Barnabas Tales Page 26

  O) “All right T, we’ll have a rest now. Another vodka and a sandy sandwich? They are in the bag there.”

  S sits up and stares along the beach.

  S) “My word F, in Mother Russia we might behave like that in private, but not on an open beach. Is that behaviour typical of the decadent West for which I risked my life?”

  O) “Sometimes T, sometimes.”

  S) “Now that I’ve looked more closely I even think there may be something familiar about the female. Femme familiar. F, have a look.”

  Hands over field glasses

  O) “Good Heavens, and also the man. It’s M! Oh no, I shouldn’t have said that, N rather, and the PM’s wife! No! No the PM’s sister. They must think they are totally alone!”

  S) “And will that camera of your take a clear picture at this distance?”

  O) “Oh yes - it has a marvellous lens - I won’t be able to develop it at the Circus of course, but I have a Puss in Boots who owes me a favour. Dear T, I think we should discretely slip over these rocks now and leave the beach. Do you know, I feel pretty certain I may get promotion at the next round, and it will be because of our interrogation and debriefing here and your willing co-operation. I certainly owe you a favour. Off duty, you may call me O.”

  OPENING THE FETE

  Scene 1

  The stage contains a table on the left and a raised platform to the right. The platform has a notice - VIPs ONLY - on a small table and one chair. Three chairs face the platform.

  Enter Dorothy, a middle aged lady with a large basket of cakes, jam etc. She starts to arrange these on the larger table. They only fill half the table. She looks around.

  Enter Kylie, a young woman in short skirt and revealing top, also carrying a basket.

  K. “Here you are, Aunt Dorothy, I have the rest of the things here.”

  D. “Hello Kylie, have you brought all the cakes and jam from the deep freeze? And the cakes from last year and my special parsley jam? I was surprised we didn’t sell it all at last year’s fete, but I expect we will this time. I promised the new vicar that we would have a special show.”

  K. “I think last year the fur on the jam put some people off.”

  D. “They don’t know what’s good for them. My granny always said there was nothing like the fur from parsley jam for treating maggots and foot rot in sheep. She wasn’t a bit surprised when she heard about penicillin. Still, I scraped most of it off and re-sealed the jars for this year.”

  K. “Good, let’s put them out. Have you fixed the prices?”

  D. “Yes - £5 for a cake and £2 for a bottle of jam.”

  They busy themselves.

  K. “Oh look - There’s the vicar - isn’t he dishy, and what a lovely voice and figure. Who’s that old bag with him?”

  D. “I don’t know - she looks bossy and see, she has upset Mrs Foster who was trying to sell one of her knitted teddy-bear toilet-roll covers. Poor Mrs Foster has gone bright red. I hope the woman will give us a miss.”

  K. “Oh no, I want the vicar to come here - don’t you think he’s smashing?”

  Enter Vicar and pompous lady. Pompous Lady has stick in hand.

  Vicar “Ah, Good afternoon Mrs er, Mrs Evans isn’t it? And Good afternoon Miss .......”

  K. “Kylie - my friends call me Ky. Please you must call me Ky.”

  V. “Good afternoon Miss Ky. Now what special things have you to offer?”

  K. “Oh, just try me, Vicar, any time.”

  D. “Vicar, Ma’am - these cakes and jam and biscuits are very special. They last a long time. I make them myself. They’re very good value.”

  Kylie upsets the float tin onto the ground “Oh Vicar - the money - please can you help me find it.”

  She bends down revealingly and vicar bends to help her.

  Pompous Lady “These cakes are not properly wrapped. Do you not know the Hygiene Laws? Anyone might have touched them or breathed on them. And what about this jam - where is the list of ingredients?”

  Enter Eddie saying loudly to Pompous Lady “Hey you - your car’s in the wrong place, and came in through the No Entry gate. It should be beside the others. And you haven’t paid - it’s £2 to park.”

  PL “Do you know who I am - fellow? I definitely do not expect to pay at these events. Ascot perhaps, but not a piddling little place like this.”

  E. “You came in a large black car and parked it wrong. We need that space for something else - didn’t you see the notices and the big mark on the grass? Come on, pay your £2 and move the car.”

  PL. “Certainly not. With my husband I own all this part of the county. I shall place my vehicle wherever I choose.” Pokes Vicar with stick as he begins to stand up.

  V. straightening up “Oh Eddie - this is Lady Plumridge who is going to open the fete. I am sure that we cannot ask her to give up her wonderfully valuable time to open our modest fete and then charge her. She is a most honoured guest.”

  E., sulkily, “I was told to make everyone pay and park neatly. Anyway, Vicar, your bicycle is in the wrong place and you haven’t paid the 25 pence.”

  V. “Dear me, dear me, and I don’t seem to have brought any money. I’ll pay you tomorrow Eddie.”

  E. “And what about her - the big black job sitting in the middle of the clear space?”

  V. “Eddie, Eddie - I’ll settle up tomorrow – just leave things as they are and go back to the car park and deal with the cars again. Oh, and Eddie, have you the parachute beacon? You know where it has to go?”

  E. “Yes, all right, all right - You want me to put the beacon exactly where you said?”

  V. “Yes - now go and get on with your duties please.”

  K. “And Eddie, take better care of the cash this year. Don’t be mugged tonight by a band of Brownies from Newport. Last year you said they stole all the car park takings.”

  Eddie leaves.

  PL “What an insolent peasant! I hope, Vicar, that you will be able to do something to improve manners in this village. What did you say your name was?”

  V. “James, Lady Plumridge.”

  PL. “Not your Christian name - your surname, young man.”

  V. “James, my lady. Mr. James - well the full title is the Reverend.......”

  PL “That’s quite enough, thank you, Mr. James.” Turns to table “I’m not going to buy anything from your table, but I will take a cake to sample. I have the Chairman of the County Health and Safety Committee as well as the Bishop visiting me this evening.”

  D. “Yes - your honour” and clumsily tries to curtsey.

  PL picks up cake (a block of rubber painted to look like a cake) and goes to platform where she sits haughtily on the only chair. She puts the cake on table. The Vicar stands nervously beside her.

  D. picks up the £5 label, folds it, shakes her head and puts it in the cash box.

  Curtain.

  Scene 2.

  Thirty minutes later.

  D. K. & E. are audience sitting on chairs. The cake is on the platform table. The stall table has the notice - “Closed for speeches.” Platform is empty.

  D to E “Who is looking after the car park gate now?”

  E. “My mate Jack - and he’ll light the flare for the parachutists.”

  K. “Lady Plum wasn’t very pleased with you, Eddie.”

  E. “She can stuff that - silly old bag.”

  Enter Lady Plumridge and Vicar, climb onto platform, and Lady Plumridge sits down on chair.

  V. “It is my great pleasure to welcome you all to our village fete. We are particularly privileged to have Lady Plumridge to say a few words, and formally open the event with a display of sky-diving. What I mean to say is that there will be sky-diving immediately after her speech. Lady Plumridge has had a long association with the County - it is fair to say that her family and ancestors made their fortune from this area, so she has very clear ideas about our communities and what we need. As your newly appointed Vicar, I have much to learn and look forward to benefit from
Lady Plumridge’s wisdom and experience.”

  K. “Isn’t he lovely?”

  E. “What a creep.”

  PL. standing “People of the village, Vicar, any lady or gentleman accidentally present. It is one of the duties of us who by breeding are superior to encourage improvement in the poorer parts of the county and among the lower classes. I therefore approve the aims of this fete, to raise money for the restoration of stocks on the village green and the ducking stool, and for the dredging of the pool so that the ducking stool can work properly. Any surplus may go to replacing some of the broken windows in the village school. Therefore I have pleasure in instructing you to be generous with your support to the stalls, the side-shows, the raffles and the rides. As my ancestor remarked after leading the charge at Peterloo - The real wealth which should be tapped in this country is hidden in the cottages and the workhouses - and so it is today. Now I hear the helicopter approaching for the sky-diving. Be generous, be open-hearted, be charitable. I declare the fete open.”

  Very faint applause. The audience stands up and looks skywards.

  K. “Here they come. And there’s the smoke signal. Eddie - the smoke’s almost hiding something. Why, is it a car?”

  E. “That’s where I was told to put it.”

  K. “Oh Eddie, the Vicar is short-sighted, I don’t suppose he can see what is happening.” She runs onto platform and whispers in Vicar’s ear.

  The Vicar peers into the distance and points to PL. She removes opera glasses from bag and looks.

  PL. “What is that black thing in the smoke?”

  K. “It looks like a large car.”

  PL. “And two of the parachutists have landed on it. If that is my car, it’s an outrage. I trust this fete is very well insured.”

  V. “Insured? Oh Lady Plumridge - an Act of God.” clutches head and sits down.

  PL. “An act of ignorant rural idiocy! You horrible little James dog-collar thing.” She hits Vicar with her stick. He collapses in chair and K puts her arms round him to protect him from PL - She smothers him with kisses. PL seizes the cake off the table, throws it to the ground in fury where it bounces (steps on it if convenient), and storms off shouting “You will hear from my solicitors.” pursued by Eddie - “Hey - you have still not paid for the parking.”

  D collects the cake, dusts it on her sleeve, and places it back on the stand with the £5 label.

  Curtain.

  A Few of Our Travel Tales

  For many years Bridget and I have kept logs of our travels, copying her brother Andrew who has done so for most of his life. Our logs and old pictures bring back adventures and memories. These are generally of no interest to anyone else, but I used a few as the basis for writing homework – indeed they often provided an easier way of completing the week’s effort rather than starting from scratch. Some explain where they were and when, but a few need brief introductions. Sailing and Africa are perhaps over-represented.

  “ALL VERY SPORTING”

  Once upon a time Yugoslavia was a calm and rather sleepy Communist state with the usual vices, but with the virtue of a fine Adriatic coast. We joined a flotilla of small yachts at Zadar and sailed north among the islands.

  The days cruised by until the last evening. A barbecue was planned to follow a session of watersports in a small island harbour. The dinghies of each yacht were put into teams for organised miniature wet warfare between the youngsters. One side gained advantage and the competition stopped. At this stage a dinghy rowed to the harbour wall, and a young barefoot Italian man fell out. He jumped up to heave himself onto the quay. Immediately he fell back, and blood gushed from the long deep gash in the sole of his foot as we pulled him out of the water. He had leapt up while standing on a broken bottle.

  The flotilla leader, on his first command, began to look green and took no further part in the proceedings. We laid the lad down, lifted his foot, applied firm pressure, made reassuring noises, and wondered what to do. Our yacht had five doctors on board, but no equipment for this sort of injury. (Years earlier while anchored off Iona Charles had split the top of his scalp on the boom and one glance at the large sail-repairing needle which we found made him opt for sticking plaster rather than sutures.)

  Someone learned that there was a doctor’s practice up the road, so the lad was helped there plus his mother and sister. None spoke English. Charles, yacht’s surgeon, felt vaguely responsible so went as well.

  By his account they found the surgery, and the lad went inside with moral support from his sister. His mother and Charles sat in the waiting room. Soon there was a thump and the sister was dragged out. Mother went in, and shortly afterwards there was a second thump, and then two groggy relatives lay in the waiting room. Charles thought he should go to see fair play.

  He found a young man, possibly a doctor but maybe a student, struggling to stitch the laceration. Armed with a needle holder and a suitably stout and tough needle, he could not get the point through the sole of the victim’s foot. Indeed an adult’s sole, even that of a shoe-wearing person, is genuinely very tough and leathery. Charles could see that the needle was held at the far or eye end, from which it is impossible to get proper leverage. He had no means of verbal communication, but mime and body language sufficed so he scrubbed up, took over the tools from the Yugoslav, and stitched up the gash. Mother and sister had mostly recovered by then and later we found that the casualty was an Italian medical student.

  And as Charles said after something nearly disastrous happened - “All very sporting!”

  GOZO INSCRIPTION

  The Commonwealth Head of Government Meeting was held in Malta in 2005 and immediately beforehand was held the meeting of NGOs arranged by the Commonwealth Foundation. Bridget and I attended aiming to drum up support for the Friends of the Commonwealth Foundation. One half day of talks and presentations was held on Gozo, where we saw the ancient Ggantija remains. And in the museum of the Citadel in Gozo, sister island of Malta, among the fossils, ancient anchors and amphorae was this English translation of a 12th century memorial. It struck a personal note and Angus is grateful to Stephen Cini of the museum for sending this copy.

  “In the name of God the merciful, the compassionate. May He be propitious to the Prophet Mohammed and to his followers and grant them eternal salvation. God is great and eternal and He has decreed that his creatures should perish. Of this there is an example in the Prophet of God.

  This is the tomb of Maymūnah, daughter of Hassān, son of ‘Ali al-Hudali, known as Ibn (son of) as-Sūsi; she died, God’s mercy be upon her, on Thursday 16th day of the month of Ša˘ bān in the year 569 (21st March, 1174), professing that there is only one God who has no equal.

  Look around you! Is there anything everlasting on earth; anything that repels or casts a spell on death? Death robbed me from a palace and, alas, neither doors nor bolts could save me. All I did (in my lifetime) remains, and shall be reckoned.

  Oh he who looks upon this tomb! I am already consumed inside it, and dust has settled on my eyes. On my couch in my abode there is nothing but tears, and what is to happen at my resurrection when I shall appear before my Creator? Oh my brother, be wise and repent”.

  STOPPED IN MY TRACKS.

  Do other species have a sense of awe? Is dawn birdsong a thanksgiving for the beauty of the morning and survival of the night? Will a cud-chewing cow seek a good vantage point for her view? Why should we believe that Homo sapiens alone appreciates the fine and the infinite? What can we know the senses and sensibilities which we lack? The dog may be correct to note:-

  “They haven’t got no noses, the fallen sons of Eve,

  Even the smell of roses is not what they supposes,

  And goodness only knowses

  The noselessness of Man.”

  My mother used to lie awake and worry about infinity - so far away, yet it must end somewhere, and if not, what then? Infinity has never disturbed my sleep – but instead a se
nse of awe has led to moments of daytime wonderment, usually at a natural event. Three examples include one which could have been reported as a miracle.

  The first was in North Island, New Zealand where we descended dark steps down into a first limestone cavern and then to an underground quay where floated a barge. We sat on board and waited. In due course the guide cast us off to float downstream, the irregular rocky roof barely visible a few feet overhead. We drifted round a bend and the first gleams appeared - minute points of light on the ceiling. Around another bend and most of the cavern roof was softly lit by myriads of tiny lanterns evenly dotted over large areas. Spellbound we sat and spoke only in the softest of breathed whispers. The barge floated on under this strange, silent firmament, until eventually our Charon pulled us back with a fixed rope. If the underworld was as magical, it may explain why Orpheus looked back again and unfortunately saw Eurydice.

  We climbed onto dry rock, looked at each other, shook ourselves and began to speak instead of whisper. Then the guide took us to inspect the little glow-worms and their hanging threads which trap insects that have been washed along the river. When these see the lights in the caves they fly up and are caught. The beauty is created by Waitomo glow-worms catching lunch!

  The second was under the night sky in the Red Centre of Australia, with Southern Hemisphere stars glittering in the bone-dry crystal air. Locals invite you to “stay in the million-star hotel” and sleep out. I suppose they become used to the spectacular starlight, bright enough to see by, but to us it was moving, uplifting and belittling. But why should it move and lift us? Perhaps it gave us a sense of belonging to a vast and ordered universe - these stars have guided wayfarers since bird migrations and travel began, although their light set out long before known history. And they spin in obedience to the same force which creates our gravity. Surely they include other worlds with life and consciousness. Sadly, millions of children grow up and have never seen a star because of light pollution. What a shame!