examined the rock. Then he sat up. 'He's gone,' he

said.

Gilbert checked and agreed. 'So's she,' he said. Then, 'Do you think we should tell Simon? That smuggler's probably after her.

Probably wants to smuggle her away and marry her or something so she can do the cooking for all the smugglers and the washing and

that.'

Walter said he doubted smugglers wanted that much washing done but he was starving and if they got back without eating it

would be the worst for them because it stood to reason there'd be no camp fire dinner that night. Accordingly they repaired to where

they had rightly guessed beans bread, butter, jam and apples to be hidden and also a bottle of water, a tinopener and all the cutlery

necessary for a satisfying feast.

'I think we ought to track him,' said Walter as they munched. 'After all, we're the ones who know what he looks like. Stands to

reason Simon can't catch him if he doesn't know what he looks like.'

Gilbert agreed, though a trifle doubtfully. 'But what if he brings all his smuggler friends?'

'I think they're away getting some smuggling to bring in. They weren't with him in the cave, were they? And they weren't with him

on the hill just now. I think they've left him here to find a wife who can do all the cooking and that for them when they get back. We'll

have to act quickly before they do.'

'Do you think he'll tie her up while he waits for them?'

'Stands to reason. She'd run away else, wouldn't she? Don't s'pose she'd be that keen on the idea of cooking and washing for all

those dirty smugglers. Would you? No, he'll have to tie her up and prob'ly drug her as well. Then he'll fling her in the boat and take

her to a remote island where she'll be a prisoner for life.'

Both boys contemplated this unsavoury fate as they chewed.

'She looks so nice too,' said Gilbert. Sort of jolly. Not like most girls.'

'Simon likes her,' said Walter.

So the boys agreed they would rescue Miss Jenny Buckle from a fate worse than death.

10

'Trouble is,' said Gilbert, 'he's bigger than us.

Walter had to agree. 'We'll have to be cunning,' he said. They munched on in silence.

'Pit trap might do it,' suggested Gilbert.

Walter was scornful. 'Oh yes, we can get a pit trap dug before the other smugglers come back, can't we? Like to see you dig a pit

big enough to trap him. What would you use? That spoon? And anyway, we don't know which way he comes. Might even live in the

cave. Like to see you dig a pit trap through the solid rock on the floor of that cave.'

'All right!' shouted Gilbert. You think of something.'

A long silence ensued. Then Walter said, 'We could get a pea shooter and shoot a poisoned dart through it.'

'And what are you goin' to use for poison. Carry it about do you? Got a pocket full or somethin'?

'There must be poisonous mushrooms about. There usually are. They're always tellin' you never to touch mushrooms you find be-

cause most of 'em are poisonous.'

'Found any here? I can't recall seeing a load of mushrooms. Might've missed them of course, but if you've seen some…'

'All right!'

'Tell you what though,' said Gilbert after another long gap, 'a catapult might do the trick. Think of David and Goliath.'

They both thought of David and Goliath until Walter eventually shook his head. 'Nah,' he said. 'Prob'ly wouldn't work for us. ' And

Gilbert had to agree that David had been operating under special circumstances.

Walter, reluctant to relinquish the poison theme, had another idea. 'We could borrow some aspirins from the medicine chest and

creep up and drop them in his tea. It always says on the bottle you mustn't take more than two. We could crush up say, six.'

'What would that do?'

'Make him unconscious, obviously. If we could make him unconscious we could tie him up and rescue the girl.'

Gilbert turned this idea over. It did seem the best so far. But it could not be denied that there was one glaring drawback. 'Do we

ask him to come for a picnic then?' he asked. 'And say, ―Would you like one aspirin or two‖?'

'No,' said Walter with exaggerated patience. 'We track him and wait till he gets his flask out then creep up and fling the aspirin in

first. All grown ups need loads of tea. They're always drinkin' it. Can hardly go half an hour without a cup of tea. I bet that's where he

is right now. Down in that cave drinkin' tea.'

'We could lasso him now then,' said Gilbert.

'If we had a rope with us,' replied Walter.

So it was decided that all capture/rescue attempts must be left until the next day, and the boys returned to camp.

11

When they got back there was no sign of Simon. Jim and Bill appeared however, and were very relieved to see the boys, for they

had forgotten all about their supervisory role and spent most of their time sunbathing and swimming with a couple of luscious golden-

eyes from the Vixens' camp.

'Found your tucker all right?' Bill asked.

'Course,' said Walter. 'We had a feast.'

'We knew you'd have no trouble,' said Jim. Watched you all the way.'

'You were good,' said Bill.

The boys looked modestly down and Gilbert whispered, 'Shall we tell them?'

'No!' Walter's voice was low but definite.

'Sorry?' said Bill.

'Nothin'' said Walter. 'We ought to go and get ready for camp fire.'

'Suppose so,' said Jim. 'Simon's not back yet. But we'll carry on without him or you young ones will be too late to bed.'

So they absent-mindedly sang about finding peanuts, eating worms etc and drank their cocoa as they each plotted how to catch the

ogre and rescue the shepherdess.

When they were in bed Walter whispered, 'We'll need rope.'

Gilbert said, 'There's some in the stores tent. It's for when we're goin' to do rock climbin'.'

'I know,' said Walter. That's the stuff I mean. As soon as they're all in bed I'm goin' to creep out and get it into here.'

'Why do you want it in here? They might need it tomorrow and find it gone.'

'Well if they need it tomorrow they'd better find it gone, hadn't they? Otherwise it won't be there for us. We need it more than they

do. In fact the smugglers might be coming back right now. We ought to go and capture him straight away.'

'Would he be drinkin' tea now? In the middle of the night?'

'Well… ' said Walter. 'He might be. Grown ups don't go to bed till late. They could be drinkin' tea right up to midnight if they felt

like. Anyway,' and this thought had just struck him, 'we could go and put the aspirin in his cup all ready for him to pour his next drink

into it, whether that's first thing in the morning or in the middle of the night.'

'Have you got the aspirin?'

Walter gave a weary sigh. 'No,' he said. 'It'll be in the stores tent. We'll get it when we get the rope.'

'But the medicine cabinet will be locked. You have to go to Simon if you want anythin' like that. I think we ought to tell him eve-

rythin'.

'No!' said Walter. 'He can't do anythin'. Does he know what the smugggler looks like? Tell me that. Like to see him capture some-

one he doesn't know what looks like. Just capture everyone he meets and hope one of them's the smuggler I s'pose. Like to see you

capture everyone you meet…' But Gilbert was asleep. So Walter had to work out a plan by himself. And on second thoughts it did

seem sensible to avoid creeping out in the dark alone to deal with the stores tent.

The following morning saw our heroes with frowning brows and half closed eyes present themselves after breakfast at Simon's

tent. Strangely enough he too was frowning and his eyes were similarly closed. The main difference was that his face was slightly

green and he had forgone his breakfast.

'Simon,' ventured Walter, 'could we have a word? You see, we wondered if we could have…'

'Go and get it from Bill or Jim,' mumbled Simon. 'They're in charge today.'

So off they trailed in pursuit of Bill.

'Simon sent us,' said Walter. 'He said you were to give us some aspirin because we don't feel so good. Think we got sunstroke yes-

terday.'

'Really?' The older boy was puzzled. 'You didn't look as if you'd got sunstroke when you came back. And you've just had a huge

breakfast.'

'That's the sort we get,' Walter explained. 'We always look all right at first and we have to eat but then if we don't have some aspi-

rin we always get really sick.'

'Really?' Bill said again.

'Yes. If we don't get aspirin we might have to go to hospital. Simon said you were to give it to us because you're in charge today.'

'Oh well, if Simon said so.' And the young man led the boys to the medicine cabinet and shook out a couple of aspirin.

'We usually need more than that,' said Walter. 'Simon said to give us three each.'

'Three each! I'd better go and check.'

'No, never mind, we'll see if we can manage with just one,' said Walter hastily. 'But if it doesn't go away we'll have to come back

for more,' he added, glancing at Gilbert to see if his cunning had been appreciated. But Gilbert was merely squirming from one foot to

the other.

'Go and sit in the shade where I can keep an eye on you,' said Bill, and that is how they spent the day.

'What now?' asked Gilbert when 12 long and tedious hours had passed and they were once more in their sleeping bags. There had

been no tracking, no chance to venture away from the camp at all. With Simon still recovering in his tent the older boys had thought it

safer to confine themselves to teaching knots and they never took their eyes off the rookies.

'We'll just have to go tomorrow,' said Walter, fingering the aspirin in his pocket. It was becoming a bit soft and crumbly and he

hoped it would last the night. 'Hope we're in time, that's all,' he added darkly.

But the next day they all had to go on a firewood search. Simon was more or less himself and, in view of reports of the health of

the boys, was reluctant to let them out of his sight. Fine thing for an aspiring patrol leader to fail to recognise the signs of sunstroke

and finish up with a couple of his charges in hospital! So another day passed. Then there was rock climbing, then there was canoeing,

all closely supervised and it was in all a week before they got a chance to carry out their plan.

They had managed, by volunteering to put the rope away, to leave it acceptably accessible within the stores tent, and although the

aspirins had turned to powder they had wrapped them up in a screw of shiny toilet paper and judged their efficacy to be unimpaired.

Simon had relaxed to his former self and instituted another personal efficiency test. This was based on a Swedish activity he had read

about and involved compass use. Following bearings, each each Tracker should reach monitoring posts where cards would be

stamped and, as the posts were not far apart, nobody could possibly be lost for long. He himself would patrol the course and he had

devised a system whereby numbered signals could be hoisted from each post in order that he might keep track of everyone, especially

Walter and Gilbert, from any point on the island.

So off they went. Walter exercised a true leader's talent for delegation and gave Gilbert the compass so they arrived at the first

check point, where everyone was heading, without much difficulty. The second was similarly simple and the third lay just where they

had hoped – practically next to the stores tent. Gilbert checked in alone.

'Where's your mate?'

'Gone to the latrine.' Oh how it pays to rehearse carefully.

Card stamped, the boys joined up again with Walter clutching his stomach which looked somewhat stouter than before. 'Get it?'

hissed Gilbert.

'Course,' said Walter. 'Now we've just got to edge up to the ruins and creep down the secret passage to the cave.'

'How can we be sure he's there?'

'Where else would he be? Can you see him anywhere?' Walter made a show of shading his eyes and scanning the landscape.

'Because I can't.'

So, ignoring Simon's careful plotting they made their way up to the ruins where they knew the entrance to the passage to be and

had just reached the old tree when Gilbert stopped.

'Actually,' his voice was hardly audible. 'Actually Walter, I can see him. Look.'

Walter looked. Striding towards them, bushy head luckily turned towards the sea, was the huge figure they knew to have such evil

designs on Simon's sweet shepherdess. Without a word they were among branches.

For a while they just fought for control of their heartbeats, staring with eyes like saucers, at each other, at the approaching mon-

ster, and back to each other. On he came. Walter was convinced the ground shook. Gilbert fancied he glimpsed teeth that could tear a

person in two. Both boys knew they could do nothing against this monumental force, that they should have told Simon in the first

place, that the shepherdess would be crushed like fine china and that it would be all their fault. They stopped breathing completely as

he came nearer, nearer, was almost under the tree – and then a bee intervened. It zoomed up Gilbert's sleeve and, frustrated at the lack

of exit points, lashed out in the only way it knew how. At which Gilbert yelled and fell to the ground, closely followed by Walter

whom he had unbalanced. Well, no, they didn't actually hit the ground because something broke their fall, and closer inspection re-

vealed it to be the smuggler, who lay face down and very still.

12

'Golly!' breathed Gilbert, 'We've got him.' His adventure with the bee was completely forgotten in the wonder of this realisation.

'Let's tie him up quick,' said Walter, dragging the rope from beneath his jumper. 'Keep kneeling hard on him so he can't move.' His

heart was singing. 'Told you we could do it ourselves,' he crowed. 'And you wanting to leave it all to Simon.'

'I only thought…' began Gilbert.

'Thought it was too much for us. Well after today everyone'll realise nothin's too much for us. Nothin' at all. Shouldn't be surprised

if we get medal's for this. Capturin' a wicked smuggler that was about to kidnap a young lady and keep her imprisoned like a slave.

Yes, that's what he was plannin' to do, keep her as a slave, and if it hadn't been for us…' he was tying as he triumphed and had secured

the monster's ankles with one of the recently acquired knots. 'Help me turn him over to tie his chest now,' he said. 'Careful he doesn't

get you with his fist.'

Gingerly Gilbert removed one knee from their captive and, aided by Walter, began to turn a shoulder, but then they stopped in

horror. For not only was it obvious there was no resistance, but from the big bushy head blood was pouring like a river in spate.

They stared. What had they done? They hadn't meant to… The body was so eerily still… So quiet… bees buzzed accusingly...

seagulls screamed sentence… he was bleeding to… if not already… they saw prison bars… hangmen's ropes... With one accord they

took off for the nearest checkpoint and Simon.

13

Simon was pleased with the day. He strode round the course noted the hoisting signals and marvelled at his talent for modern com-

munication. He doubted the girls' camp had heard of orienteering, or had such resourceful equipment. He'd tell Jenny about it next

time they had lunch – must fix that up quickly – and show her how to use it. 'It could help you keep track of your rawest recruits,' he'd

say. 'Because of this equipment I’ve been able to allow a couple of complete beginners to find their own way. And in my book that's

the best way to learn.' He'd already noted the lads' early check-ins at the first three desks and was expecting a report from the fourth

any minute now. He turned his steps towards the ruins, and was surprised to see two flying figures heading towards him. As they drew

together he recognised them as Walter and Gilbert, and he also recognised hysteria.

Clawing for breath they grabbed him, pulled at his clothes, collapsed against him. 'What on earth..?' he cried, trying to support

them both. 'What's the matter?' But all they could do was gasp for air. 'Sit down,' he said, very alarmed. Had their sunstroke come

back? Was it going to be a hospital case after all? 'Put your heads between your knees and take deep breaths. Then when you're ready,

tell me all about it.'

Gently he lowered them to the ground, guided their heads to the approved position and waited anxiously. Walter was the first to

recover. 'We've killed somebody,' he said.

Simon stared.

'We didn't mean to,' Gilbert said hastily. 'All we meant to do…'

'All we meant to do was rescue the shepherdess.' Walter felt it was really his job to explain. 'You see he's a smuggler and he was

goin' to kidnap her and keep her prisoner…'

'So she could do all the cookin' and that,' continued Gilbert.

'For the other smugglers as well. All of them,' explained Walter.

Simon felt faint. A doctor was definitely needed. He'd better get to the hotel as quickly as possible to phone for assistance. But he

couldn't leave them here in this state. If only Jim or Bill would come. Or anyone. The boys were still prattling on in a way typical of

the brain-disturbed.

'We borrowed the rope.'

'We were goin' to put aspirin in his tea.'

'But we saw him comin' so we got up the tree.'

'But then a bee came.'

'And he fell out.'

'And he fell on top off me.'

'And we both fell on him.'

'And when we turned him over he was bleeding to death.'

'And now he's...'

Simon felt his own brain spinning. 'Do you feel strong enough to walk to the hotel with me?' he asked.

'No, no, he's the other way. Up there. Come and see.'

'I think…' But they were both tugging him again, and, deciding it might be better to humour them he followed.

When they came near the tree the boys stopped in amazement. The smuggler had come back to life! There he was, sitting up

against the trunk, still bloodstained admittedly, but very much alive and shouting all sorts of forbidden words as he struggled with the

knots around his ankles. Simon stopped too, unsure whether he should expose tender ears to such curses, or even his own for that mat-

ter. 'Stay here,' he told them, and swallowing, moved towards the huge and bellowing creature. 'Can I help?' he croaked.

The man stopped. Regarded. 'Who are you?' he said.

'I'm from the Tracker camp over the ridge,' said Simon, striving desperately to keep his voice level. 'Two of my campers brought

me. They thought you were dead.'

'Was it them tied me up?'

'They thought you were a smuggler. I'm sorry, they don't seem very well…'

'They'll be even worse when I get my hands on them. Are you going to help me with these confounded knots or not?'

Simon considered his position. The man did seem dangerous – violent language and threatening behaviour – but at the moment he

was well tethered with a well-chosen knot that tightened the more you pulled at it. 'They say you're a smuggler.' he said calmly.

The man stopped struggling and stared.

'They say you were plotting to kidnap somebody.'

The man stared harder.

The boys, noting their leader's growing confidence and the holding knots, crept closer.

'It was that young lady you had lunch with at the Hotel,' said Walter to Simon. 'She looked really nice…'

'Like the shepherdess in my mum's cabinet,' explained Gilbert. 'Fragile.'

'What!!' Simon froze in amazement, and then he felt a scarlet fury leap up his body. 'You were going to do what?'

'We saw him tracking her through his binoculars,' said Walter. 'All the way from the hotel.'

'And he was waiting in the cave for her,' said Gilbert. 'Where the wood was. He was going to tie her up and row her out to a desert

island and keep her prisoner so she would have to be a slave to all the smugglers when they came back.'

Two things prevented Simon from setting about the man with fists and feet. One was that he was tied up and bleeding and there-

fore no target for a gentleman, and the other was a niggling feeling engendered by the boys' account. With a superhuman effort he

controlled himself. 'I think we will have to send for the customs officer,' he said.

To his amazement the man threw back his head and laughed. On and on he went until Simon was sure he had another case of hys-

teria on his hands and once more he felt despair. Where was everybody? At last the man stopped. 'You don't have to send for the cus-

toms officer,' he gasped. I am the customs officer.'

14

For a long time nobody spoke. Then, 'No you're not,' said Walter.

For answer the man fished in his top pocket and brought forth a card. An identity card. A badge.

Slowly Simon took it. He studied it. He handed it to the boys. ' David Watson Wells of His Majesty’s Customs Department. Si-

lently they all looked at David Watson Wells.

'You did get the smuggling bit right,' said David Watson Wells, retrieving his card. 'But that was all. And if you think I wanted

your 'shepherdess' for a housekeeper – well! Now, if you'll kindly untie these infernal knots and come down to the hotel with me, I'll

show you where you made your various mistakes.'

Simon stepped forward, regarded the knots, but they were too tightened ever to come loose. He took out his knife and sawed

through the rope. 'Thanks,' said David Watson Wells and stood up. Gingerly he took a step, banged his feet on the ground a couple of

times then set off at a brisk pace towards the hotel. Simon strode after him and the boys scuttled along as best they could.

'Well if he's not the smuggler leader who is?' asked Gilbert.

'Must be one of them out in the boat, getting' stuff to smuggle,' muttered Walter. 'Stands to reason if it's not him it must be one of

the others.'

For a while they scrambled on in silence, then Gilbert said, 'How do we know he's telling the truth? He looks like a smuggler to

me. Never seen anyone who looks more like one in my life.'

'He had that card thing, didn't he?' said Walter shortly. 'That proved he wasn't.'

'No it didn't. He could have pinched it from a real Customs Officer. Or faked it. Criminals can fake all sorts of things nowadays.

Someone in the paper faked a load of pound notes, my dad said. I bet smugglers could fake anything they liked.'

Walter stopped and looked at Gilbert. It was true. A bit of card in someone's pocket meant nothing. It could have got there in a

million ways. And would an officer of His Majesty's Customs be allowed to go around without a uniform? In his experience officers

always wore uniforms. And they had to have their hair cut too, and mind their language.

'You're right,' he said. 'Simon's been taken in completely, and now he's in danger.' He stared down the road at the two figures who

had almost reached their goal. Suddenly he gasped. 'It's worse even than that,' he shouted, breaking into a run. Gilbert took one look

and galloped after him, for who should be waiting by the hotel but the innocent, pure and fragile object of the vile creature's wicked

scheme. She was standing at the back entrance by the cart which was laden with old planks, which told the boys plainly that the girls

were undergoing a firewood-gathering day such as they themselves had so recently endured.

'Simon!' they screamed as they tore down the hill. 'Simon, wait.'

Simon appeared not to hear, but the shepherdess did. Up came her pretty head. She looked at the waving boys who were gesticu-

lating so wildly at the striding men, and she slipped into the back of the hotel but not before the bearded one had entered by the front.

'Oh no,' screamed Walter.

15

The person purporting to be David Watson Wells found himself in a crowded dining room. 'His Majesty's Customs,' he roared.

'Nobody move.'

Simon thought he did detect a swift movement, a sort of swish flitting down behind the bar, but otherwise forks froze betwixt meal

and mouth, waiters became balletic tableaux, mine hostess rose as a splendid Titian statue and mine host gaped like a gargoyle.

'I have a warrant to search these premises for goods upon which duty has not been properly paid,' cried David Watson Wells,

whereupon the boys fell in through the front door.

'The shepherdess!' Walter shouted.

'Simon, she's in danger,' yelled Gilbert.

'We saw her come in'

'She's walking right into his trap.'

'He's not a Customs Officer at all.'

'He pinched that card thing.'

'He faked it.'

'What?' blazed the bearded one. 'She's just come in here?'

'You're not going to touch…' began Walter, but the object of his wrath was on his hands and knees scrabbling behind the bar.

'She's bolted it from the other side.' he blazed. 'Get me an axe!'

This last was directed at Nigel Bluddscott who continued to stand open mouthed.

'Oh never mind, I'll cut her off where the tunnel comes out,' said the bearded one, and leapt through the door whereby he had re-

cently entered.

Slowly the frozen figures in the dining room regained life.

'Bluddschott?' said Winifred Bluddschott ominously.

'I don't know my dear. Never seen the fellow. Don't know what…'

'Well I never!' Geraldine's mother addressed the world. 'You book what you think is a respectable hotel and you find gangsters.'

Her daughter tried to hide her scarlet face behind a curtain of blonde hair.

'Smugglers,' said a woman at another table. What do you expect at an old inn in a place like this? I think it's romantic.'

'What did he mean by ―where the tunnel comes out‖?' asked Simon.

'There's a tunnel to the cave where the wood was,' began Walter.

'We fell down it.'

'We didn't know it came to here.'

'Or if it comes out anywhere else…'

But Simon had flown through the door after David Watson Wells, who was in turn flying down to the beach where a small craft

was putting out to sea. In it, deftly manipulating tiller and mainsail was a slim figure whose golden curls tossed in the offshore breeze.

As she got under way the figure turned and kissed her fingers to the men. 'Jenny!' screamed Simon. 'What are you doing?'

David Watson Wells realised he had missed the boat. Helpless, he relapsed into the language he had hitherto employed re tethering

knots. He shook his fists at the departing girl, stamped his feet, and generally became so agitated that Walter whispered to Gilbert,

'He's like one of those Whirling Dervishes old Tomo was talkin' about in history.'

But Simon was speechless. When David Watson Wells eventually calmed down and the boat was no more than a dot on the hori-

zon he asked weakly, 'Could you tell me what is going on?'

'Smuggling, that's what. That ―shepherdess‖ as you call her is leading one of the biggest gangs that plague our country. Thousands,

she's made, with fences like the idiot who runs that hotel buying everything she gets him. Used to signal from the cave with a torch

when it was safe to unload and then she brought it along the tunnel on that old cart under a load of so-called firewood. I've been

watching her for weeks, knew there was a delivery due, just about to catch her red-handed when your clowns arrived and tied me up.

Murderously he looked around for the ―clowns‖, but they had somehow disappeared.

Other people had come down to the beach though, among them a slight figure with long blonde hair. She stood next to Simon si-

lently watching the boat as it passed over the horizon. She'd been sure there was something awful about that girl. And today had proved

her right, although she couldn't believe it. To betray such a wonderful person as Simon... She saw a tear fall, which he hast ily scrubbed

at. She took his hand gently in her own, and he allowed himself to be led away. (AP)

Editor Note: This plotline based on 1920’s boys’ daring adventure comics and written by AP will be broken up and inserted through-

out the master file.

Latest Competitions: Prizes from the Society of Civil & Public Service Writers | Closing Date: 29-Feb-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1879 Federation of Writers Scotland Vernal Equinox Competition 2016 | Closing Date: 21-Mar-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1880 Binsted Arts Weekend Poetry Competition 2016 | Closing Date: 18-Apr-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1878

XVI Poetry on the Lake International Competition for the Silver Wyvern | Closing Date: 30-Apr-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1876

The erbacce-prize 2016 | Closing Date: 01-May-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1874

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New Exhibitions: Enchantment Will Find Me | 17-Mar-16 to 08-May-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/exhibitions/current/?id=111 Latest News: New commission for Ntiense Eno Amooquaye | 28-Jan-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1458 Apples and Snakes announces new leadership | 25-Jan-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1457

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Free app that could help you manage your writing | 25-Jan-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1455 http://www.secretarybird.info/

Strive Open Day for young people | 15-Jan-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1454

Children‘s short story, a first attempt. Writing for children is extremely difficult. It is age specific amongst other things, the writer of this piece (who shall remain anonymous) had it appraised by a grandchild who was not impressed ... Family are always the most severe of critics ... Laura stood at the edge of the pond looking at herself in the water. The sun was shining, she had nice new

black shoes, her brown hair was nicely brushed and she was looking forwards to her outing with Ann. Laura felt good. Today they were going to a horse show and she was sure that they would win a prize. Maybe the top prize.

Then she saw her friends Teddy and Sue at the top of the field so she walked across to see them. Usu-ally she would have run across, but she didn‘t want to get all sweaty and her feet dirty.

Teddy was his usual messy self, all covered in mud and stuff; he had never had his dark hair combed for weeks and weeks and weeks! He stood there leaning against a fencepost, using it to rub at an itch on his shoulder.

Sue was as neat as she could be, because she was going to the same show as Laura. It would be fun. Teddy snorted down his nose and Sue snorted back. It was their special way of saying, ‗Good Morning,‘

to each other. Laura just went, ‗Humph,‘ because she did not think that snorting was a good idea at all. Just then, Ann came to the gate, waved, and called across to her. Laura walked across as daintily as she could and dropped her head towards Ann‘s hands hoping for the biscuit or piece of sugar Ann usually had

for her favourite pony. Yes there it was, a lovely sugar lump that Laura nuzzled off her hand and crunched up. ‗Right old thing‘ said Ann. ‗We are going to win that cup today aren‘t we? I need your best running,

jumping and standing still and not being silly because you think I‘ve got it wrong! OK?‘ Laura was puzzled. They had practiced this all week so they knew it off by heart. She knew what to do. Did Ann know? Then Laura decided to tell Ann her big secret. Taking a deep breath and holding her

mouth just right she said ‗Don‘t want thing in my mouth. It hurts‘ Ann jumped back, very nearly falling over in surprise. ‗Did you say that you don‘t want the bit in your mouth,‘ she said.

‗Yes,‘ said Laura, only it came out as Ess as Laura wasn‘t too good at talking yet. Ann was not going to believe that Laura had spoken. ‗But you‘re a horse. Horses can‘t talk. They just

go neigh and things like that. I must be dreaming. That is what it is, I‘m dreaming‘. Laura had practised this bit very hard. She was not going to be talked to like that, and by a hu-man! She would never be able to look Sue and Teddy in the eye again if she did. ‗Humph, the very idea. Of

course I can talk. It‘s just that I haven‘t bothered before. You humans do enough talking for the rest of us put together so we don‘t need to‘.

‗But what was it you said about the bit?‘ Ann was quickly realising that Laura really could talk. ‗You said that you didn‘t want it in your mouth, didn‘t you?‘ The ‗Yes‘ was much clearer this time.

Just then, Ann‘s father drove up in the big horsebox that they went to shows in. Jumping out he came around and got the back down so that Laura could walk up inside it. ‗What‘s this no saddle or tack on her yet,‘ he said, ‗you know how difficult it is to get that pony in the van.‘

Ann looked at her father and said, ‗Dad, I‘ve had a good talk with Laura and she is going to be good to-day. Walking up that ramp will be easy.‘ Then she turned and looked at Laura and said ‗Won‘t it?‘

Laura nodded her head thinking, ‗That was clever of Ann. She told me what to do and didn‘t give our secret away.‘ Then, without another thought, she walked right up the ramp and into the van. It was not far to the horse show so they got there quickly. Ann got Laura out of the van and saddled

her. Then she came round to Laura‘s head and whispered ‗If you don‘t want reins what do I do? Laura had thought about this. ‗Just put the head harness on but take the bit off it. I‘ll do what you

want but you will need to talk to me when we are in the show ring,‘ she said in a low voice. ‗You say left or right or straight on and I‘ll do the rest. But we need to practice this a bit as we need to be calm, it‘s no good you shouting like you usually do.‘

Ann was upset, ‗I don‘t shout,‘ she shouted out! Laura replied, ‗Humph. You aren‘t the one with the saddle on who hears everything!‘ So they practiced

quietly and Ann did learn not to shout, well not too loudly anyway! When their turn came to go into the ring, and show how good they were Laura cleared all the fences and they got around in record time. Then came the games. On of them was the ‗Fetching a Ball‘ game; well

they‘d done that before. But this time they did it better than anybody else and won. At the end of the show, the judges gave Ann a rosette for best in show and the top prize of a Silver Cup for winning the jumping. They all went home happy.

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There is something magical about

preserving fruit into jams and pickles and

chutneys and curds and compotes and con-

serves and marmalades and sauces ...

Does anyone do that anymore? Has that

domestic art been lost?

Sounds like a blog opportunity ...

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