100: Winter Break

‘You sprung this on me at the last moment as a surprise treat, because you knew I’d see it for what it really is, a busman’s holiday!’

‘Well...’

‘Come on, explain! Why are we having a weekend away only thirty minutes up the road, at a country house hotel? We, who spend half our lives at the Park or Checkley Manor. And why are we sat here on the roadside staring through the mist at a rather sorry excuse for an industrial estate?’

‘We, are looking at what remains of Morestead railway station. The one time branch line terminus, from which the old GWR used to bus it’s rich first class punters up onto the Moor to it’s luxury Morestead Manor Hotel. And our home for the next two nights.’

‘I see, this is all to do with Mr Tufnell’s obsession.’

‘Correct. Well, in a way. A scheme, as you would have it, has occurred to me, and others.’

‘Oh, god.’

‘I’ll take over the driving from here on, this is the fun part.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘In a minute or two we shall be coming to that part of the road onto the Moor, which is the true source of the legend of The Hairy Hand.’

‘My God! Be careful.’

‘Oh, it never appears in daylight. And generally, only afflicts drivers coming in the opposite direction.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, first you have to understand it’s a very modern legend. No one ever heard of it before the age of motorised vehicles. Reports of a hand which wrestles control of the steering wheel from the driver, seemed to come only from those coming down off the Moor at night whilst returning home from one or more of the remote public houses with the more relaxed opening hours. These stories originated from a time before seat belts and the drink driving laws. Now, coming up is the first of what are in essence one and a half s-bends in quick succession!’ Having already turned off all the modern gizmos, I crashed the car through the first of the up hill curves. ‘Don’t you love the way she just sticks to the road!’

‘That’s if your old arse, can take it.’ So said Charlie as she did that old trick of letting her right hand brush my inner thigh, just as we were hitting the second of the bends. ‘Don’t tell me, it used to be an accident black spot.’

‘Precisely so, and one imagines the legend began with a local farmer trying to explain to the police, how he came to be stuck upside down in his vehicle half way down the hill at two in the morning! But you can also imagine the story being told by the hotel’s bus driver, to his posh passengers from the city, as he crashed the gears whilst his charabanc coughed and spluttered it’s way up and down the hill.’

‘That romance of travel again.’

‘Indeed. Tomorrow, I’ll find a discrete spot out of reach of the park rangers to give you a chance to practice using the four-wheel drive, off road.’

‘You know how an open horizon always gives me a bit of an itch...’

‘Good god woman! It’s the end of January and we’ll be a couple of thousand feet up. We may even find some snow.’

‘It never stopped the Eskimos, or Inuit, or whatever.’

‘The name is Arlington, a double for two nights, on your off-peak deal.’

‘Ah yes, sir. The manager has asked me to upgrade you to the Garden Suite.’

‘Well, okay as long as the price stays the same.’

‘Of course, sir. Only the extras will be extra.’

The receptionist’s eyes, gave away a presence behind me. I turned, to find myself confronted by a tall, looming and stern male figure; ‘My god, Junior Jack, we haven’t met in years! Er, it’s okay we’re travelling light, only a grip each, and I’m sure we can find our own way.’

‘I’m the manager, Miss. As this cocky bastard knows perfectly well. Dad said you were getting worse.’

Then Charlie piled in with; ‘He had me thinking it was a surprise romantic weekend away. We’ve met before.’

‘Yeah. I used to be the bouncer at the old Majestic, when Dad owned it. You were a right grubby street urchin back then. You’ve done well for yourself. How’s the Captain?’

‘Hail and hearty, thanks!’

‘The boys who operate the spa and pool are looking forward to meeting you. Brought your bathers, have you?’

‘What do you think?’ Said Charlie, as she came out of the bathroom wearing only a bikini. One of those modern affairs, beloved of fitness types, made of the stretchy stuff, intended to minimise drag.

‘I like it! For someone who doesn’t care for swimming, you have all the right kit.’

‘It always goes in the bag, just in case.’

‘I’m sure the boys at the pool and spa will be impressed.’

‘So, what’s the set-up?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You know what I mean, you want me to wander the whole place, absorb the stuff you wouldn’t notice, but is there anything I should be on the look out for, anything I need to be briefed about?’

‘No, no. Just. Don’t initiate anything, just let employees tell you stuff about their employers they think, I might need to know.’

‘So, as usual I’m a mere conduit, sir.’

‘John!’

‘Tony.’ He said as I sidled up to him in the bar.

‘How is your father?’

‘We, need your help.’

‘Go on.’

‘We have this place, as of last week we have the old station, for a while now we’ve had the track bed as far as the arty-farty, middle classy, second home, picturesque village, but now we’re stuck. You’re the ideas man.’

‘Umm. They mustn’t be forced, we need them on side, their money and enthusiasm. Somehow heritage Britain, which on the face of it would love a steam railway, has to be offered a green solution. Tricky one that. Unless of course their preferred political party gets into power and tells them it is the green solution, know what I mean John!’

‘Bloody hell! All the same, whenever I confront Dad about how we ever get our money back, he avoids the question.’

‘If, the government effectively pays for half the overall scheme, we go into operating profit as soon as it is open in it’s entirety, north to south.’

‘How?’

‘Because everyone will have to use us.’

‘You can’t know that.’

‘We will be cheaper, more convenient, more comfortable and certainly more reliable, than the roads - that is, once the Mediterranean climate truly kicks in, and we’re everyone’s favourite green tourist destination again.’

‘Well, that was exciting. It is a bit nippy though. Look at the car, it’s a mess.’

‘We’ll hit the other Jack’s carwash on the way home.’

‘Oh no, I can’t see where we’ve come, the mist, and the light’s going.’

‘Worry not, I’ll drive back, I’ve driven it before, and walked it come to that.’

‘Are you sure, that was decades ago.’

‘I can have the compass off the sat-nav in the corner of my eye.’

‘How does that work?’

‘When you walk it, you do it with a compass bearing, whether you think you need it or not. Memory is a wonderful thing. It even helps that the light is going, conscious awareness can focus on feeling the contours, on avoiding the ditch, as it were.’

Charlie began to relax again as we got towards the main road; ‘So, if Morestead is the end of the line, in the north, where’s the southern end?’

‘You were there, just over a year ago.’

‘Oh my god! How the hell do you get your hands on all of that?’

‘A unique collaboration between the navy, and a revived coal industry.’

‘Coal!’

99: Recovery

It wasn’t until the first week of the new year that events seemed to slow down and I could get my breath back. I mused aloud in the media room; ‘Is it my destiny to spend my fifties as a kind of Mr Fix-it for the octogenarian population of the Bay area? To be an enforcer for old men in a hurry?’

‘No one is forcing you!’ Replied Charlie, from deep in the chaise longue, as well as The Beacon.

‘You know, when offering your private treatments, you might care to specialise in the relaxation of the older male.’

‘With the possible exception of Tuffy, the result with older men is rarely relaxation, more a rejuvenation and revitalisation!’ Then, in one flowing movement she was on her feet and leaning over my shoulder saying; ‘And you, are in no position to deny that.’

‘Oh, of course, undoubtedly.’

‘More to the point, regarding your dangerous old men, are we finally done with politics now?’

‘I certainly won’t go looking for it, but I can’t promise it won’t find us. Buffy seemed to be suggesting the other week that he could be useful to me. Which I doubt. And if he was hoping for a role in Trust related business, he can forget it. No, the only question mark, is the newly ennobled and promoted Frimley, who seems untainted by association with the aforementioned.’

‘What’s he calling himself?’

‘Lord Coates of Matchet.’

‘I didn’t know he came from across the border?’

‘Oh yes, he claims his family took refuge there, around the time of the Reformation.’

What I diplomatically failed to mention, was the conversation I’d had with Buffy immediately preceding the Christmas lunch. ‘I realise you are one of our most accomplished public speakers, your speech in the Commons on the passing of she, of blessed and glorious memory, was really quite moving...’

‘Thank you, Anthony.’

‘But there are mixed feelings about you around the club since the podcasts, and the Christmas lunch is regarded by members as, well, not at all a time for controversy, so, appropriate anecdotes only please.’

‘I’m not a fool Anthony, I’m always sensitive to my audience.’

‘Excellent, you were happy with the visuals I was able to offer the podcast I take it?’

‘Oh, indeed.’

‘I’ve decided how you can pay me back.’

‘Oh, really.’

‘I know I chided you about influence in government, but there is one area in which I’m lacking expertise and would appreciate being pointed in the right direction.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘The Department of Transport, how it works.’

‘Road or rail?’

‘Well, that’s the thing. It’s more how they work together, when they cooperate. Under what circumstances are road makers prepared to give way to the priorities of rail?’

‘What an extraordinary question! I suppose it must happen on occasion. Still, I’m sure I could find you the right person to talk to.’

‘A while ago, when I was first trying to explain you to Charlie, I said you were the ultimate man who doesn’t know, but always knows a man who does.’

‘Well, thank you again.’

In the end the lunch went off without a hitch, more joyous than raucous, and of course we all got the chance to toast the King!

The Boxing Day book club met, though I didn’t attend. Charlie did the refreshments and reported that nothing untoward had occurred. Murchison had so far proved as mercurial regarding his past association with Captain Bob, as he was about everything else. But the garden looked good, though with the passage of time, inevitably, Charlie took on more of the legwork, or do I mean spadework?

The following week we had our first ‘all remote’ Trust meeting. Which again, was odd from the off! We were all in separate boxes, yet Charlie and I were sat side by side at the Villa, whilst Bernard and Brinkley must have been talking from separate rooms in their apartment on the Costa del What’s It! One of our Green experts, the professor of something or other, claimed to be talking from his Tuscan villa; the other from a hotel room in Bogota! Apart from the routine business, I gave everyone the official line, previously agreed with Bernard, on the fortuitous acquisition of the railway land. I also explained we might have a tenant for The Grange, and Charlie said how she might deal with any conflict of interest. At the end Lawrence announced he’d not be returning to the UK until spring, declaring he could work just as well from home! At which point the Chair brought proceedings to an end.

‘Is everything alright between Bernard and Brinkley?’ I asked Charlie once we were offline.

‘Sure, Lawrence just prefers being in Spain. It’s better for his condition.’

‘I beg your pardon!’

‘Brinkley has a condition.’

‘As in medical?’

‘Sure, didn’t you know? It’s caused by too much sitting, making standing painful unless you’re actually moving. Trouble is, the only relief is more sitting. He says he’s had it for decades. Have you never thought it odd that he’s always sitting unless he’s actually on his way somewhere else?’

‘Oh, right. Shame really, less opportunity for you to get pally with Larry...’ Ping! Another train of thought interrupted. ‘Ah! A text. From the Lady Vic; “Buy me a stiff drink, tonight seven pm, the club.” What on earth?’

‘Well, that makes sense.’

‘It does?’

‘I’ve been asked to maintain order in the Games Room tonight. Darts match.’

‘Oh, of course, Tuffy is on the Darts team.’

‘He’s quite good, seems able to relax, when he’s in the zone.’

‘Really. How fascinating.’

‘There you go, I ordered one in.’

‘Just what I need. I wish Tuffy was as attentive. It would be a start if he could remember what my usual is!’

‘And I take it this is all about...’

‘He, is bothered, perturbed, permanently distracted it would seem, by the fallout from Mary’s death.’

‘Have I made things worse?’

‘No. No. It’s just, he can’t get his head around the reality of his father not spending every last penny on his family.’

‘Ah, well I can give you a very clear and definitive answer to that one. It’s all very simple actually, you’ve met it countless times in your own life.’

‘Hit me with it then.’

‘Mr Tufnell senior, self-made man, doesn’t want any child of his to become one of the idle rich, believes they should make their own way in life. Me, son of one of his pals, is one of the idle rich. But my father and he were good enough pals, for the message to get through that the idle rich aren’t that idle - unless they want to see their wealth disappear within a generation or so. Father and mother die. And I was there, standing next to Tuffy when Mr Tufnell gave his encouragement, occasional pep talks and homilies. I got the message, Tuffy didn’t, he just picked up bad habits at school and university, whilst I was picking up cash on the side, before I left either of them! Tuffy’s father and mother did everything right, he’s no business feeling aggrieved. But once Tuffy picked up the message others thought him stupid, he somehow turned it into, the world owes me a living.’

‘I believe you.’

‘Same again?’

‘Please.’

‘And, no I don’t have a solution to the problem, other than you keeping doing what you’re already doing, making him feel useful.’

And then the Dart’s team started drifting in.

‘That was quick!’ I exclaimed.

‘Play suspended.’

‘The Ref called extended injury time,’ said another, ‘she’s helping Tuffy over to the spa as we speak.’

98: The Trumpton Interviews (part two)

‘Blimey! Pause it. Pause it and go back.’

‘Hang-on, this is clearly an event, I’ll switch to the tv screen and go back to the beginning, we can then pay proper attention, it is almost the full two hours, see?’

It was the week before Christmas, and the Don Wooley Podcast with the ex-prime minister was snatching the nation’s attention away from traditional media and their reverence for the late Queen. Which of course was fine for The Beacon - we were watching it on their channel having been prompted by verbatim transcripts in the paper - but their rivals and the BBC were floundering.

The aftershock promised to be considerable, grabbing the attention of the millions of us determined to listen, but in our case also watch, in our own time via social media. The podcast format seemed to have come of age, but in an incongruous set-up. There were Buffy and the Don, lounging in grand country house surroundings but talking like, well I imagine a couple of Aussie lager louts would, in some outback bar. The uninhibited atmosphere of the podcast, conducive to intimate confessions. The first of these ‘finished’ programmes surprised from the off, simply by its frankness about government affairs, an openness we British aren’t use to. Within a couple of minutes, the Don was interrupting Buffy’s flow with a query as to whether he was breaking the Official Secrets Act by talking in such a way.

‘Oh, don’t be such a big girl’s blouse Don!’

‘And that as well Buffy, some might say such language is sexist, if not misogynistic?’

‘It’s a joke, made by chaps against other chaps, nothing to do with the girls at all!’

‘To be honest, I’m not sure I understand it, where does it come from?’

‘Part of the great music hall tradition.’

‘But neither of us are old enough to remember!’

‘Misspent youth. I was one of the first generation to have a portable tv in my room at school, and at university come to that. Northern comics, drew a lot on their idols from the variety theatre.’

‘But what does it mean?’

‘Well, it’s the timeless image isn’t it! British working-class women chatting over the yard wall, or in the back lane as they hung out the washing, fussing and flustered, ample bosomed, grown fat on a diet of bread and dripping, shocked by the inconsequential behaviour of their neighbours.’

‘Making a fuss about nothing you mean?’

‘Absolutely. Cross talk and banter, the stuff of tv chat to this day.’

‘Yes. So, to bring it all back, the Official Secrets Act, is nothing?’

‘No, no, no, of course not. But my point is Don, so much of my tenure in Downing Street has been pawed over by the newspapers, parliamentary committees, even the Supreme Court, leaked emails, security footage, much of what we have to say to each other clearly has a precedent and is already in the public domain, or so the girlie-swot lawyers tell me!’

‘And how do you justify that one?’

‘One what?’

‘Girlie-swot.’

‘Oh! You want more definitions and derivations. Well now. You see again, its boys ripping the piss out of the other boys. I blame the teachers. Around about the end of the seventies, early eighties, there became available for the first time, mass stats on what happens to exam results when kids are taught in single sex classes or entire schools. As we all now know, not only do both sexes do better when not distracted, but girls out-performed boys. Right? So, in the years that followed our teachers were forever trying to motivate us to do better by ribbing us about how well the girls did. So, any lad who kept his head down, did everything the teacher asked of him...’

‘Was a girlie-swot.’

‘Precisely.’

‘And educational attainment through hard work is a bad thing?’

‘No, no. Its the going mad about exams. Specialising far too early. Not realising what school is really about.’

‘You mean things like, critical thinking and creativity?’

‘No Don! That may well be what schools, ought, or should be about, what they’re really about is learning what authority is, learning to conform to social norms, living by a timetable, learning how to be a future employee, how to spend your time working for somebody else.’

‘And you approve of that?’

‘Well its alright for most people, probably what they need, but not for the likes of us, aye Don? The measure of a chap, is can he escape all that? Do his own thing, cut his own path through life. But you’ve got to know the rules before you can break them, develop a touch of class, of style. Chaps who are focused on outcomes, don’t mind much how they get there, will do whatever it takes. Be your own man, that’s the thing. Of course, once in a while you get a girlie-swot who does come good, given enough time, boys like our A.A.’

‘A.A?’

‘Oh! Of course, you wouldn’t know, the chap you know as Tony, owner of this place.’

‘Part owner, along with the Earl.’

‘He always has aspired to be part of the landed gentry.’

Charlie grabbed the remote and pressed pause, saying: ‘That’s a good place to leave it for now, we’ve got Bob for tea, and I’ve got prep to do.’

‘Well thanks a lot! Stopping it just as my name is about to be dragged through the mud.’

‘I wonder how the club will react?’

‘Well, I imagine there will be a few stony-faced types who will be wittering about the constitutional implications and suchlike, but most will just find it hilarious!’

‘And how will Rory and Prudence react?’

‘They won’t like it. They’re going to find Buffy even more difficult to defend. Still, we won’t have long to wait, Buffy has been called in as a late substitute for Uncle, as speech-giver at the club Christmas lunch.’

‘Is his lordship unwell, sir.’

‘No, I don’t think so, just losing his taste for drunken revelries.’

As soon as we were sat around the kitchen table, staring at the pot, waiting for it to stew a little, the good Captain started in. Such romantic idealism was surprising in an older person, he’d clearly been captivated by the prospect of making their new prospective house, a home. It wasn’t long before I felt the need to put my foot down.

‘The bottom-line Bob, is the Trust retains the freehold permanently, we like The Grange, will pay for the upkeep of the structure and any interior work that brings it back closer to the original, but all that costs! We shall no longer donate to the charity; we’ll as likely as not be your landlord initially. Charlie will no longer participate as a Trust representative but as a private individual, whatever she donates will come from her own savings. The area for negotiation is the level of rent, followed later by the possible cost of a lease. Remember, the move itself is going to cost you, you also don’t know if the move will bring you more or less donations. There is the question of how much you personally wish to commit, versus the benefit of holding off till after your time when Charlie will have considerable discretion over negotiating a long lease if both sides are still happy.’

The temperature seemed to have been falling as I made my pitch, almost as if a draft had caused the pantry door to slowly open.

‘The answer Robert old boy, is to give the real, current, accounts to Charlie to show to the Trust’s accountant, Lawrence Brinkley of Brinkley Associates.’ The voice came from Kenneth, silhouetted in the doorway, for all the world like the ghost of Duncan.

‘My God! Kenneth Murchison, I thought you were dead!’ Cried the captain.

97: The Trumpton Interviews (part one)

‘News travels fast around here,’ is a firm belief amongst most club members. But in reality, it only travels fast when they want it to, so I mused, whilst lounging there one day. As if to confirm my thought, or pre-cognition if you believe in such things, I was interrupted in my reverie by Carrie, and where Carrie goes, Buffy is never far behind. ‘What ho, stranger!’ I declared.

‘Has the blighter come out yet?’

‘Whom? And from where, pray?’

‘Buffy, from having one of his secret recording sessions with Don.’

‘Oh! I see now. I’d somehow got it into my head these must be two hour long, live interrogations.’

‘No, no, Tony. Everything needs very skilful editing. It’s a series of off-the-cuff, lifting-the-lid on the secrets of government thing. But revelations that have been, well, spun to come out right. And passed by the lawyers before broadcast too. By the way, either Buffy or Don may approach you for access and permissions, to use the visuals everyone knows you’ve got, but very few have seen.’ Then she winked!

‘To be in their turn appropriately edited no doubt?’

‘Well, not unlike yourself, with Carry on Prime Minister. But of course, to give a rather different take on affairs.’

‘My cooperation will come at a price.’

‘Doesn’t it always darling!’

‘For once I’ll have to think, what can Buffy do for me? So, you’ve been holed-up at the cottage all this time?’

‘And been being constantly instructed by Buffy to creep across the parkland to get here, before entering by the rear.’

‘Is he really homeless without you?’

‘It’s either stay with me, or at that dump of a flat in his constituency. It’s the only real bargaining chip I have... Between you and me I really can’t see our relationship surviving much longer.’

‘It had a large element of convenience in the first place.’

‘You can say that again. He still thinks he can take a lot of people for granted, I’d say you’re the man to take him down a peg or two, Tony.’

‘I’ll see what can be arranged!’

‘How’s Charlotte?’

‘Growing ever more powerful by the day.’

‘Oh, well that’s good, no chance of you getting bored then.’

Then we were interrupted; ‘Ah! There you are Anthony; I was hoping for a word.’

‘Buffy.’

‘Yes, er, now then, we must consult, we have many matters of mutual interest now.’

‘We do?’

‘I have the ear of government, you with your extensive interests in property and business must surely be in need of a friendly ear?’

‘Isn’t there some rule against that sort of thing these days?’

‘It’s a code, its not mandatory, ministers and prime ministers decide. Constitutionally, it’s none of parliament’s business.’

‘Are you angling for a job? Money worries? It can’t be Carrie, she’s hardly high maintenance, quite the reverse from what I hear.’

‘I’ll leave you two, to it.’ She said, I could see she was on the verge of cracking-up.

‘One is never short of offers after high office.’ Buffy continued, oblivious.

‘Really? Surely after your pre-recorded candour about life behind closed doors, people will worry about how sound you really are?’

‘Oh! Don’t give me that old fashioned civil service guff. The reality of politics and civil servants is very different today, and there are many openings in the private sector. And besides, after wider exploitation by Don, money won’t be an immediate problem. Listen, we need to talk seriously about the broader political message I’m sending out, developing on your ideas as it happens, whispered into Rory’s suggestable ear. Quite insightful really.’

‘And you need some statesman-like video to illustrate the podcasts.’

‘Let me buy you lunch.’

‘Can’t be done today I’m afraid, I’m already lunching my solicitor.’

‘I never had you down as a football fan.’ I chided Bernard over pre-lunch drinks in the bar.

‘How the devil?’

‘Or perhaps you were just networking, taking advantage of the corporate hospitality. Times have changed, I always think of our local clubs as permanently occupying the lower half of League Division Four, as was. And Merriweather and Stollard billboards all around the ground, still I suppose you must know what you’re doing.’

‘Everyone needs a solicitor, especially these days. Who told you?’

‘Not who, but what. You really should think these things through, or read the paperwork that passes over your desk. We sold our facial recognition security software to the football club. The police wanted them to be compatible. But it is of course the same system that clocks you whenever you’re in the old bank. I got an automatic alert, as the responsible person for security at the Trust. My system thought you might be an interloper!’

Bernard had recovered himself by the time we were seated; ‘Well now, this is an unexpected pleasure. A free lunch from you I mean. Do you have something for me, or do you need to confess something? Come along, good news or bad? Spit it out before I order, otherwise I won’t know how expensive to make it for you.’

‘Oh, just a bit of a story to tell. After your rejection of my approach regarding the railway land, I felt duty bound to hand over the property deeds to the executor and his solicitors, for the collecting of items in the estate of Mary Tufnell. I may have no influence now alas, my entitlement is to possessions, not property after all. Ah well. Do order, whatever!’

‘Yes. Thank you. Who are the solicitors?’

‘Periwinkle and Blythe.’

‘What! Are you mad? You’ve heard me talk about them for decades. Blythe is bent.’

‘A strange choice of word coming from you!’

‘As in crooked, as in sailing too close to illegality. I want you to know I regard this as an act of personal disloyalty.’

‘The Tufnell family have always used your chief rivals.’

‘The only reason they are rivals at all, is that they cut corners; damn it I have a file several inches thick on Blythe alone. You know what he’ll do, insist on a particular surveyor going to all the properties, on bringing in an independent valuer, then clock-up who knows how many hours updating the land registry, all those purchases predate computerisation. And at the end of the day, the land will just appear in the estate accounts as of minimal value - abandoned brown field sites with no permissions - taking years to sell, yet the costs, will be astronomical! I imagine your friends will feel as aggrieved about you as I do. Send them to me when all this happens, if I could only get sworn affidavits, I’d be able to kick Blythe into the street once and for all...’

‘How much do you want Blythe?’

‘A lot!’ Then I could see a light come on. ‘Oh! You bastard.’

‘Well.’ I said, turning my palms up in a submissive gesture.

‘And most of this has happened already I suppose?’

‘They met alone with Blythe, he barely mentioned costs, they’re writing their statements as we speak, I’ve arranged an appointment for the aggrieved couple to have an hour of your time, at my expense, in a couple of days. After you’ve explained what you can do for them, you’ll be obliged to tell them it may take some time, at which point you say you are in a position to make an offer on my behalf.’

‘And?’

‘In the spirit of Mary’s Will, the Trust will take all the properties off their hands for half their value, but we will also pay the entire costs. Cash in hand, now. Mr Tufnell junior may look a little affronted at this, but his wife will say something like; “Don’t make a fuss darling, Tony has just saved your arse, again”. I’ll be at the end of a telephone line if you need me.’

‘Done. Not only is it worth it to see the humiliation of Blythe, but it will put more business in the hands of Merriweather and Stollard for years to come. But, I mean, Tony! I just don’t see why you’re so determined to acquire the land?’

‘There are two old avoiding routes for the coast line, both of which we can delay and make horrendously expensive, but at the same time, we, that is other members of what I should perhaps start thinking of as a consortium, can offer to buy outright, from a debt-ridden government, a loss-making railway line, or two.’

‘It’s steaming apple pie with ice cream day, today, isn’t it?’

96: The art of trash

As autumn slowly closed upon us and we all adjusted to life under the new King, The Beacon announced, in an exclusive, our former prime minister’s future intentions. It seemed the Don had secured the rights to the story of Buffy’s premiership, to be told in a series of two-hour interviews for The Don Wooley Podcast. It had already been some weeks since the Park committee had approved and adopted the proposed changes to it’s media room. I rather assumed both Buffy as well as Wooley would want to use it. I was at a loss to know why they hadn’t been in contact, surely, they didn’t think I’d be willing to bid for their presence? They’d have to take their chances with the booking system and pay the going rate. Ditto the idea of regularly broadcasting the podcast.

There were other things on my mind at the time. Even if railway building was going to be a sometime, maybe never kind of a plan, I still needed to get sorted title to the properties, and what of Mr Tufnell senior’s other possessions? Having scanned what was required from the diaries and notebooks, I decided to return them via Victoria at the gallery. ‘We’re off to the New Realist Gallery today.’ I announced, assuming my paramour was present; ‘I’m hoping you can distract Tuffy.’

‘Again! What’s the sleight of hand this time?’

‘Oddly enough, the aim is not to confuse Tuffy.’

‘Can we include some refreshment at the cafe? I need to consult Captain Bob about the shelter committee.’

‘Yours to command.’

We were both staring in disbelief so long, Tuffy actually came out onto the pavement to see what was wrong. There in the window, given pride of place was one of those hideous constructions one is forced to witness for a month or so every year whilst walking the promenade. ‘Enjoying our modern trash?’ He enquired.

‘Enjoying is hardly the word. It sits below your shop sign which clearly states, New Realist Gallery! What’s going on? Vic has no truck with modern art!’

‘We’ve just hired out the window for the month, nice little earner, fact is this is the “Start Here”, for the trail.’

‘What, all the cringe art on the front is meant to be viewed in sequence?’

‘It’s themed, apparently. Telling the story of climate change through recycling.’

‘You know it doesn’t matter how well crafted this stuff is, it’s still the result of dustbin diving. It still leaves general public on a downer, feeling depressed about the world. Where do these artist’s get their cash? Can’t believe anyone buys this kind of thing.’

‘One of the arts bodies I suppose, maybe it’s the council.’

‘Come on, let’s go inside.’

Almost immediately we were confronted by Victoria saying; ‘What brings you here Tony?’ Charlie hadn’t yet had the opportunity to get Tuffy out of the way.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘we were sort of wondering why we hadn’t heard from you about getting underway with sorting the older generations possessions. Needs some planning, right?’

‘Rather distracted by the solicitors at the moment,’ said Tuffy. ‘I’m a bit disappointed about assets and all that, to tell the truth. Mother doesn’t seem to have left much in terms of cash. Well, less than expected on that front anyway.’

I saw an opening and took a chance. ‘Ah! Well, I may have good news then. Here are your father’s diaries returned, all in good order.’

‘Where did you get them?’

‘From the study of course, hope I wasn’t out of order, you did say you couldn’t make them out. I have to tell you they’re not in code, but written using your father’s own abbreviations and shorthand, a few minutes spent rereading the half a dozen or so letters he sent me during his lifetime, got me familiar with his script again.’

‘I didn’t know father wrote to you.’

‘Oh yes, I treasure them to this day, he did a lot to buck me up in hard times. Anyway, it allowed me to make some sense of the property deeds.’

‘What deeds?’

‘Well, at first, I couldn’t understand why the last time I saw your mother, she insisted I take this bunch of keys, here, there you go, you’d better take charge of them now. That one, opens a safety deposit box at our bank, guess what was inside?’

‘Cash?’

‘Alas, no. Only title deeds to sixty-seven bits of property across the county.’

‘My God! I knew it. I knew father wouldn’t have let us down in the end. Where are these deeds?’

‘Oh! Perfectly safe, in my safe at the villa. You can pick them up on your way to your next appointment with the solicitors, it’s still old Blythe, isn’t it?’

‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’d thrown in the towel. Also, you know Bernard gave me a crash course in Wills and Executors before Bob’s was finalised - well property is property, not possessions!’

‘So then, I’ll give you one clue, what did I say when I first opened the letter with Mary’s Will in it?’

‘Oh! For goodness’ sake, I can’t remember trivia like that!’

It was still warm enough for the good Captain’s crowd to be sitting out at the Harbour Cafe, though the man himself had yet to turn up. We took a table just along from the old sea dogs. ‘There’s something Bob wants to put to you.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘He can explain better than me. You know a while ago you said when we were at the shelter about distancing ourselves from the council and how I should take a closer look at the Trust’s property portfolio.’

‘I see, I think.’

‘Well, he has a proposal.’

‘So, this is a set-up, you lured me here.’

‘Absolutely! Sir.’

‘Just the man I want to see.’

‘And good morning to you too.’

‘Charlie has explained, has she?’

‘Only that she hasn’t the bottle and that you’ll do the explaining.’

‘Age, authority, has certain benefits, ask the King! And it is a matter of public record, the ownership of property.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘You see, our problem is, we’ll never be able to satisfy the demand for beds the way things are, the recession, cost of living and everything. We want to drop the council in it, force them to act. More or less do a moonlight flit, declare that we’re now a specialist charity for those who are homeless because of enduring mental health issues and just need to be outside a lot of the time. We can’t keep trying to deal with the whole range of problems that turn up at the moment and which really only have political solutions.’ Then he hesitated a moment before saying; ‘Myself, and a couple of the ex-marines who have become regulars at the shelter have been up to see The Grange, that is the property you were thinking of I take it?’

‘Yes, just because of the naval connection really, it overlooks the sea, just five minutes walk from the harbour side, but with enough seclusion, enough of a garden. Plus, the little lodge come gatehouse thing.’

‘Great minds think alike. And you must know the history of the place. My lads were very impressed with your security and the way the outside is maintained. Took them a good five minutes to find the alternative method of access, so to speak. So, anyway, we had a good look at the house from the garden, they appreciated immediately the way it was built. Funny, there’s always a tension on board a ship, between the captain and a detachment of marines, they have to submit to our authority, but they’re land lovers confined, isolated if you like, no purposeful work to do. Anyway, my point is they get the house, especially when I explained it was originally designed and built for an ex-admiral. Given it’s been a care home latterly, how much can we put back?’

‘Well, now you’re putting me on the spot, asking specific questions, in a public place. This is where I go into, official “negotiating on behalf of the Trust” mode, I’m afraid. If you want a more informal chat about these wild imaginings, then fix a date with Charlie to come up to the Villa, for tea, alone!’

95: The history man

‘What are we doing today?’

‘I don’t know, but I know where we are going this evening!’

‘Oh, a glamourous dinner, before taking in a show, on tour before the West End? No?’

‘No, they’re still in official mourning.’

‘The cinema then?’

‘No, none of that.’

‘What then?’

‘We are going to a lecture on local history.’

‘You really know how to show a girl a good time!’

‘By a professor of international repute let me tell you, who just happens to use our county as his field area.’

‘And my presence is required to what end?’

‘To better understand the machinations of your employer with regard to the property portfolio of the late great Mr Tufnell senior.’

‘Terrific!’

Our extra mural exertions took us to the more respectable of the county’s two universities.

‘Good evening, everyone, as you can see from the first slide, I have called tonight’s lecture, Our Man-made Landscape. I feel more than justified in retaining the Man, not just as the indefinite pronoun but in the literal sense too, our landscape was built by men for men, you may say; “but women toiled in the fields too”, but what they did and why they did it... Well, need I elaborate? Besides I believe myself to be too ancient now to draw censure, to be cancelled as I believe the phrase has it, indeed many believe me already dead, or at least of so little consequence as to be literally brushed aside in the rush of the canteen that was once the Senior Common Room and home to so much competitive debate over the inadequate ideas of one’s table companions. That was a joke by the way, laughter is still permitted during my little entertainments. As you will have already noticed, I am the last to wear an academic gown on anything other than ceremonial occasions of self-congratulation. It is remarkably efficient in preventing the chill reaching these old bones and at signalling to others in advance, that I should be given a wide berth. However, the key to my academic longevity and continued relevance, and this will be my final point in these introductory remarks, is simply that none of my students has ever risen up to successfully challenge my ideas, no one as yet has, in the intellectual sense, killed his tutor. No tall, angular, neurotic Wittgenstein has dispatched the old pompous and diminutive windbag, Russell. And of course that dreadful old queen, who’s name escapes me for now, has finally been banned from the airwaves, the one who made a name for himself out of hundreds of hours spent pawing over the laundry lists of Tudor monarchs, to the great delight of fans of the televisual extravaganza, always claimed he’d literally killed his former tutor, the old man’s lifeless body having been discovered slumped over his desk, which had lying upon it a copy of the aforementioned’s latest paper, pointing out over a hundred errors of fact and interpretation in the old tutor’s later writing.’

‘Slide two, is an archival photograph showing my old tutor looking down from the summit of one of the highest hills in the realm. No, no, I didn’t push him off. He was far too wise a fellow for such a fate. It was he who would point out that wherever you stood in the British Isles, however close you might think yourself to nature, in reality the entire landscape was a man-made one. Let us examine this example more closely, there, just below the summit are the scree slopes, absent of scree. I confess, I was one of those undergraduates in bygone days, who in youth enjoyed the occasional scree run, thus doing my bit to destroy the planet. The tree line used to reach to within a hundred feet of the summit, part indeed of the arboreal forest which once encircled the entire temperate zone of the northern hemisphere, its partial demise, here in this part of the United Kingdom certainly, due almost entirely to man’s cutting down trees with metal tools, in order to create charcoal fires, with which to fashion even harder metals, to cut down even more trees. The short grass that can be seen here, is the result of grazing by deer and sheep, who of course like nothing better than the shoots of new trees, which would have reforested the area...’

There was a great deal more of this, before he finally got to his principal focus of the evening; ‘Slide Ten, gives us a feel for the sheer impact of railway building, on the left, I offer you a scan of Bradshaw’s railway map of nineteen-seven, the railways had reached their greatest extent at the turn of the century, extending over twenty-three thousand miles, now of course reduced to something less than half that figure. Coincidently, the Edwardian era was also the period of highest profitability for the railways at any time in their history, whether privately or publically held. I ask you to note not only their sheer reach, but their remarkable density, even in the more rural areas. They literally divided up the nation. On the right, an enlargement of our own county, here note not only the coverage but the plethora of stations, here are halts, both on the mainline and branch lines, usually short wooden platforms from which a potential passenger could literally hail a local train or request a stop from within the train...’

What must have once been a crisp fifty-minute lecture, finally staggered to a close after an hour and a quarter, but none the worst for that, it ended with a considerable amount of applause, the kind of public endorsement few academics could claim. We hung back, hoping for a quick word. When the hall was all but empty, I chanced my arm; ‘Professor, I wonder if I might be permitted a rather speculative question about the future?’

‘You can always try!’

‘There is an interest in opening up old railways, I wonder would you consider it a practical proposition given the land is parcelled up and in the hands of so many different interests?’

‘My dear fellow, were I considering reviving old railways, my attention, far from being on dubious rights of property and the law’s delay, would be focused on the Department of Transport itself, the greatest opposition coming from within! At the time of all the kerfuffle over closing railways there were, if memory serves, about two hundred and fifty civil servants dealing with British Railways, against about two thousand concerned with road transport. I’m sure there are a lot more now, though I doubt the ratio has changed. Sorry to disappoint. Now then, young lady, have we met before? You don’t look like one of my students, but you do seem vaguely familiar.’

‘I don’t think so, sir.’

‘Not unless you’re a reader of The Beacon.’ I offered, as a glib aside.

‘Of course! You’re Charlie Sparkwell, what a delight, may I have your autograph? Er, here, sign my lecture notes.’

I confess, to peering over her shoulder, the dedication above the title on page one read; ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Charlotte Sparkwell xxx’.

A week or so later we made our next visit to our great cathedral city. Charlie left first, in number one car, to pick up Captain Bob. Ten minutes later I set off in the other. On arrival at the old bank, we had the great good fortune to get adjacent parking opposite our intended destination. After intense negotiation over the previous few days, the Forsyth Will was finalised, with attached memorandum of guidance, leaving it up to Charlie whether she opted for being a rich woman or simply a generous one. It took but a matter of minutes for them to formally sign it, in Merriweather and Stollard’s conference room. Afterwards the two of them amused themselves in reception whilst Bernard, Brinkley, Thayer and I had an informal conference.

Bernard paced the room throughout my pitch, while the owl sat comatose but slightly menacing in the centre of the table, now Bernard’s eye was caught by something outside the window. ‘Good lord, they’re identical! I’m surprised you don’t have them wrapped, one with “his” and one with “hers”.’

‘To all but the eye of love, one sports car in British racing green, looks much like another.’ Offered Thayer.

‘Closer to the GWR’s and British Railways’, Brunswick Green actually.’

‘Ah! Now, yes, that’s just it, isn’t it?’ Broke in Bernard. ‘Let me see if I’ve got my ducks in a row here Tony. Mr Tufnell senior spends forty years buying up railway land on the off-chance BR will one day want it back, they don’t, he dies, another fifteen years pass, nothing happens, you now want Lawrence and I to waste what time we have left to us, creating a company - working title, “Steam West” - owned by Mr Tufnell junior and the Arlington Trust, to hold all these properties and update the land registry. And, because there is talk of an avoiding line for the coast, these properties aren’t worth anything on the open market, they’re just a bargaining chip to get any revived railway looking like, what, they did in Victorian times?'

‘To get the railway the community wants.’

‘And none of this actually stops a compulsory purchase order, if the Department of Transport has the will to see it through.’

‘Well, they might need a new act of parliament...’

‘Tony! This is a non-starter, imagine, every one of sixty-seven bits of land would need re-surveying, I mean what’s this one, for example; “including plate-layer’s hut”, what in the name of God was that, in nineteen sixty-five, or at any other time?’

94: Funeral

‘Today I fear, is going to be one of those days.’

‘What days?’

‘Where I end-up taking charge, without trying or wanting to, and Tuffy much to his own annoyance, ends up being caught in the cross fire because he can’t see to get out of the way.’

‘Well, just make sure I’m told what I need to know, when I need to know it.’

‘Full dress, valette uniform please. And I must be in a black tie and as low key as possible. I don’t know, but I suspect I’ll be “sir-ing” as much as you today!’

It was nice to be attending an old-fashioned church funeral. The same church that I’d last attended to see Prudence married, and where some fifteen years before we’d said goodbye to Tuffy’s father.

‘Where on earth have you been?’ Demanded our host at the west door.

‘We’re not late, are we?’

‘No darling, spot on actually.’ Interceded his wife.

‘We’ve got a church full of people and I don’t recognise any of them!’

‘Friends of your mother presumably.’

‘She saw practically no one after father died.’

‘Well, friends of your father then, here out of respect.’

‘I don’t remember any of them from father’s funeral.’

‘Well, we were both a bit out of it that day. Your mother stepped-up to the mark and handled formalities.’

‘They are all of about her age Tony.’ Added Lady Victoria.

‘Right.’

‘How did you know to dress like that?’ Tuffy was being accusative again.

‘Er, look, do you mind if Charlotte and I sit up front with family?’ I said turning again to the better half.

‘Of course not, Tony.’

‘Well, as we seem to be the last, follow us.’ I said and moved forward pausing only when level with the first backs of heads, and consequently blocked the others behind us. A few seconds was enough, I spied some of Mr Tufnell’s business cronies and rivals, local dignitaries, I chose one sat about half way down the nave.

Placing a gentle arm on his shoulder, and whispering as if he were slightly deaf, I said; ‘Good to see you sir, there’s a grand tea at the house later, all of Mary’s former dinner guests welcome.’

When we were seated Victoria, whispered; ‘What are you playing at, I’m only set-up for about half a dozen at the house! There must be fifty of these wrinklies.’

‘Fear not, they’ll self-select, only a handful will turn up.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Remember our conversation at the gallery? We need them.’ And then the music stopped.

Half way through the second reading my device pinged. Well, its only set up to tell me what I need to know, so I checked it, a text from Archie with a link to the Palace site, a sort of ‘be prepared’ health bulletin, I decided to tell no one.

Back in the fresh air, Victoria suggested I take her place next to Tuffy. I said; ‘Right, you greet them, thank them for coming and point out where in the churchyard, if anything else needs saying, I’ll say it.’

‘Thanks, old man.’

There were three of them, plus the gentleman I’d spoken to, who, once upon a time, had been the last Town Clerk and first Chief Executive of the Bay Council - we’re slow to change in these parts! They all said, in their own way, what a wonderful hostess Mary had been. I chipped in with; ‘You are coming back to the house Mr...'

As Sparkwell and I returned to the car, I speculated; ‘Amazing, is it greed, avarice, a sense of fun? Four men prepared to admit they know Mr Tufnell’s great secret, knowing I’m their last best chance.’

‘Well, at their age, they can’t be in it for anything but the game!’

‘Tuffy, I wonder if I might be permitted to show our guests your father’s study? Ideal for a little reminiscence therapy I should think, I might even be able to offload some of your father’s more obscure books, for a fair price of course.’

You could see the confusion, the desire to be relieved of these people, the fear I might be getting one over on him. ‘Oh, yes, naturally old man.’

‘We’ll let you entertain the ladies.’

A few minutes later I was able to say; ‘Gentlemen, welcome to the treasure house of Omar Khayyam!’

‘We’re none of us bookish Anthony, as you well know. Still, good enough ruse I suppose.’ So said Gerald.

‘Soak up the atmosphere everyone, whilst I find another chair.’ When we’d settled, I continued; ‘I imagine you’ve all been here before?’

‘Oh no, we were never allowed this far.’ Said the ex-Town Clerk.

‘Really. Anyway, let me brief you over the Will. Tuffy gets the house and cash, however; the possessions are to be shared out between Tuffy and myself.’

‘Well, at least that keeps the idiot son out of it.’ Said Gerald.

‘But I feel duty bound to inform you that, with Mary’s blessing, Mr Tufnell’s diaries and address books, all his vital numbers, are currently in my safe at the Villa, along with the entire contents of the anonymous safety deposit box.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Groaned Brian.

‘I could send my boys round!’ Asserted Jack.

‘Jack, your boys and I were at school together until age thirteen, if you sent them round, we’d just be sat at the kitchen table drinking tea and reminiscing about the fights we’d had on the playground tarmac.’

‘Really Jack, you should make an effort to stay informed. Anthony is, Mr Electronic Surveillance, saying it’s all in his safe is like saying it’s all in Fort Knox!’

‘Besides, my girl could flatten the lot of us.’

‘She knows?!’ Said Brian, alarmed this time.

‘As of today, only the absolute minimum. I’ve cut her out as much as possible.’

‘Good lad. Now then Anthony, what do you know of Mr Tufnell’s business affairs?’ Said the local bureaucrat.

‘Not much, which is why we’re sat here. He was a trader, buying and selling wholesale, modest bits of import, export. My interest was only aroused when I realised, he was living a lot more modestly than he needed to.’

‘Does the British Railways Property Board, open brackets, nineteen forty-seven, close brackets, Limited, mean anything to you?’ Asserted Brian.

‘Er, well, trying to remember my modern history, stage one of a nationalisation scheme, bring the property of all railway companies, and what was on that property, under the control of a single private company, which just happened to be owned one hundred per cent by the Crown.’

‘Very good. Now what do you imagine that included in our neck of the woods?’

‘He means within the relevant local authority boundary of the time.’ Added the public administrator.’

‘Blimey! As my partner would say. All the track and adjacent land, stations, locomotive depots, maybe the quarries from which the stone to build the railway came from, or at least the documents relating to change of ownership. Oh, was the grand intended retirement home of the great engineer owned by the company? And the end of the line, not only the station but the quay, and on the other side of the river too. But then the nineteen seventy-three local government act changes the boundaries. Where is this all leading?’

‘Ha! You’re the university educated one, now what happen when the railway decided to sell-off bits of land?’ Brian continued.

‘I was told this one quite recently, the preservationists were mad as hell, they wanted time to raise cash, but bits were sold almost instantly to local authorities.’

‘And what would we call that, Anthony?’ Said the quietly spoken local government officer.

‘Creative accounting. Selling something to yourself, given the amount of central government grant to local councils, to make closing railways look like good cost saving. Look, you’d better cut to the chase before the Lady Vic gets suspicious.’

They all looked at each other for a moment or two. ‘Your father bought property to boost the income of your Trust, okay?’ Said Gerald.

‘Yes.’

‘But his mate Tufnell got a bee in his bonnet about that guy who was brought in to shut railways. He spent his spare cash on every bit of ex-railway land he could find between our cathedral city and where the old transatlantic liners used to tie-up! Including, from some local councils, some of whom, were more than happy to oblige.’

Then Brian continued with; ‘Governments today seem increasingly interested in opening-up old lines; they imagine it will be as easy to get old land, as it is to get new land but...’

‘They’re in for a great big fucking surprise!’ Interrupted Jack.