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Post by onlyMark on Feb 16, 2016 9:16:15 GMT
Mrs Newton recoiled as if bitten by a snake. “If you look any further down you’ll no doubt be able to see my feet, you disgusting boy,” she choked furiously. She scribbled violently on a piece of paper. “Here, take this chitty to the Headmaster at once.” Mr Aspley told Kangy to take a cold shower, but that wasn’t what hurt. It was Mrs Newton’s attitude. She could have been more forgiving, Kangy reckoned, even a little flattered perhaps. He fared no better when it came to his first encounter with Matron. He received a kick in the groin during a game of rugby and collapsed writhing on the ground. I was selected to take him to the infirmary for attention to his injury. Kangy told Matron what had happened. “Take your shorts off,” she said peremptorily. “I’m not wearing any underpants,” he replied shyly. “That doesn’t matter. You’d have to remove them anyway.” Kangy stripped off and lay flat on his back on a table as ordered, his face beet-red while she massaged the top of his thigh with an evil smelling ointment. His willy began to rise. Matron gave it a swift karate chop with the edge of her hand. It deflated like a pricked balloon. “That’s enough of that nonsense,” she remarked caustically. Kangy got his willy out when we returned to the dormitory and sorrowfully examined the blue spreading bruise. “Look what she’s done to me,” he groaned. “The kick I got didn’t hurt me as much as she did.” “Serves you right,” I said. “How could you get excited like that? She’s old enough to be your grandmother.” “I couldn’t help it,” he said dreamily. “I closed my eyes and imagined it was Mrs Newton.”
A few days later, Kangy was among a group selected to give a gymnastic display on open day. He had never been considered a star turn in the gym and we suspected that Mr Benson had included him for a bit of light relief. The parents and all the staff sat watching the performance from a balcony. Muted titters could be heard as Kangy stumbled or mistimed his leaps. The climax of the display was a chinning competition. Several participants only managed five or six chins before Eric Hunt had his turn and broke the record with sixteen. He strutted around punching the air to scattered applause from his sycophantic following, convinced that no one would beat him. Ten was the most anyone achieved right up to the man who happened to be Kangy.
The low hum of conversation died away when he did his eleventh chin as it began to be realised that Eric Hunt’s feat could be surpassed, and awed silence when he reached fifteen. Close to exhaustion, he struggled desperately to do another. Only one more required to equal the record. Everyone leaned forward expectantly. Red faced and panting, Kangy pulled slowly upwards, painfully straining every fibre of his aching muscles with a last despairing ounce of strength. As his chin at last came level with the bar, we all plainly heard a thin high pitched sound like air escaping form the pinched neck of a balloon. It gradually dropped an octave down the scale and increased in volume until it reached a bursting storm of rattling gunfire in the longest, drawn out expulsion of anal wind we had ever heard. His fingers lost their grip on the bar and he fell to the floor in an untidy heap. The parents and staff coughed and squirmed with embarrassment while the physical training instructor hurriedly organised an unscheduled game of five a side football.
The first thing Kangy did when moved up the Prince of Wales School was to enlist in the Cadet Corps. Although he was obsessed with flying, he joined in the expectation that the military training would enhance his application for the Royal Air Force when that time came. Saturday mornings were devoted to this activity and for new recruits the first term was spent doing square bashing and arms drill with ancient rifles from World War I.
Kangy was in his element when it came to marching and sticking bayonets into suspended sacks of straw. He kept his uniform immaculate and won the best cadet award for the initial training phase. He really came into his own when he went on the firing range. He seemed to gain in statures with a rifle or shotgun in his hands and his personality would temporarily change. He’d caress and stroke the weapon with a sureness and confidence that almost brought it to life and want to perform just for him. He scored the highest points ever recorded for accuracy, grouping, and snap shooting at all ranges and seldom missed a clay pigeon. However, as we advanced and began to study tactics and battle strategy, his enthusiasm waned.
One of the things we were taught was the method of eliminating an enemy emplacement such as a machine gun post or mortar position. The procedure was to split the available men into two sections. While one section opened up with rapid fire to keep the enemy’s heads down, the other section had to gain ground by charging forward diagonally for about fifty yards, then dive for cover. This section then opened up while the first section charged forward on another tangent. So it went, turn and turn about until they were close enough to lob in some grenades and finish the job with fixed bayonets. It all sounded very admirable and heroic in theory, but we all hoped we would never have to put it to the test. It certainly helped to convince me that I wasn’t cut out for the Army.
The day came for the final examinations to assess our potential as officer material. A small group of Captains and Majors from the nearest army camp came to evaluate our capabilities. Kangy passed all the physical aspects with top grades before going on to the oral and written tests. “You are in charge of a platoon,” his examiner said, a pot-bellied Major with mustachios a yard wide and a bulbous red nose. “Hundreds of men’s lives depend on you silencing that enemy machine gun over there,” he continued, pointing to a bush about three hundred yards away. “How would you set about achieving that objective?” A long silence followed while Kangy cogitated. He appeared to have a sudden flash of memory. “Er – I would split my platoon in two and put a Sergeant in charge of the other section.” “Yes – yes,” the Major said impatiently. “And then what?”
Kangy jumped nervously and realising he had to say something, opened and closed his mouth to gain a few more seconds of thinking time. “I would contact the Air force on my field telephone and ask them to drop some bombs on the machine gun,” he said hopefully. The Major’s eyes protruded from their sockets and glazed over for a few seconds, then cleared into a fierce glare of horror and contempt. Blood rushed to his face. “Ha, I hope you never join the Army,” he shouted in a strangled voice, then stalked away in a tremendous huff. Kangy shrugged disappointedly. Pilots didn’t need to know all about bullshit anyway, he told me afterwards.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 16, 2016 9:17:15 GMT
Eric Hunt’s size and strength gave him a considerable advantage over everyone else and he exploited it to the full. Kangy’s apparent docility only served to stimulate Eric’s naturally sadistic nature and he singled Kangy out for special attention. Even the seniors, who were supposed to dispense fair play, were very wary of Eric and seldom intervened. We all prayed that someone would eventually have the guts to stand up to him, although we didn’t hold out much hope for that when we remembered what had happened to one who did, a certain Himy Shapiro.
Driven to desperation by Eric’s persecution, Himy bravely squared up one day and challenged him to a properly supervised boxing match in the gymnasium, as was the school custom when a dispute had to be settled after all other means had failed. Eric’s eyebrows arched with astonishment at this totally unexpected development. No one had ever dared to suggest this to him before. A fleeting glint of fear in his eyes was quickly replaced by a look of cunning. He proposed instead that they each take alternate punches at one another, the first to fall be declared the loser. Himy foolish agreed, thinking that he might stand a good chance of inflicting some damage as the implied rule was that neither should defend himself.
Eric instructed one of his companions to toss a coin to establish who should have first strike. Himy had the choice and picked heads. The toady tossed, and shielding the coin in his hands, shouted tails. Himy dare not protest for fear of being branded a coward. They faced each other. Eric feinted with his left, completely disregarding his own rule of only one punch at a time, then launched a swinging right hand blow that started at ground level and ended on Himy’s jaw. He went down like a sack of potatoes and it took three or four minutes to bring him round.
Similarly, the conflict with Eric became so intense that we began to fear for Kangy’s sanity. He had an Italian Officer’s ceremonial dagger hidden in his locker which had a long gleaming blade and the Fascist emblem of an axe and a bundle of sticks superimposed on the sinister-looking black handle. Early one morning I was awakened by the sibilant hiss of the blade as he withdrew it from its scabbard. I watched him balance it lovingly in his hands and a terrifying thought suddenly struck me. I could hear Eric Hunt’s mind was running along the same track as mine. I decided I had to do something before it was too late and asked Spencer to intervene. He dismissed my fears as sheer fantasy.
It was Kangy’s obsession with training to be a pilot that was indirectly responsible for his own torment. He had an ancient windup gramophone with a large horn that curved up out of the sound box and only one record, the Royal Air Force march which he played endlessly until we all went crazy. We reacted by throwing pillows, but Eric devised ever new forms of torture which had Kangy squirming in agony. He still played his cursed record whenever he thought Eric was out of earshot.
Kangy hit the depths when we started the first term of the new year. The final straw came when he discovered that he was not being moved up a class with everyone else. “I’m always being held back.” He said hopelessly. “What with that sod, Eric, on my back all the time, and now this, well – I’m not taking any more.” “Go and see old Aspley,” I suggested, unable to come up with anything better. “He might sort it all out.” Kangy looked at me in dismay. “And what if Eric finds out? He’ll kill me,” he said, shaking his head. “Have you told your parents about him?” “Yes. My dad says that now I’m in my second year Eric will leave me alone.” “What if he doesn’t?” “I couldn’t care less. I shan’t be here. I’m leaving.” “Your parents will only send you straight back as soon as you walk through the door.” “No they won’t. I’m not going home.” “What do you mean, where else can you go?” Kangy glanced around furtively. “Egypt,” he whispered.
I had great difficulty in suppressing the hoot of laughter that threatened to burst from me. “Why Egypt?” I asked, completely baffled. He looked over his shoulder once again and leaned forward so close that the permanent white-capped pimple on his nose seemed as big as Mount Kilimanjaro. “Promise you won’t tell anyone – and I mean anyone,” he said. “You’ll have to swear on oath like we did when we joined the smoking club.” “Now hold on,” I said anxiously. “How long do I have to keep silent?” “I don’t want anyone to know where I’m headed until I get there or else they’ll try to stop me. I’ll send both you and my parents a telegram as soon as I arrive.”
I had never seen Kangy in such a determined mood and heartily wished he had not chosen me to confide in. I knew his parents well and their awareness of his unsolicited regard for me. For some unaccountable reason they looked upon me as his protector although I had done nothing to warrant this opinion. I knew that they would be up to Nairobi on the very next train to question me as soon as he was reported missing. I would find no difficulty in being economical with the truth to the Headmaster or his staff, but it was different when it came to his parents, especially having to face his tearful mother. And what if the police took me down to the station and shone bright lights in my eyes while they grilled me. How could I hold out against that? However, my curiosity overcame my fears and I could see Kangy would elucidate no further unless I agreed to his terms.
“Okay,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll take the oath, but I’m putting a time limit on it. I’ll give you a week and then I’m going to tell your parents.” “That’s not long enough,” he protested. “Think about it,” I said. “They’ll be out of their minds wondering what’s happened to you and where you are.” “No they won’t, they’d have let me leave before now if they cared,” he said darkly, lapsing into moist-eyed silence.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 17, 2016 10:18:06 GMT
We were in the woods behind the school and I spotted a chameleon while I waited for Kangy to regain his composure. It moved slowly up the branch of a nearby tree, rocking backwards and forwards at each hesitant step. It was as brown and mottled as the bark so I placed it on some leaves and watched fascinated as it turned green. Kangy spoke calmly again after I had sworn the oath of secrecy. “There’s no one in Egypt who knows me and who’d try to stop me joining the Air Force,” he explained. “There are so many pilots being killed in the war that I reckon they’ll want plenty of volunteers.” “I shouldn’t bank on it,” I said. “You’re not old enough for one thing.” “I can pass for eighteen.” “They’re bound to ask for your birth certificate.” “I’ll tell them I lost it on the way. They can’t check on me from that distance.” “Well, how are you going to get there?” “I’m going to jump a train tonight. You know how slowly they chug up the slope by the school. It’ll be easy. We’ve done it lots of times.” “What do you do when you reach the end of the line in Uganda? You’ve still got a couple of thousand miles to go after that.” “I’ll manage. I’ll hitch-hike or walk or something. I’ll pinch a boat when I reach the Nile. I’ve saved up a few pounds for food. I’ll make it somehow. Anything’s better than staying on here.” I tried to frighten him off with lurid tales of marauding bandits and hostiles tribes, but he just smiled. I was still awake at half past midnight when he sneaked over to my bed, silently squeezed my hand and crept out of the dormitory.
I was cooking various liquids on a Bunsen burner in the laboratory next morning when I received a message to report to the Headmaster’s office. I hoped I looked composed as I knocked and entered. I approached his desk and stood with my feet apart and my hands clasped behind my back in the ‘at ease’ position. He ignored me while he looked at some papers, slowly turning the pages with studied deliberation. A cheap clock with a grinning face cackled merrily beside him. A sharp crack of thunder reverberated overhead and huge raindrops pounded against the window panes. I examined the top of his head as he continued scanning his papers.
“I shan’t be a moment,” he said at last, having to raise his voice above the sound of the approaching storm. “Tickle your arse with a feather, Sir,” I said. “What was that?” he snapped, jerking himself upright. “Particularly nasty weather, Sir.” He stared at me a few seconds, a look of suspicion on his face, then his expression changed to what I supposed he thought was a smile. “Sorry to fetch you out of chemistry class,” he said, crooking an arm over his head and scratching the top of his opposite ear. “It’s one of your best subjects I believe.” “Yes, Sir,” I replied cautiously. He was at his most dangerous when he sounded affable. He cleared his throat as if to signify that the preliminaries were at an end. ”You’re a good friend of Andrew Gormley aren’t you?” he asked disarmingly. “I wouldn’t call it that, Sir. I know him quite well but we’re not really friends.” He suddenly jerked forward. “You know he’s missing, don’t you?” I feigned surprise. “I wondered why I hadn’t seen him this morning.” “He wasn’t at roll call and his locker’s empty. I have to telegraph his parents immediately. Where’s he headed for?” “I’ve really no idea, Sir.”
“Don’t lie to me, boy. He’d confide in someone, and that would be you in all probability.” Mr Aspley was shouting now. “I’m warning you, the consequences will be very serious if you withhold information.” I hesitated, but only for an instant. I could never face Kangy again if I broke the oath and I knew that what little trust he had in human nature would be totally destroyed. In any case, I admired him for his courage and determination in attempting to carry out a plan of action however hare-brained its concept. “You’ve probably guessed right, Sir. He must be on his way home, that’s all I can think of. Where else would he go?” “I’ll ask the questions, Mr Aspley said ominously, fixing me with a cold unwinking stare for a full thirty seconds. “Get back to your classroom. It’ll be interesting to see your parent’s reaction when they read your end of term report.”
We were changing into sports kit after tea that afternoon when a fresher burst into the dormitory. “Guess what?” he panted. “I’ve just seen Andy Gormley going into the Headmaster’s office with a policeman.” We only went through the motions in the game of cricket that followed and charged back to the dormitory consumed with curiosity as soon as it was over. We found Kangy stretched out on his bed snoring his head off. Someone prodded him and he sat up, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Everyone spoke at once, shooting question after question at him. He shook his head and started speaking, slowly at first and then speeding up and grinning when he realised that he was the hero of the hour.
The first train that came along the previous night was made up of open goods wagons loaded with ballast for track maintenance, Kangy told us. He had no shelter whatsoever and spent miserable hours as he lay looking up at the night sky, his back indented by small, sharp stones. He nearly froze to death in the early morning as the train climbed through the thin upland air to Limuru before plunging down the escarpment into the Rift Valley. The glowing warmth of the morning sun filtering through his thin jacket sent him into a deep sleep an hour after sunrise. The next thing he knew was when the two police askaris hauled him roughly to his feet and bundled him down off the truck to their officer who addressed him in Swahili, thinking he was an African hobo, his face and body being covered in soot and smoke blown back from the locomotive. He had been spotted as the train pulled in to Nakuru, not yet halfway up the line to Uganda.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 17, 2016 10:19:55 GMT
“What did old Aspley do when the police marched you in?” someone asked. “Not much,” Kangy said, sounding relieved. “He told me to get cleaned up and he’d speak to me tomorrow when my parents arrive.” We felt rather let down and quickly dispersed as Kangy jumped up and started playing the Royal Air Force march on his gramophone. Eric Hunt came stalking over, his lips curving in a furious snarl. “I’ll commit murder if you don’t stop playing that bloody record.” Kangy hurriedly raised the needle and stooped the turntable. “I’m not taking much more from that hairy cunt,” he muttered through clenched teeth as his tormentor walked away.
Eric about turned and strode back with heavy menace in every step. “What did you say?” he shouted, gripping Kangy by the throat. “N-n-nothing – I didn’t say anything,” Kangy quavered tremulously. “Yes you did, you pimply bastard.” Eric forced Kangy back to the wall and pounded his head against it. Kangy either couldn’t or wouldn’t answer and the sudden contempt I felt for my own cowardice goaded me into attempting to pull Eric off him. Luckily for me, Spencer jumped in as well. “You’re going too far, Eric,” he said after we managed to separate them. “Leave Gormley alone.” “You heard what he called me,” Eric snarled. “I’m not going to let him get away with that.” He dived for the gramophone before we could stop him, and snatching Kangy’s treasured record off the turntable, he threw it on the floor and crushed it underfoot. Kangy’s face turned deathly white with sheer disbelief. He swelled up like a puff adder, and the simmering cauldron of all his pent up persecution boiled up in a sudden rush of explosive energy. He launched himself at Eric and they crashed to the floor in a tangle of flailing arms and legs.
“What’s going on here?” a voice boomed from the far end of the dormitory. Mr Sneade came hurrying down the aisle between the rows of beds. We stood back while the combatants continued writhing on the floor. “Stop that immediately,” Mr Sneade ordered, slapping their heads and forcing them apart. “Don’t tell me what you’re fighting about. You know it’s forbidden. However, if you shake hands I’ll take it no further.” “No Sir, I won’t,” Kangy croaked rebelliously. Mr Sneade looked unsurprised. He turned to Eric. “What’s about you, Hunt? Will you shake on it?” “He insulted me, Sir,” Eric said hotly, “but I will if he apologises.” “Never,” Kangy snorted. “Right – there’s only one thing for it,” Mr Sneade grunted. “You will both report to the gymnasium after tea tomorrow and settle this in a proper manner, under supervision and with gloves on.”
There was no one in the school who hadn’t heard the news by breakfast time next morning. Eric couldn’t wriggle out of this one and we all nursed the futile hope that he might sustain a bloody nose at last. Kangy was about the same height as Eric although a good twenty pounds lighter. One of the kids, whose father was a bookmaker, reflected our true opinion of the result by taking bets of fifty to one on the former and evens on the latter. I didn’t get a chance to speak to Kangy as his parents arrived from Mombassa and he spent a long time with them in Mr Aspley’s office. He went out with them soon after and didn’t return until the afternoon. I found him changing into sports kit ready for the showdown with Eric.
“Guess what,” he greeted me. “I’m moving up a class next term.” “I thought you weren’t going up until the end of the year.” “So did I, but I’ve just been told I am.” “Was anything said about you and Eric?” “Old Aspley offered to stop the fight if I didn’t want to go through with it, but my father thinks it’s the only way to sort things out.” Kangy bent down to tie the laces of his plimsolls. “Well, is that all?” I asked impatiently. “What happened about your expedition to Egypt?” “I just got a telling off. My parents and old Aspley have promised to do all they can to get me into the Air Force as soon as I’m old enough.” “You’d get away with murder,” I observed, glancing up at the clock. “Come on, it’s time we went into tea.” “I don’t want any,” Kangy replied gloomily, suddenly reminded of the impending bout with Eric Hunt. He looked pitiful sitting there with bowed head and slumped shoulders. I knew I had to buck him up somehow as Eric would become even more insufferable if he was able to humiliate Kangy in front of the whole school.
“Everyone’s rooting for you,” I said. “We’ll all be hoping you teach him a lesson.” “There’s not much hope of that,” he replied dolefully. “I’ll be lucky if I get one or two punches in before he floors me.” “If you think like that, you’re bound to lose,” I said sharply. “Now, stand up and face me.” “What for?” “Just do as I say. Half close your eyes and imagine I’m Eric. Come on, spar with me but don’t hit me hard.” He took a playful swing at me, which I easily parried. “You’ll have to do better than that,” I said, snaking out a left jab designed to graze his jaw. He swayed back out of distance with amazing speed. We danced about shadow boxing with open palms for several minutes. “Who’s a bastard?” I suddenly yelled at him. “Eric Hunt,” he panted instinctively. “What are you going to do to him?” “Smash his face in,” he growled hoarsely, beginning to enjoy the fame so much that he hit me harder than he intended. “That’s enough,” I said, rubbing my check. “Just keep clenching your fists and thinking of the pleasure you’ll get every time you land a blow.”
By the time we entered the gymnasium it was brimming over. Everyone who could walk must have crowded in because the balcony was creaking alarmingly and people were clinging like flies on sticky paper to the climbing racks that lined the walls. There was always a good number who attended such events but I had never seen anything like this before. Mr Benson, our physical training instructor, had set up a boxing ring and placed a bucket of water and a sponge in opposite corners. He beckoned Kangy to climb through the ropes and laced on a pair of gloves. Kangy slumped casually on his stool as if trying to appear that he did this sort of thing as a matter of routine. A few calls of ‘good old Kangy’ came from the keyed-up spectators. A friend and I took up positions to act as his seconds.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 17, 2016 10:20:51 GMT
The atmosphere became increasingly charged as the appointed time came and went, and still no Eric Hunt. A hum rose from the crowd. Had the unbelievable happened and Eric had chickened out. We should have known better. He swaggered in eventually, having deliberately made a late entrance for maximum effect, we knew. He raised his arms in a pre-emptive victory salute to shouts from his sycophantic followers in the gallery. Mr Benson fitted a pair of over-size gloves on Eric’s massive fists before calling both combatants to the centre of the ring. He gave them a pep talk about fair play and explained the rules. “You will box three rounds of three minutes each unless I tell you to stop or one of you indicates that he’s had enough. I’ll blow my whistle at the beginning and end of each round. Shake hands and wait in your corners.” “Good luck, Kangy,” I whispered as I patted the back of his head. “Remember, I’ve bet a shilling on you, so that’s fifty bob we’ll share when you win.” He gave me a nervous grin and hitched up his shorts.
Mr Benson started the second hand of his competition watch and blew his whistle to come out fighting. None will ever forget that day. We had the privilege of witnessing the most amazing and unexpected boxing match we had ever seen. Kangy displayed a skill and expertise that had us gasping with astonishment. His reactions were so fast that he easily evaded Eric’s ponderous haymakers and his lightning combinations of counter punches took a devastating toll. Mr Benson signalled the end of the bout halfway through the second round when Eric’s face began to resemble a piece of raw steak and he dropped to one knee, shielding his head with his forearms. Mr Benson made Eric and Kangy shake hands amid ecstatic applause, then sent Eric to the infirmary for attention to the cuts above and below his eyes.
Eric’s humiliation seemed to affect him quite badly. He became moody and introspective and solitary. We all thought he would snap out of it in a week or two, but he remained like that until he finally left school at the end of that term. No one was sorry to see him go. When I asked an unmarked Kangy after the bout where he had learnt his skills and why he had put up with Eric’s tormenting for so long, he frankly admitted that his father, an ex-army boxing champion had taught him well, but despite that, he considered his own ability would not be enough to overcome Eric’s superior weight and strength.
He was moved up a class the following term and received a concentrated effort from all the teaching staff. However, he still failed to reach the required standard to sit the School Certificate leaving exams by his eighteenth birthday. On that day, the day he had dreamed of for so long, he eagerly presented himself to begin pilot training at the Royal Air Force recruiting office near Nairobi. He passed all the medicals but failed on the aptitude tests, or so he was told. I was astounded at how well he received the news of his rejection as a pilot. Knowing the intensity of his obsession, I fully expected to find him in the depths of a terminal depression.
“It’s not so bad,” he said quite cheerfully. “I can still enlist as air-crew. They’re sending me to England to train as an air gunner. I’ll be promoted to sergeant when I finish the course. They said they had vacancies for tail gunners on Lancaster bombers, so I’ll be posted to an operational squadron straight away.” “What did your parents say?” “My mother cried a bit but they seem quite pleased for me.” I was about to say something then quickly bit my lip. If his own mother and father hadn’t told him why there were so many vacancies for tail gunners, it wasn’t my place to shine the light. He would find out for himself soon enough – poor sod!
He visited the school to say his farewells before leaving to start his training, awkward and shy and fiercely proud of his new uniform. Everyone genuinely shook his hand and wished him well. Even Mr Aspley said a short prayer for his safe return at assembly next morning. He shot down four Messer Schmidt 109 fighter planes during his tours of operations, and on one mission over Germany near the end of the war, his bomber was repeatedly attacked by a tenacious enemy pilot. Kangy got him on his third pass and had the satisfaction of watching him bale out when his engine poured smoke. However, the Messer Schmidt pilot had inflicted considerable damage on the Lancaster, killing the first pilot and engineer and severely wounding the remaining members of the crew.
Kangy miraculously came through the hail of gunfire without a scratch. The co-pilot managed to fly the crippled plane back home, but was so weak when arriving at base that Kangy had to fly the final approach and belly landing under halting and garbled instructions from the barely conscious pilot. Kangy was given two weeks leave in order to recover fully from this experience. He cut it short when he was offered the opportunity to join a fresh aircrew and was back in action the next day. He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Medal a couple of months later and returned home to Kenya unscathed at the cessation of hostilities to bask in the short-lived esteem that war heroes invariably receive.
CHAPTER 9
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Post by breeze on Feb 17, 2016 15:37:27 GMT
Fascinating, and I'm glad that things worked out the way they did in this episode.
I always find it hard to read about the old-style English boarding school, fiction or nonfiction. The schools used such harsh methods and permitted so much cruelty and bullying among students. I say "old-style" in hope that those days are long gone.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 17, 2016 21:47:51 GMT
Dammit, I wanted Kangy to succeed in his train trip to Egypt.
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Post by questa on Feb 17, 2016 22:10:04 GMT
I was a boarder at 2 different schools. The first was for many of the daughters of the Oz elite, very posh, and I spent my year there mostly hiding from the senior girls who terrified me with their airs and graces. I was 12 years old and discovered the library had great places to hide and great books to read.
The second school was for the daughters of the farmers who depended on the seasons, droughts, wool prices, wheat diseases, sheep and cattle prices to pay school fees. It was not uncommon for girls to stay home for a term or 2 until the fees could be paid again. Definitely a no frills school, older students had to help with the juniors, some of whom were 4-5 years old. For 3 years there I was the rebellious one and had many a heated discussion with the Anglican nuns who ran the place.
As far as physical violence went, neither school had much...the odd slap or hair tug, but the verbal campaigns of orchestrated teasing, gossip and rumours, "sending to Coventry" and general cattiness could destroy a girl just as well as the boys' schools could.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 18, 2016 11:04:39 GMT
I'm sure there are still some horrendous goings on at public schools.
Well, I'm off to India tomorrow. I will have the story with me and will, I hope, continue posting as I do tend to stay in places with wifi. There are still two chapters to go, a total of 22,000 words, so posting it all at once would be a bit much. Bear with me and normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 18, 2016 11:26:52 GMT
CHAPTER 9
“Did I hear you say Devlin?” my mother interrupted sharply. “If that’s the girl’s name, the sooner you forget about her, the better. She’s poison! Better if you have nothing to do with that family.” Being blessed with four sisters, I had come to expect that the female of the species were prone to make snap judgements based on intuition rather than logic. That statement from my mother strengthened this erroneous belief and I stubbornly refused to recognise that their assumptions were uncannily correct. I had only seen the girl in question for the very first time that evening.
After a day’s hunting on the Athi Plains near Nairobi, the setting sun was tracing long shadows as I rode up the hill near home with a gazelle slung over the rear wheel of my cycle. I was passing by a house set well back from the road that had been empty for months, when I heard a dog barking in the front garden. I stopped at the entrance to the driveway and looked in, curious to see if someone had moved in at last. A large black dog with a ball in its mouth came bounding into view, closely followed by a slimly built girl with long brown hair that streamed out behind her as she ran. I only saw her for a brief instant before she disappeared behind some shrubbery, and yet without even seeing her face my mouth went dry and I began to shake, I waited a few minutes, hoping she would reappear.
I had a hot bath when I got home and lay quietly in the water, puzzled and intrigued by the startling effect the sight of the girl had on me. Why should so brief a glimpse cause such an involuntary reaction? I couldn’t stop thinking about her and wondered if anyone in the family knew something. Not wishing to appear too interested, I casually mentioned seeing the girl in the grounds of the empty house and speculated on what she was doing there.
“You don’t listen?” one of my sisters said. “I’ve already told you that house has been sold.” “Well, I don’t remember. Do you know who’s bought it?” “It’s a family called Devlin. I bet it was Angie you saw. She’s the oldest daughter and two years below me at school. She told me weeks ago that she would be coming to live near us.” “This used to be a decent neighbourhood,” my mother said grimly. She shook a forefinger at me. “I’m warning you, keep well clear of that lot.” I was sure my mother was hasty in her condemnation of Angie’s family. Anyway, if anything, it only served to increase my interest and curiosity.
“How well do you know her?” I asked my sister, getting ready to duck in case my mother suddenly lashed out. “I’ve only spoken to her a few times. She’s about fifteen, too young to be a friend of mine. Did you get a close look at her?” she asked, smiling smugly. “No, she was chasing a dog. I only caught a flash.” My sister laughed. “You needn’t worry,” she said, turning back to my mother. “Wait until he sees her in broad daylight. She’s got a face like a horse and her legs are so bandy that she couldn’t stop a runaway pig in a narrow passage.” She couldn’t be speaking about the same girl. I just knew somehow that the one I had observed so fleetingly came nowhere near that description. Perhaps it was a friend or one of Angie’s sisters I had seen. I just had to find out. I lay awake half the night unable to switch off a snatch of tune that kept running through my head; ‘Jeannie with the light brown hair that floated like a zephyr on the soft summer air.’
I eagerly positioned myself behind some bushes opposite the Devlin’s driveway before nine o’clock next morning. A small blue Standard Eight car came out and drove off down the road to town. The red faced driver had a narrow band of ginger hair circumnavigating an otherwise bald head. I guessed that this had to be Angie’s father on his way to work. I began to lose patience after half an hour. No signs of life from the direction of the house, which was completely obscured by a large island of tall shrubbery. I considered leaving my hiding place and riding down an unmade track that ran parallel with the garden boundary and down to an uninhabited valley below. I knew I could observe the front and one side of the house from this track and was just about to make a move when the girl I had seen the night before, appeared.
The black dog was with her and she came out on to the road not more than ten feet from me. I crouched down even further, desperately trying to stifle the rasp of my laboured breathing. There was no mistaking that mane of flowing brown hair cascading in glorious waves down to her slim waist. The brilliant morning sunlight filtered through it in such a way that it created an auburn incandescence around her head. I gazed at her, awestruck and worshipping. A woman’s voice called from the direction of the house. “Angie, where are you going?” The girl half turned. “I shan’t be long, Mum,” she called back. “I’m taking Bruno for a walk.” She hesitated, looking left and then right as if trying to decide which way to go and allowing me to absorb every detail of her face and figure.
Long dark lashes shaded the green of her wide set eyes, which contrasted, vividly with the cream of her skin and the crimson of her generous, sensuous mouth. Her thin nose was perhaps just a shade too long yet imparted a subtle aura of aloofness and disdain. Her well-shaped legs were admittedly the opposite of knock-kneed and only complimented the rest of her. By no stretch of the imagination could she be called bandy-legged. Indeed, her grace and fragility made me feel that just the act of touching her would be a desecration. I watched spellbound as she walked away, her hips swaying rhythmically like a waving frond in a quietly flowing stream.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 18, 2016 11:27:43 GMT
I wanted to hurry after her and strike up a conversation. The very idea propelled a shiver of blissful agitation through me. It occurred to me to intercept her as if unintentionally, so I circled round out of sight and rejoined the road further down where it meandered through some trees. I rode slowly back and came upon Angie as I rounded a bend. I stood up on the pedals to climb the ever steepening gradient, and the nearer I approached her, the more the strength in my legs, drained away. She continued walking toward me, staring straight in front. While desperately trying to think of a casual but witty remark to make, one of my feet suddenly slipped off the pedal and I fell heavily astride the crossbar of my cycle.
I bit my lip in agony as Angie shot a startled glance in my direction. All thoughts of witty remarks were blown away as I continued up the hill, gritting my teeth against the excruciating pain between my legs. I felt so deflated that I dared not let Angie see me for the rest of that day. My embarrassment had dispelled enough by the next morning for me to spend a fruitless couple of hours riding back and forth on the road outside her house after her father had left for work. I went down the track where I could see the front of the house and used one of my mother’s little make-up mirrors to heliograph through the windows. This certainly brought unexpected results. Numerous small tousled heads bobbed up into view and stuck out insolent tongues.
I continued riding up and down at different periods each day without success, hoping Angie would come out and talk to me, yet at the same time, the thought filled me with dread in case I should be struck dumb and make a fool of myself. Once when I was going past on my way into town, something made me look back and I saw Angie ran out and look down the road after me. She pulled back guiltily and my heart skipped a beat. At least she wasn’t indifferent.
I thought long and hard over the next few days of possible stratagems I could use to make a legitimate approach. I considered walking straight up to her and presenting her with a single red rose and telling her she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, or something equally as cool and self-assured. Just thinking about it brought me out in a cold sweat. I fantasised about doing something so pleasing that she would fling her arms around me, but I couldn’t come up with anything feasible. I wondered if I should ask my sister to invite her round to our house and introduce us properly. I dismissed that thought almost immediately, fearing not only my mother’s disapproval, but also my sister’s ridicule.
All my schemes came to nothing because of their impracticality and my fear of creating a bad first impression with Angie, then suddenly, something totally unexpected happened. It never occurred to me that my involvement with music would eventually be instrumental in bringing about the meeting I so desperately desired. I had formed a small swing band sometime previously with two talented Jewish brothers and a couple of their cousins. We called ourselves the ‘Veranda Jive Five’ because that is where our parents forced us to rehearse after closing all the windows. As we became more proficient, our combination of saxophone, harmonica, piano accordion, guitar and drums must have sounded quite groovy because the bookings began to roll in.
The Jewish community helped us to become established by having us play at many of their open air functions. We even broadcast on the local radio station and the ultimate was a concert we gave to about a thousand servicemen and women in a large hangar at the Fleet Air Arm station on the outskirts of town. The local priest, Father Donelly, booked us to play at a social he had organised at the Catholic Church hall, a grand name for a large, rectangular clapboard hut. We were halfway through ‘Begin the Beguine’ when Angie walked in with her father and younger sister, Kathy, and threw me into a spinning panic.
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Post by bjd on Feb 18, 2016 12:37:32 GMT
I hope you are very bored in India and feel forced to spend your time in your hotel room posting the story.
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Post by questa on Feb 18, 2016 13:08:54 GMT
and then...and then... Mark, you have made an art form of breaking off the narrative right at the crucial moment.
Enjoy your time in India, have a safe and healthy stay. We will await Angie and your father's adventure on tenterhooks.
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Post by mossie on Feb 19, 2016 16:02:37 GMT
Oh dear I can't bear the tension, first Erika taught you what went where and now the angel Angie is going to learn.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 19, 2016 16:09:35 GMT
You're a pain in the arse, the lot of you.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 19, 2016 16:11:37 GMT
Good breath control is essential for a saxophonist and that was what went first. I found I could only produce a series of squeaks on the reed mouthpiece and the accordionist quickly took over the lead without missing a beat. I stared entranced, overwhelmed by her presence as Angie made her way to a corner table looking deliciously cool and seductive in a flowered cotton dress. She sat a long time without getting up to dance, but not for want of being asked and I began to wonder why she had come to the social. After a while Father Donelly took her on the floor for a waltz and she continued dancing with her sister. I prayed that she would still be free during the intermission so that I had a chance to ask her myself, assuming of course, that she would want to dance with me, that her father would let her, and that I could summon up enough courage when the moment came.
Father Donelly at last signalled that we could have a break for half an hour. He put some records on the radiogram. I was almost bursting and joined the mad scramble for the gents, only to find a long queue in front of me. Desperate in case some smoothie monopolised Angie if I delayed much longer, I dashed out into the darkness and relieved myself on the grass with a sound like a brewer’s dray horse. I stood letting it all go when I began to feel red-hot pinpricks, which started at my ankles and slowly moved up my legs. I pulled one trouser leg up and something crawled over my fingers. I jumped into the shaft of light streaming out from one of the church hall windows and flinched back horrified at the sight of my bare leg covered with reddish-coloured inch long ants, all with their pincers embedded in my skin.
I ripped my trousers off, hopping about on one leg and then the other in panic stricken haste to be rid of them. I beat them off with flailing hands, my fingers being bitten as I did so. I had been standing bang slap in the middle of an army of safari ants that march in regiments devouring everything edible in their path. Something made me look up at the window as I pulled my trousers on again and I saw Angie’s amused face peering out, her long nose flattened against the glass. All the resolution I had so agonisingly summoned up to ask her for a dance just simply drained away.
I had hardly got in through the door when a girl called Sophia Pelotti pulled at my hand and bulldozed me on to the floor. I regarded the hint of a black moustache on her upper lip with mild distaste. She held me so tight that her large breasts ballooned up under my chin and almost suffocated me. I tried to free myself, but she was as strong as a she-elephant and attempted to drag me outside. I hurriedly warned her about the safari ants.
The intermission ended and I thankfully rejoined the band. I caught Angie’s eye several times as she moved round the floor with Kathy and my pulse quickened when she returned my look. The second rest period came and I hurried to the bar to ease the sudden dryness in my mouth. I successfully avoided Sophia’s hot clammy hand and strolled over to where the Devlins sat, trying to appear nonchalant despite a booming heartbeat and lurching stomach. Angie looked down at her feet. A schoolmate dashed in front of me just before I reached her. As I turned away, furious at my own timidity and hesitation, I heard Angie refuse him. It flashed through my mind that perhaps she only wanted to dance with her sister.
I had discovered on some occasions that attempting to split up two stunning looking girls who were dancing together was more often than not a most discomfiting experience. They invariably scowled and told me to bog off, leaving me standing red-faced in the middle of the dance floor. I soon found out that it was far better to approach one of the girls lurking in the shadows round the perimeter. They were usually sweet natured and had none of the arrogance of the ravishing ones.
Hearing Angie refuse my schoolmate, I teetered about on one leg trying to pluck up the courage to approach her again. She looked up and met my eyes, a tremulous smile on her mouth. I froze, feeling incredibly stupid. Stammering and blushing and generally behaving like an idiot, I blurted out a request for a dance with her. She half rose out of her seat and glanced across at her father. He nodded assent although it seemed to me that his featureless potato face registered disapproval.
Hoping Angie couldn’t sense my agitation, I grasped her hand and put my arm around her waist. I was sure she must hear the thump of blood hammering in my ears. The times I had dreamed of this, and now it was actually happening. If this was heaven, I wanted more. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I tried to recall the conversation I had so diligently rehearsed in anticipation of this first meeting. I held her reverently as if she was made of liquid gold that would run through my fingers.
To my enormous relief she spoke first. “Why were you jumping about outside a little while back?” she asked with a subdued titter. “Oh, god,” I groaned with embarrassment. “I was hoping you hadn’t recognised me. I went out for some fresh air and was bitten by safari ants.” “How horrible,” she said, shivering. “I’m glad I’ve never seen any. Do they really eat everything they come across?” “No, that’s not quite true, but they do march in columns with large vicious soldier ants acting as outriders, and woe-betide any small living creature that gets in their way. They’re moving house to a drier place now that the rains have come. I could call for you sometime and take you to where I know they’ll be.” “No thanks,” she said with heavy emphasis.
I stifled a sharp breath of disappointment and tried urgently to think up another reason for asking her to meet me. We danced stiffly at first, avoiding body contact until after a few circuits of the room, we moved closer to each other. I couldn’t help noticing how she pulled away from me whenever we neared her father and then resumed proximity when obscured by other dancers. “Our band has never played here before,” I said, with future bookings in mind. “Who usually provides the music?” “I don’t know. This is the first time my father has allowed me to come.” “Is that why he didn’t appear to be very pleased when I asked you for a dance?” “I think he would have preferred someone he knew. He certainly didn’t expect you to ask me. We thought you had come with Sophia.” “Definitely not,” I denied hastily. “I’m here with the band. We don’t bring anyone with us. We couldn’t spend any time with them.” “Sorry, my mistake. I thought she was with you from the way you danced with her.” “You mean the way she danced with me,” I stressed. The hint of pique in her voice sent a thrill of pleasure through me. “She’s friendly with one of my sisters,” I lied. “She’s been to our house several times. It would have been rude to ignore her.” “Of course,” Angie said, looking innocently through her long lashes.
I became excruciatingly aware of the softness of her body and the silkiness of her opalescent skin. We listened and soaked up the mood of Glenn Miller’s ‘Moonlight Serenade’ as we swayed around the dance floor. Her hair tickled my cheek as she turned her head, and I lurched unsteadily, intoxicated by the sweet perfumed feminine smell of her. The record ended and I cursed quietly as I looked up at the clock. The rest period was over and I had to rejoin the band. If I wanted to arrange a meeting with her I had to make my move right now. The thought that it might be weeks before I had another opportunity provoked me into a sudden rush of unaccustomed daring.
“Will you come to the pictures with me on Saturday?” I blurted out. “I already go with my father and Kathy every Saturday evening,” she replied, avoiding my eyes. “I meant the afternoon performance,” I said hopefully, knowing that my meagre pocket money didn’t run to taking her at the more expensive time. I would have to miss my usual Sunday session at the Salisbury Hotel swimming pool, as it was if I paid for her cinema ticket, but how could that compare with being with her? “I couldn’t go to the pictures twice in one day,” Angie said, shaking her head. “Well, where else would you like to go?” I asked, getting desperate. “I’ve never been out with anyone before,” she said, blushing. “My father says I have to wait until I’m sixteen.” “And how long is that?” “Five months.” “You could ask him now. Five months isn’t going to make any difference.” “Oh, I daren’t.” “All right then, I’ll ask him,” I said, amazed by my own sudden bravery. She snatched at my arm. “No – please don’t,” she implored, trembling with agitation.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 19, 2016 16:13:24 GMT
She started walking back to her seat. I couldn’t let her go like this after all the agonies I had endured. I reached out quickly and pulled her back. “I’ll be at the end of your driveway just after dark tomorrow and every night until you come,” I whispered urgently before releasing my hold.
I mooned about all next day unable to settle to anything and wondering if Angie would come to meet me. I lost myself in the surrounding savannah in case my mother should find me a job. Dead on nightfall I was waiting near one of the twin stone columns that marked the entrance to Angie’s driveway. I nearly had a heart attack when a large dog suddenly jumped up at me out of the gloom. It wanted to be friendly to my huge relief. A light patter of running feet and Angie materialised.
“He knew you were here long before I saw you,” she whispered breathlessly. “I was afraid he might bark.” She spoke quietly to the dog and he curled up at our feet. “I can’t be long,” she said. “I’m only supposed to be taking him for a quick walk around the garden.” “I don’t mind,” I said. “I’m just glad you’ve come.” We were jumpy and nervous and conversed in undertones. A car came up the road, headlights on high beam. Angie pulled me behind one of the stone columns. I felt her warm breath on my cheek. I leant forward and lightly brushed her lips with mine. She jerked away and turned and ran. I blessed the evening air as it cooled my face.
For the short time that was left of our school holiday we met for half an hour after each sunset. I walked about in a permanent state of rapture, alternately bewitched and frustrated by this capricious creature who could not let me go any further than a perfunctory peck on the cheek as we said goodnight. We narrowly avoided discovery once when Angie’s father came out looking for her. The dog heard him first and warned us with a soft whine. We pulled apart guiltily and seconds later came the sound of his shoes crunching the gravel of the drive. I dropped into the bottom of the roadside ditch while Angie quickly went forward to intercept him. The following night was our last together before we started back to boarding school.
“I think my father’s beginning to wonder why I’m out with the dog every night. Perhaps it’s just as well we shan’t be able to meet for another three months, although it’ll seem like three years to me,” Angie observed disconsolately. We needn’t wait that long,” I said, seizing the chance to propose a plan I had long been nurturing. “Some of the girls come to a rendezvous in the woods between our schools every Sunday and meet a few of our blokes. We could do the same.” “We’d be expelled of we were caught,” Angie said. Even in the faint starlight I saw her face go pale. “Honestly, you’ve no need to worry. It’s been going on for years.” “It’s not worth the risk.” “There won’t be any. We take turns at being look-out. Just stick with the other girls, they know every trick in the book.” “How do you know?” Have you done it before?” “Of course not. It’s just what I’ve been told,” I replied hastily, inwardly cursing myself for opening my mouth without thinking first. Angie sniffed suspiciously. “Well, I’ll have to see.” “I’ll wait for you every Sunday afternoon,” I said hopefully. “I’ll understand if you can’t make it every time.”
I went into the forest as promised despite grave doubts about Angie keeping our tryst. Several weekends passed and I had pretty well given up hope when she surprised me. I was about to turn away when I caught sight of her behind a group of girls who came into the clearing where we usually met before pairing off into the surrounding underbrush. We had a few blissful Sunday together before Brother Shaun spoilt it all. He was a novice priest at the Catholic Mission near Angie’s Convent and had been instructed by the Mother superior to patrol the forest whenever his normal duties allowed. He got too close one day when our look-out was too busy with his own girl friend to notice, and heard Angie and I talking. We had to take off through the woods, crashing through the undergrowth for what seemed miles before we shook him off.
It really put the wind up Angie so I took her back to as near the Convent as I dared and did a swift reconnaissance before letting her break cover and make a dash for it. She didn’t turn up the following Sunday and sent a message through my sister that she wouldn’t be meeting me again and asking me to be patient until we returned home at the end of that term. I could have strangled Brother Shaun and continued to roam the woods at weekends on my own. I kept well clear of the Convent girls because none could compare with my Angie and I also heard on the grapevine that Sophia Pelotti was on the prowl.
On one occasion I went with some schoolmates to investigate a Carmelite nunnery which had recently been established in a remote corner of the forest. It took some finding but we eventually stumbled on the high wooden palisade that encircled it. We climbed up to the topmost branches of the surrounding trees in order to satisfy our burning curiosity. The concept of shutting oneself off for life from the rest of the world seemed totally alien and unfathomable to us. We speculated on what motivated certain people to do this and concluded that they must be either gullible simpletons or hideously deformed.
The large compound contained a wooden chapel and barrack-like huts set in green lawns and flower beds and vegetable plots, all immaculate and carefully tended. Some nuns were digging and hoeing, which made our eyes pop out because we had never seen white women doing that kind of work. Others were parading up and down fingering strings of beads or reading little black books. With their long gowns and head-dresses, the only parts of them we could see were their hands and faces. They looked sexless and wraith-like. Disappointingly, they all appeared to be self-possessed and normal. I soon became bored and wandered off, leaving the others still perched in the trees waiting for something exciting to happen. Because of the time I had spent with old Piet Bouker, it had become second nature for me to move silently through the forest when by myself.
I suddenly heard a muted giggle and stopped to listen. It came again from a dense thicket right in front of me, followed by a series of heavy rhythmical gasps. I leaned forward and stealthily parted the foliage. The sight that met my eyes produces in me a mixture of shock, amazement, horror and hilarity all at the same time. A plump young African woman lay on her back on a bed of leaves, completely naked. On top of her a man clad in priest’s garb, his cassock pulled up to his waist to reveal a pair of pink defrocked buttocks, was pumping away like a steam engine. The woman saw me first. Her eyes widened to poached egg size and she tried to push the man off. He ceased pumping and turned his startled faced towards me. It was Brother Shaun!
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 19, 2016 16:15:00 GMT
I'm in transit to Delhi at Helsinki airport and I'll do more sometime upon arrival tomorrow. I hope.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 19, 2016 16:54:21 GMT
Jeez, just before the Carmelite orgy scene!
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Post by htmb on Feb 19, 2016 20:06:50 GMT
Oh, my.
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Post by breeze on Feb 19, 2016 20:31:59 GMT
This sounds like true love. Can it be? Without having a book in hand to see how few pages are left, we readers can't tell if we're nearing the end or not. I don't want this to end, but I know it has to. And in the remaining chapters I want our hero to find love and eventually have a son who's a chip off the old block.
Mark, you know you won't be able to enjoy yourself on your trip if you leave us hanging. Remember that some of us are snowbound for a few more weeks and only this series has kept me from a bad case of cabin fever.
Almost forgot to say I hope we're going to be reading about your travels.
Yeah, we're a demanding bunch.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 20, 2016 8:11:24 GMT
Arrived in India but a little busy right now. I'll have time later to reply.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 20, 2016 9:18:42 GMT
We stared at each other hypnotized, me the snake, him the rabbit. The woman stopped struggling and lay still. Brother Shaun collapsed on top of her with a stifled groan. He covered his face with his hands. The movement broke my spellbound trance I slipped quietly away. My first reaction was to run and tell the Senior Father at the Mission, but then it struck me that he might either not believe or not want to believe my story and report me to Mr Aspley for being out of bounds. Would he also live up to my high expectations and sent Brother Shaun back home in disgrace?
It wasn’t until I reached our school boundary at the edge of the forest that I decided to keep Brother Shaun’s secret. I realised it meant that Angie and I could now resume our Sunday afternoon trysts with impunity. I contacted her through one of the other girls and asked her to come and meet me again. Without going into details, I made sure that we had nothing further to fear from Brother Shaun. She remained stubbornly resolute however, and pleaded with me to be patient until the end of term when we could see each other at home once more.
The next two months seemed like forever and I worried myself sick in case Angie’s affections cooled. I gulped a huge sigh of relief when she met me at the entrance to her drive on the first night of the holidays. I leaned forward eagerly to give her the peck on the cheek I had been storing up all those weeks. She quickly turned her face away and I had to steady myself on the stone gate column to save myself from falling.
“What’s wrong, Angie?” I asked, fearing the worst. “We shouldn’t be doing that,” she said, staring at the ground and twisting a minute handkerchief around her fingers. “I went to confession this morning and told Father Donelly about us. He said it was wicked to deceive my parents.” “Well, it’s their fault, not yours. Why on earth did you tell him? Couldn’t you have thought of something else to confess?” “Y-you don’t understand. I can’t conceal anything from him.” “One thing’s certain. Your parents will know now.” “No they won’t. It’s between me and Father Donelly.” “All the same, we shall have to tell them. It’s better they hear from us rather than someone else.” “We will soon, but not just yet – please.” She actually grasped my shoulders for emphasis.
Her perfumed hair and the nearness of her face drove me temporarily insane. I pulled her roughly to me and kissed her full on the mouth, squeezing her so tightly that she was unable to struggle. I felt the stiffness in her body flow out and her vigorous response amazed and delighted me. There followed a series of assignations that I hoped would never end. The warm velvet air of tropical evenings saturated with the scent of wild savannah flowers, the pulsating light from a million stars eclipsed at random by the tearing burn of an incandescent meteorite and Angie so close that I could feel the beat of her heart. Such wondrous rapture that surely no other human had ever experienced.
“Where the devil do you get to every night?” my mother greeted me irritably when I turned up late for dinner one evening. “There’s got to be a girl in it somewhere.” I caught my sister’s eye for a brief moment and knew that the game was up. “I go to meet Angie Devlin. · I exclaimed defiantly, suspecting that my mother already knew and was testing me for the truth. “I’ve warned you about her already,” she said angrily. “Be it on your own head then. If you won’t take notice then you’ll have to find out the hard way.” “What’s there to find out? I think she’s lovely.” My mother had to wait until the hoots of laughter from the rest of the family had subsided. “Let me tell you about her father,” she said. “He’s rotten the core. He has no scruples whatsoever. He calls himself ‘Square Deal Devlin,’ and the reason the cars he sells at his garage are the cheapest in town is because he looks for mangled crash jobs and welds them together again. He’s just bought a tyre retreading machine from America and thought he’s make a fortune as all new tyres go straight to the Army. His retreads fall off after a few miles and his victims find that the tyres underneath are worn down to the canvas. It’s a wonder someone hasn’t been killed.”
“What’s all this got to do with Angie?” I managed to interrupt at last. “She’s not like her father.” “She’s his daughter isn’t she? There’s bad blood in that family. Some of it’s bound to rub off.” “You wouldn’t say that if you knew her,” I protested as vehemently as I dared. My mother wiped her mouth on a serviette, spoiling its pristine whiteness with a splodge of lipstick. She glanced across at my father who had his head down busily chasing peas around his plate. “This is what comes of you helping Mr Devlin sometimes,” she accused him hotly. She turned back to me. “So you think this Angie’s wonderful, do you? All right. Bring her round for dinner tomorrow night and we’ll see for ourselves.”
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 20, 2016 9:19:41 GMT
I told Angie the next evening that my parents had found out I was seeing her every night. Her hand flew to her mouth in dismay. “Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ve asked to meet you. You’re invited to dinner.” “How can I come,” she replied disconsolately. “My father will know about us then.” “Look, Angie, my guess is he knows already. He surely can’t mind if you visit my family. Let’s go and ask him.” “No – don’t” she gasped, clinging to my arm. “Not just yet.” “Angie, I’m fed up with this. We’ll have to face him sometime. You never go anywhere apart from into town and back. I’m dying to take you out. We have a little car at home, a Ford Prefect with a canvas roof that lets down. We’re looking after it for an Italian friend while he’s in an internment camp. He told me to use it whenever I like. There are so many places I can take you and so many things we can do.” “I’ll dream about it,” she sighed. “We only have to wait until my sixteenth birthday next month. My father’s promised I can go out then.” “That’ll be too late “ I said gruffly. “We’ll both be back at school and the rest of this holiday will be wasted. I mean, it’s not as if we’ll be doing anything wrong. I just want you to meet my family to begin with.” “I already know your sister and I’d love to meet the others. You don’t know my father though. He can be so stubborn. It won’t be long. If you think anything of me then you’ll be willing to wait. Honestly, I daren’t ask him now, especially while he’s in a bad mood.” “It strikes me he’s always in a bad mood. What’s upset him this time?” “He’s worried about losing business. He can’t retread any tyres because his machine is faulty and he’s expecting another one from Detroit. It should be here in a few days.” “Oh, all right,” I conceded grudgingly. “We’ll ask him as soon as the new machine arrives.”
The evening meal had just begun when I got back home and sat down in my usual place next to my sister. “Pooh, you smell like a brothel,” she exclaimed, wrinkling her nose distastefully. “Has Angie spilt some of her cheap perfume on you?” I dropped my hand out of sight beneath the table, the one that held the fork, and viciously jabbed her thigh. She screamed and jumped a foot in the air. “Cut that out you two,” my mother scolded irritably. “Yes, where is Angie? I thought you were bringing her for dinner tonight.” I explained why she couldn’t come. The family listened with mild amusement and disbelief.
“Perhaps I can do something,” my father said when I had finished. “I shall no doubt be seeing Mr Devlin on Monday morning. I’ll ask him if Angie and her sister can come to your birthday party next week. Most of those around your age in the neighbourhood are coming anyway. Two more won’t make any difference.” I smiled gratefully. His intervention on my behalf was just the lifeline I had hoped for. I guessed Mr Devlin would be unable to refuse this request, as he was frequently indebted to my father. He always finished up at the Catholic Mission with Father Donelly after Sunday evening Mass to sample a magical golden liquor brewed by the priests.
He had to drive over Ainsworth Bridge, which spanned the Nairobi river on his way home, and quite often forgot about the very sharp bend in the road that led on to it. Monday morning would find Mr Devlin waiting at the end of his driveway to flag my father down on his way to work for a lift into town in order to organise a breakdown truck to winch his car out of the shallows.
I climbed the steps on to Angie’s veranda on the evening of my seventeenth birthday and knocked on the door. My father had informed me that Mr Devlin had seemed quite agreeable when asked to allow his daughters to attend my birthday party. I felt a tremor of apprehension nonetheless. Angie answered my knock clad in a voluminous waist less frock that successfully concealed her girlish contours. Just behind her stood a semi-circle of grubby-faced children agog with curiosity.
She grasped my hand and led me inside to meet her family. I was taken aback when the woman I had supposed was Angie’s Grandmother turned out instead to be her mother. I ushered Angie and her sister, Kathy, out through the front door and received a stern lecture from their father on the virtue of early nights and strict instructions to have the girls back by ten o’clock. All my family diplomatically left the house on pre-arranged visits to friends after I had blown out the candles on my birthday cake and left me and my guests to dive into the buffet and the drinks cabinet, which my father had thoughtfully left unlocked. “Don’t let anyone get sick,” he said, wagging a warning finger. He glanced guiltily over his shoulder, then gave me a sly wink. “You were right about Angie” he observed quietly. “Even with that old fashioned dress on I can still see that she’s lovely.”
The party was a delight from beginning to end. We ate and drank and played party games and finally cleared the floor to dance to the big band sounds of Artie Shaw, Tommy Dorsey, Harry James and Glenn Miller. Angie kept close to me and I fixed Kathy up with a suitable partner. Both girls were starry-eyed as I walked them home through the warm still night and way them through their door at one minute to ten. Mr Devlin actually smiled and invited me round to play bridge the following evening. I accepted just to be near Angie and unknowingly let myself in for a long series of tedious and frustrating evenings.
Angie didn’t have a party on her sixteenth birthday. She said it was because it fell on a Sunday. We were both allowed home from school for the day and all I had time for was a slice of cake before she had to go to Mass with her father and some of the older children. The one good thing that resulted from it was that Mr Devlin kept his promise and at last gave me permission to take Angie out unescorted. Only to the cinema, he insisted. A great improvement on the bridge sessions at her house, but we still lacked the privacy I craved.
There was only one place I could have her to myself, and that was my secret hideaway, a remote waterfall I had discovered a couple of years before. There was a magical aura about that place that instilled in me a sense of utter peace and tranquillity despite the thunderous roar of plunging water. I went there whenever I needed solitude and lazed the sunny days away, swimming and fishing and reading and roasting game birds or fish over a fragrant wood fire. I stumbled on it by accident one day when out hunting for partridge. I could hear the fall from quite a distance and walked right by without seeing it owing to the thick undergrowth.
I abandoned my search for partridge and hacked and slithered my way through the foliage until I came to the bank of a river. I found myself looking down into a natural rock-faced amphitheatre carved out by centuries of pounding water. A shimmering cascade about thirty feet high and twenty five wide occupied almost half the semi-circle. The water boiled and bubbled at the foot of the fall and then flattened out to a deep dark pool that emptied into a white water run as it rushed downstream. The whole scene wore a cloak of grey mist shot through with multi-coloured rainbows. Unable to resist the spell of enchantment, I stripped off and submerged into the inviting coolness. First checking that there were no boulders lurking beneath the surface of the pool, I dived off the rock face and swam down and down until I ran out of breath. I never did reach the bottom.
After several visits I had a sense of space behind the down rush of water. I made my way round to the edge where it thinned out to fall like heavy rain and cautiously swam through, fully expecting to come up against a solid cliff face. Instead, I discovered a small shingle beach at the foot of an enormous overhang that formed a shallow cave. I climbed out and stood on the beach, gazing around with open-mouthed awe. The cave only went back about six feet, then rose up high into a cathedral-like dome over which the river hurled itself and fell directly into the pool at my feet. The wall of water formed an impenetrable aqueous curtain in front of me except at the edges through which I could just make out the trees and bushes lining the top of the amphitheatre.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 20, 2016 9:21:26 GMT
I sat for half an hour, warm and comfortable in the soft humidity and secure in the knowledge that I was invisible from the outside. I recklessly considered the possibility of diving through the centre of the cascade where the volume of water fell with the greatest force. I stood on the edge of the little beach teetering and wavering while my stomach felt like a roller coaster. A sudden disturbing thought occurred to me. What if the down rush of water took me to the bottom and pinned me down? Postponing a decision in the hope that my fear would dissipate, I found a large lump of wood on the bank of about my weight and size and threw it in at the spot where I intended to dive. I hurried downstream and felt a mighty sense of relief when it bobbed up like a cork. I repeated the experiment and timed the log’s reappearance to between thirty and forty seconds, plenty of time before I ran out of air.
I stood on the shingle beach, palpitating with a tremendous anxiety despite having proved that my intention was feasible, and consciously attempted to dissuade myself. A strange compulsion, almost a death wish seemed to possess me, the same as when I once horrified myself by wondering what it would be like to jump off the edge of the cliff on which I was standing. I breathed deeply to fill my lungs and dived horizontally into the middle of the vertical wall of water. A hammer blow struck the back of my head and forced me into a forward spin. I went down and down gyrating wildly and completely disorientated. I somehow managed to retain my senses by counting the seconds away. I reached thirty-five and the darkness beyond my eyelids began to brighten. I opened my eyes as the spinning motion lost momentum and found myself encased in a million dancing bubbles of light. I broke the surface a few seconds later and the force of the up current shot me waist high out of the water. I floated jubilantly downstream, thankfully gulping in great draughts of life-saving air.
I repeated the dives until I lost all fear, revelling in the forces of nature that could toss me about like a rag doll yet seem so playful and benign. I thought about this captivating place when I realised that Mr Devlin was only going to permit me to take Angie out once a week and then only to the cinema. I calculated that the half hour journey in the little Ford would still leave us with a couple of hours alone together.
“It’s much too hot to sit in the pictures,” I observed casually as I drove Angie into town that next Saturday afternoon. “How about going for a swim instead?” “You should have said before we left home,” Angie replied with a quick sideways glance. “We haven’t told my parents.” “Can’t we do anything without their permission? You’re not a child anymore.” “Don’t speak to me like that.” Her eyes filled with moisture. “Sorry,” I said, wanting to give her a hug but keeping both hands firmly on the steering wheel. “It’s a pathetic film, showing this afternoon. I suggested a swim because you said so yourself when you saw the trailer last week.” “I know I did, but we’re cheating if we don’t go. Would you rather take me back home and go swimming by yourself?” “That’s the last thing I want.” “Anyway, I haven’t brought a costume.” “There’s one on the backseat. I borrowed my sister’s. She’s about your size.” “You’ve worked it all out, haven’t you?” “I brought it in case you agreed.” “The swimming pool will be packed by now. Besides, the chlorine burns my eyes.” “I know of a place where there’s no chlorine or people.” “I’m not swimming in a muddy old river, if that’s what you mean.” “It certainly isn’t that, the water comes straight off a mountain and sparkles like crystal. Come on, Angie. Wouldn’t you rather be out in the sun and fresh air than sitting in the dark through a bad film?” The long silence that followed awakened a flicker of hope in me. At least it was better than an immediate and emphatic, ‘NO.’ “You’re sure you’ll get me home at the same time as usual?” “I promise.” “All right then,” Angie said, smiling shyly.
My waterfall had a remarkable effect on Angie. The combination of beauty, enchantment and raw power seemed to possess and transform her into a primitive fun-loving maiden that reminded me of a butterfly emerging form a chrysalis. She chased me through the woods and the joy in her laughter caused the small scurrying residents of the undergrowth to pause in their feeding and watch the fun. We held hands and leapt together from a high ledge into the pool. We swam in the clear, cool water and basked on a rock in the sun. Bewitched, we became detached from reality, and Adam and Eve in our own private Eden.
I managed to coax her into the cave behind the teeming torrent after a few visits. She flung her arms pleasingly around my neck when I told her I was going to dive through the cascade. She uttered a terrified shriek when I suddenly shouted ‘Geronimo’ and dived in. She was running down the bank when I surfaced, desperately searching for my mutilated body, she told me afterwards. Her relief briefly turned to anger despite my insistence that what I was about to do was perfectly safe. After demonstrating several times with the log I had used before, she agreed to dive with me providing we locked our bodies together. We leapt into the maelstrom and spun head over heels as we were swept down into the depths, then shot back up to the surface.
Laughing ecstatically, she made me take her again and again, the wild euphoric buzz that engulfed our sensibilities intensifying with every subsequent attempt. High on the adrenalin that pumped through my veins, I grasped her hand ready for another dive when she pulled me down on the little beach and smothered me with passionate kisses which worked their way up my neck and finally to my mouth. I responded eagerly, astounded by her recklessness, then sunlight that glanced through the curtain of falling water bathed her in a shining glow of sheer purity and innocence. To take advantage of the ecstasy that enveloped us would be sacrilege I thought, and I guessed she would never forgive me for exploiting a temporary weakness. No – this was something to be savoured and cherished until the sacred vows of a sanctified union. She rested in my arms and I was content in the unspoken knowledge that to surrender to the ultimate passion before that event took place would forever destroy the magic between us.
I found it increasingly difficult to believe that those Saturday afternoons we spent in our fairy dell were real. It seemed only like yesterday that Angie had been an aloof and unattainable object of desire, as remote and cool as the snows of Mount Kenya, yet now by some miracle, I was sharing an involvement with her of utter delight, each new meeting a revelation and a thrilling anticipation of the day when my yearning would be free from all restraint. I needed the encouragement of some sort of commitment from Angie so I asked her to clarify her attitude to our future relationship.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 20, 2016 9:27:08 GMT
Breeze, we are now a little over three quarters of the way through. There is only this chapter and one more but they are quite long chapters. It ends........... errr....... we'll have to see.
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Post by breeze on Feb 20, 2016 13:02:25 GMT
Mark, thanks for indulging us. I decided I should stop being so demanding and let you get on with enjoying your trip.
I continue to be impressed by your dad's writing and also by his personality. It's all so vivid.
This latest chapter brings back the wonder of a summer day that seems to last forever, something you feel as a kid and then lose. Maybe I need to goof off more this summer.
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Post by htmb on Feb 20, 2016 13:10:08 GMT
While I can't wait to read more of the story, I also don't want it to end.
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Post by questa on Feb 20, 2016 22:10:37 GMT
htmb that is just how I feel. If onlyMark could find time to record some of his adventures to follow this epic.
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Post by onlyMark on Feb 21, 2016 13:46:16 GMT
“We can’t think about that yet,” she said evasively. “You’ll be in the Air Force in a few months when you’re eighteen. That means going overseas and we don’t know how long the war will last. Who knows what may happen meanwhile? You might meet someone else and I don’t want you to make any promises you may regret.” “Angie, I’ll probably meet lots of girls, but none as special as you,” I swore with absolute conviction. “How can you be so sure? It’s no use speculating. Let’s make the most of the time we have left.” I opened my mouth, ready to further my argument. She placed a forefinger across my lips. “Please don’t spoil it,” she whispered.
As I rolled up in front of Angie’s house one Saturday afternoon, she ran out and jumped in the car almost before it had stopped. “Quick, get moving before my father comes out,” she gasped urgently. I slipped the clutch and burned rubber on the driveway until we reached the road. “I didn’t want him to talk to you just yet,” she said in answer to my quizzical look. “He’s been asking questions about the film we were supposed to have seen last week.” “Why would he do that?” “I don’t know. He’s never done it before.” “It’s a good job he didn’t ask me. I haven’t a clue what film was on.” “Neither did I. We were lucky this time. Kathy had already told me about it.” “So he doesn’t suspect anything then?” “I can’t tell. We’ll have to see if he asks me again this week.” “Well just make sure Kathy fills you in before he does.”
I noticed a badly dented black car with a spotlight on the roof close behind us. I thought nothing of it at first. It was still there after a few more miles. I made a detour and the car followed. “Where are we going?” Angie asked, frowning. “We don’t usually come this way.” “I’m looking for a shorter route“ I lied, not wishing to alarm her. I accelerated and then slowed. It didn’t matter what I tried, the black car stayed with us. We came to a place where the track wound through a small gorge and I knew of several branch ravines that connected up with it. We rounded a bend and I turned off into one of these branches. I drove in a few yards and stopped behind a large outcrop of rock. I pulled Angie out of the car and we crouched down behind some bushes where we could watch the track we had just left.
“Wha…? Was all Angie managed to say before I silenced her with an urgent gesture. The black car sped by the entrance to our ravine in a cloud of red dust. “We’ve got a tail,” I murmured. “What d’you mean?” Angie asked, eyes opening wide. “That car has kept up with us ever since we left your house. It’s being driven by an Asian and he’s carrying an African passenger.” “I didn’t see them properly they were going so fast. Anyway, who’d want to follow us?” she said uneasily. I could tell from the expression on her face that our thoughts were running parallel. “I think I know that car,” Angie suddenly gasped. “It looks like Gulam’s, my father’s chief mechanic.” “You’re kidding. It could be anyone,” I said. “We’re letting our imagination run away with us. However, just in case we are being tailed, let’s go before they realise they’ve lost us.”
We soon left the sandy floor of the ravine and reached open country. I speeded up and circled round behind a low ridge, keeping to hard ground dotted with tufts of dried up grass. I drove along the lee of the ridge until we reached the river. “I won’t park in our usual place,” I told Angie. “We’ll leave the car here, behind those trees. The waterfall’s about half a mile upstream.” She clung nervously to my hand as we walked along the bank. “Why are you taking me downstream?” she asked, trying to pull me back. “I’ll explain later,” I made her remove her shoes and we waded barefoot into the shallows after we had gone a couple of hundred yards. We doubled back upstream and passed the place where we had left the car. I took up a position further on where we could remain hidden yet keep it under observation. “We’ll wait here a while,” I said. “I want to be sure we’ve lost those men if it turns out that they really are following us.”
We sat quietly, listening to the endless call of the wood doves and the sparkling bubble of the river. A kingfisher streaked blue light as it swooped down from its perch and speared a small fish. A duiker, a miniature woodland deer, walked cautiously down to the water’s edge daintily picking up its little hooves at every step. It stood frozen for a few seconds, head raised, ears and nostrils twitching as it trawled the slight breeze. It bent down to drink. We hardly dared to breathe, enthralled by the sight of this rare and timid creature.
It suddenly jerked upright, water dripping from its muzzle, its little legs as taut as a coiled spring, then silently bounded off through the trees. Angie made to stand up to watch it run. I pulled her back. “Keep down“ I warned her softly. “Something has scared it off.” Seconds later we heard the sound of an approaching engine and the rattling of loose bodywork. The black car with the Asian driver ground slowly into view. The African lay face down on a front wing signalling with one hand to steer left or right. They pulled up beside our car and walked round it. After studying the ground for a moment, the African pointed and they started off downstream.
“I told you it was Gulam,” Angie choked, clutching at my arm. “The African is a Wakamba who works with him.” “We’d better move,” I said, helping her to her feet. “Where can we go?” “To the waterfall of course. They know we’re around somewhere but they won’t find us in our cave.” “What’s the use?” she said hopelessly. “They’ve found the car.” “All right, so they’ll report back to your father and he’ll know that we’ve not been to the cinema. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something to tell him.” Angie’s shoulders drooped lifelessly as she waded along beside me. We changed quickly into our swimming costumes behind our respective bushes, and wrapping our clothes in a canvas bag to keep them dry, we swam into our cave.
We didn’t have long to wait before the men reappeared walking upstream, the African bending almost double as he examined every inch of the ground. They stopped and gazed curiously at the waterfall, then continued along the bank for a few more hundred yards before returning. I let them go by and quietly followed. I saw Gulam’s arms waving about and heard his voice raised noncommittally. They got back in their car and left.
“I told you they wouldn’t find us, Angie,” I crowed triumphantly. She shivered as if caught in a sudden icy blast. “Yes, but they’ve discovered our waterfall. It’ll never be the same again. Please take me home.” Mr Devlin came out on to the veranda to meet us as we drew up outside the house, his thick neck even redder than usual. “Let me do the talking,” I whispered, observing Angie’s pallor. “Did you enjoy the film?” Mr Devlin asked disingenuously. “Oh, we didn’t go to the cinema“ I said in what I hoped was a casual tone of voice. He seemed quite taken aback by the unexpected honesty of this statement, but only for a moment. “Oh yes, so where have you been?” he asked. “We heard the film on this week wasn’t much good so we went to a salt-lick to watch the wild game.” “Now I know you’re lying. I’ve long suspected that you’ve not been going to the cinema so I had you followed. Your car was seen parked by a river. What were you doing there?” “We had to leave it and go the rest of the way on foot. The river is shallow just there but the bottom is soft sand and wouldn’t take the weight of the car,” I replied, confident in the knowledge that there really was a salt-lick across the other side.
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