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Oats |
| Written by Sharp | |
| Tuesday, 13 May 2008 | |
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Share it:      Oats. Gordon H Sharp
Crumbleton Abbey, Surrey. 4th June. Crouching in the shrubbery of the large, country garden, the watcher rubbed his skinny hands. It seemed that Crusher had been telling the truth. Two days ago, Bernie Willis had left prison after yet another spell inside for burglary. Until now he'd had doubts about the value of the transaction he'd made with his cellmate Crusher Collins. For six months he'd shared his meagre tobacco ration with Collins, because Crusher offered him what appeared to be a certainty. In exchange for the tobacco, Collins had given Bernie crucial information that could net him a real bundle.
Crusher, an ex-boxer, who'd never got anything from his calling, apart from two cauliflower ears and a broken nose, was not renowned for his intellect. Bernie figured it had to be worth a gamble. He reckoned that Crusher Collins had neither the wit or the imagination to put one over on wily Bernie Willis.
Crusher told him that on June 4th the Stratten family were going to Ireland on a trip lasting two weeks, during which time the house would be unoccupied. Apparently the Strattens, who were in banking, were looking for a few more horses to add to the dozen or so they kept housed at the famous ''Brandon Gate'' stables situated five miles from the house. Crusher said he'd got positive knowledge that the house didn't have a standard burglar alarm system fitted, so there was no danger of bells ringing out. To top it all, he claimed to have a key for the place. Crusher claimed the house was full of good stuff, but for some unknown reason he went on and on about not touching the safe in the library. "O.K. O.K. I've got the message," Bernie assured him for the umpteenth time.
The bleeders probably thinking of doing the place over himself after I've been, he thought suspiciously. Even while Bernie was saying his goodbyes, Crusher still couldn't leave it alone. "Don't forget now, leave the safe Bern, - leave the safe." had been his parting remarks after he told him where to pick up the key. # # # # The Stratten's Range Rover pulled down the drive and drove away. As the big car picked up speed in the country lane; its gleaming headlights cut through the darkening night like two shafts of bright sunlight. After a few seconds Bernie followed it to the gateway, listening intently as it disappeared in the gathering gloom. The house was isolated, especially for Surrey. The nearest neighbour being half a mile away. Bernies old estate car was parked in a makeshift layby two hundred yards down the road; it contained a small fearful boy, his ten year old son Harry.
Bernie, who had been a villain all his life, felt it was high time that the lad learned something about the business, and started making a contribution to the family finances.
Taking a small torch from his pocket he slowly flashed it on and off until he heard the pitter patter of small feet running towards him.
The tiny breathless figure that appeared out of the darkness almost collided with his father, for whose signal he'd waited patiently for so long. "Hi dad" the boy half whispered, both excited and relieved. "You keep your trap shut Harry, don't you speak until you're spoken to or you'll get the back of my hand!" his father said in his usual, threatening manner.
As they walked to the front of the house, a niggling doubt still lingered in Bernies mind about Crusher. Grubbing around in his pocket he extracted the key. Wouldn't be a bit surprised if the clown'd got the wrong one he thought despondently. His opinion regarding Crusher's reliability was at an all time low.
The little lad scratched his head before staring anxiously up at the shadowy figure of his dad. He had a twenty pound note in his pocket that was emergency money. His dad said that if things went ''pearshape,'' he was to scarper and catch a train back to London. Young Harry Willis just hoped nothing went wrong, he'd never been on a train alone before. The key turned smoothly in the sophisticated lock and the heavy door swung open. Bernie held his breath. No alarm bells rang out....Bernie could have cheered.
Removing the key he entered the house. "Clever old Crusher" he whispered to the lad who didn't understand what his dad was talking about. Harry just wondered who this Crusher was? But, being well aware of the quick temper of his father he wasn't about to ask for any explanations. Bernie was still amazed that the key fitted, let alone the lack of alarms. He cast a discerning eye around the tastefully decorated, and expensively furnished hall. Closing the door, he moved rapidly and expertly through the rooms followed by the small boy, who stuck to him like a shadow.
Bernie selected only the items he knew to be valuable. Very soon, with the assistance of his small, but willing helper, he'd amassed a large quantity of choice items on the floor of the hallway, close to the front door. "Struth" Bernie said happily to his young companion. "We'll be luçky to get this little lot in the old motor." He stood motionless for a few seconds as though gathering his thoughts, then, with an evil sneer crossing his coarse features he turned on his heel and returned to the library.
The large safe built into the library wall was completely exposed. There wasn't the slightest attempt to disguise its presence, no fancy pictures or hanging drapes. Bernie stared at its hard metal face, momentarily undecided. The maker's name, ''Brotherton & Ellis'' seemed to whisper the fact that he'd opened one before.
It was almost as if the safe was mocking him, inviting him to try his luck, if he dared to. Old Crushers last words again echoed ominously in his mind. 'Leave the safe Bern. Leave the safe.'... ''Bugger you Crusher" Bernie said out loud, his greed finally overcoming any scruples he might have had about giving his word to the old fighter.
Watched closely by his son, he operated the dial with the expertise of a locksmith. Within a few minutes he heard the satisfying metallic click as the final steel tumbler fell into place. Looking triumphantly at the boy, the horrible grin widened on his face again as the heavy metal door swung silently open.
A split second later all hell broke loose, Bernie leapt back as a heavy metallic clang shook the glass of the windows in the library. This was followed by similar crashes from all over the house. Must be echoes Bernie thought absently.
Badly frightened, he looked around him apprehensively, half expecting the whole building to collapse, so heavy had been the noise, but now the big house took on an ominous, almost eerie silence. When the uproar had begun, with every metallic bang the look of terror on the face of young Harry had grown. He now stared up at his father. - The boy was trembling visibly with fright.
Moving over to the window from whence the ear splitting noise began, Bernie was surprised to see that there were heavy iron bars covering it from outside. He'd been in the library a couple of times while he'd been stripping the rooms of their valuable contents, but he'd not noticed the bars then. A sneaking, horrible suspicion began to form in his mind. Pushing young Harry roughly aside, Bernie, his interest in the safes contents allayed momentarily, ran out quickly into the quiet hallway and threw open the heavy wooden front door. He gasped, it was as he feared. The entrance beyond the door was totally blocked by thick iron bars. Grasping the heavy bars he shook them furiously, and fruitlessly, as he vented his rage. The bars remained immobile as Bernie kicked out at them in a final act of frustration and anger. Leaving the hallway, he now raced desperately from room to room with the small boy trailing in his wake, but all over the house the story was the same. After a futile foray through the bedrooms, Bernies cunning mind thought it had found a solution, - the loft space. Seizing one of the pink, ornate, satin covered bedroom chairs, he stood on it and released the tiny trapdoor that provided access to the roof-space. He planned to force an opening through the tiled roof, but as the tiny door swung down he cursed anew when he saw that once more heavy steel bars obstructed him.
The hapless duo spent a fruitless night searching for an escape route. The darkness of the night, so often his ally in the past, did him no favours when the tiny torch batteries expired. As dawn broke, Bernie, now feeling hungry, investigated the kitchen in daylight. Last night he'd briefly searched the room in the forlorn hope that he might find a hacksaw, or something else with which to attack the bars that denied them their freedom.
After finding and switching on the electricity and water supplies, Bernie and Harry had a drink of water before looking for a bite to eat. Almost ten long, minutes later, Bernie had to confess defeat yet again. The huge fridge was bare, so were all the large kitchen cupboards. Not even a measly tin of beans Bernie thought despairingly, as his stomach grumbled loudly in hungry protest.
Young Harry had started to grizzle as he too complained of hunger. All he got for his trouble was a slap in the earhole. The only edible items that Bernie found were contained in a dozen or so large paper sacks stored in a small, warm room, adjacent to the back door. Most of the sacks were full.
Crumbleton Abbey, Surrey, 18 June.
Joshua Stratten, watched by a large and curious police constable, operated the remote control device that actuated the hydraulic security system. He waited patiently as the heavy steel bars slowly retracted and returned to their normal position.
On his arrival home from Ireland, Mr Stratten had called the police as soon as he saw the security bars were down.
Accompanied by the large policeman he had entered the house with some difficulty, due to the untidy pile of articles still obstructing the hallway. Inside the drawing room, sitting comfortably in the largest armchair with his feet up on a small antique table, and nursing a half empty bottle of whisky, they found the dishevelled, unshaven, sorry looking figure of Bernie Willis. "About bloody time too" was his curt greeting to the two men. A little later, despite a barrage of questions from the police and Joshua Stratten himself, the half drunken Bernie's only comment was. ‘'No bloody comment.''
As the constable led Bernie away, a police inspector who'd stationed himself by the rear door when they entered the house, quietly followed Mr Stratten through the entire building. They inspected the open, empty safe, it told it's own story. "Don't worry Mr Stratten" said the inspector confidently. "Either he's swallowed your wifes diamonds, in which case we'll recover them with a little help from mother nature, or he's hidden them somewhere in the house."
They continued their inspection tour by checking out all the other rooms in the house. Arriving in the kitchen, both men looked puzzled when they discovered a huge pile of sticky, messy pans, and a stack of used plates, and last of all, a number of empty paper sacks littering the tiled floor.
The inspector, his brow furrowing as he searched for a logical explanation, spoke with a note of curiosity creeping into his voice as he said. "Whatever was in the empty sacks sir? Oats officer, simply Oats!'' Stratten replied seriously. A moment later, a whimsical smile began to crease the policemans podgy face as he began to understand the connection between all the dirty dishes and the empty paper sacks.
# # # #
Wandsworth prison, 5th July. The rattle of tin plates heralded the start of another day in the grim confines of the old prison, as the mornings new intake of prisoners queued up to receive their traditional breakfast.
The large, heavily tattooed hands of the big scarfaced prisoner who was on cookhouse duty, were soon wielding a long handled metal ladle with which he doled out generous portions of a sticky grey substance to the line of hungry inmates. Occasionally the glutinous substance wouldn't leave the ladle, and the server had to shake the utensil vigourously to persuade it to release its unappetising content onto the proffered plate, the substance would then land heavily on one of the shiny metal dishes, making an audible, almost obscene plopping sound when it did so.
Sudden1y one prisoner, a small man with bloodshot eyes, after eyeing the steaming contents of the ladle and the huge metal pots that contained vast quantities of the unpalatable mixture, broke away from the waiting line and ran, shrieking loudly. "No more. No more!" at the top of his voice. The man, out of sheer disgust, and frustration, threw his plate down onto the immaculate floor, and, visibly heaving ran out. "Mmm. Mustn't like my porridge" said the cook with a wicked, knowing smile. Later that day walking around the exercise yard Crusher Collins spoke defensively to an angry, and very hungry Bernie Willis. "But I did say to keep away from the safe, didn't I Bern. - Eh Bern?" Looking up into the light blue, seemingly innocent eyes of the big man, Bernie asked the sixty-four dollar question that had bothered him ever since he'd opened the front door at Crumbleton Abbey. "How the hell did you manage to get hold of that key Crusher? and why did you keep rabbitting on about the safe?"
Crusher Collins opened and closed his mouth like some large fish that had just been landed. He hesitated before explaining that he'd worked for the company who'd installed the security bars at the abbey. Crusher then proudly explained to a thoroughly bemused, but already enlightened Bernie, what a tricky job it had been to install such a sophisticated system. "You see Bern" he boasted, rising proudly to his full height. "The safe was the trigger for the system. That's why I warned you to leave the safe. See what I mean Bern. Eh Bern?" Bernies eyes lifted heavenwards, and shaking his head in wonder, he walked slowly away from the big man.
A fortnight later Bernie Willis received the first letter he'd ever had from his son Harry, it was very brief, and read as follows. Deer dad, Iym riting to tell yoo that I did wot yoo sed. I wayted til evryware wos kwiet and even tho I was cuvverd in dust from outa that sak I got into I got the trane ome orlrite. I put thows things yoo giv me in yor tin boks - and like yoo sed - ime leevin it berreed ware it was. I ope yoor orlrite. Yor Sun Harry. x x
The warder responsible for censoring the prisoners mail shook his head, and smiled broadly as he read the short letter.
After placing it in the approved tray, he commented to no one in particular. "And the government still insists that educational standards are rising!"
The End
Copyright 2008 Sharp |
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| Last Updated ( Wednesday, 25 June 2008 ) |
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