by Alan Nolan
Conor and Charlie walked with Ogg back towards Conor’s house.
‘You mustn’t blame Ogg. It’s his nature,’ said Charlie, holding Ogg’s hand. ‘He just saw the moose attacking Sinead and assumed the worst.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Conor. ‘The big lug will just have to be careful, or someone will realise he’s a caveman.’
‘Yes, well, cavemen are people too, you know,’ said Charlie and gave Ogg’s huge hand a squeeze. ‘Don’t call him a big lug, you’ll hurt his feelings.’
‘And speaking of big lugs,’ said Conor, ‘Frank is here!’ He came to a dead stop – he had spotted his mum’s boyfriend’s car parked outside his house. ‘You know, Mum’s boy-FIEND. Ah no, I thought they’d split up!’
Charlie headed home and Conor quickly hid Ogg in the dog kennel. ‘Sorry, Ogg. I don’t know what Frank is doing here, but don’t come out until he’s gone.’
Conor came through the door, noisily jangling his keys. ‘Ah, Frank!’ he cried. ‘So GOOD to see you!’
Frank didn’t have to be a cop to be immediately suspicious – Conor was never that friendly to him. He smoothed down his moustache and coughed, raising himself off the sofa to his full beanpole height. He brushed dandruff off his police-uniform collar. ‘Hello, young Conor.’
Why does he always call me ‘young Conor’, wondered Conor to himself. Are there so many Conors in his life that he has to categorise me?
‘I, um, just called in today,’ Frank continued, ‘while your mum wasn’t, um, here, to, um, ask you a question. You know, about your mum. Um. And me. You see …’ He broke off mid-sentence. His keen policeman eyes had seen movement in the back garden. ‘What? Who’s that in the back garden, Conor? Is that one of your friends?’
He moved towards the back door in time to see someone ducking around the corner of the house. He opened the door and went out.
‘Hello?’ he called, and followed the mysterious figure around the corner.
Conor came after Frank. ‘Frank,’ he hissed, ‘don’t worry, I know who it is.’
‘Well, who is it?’ asked Frank.
‘It’s, em, it’s …’ Then Conor had a bolt of inspiration. ‘It’s a tramp! I found him on the green! He was nearly run over by some stray horses, so I told him he could sleep in the dog kennel. Just for tonight.’
‘Those horses are a curse. Someone should do something,’ said Frank, nimbly ignoring the fact that he was a policeman and that he probably should be the one who should be doing something. ‘A tramp, you say.’ He didn’t sound convinced. He didn’t look convinced either, for that matter, but, then again, he always had a suspicious look on his face – he was, after all, as I stated before, a cop. ‘Well, it’s very nice of you, Conor. But make sure he only stays one night. If he’s still here tomorrow, I’ll have to move him along. There’s plenty of hostels in the city centre.’
‘Don’t worry, Frank, I’ll make sure he’s gone by tomorrow,’ said Conor, and then to change the subject, ‘Now, you said you had something to ask me?’
‘Ah, um, yes. You see, me and Clarissa, I mean, me and your mum …’
Just then Frank’s walkie-talkie police radio crackled, and a voice said something in cop-speak that only other cops could understand. CKKRZZ-CRK-UNIT-SEVEN-KRK-FRNK-TEWLPS-CLBBRSTWN-GREEN-AREA-RESPND? Or something like that.
‘Frank Delaney responding,’ said Frank into the radio and then, to Conor’s relief, he headed for the door. ‘Gotta go, compadre,’ he said as he left. ‘Antisocial pulling up of tulips on Clobberstown Green. We’ll talk about your mum again, right?’
Conor nodded.
Frank turned at the gate. ‘And remember what I said about that tramp. He’s gotta go too.’
Conor closed the door and leaned against the wall in relief. He had gotten away with it.
Chapter Eleven
A Lark in the Park
Conor, of course, didn’t make sure that Ogg was gone by tomorrow. He didn’t want Ogg to go, ever. Conor only had two friends, Charlie and Ogg, and he wanted to keep both, if that’s alright with you, thank you very much.
He successfully hid Ogg from his mum all week long, and it was now Saturday – that meant it was time for another scout camp. This one was a survivalist weekend in the Phoenix Park. The Phoenix Park was a huge wooded area full of deer and wildlife that sat on the northside of the River Liffey, just outside the centre of Dublin. Despite its closeness to the city, the park had a kind of wild quality to it, not least because it was home to Dublin Zoo and the cries of the zoo animals could be heard throughout the park all night long.
Conor decided he couldn’t leave Ogg behind at the house – Frank was already getting suspicious, and besides that, Ogg might get hungry and Conor didn’t trust him with the toaster. There was nothing for it, Ogg would have to come.
That Saturday and Sunday, Conor’s mum was working, as usual, in Clobberstown Leisure Centre. Her shift started at 8am, so Conor had plenty of time to get Ogg ready. After his mum had gone, Conor brought Ogg into the house and let him have a shower. He went through Frank’s clothes again and took out a pair of jeans and a big blue jumper for Ogg to put on. Along with the toeless runners, Conor thought Ogg looked alright – it was a nice change from the dungarees, at any rate.
Because Clarissa was working, Charlie’s dad was picking Conor up. He wouldn’t be expecting to see Ogg waiting for a lift too, but Conor thought he would give him the old ‘it’s-my-uncle-with-larry-gitis’ line again. If it worked on Ms. Hennigan, the cleverest person Conor knew, it would work on anyone.
When the doorbell rang at 8.45am on the dot (Charlie’s dad was a punctual sort), Ogg surprised Conor by trotting to the door and opening it himself with a cheery ‘Morning!’ for Charlie!
Holy moley, thought Conor, Ogg’s speech is getting better and better!
Charlie laughed a pretty laugh and brought Ogg by the hand to her dad’s car. ‘This is Conor’s uncle Ogg,’ she told him. ‘Is it okay if you give him a lift as well?’
‘The more the merrier!’ cried her dad.
Ogg got into the back seat, and the car immediately sank down almost to the tarmac on one side, its suspension under severe strain because of the massive weight. ‘Ooh, big lad, isn’t he?’ said Charlie’s dad, slightly worried for his vehicle’s well-being. It was a bit of a banger, but it had been in the family for twenty-seven years now, and he loved it dearly.
‘Dad!’ whispered Charlie. ‘Don’t be rude!’
‘Oops, sorry. Em, nice day, isn’t it?’ he said over his shoulder to Ogg.
‘Morning,’ said Ogg. It was a new word and he wanted to make the most of it.
Conor grinned at Ogg. He threw his bag in the boot of the car and they set off for the Phoenix Park.
As it turned out, Charlie’s dad talked the whole way (politics, water charges, phone charges, TV talent shows – there was no subject he didn’t know enough about to bore people silly with), so Conor didn’t have to worry about Ogg’s limited conversational abilities.
They arrived at the scout camp in the park and rolled to a stop beside where some scouts from Conor’s troop were unpacking food and sleeping bags. Charlie’s dad hopped out and took the rucksacks from the car boot.
Damian and Gulliver appeared when they saw Conor arrive, ready for a spot of early morning persecution, but they turned on their heels and walked off when Charlie and Ogg got out of the car. Ogg unfolded his huge frame to its full height as he got out, the tree branches far above the car’s roof combing his long hair. He looked around and smiled. He recognised this place …
Damian’s dad came over to them as Charlie’s drove away. ‘Ah,’ said Dennis Deegan, ‘I see you’ve brought your uncle with ye. Damian tells me it’s Bogg, is that right?’
‘His name’s Ogg,’ said Conor.
Ogg smiled and patted the bewildered stockbroker on the head. ‘Eejit,’ he said.
Conor and Charlie cracked up silently.
Dennis goggled at Ogg. Had he heard
him right?
‘Oooookay,’ said Dennis. Then he shouted to the scouts, ‘This weekend is all about survival, lads. And ye all know what that means: NO TENTS. Yep. Ye are all going to have to make your own shelters using nothing but natural materials. Now that Mr. Ogg is here, I think we’ll split ye into two teams. I’ve a scout badge in advanced natural shelter making, so ’twill be no bother to me. Ogg, you can take the other team.’
He added under his breath (because he was afraid Ogg would hear), ‘And then we’ll see who the eejit is, heh?’
Some of the scouts were a bit nervous – they hadn’t seen anyone as big as Ogg before – and opted to join Dennis’s team, but Conor and Charlie grabbed their rucksacks and ran straight over to their caveman pal.
To Damian’s disgust, Dennis ordered him to go with Ogg’s group as well. ‘To keep an oul’ eye on him. Good lad, Damian, shoulders back.’
‘One last thing,’ said Dennis. ‘After we spend the night out in the wilds, we will meet up again tomorrow on O’Connell Bridge in the centre of the city. And because this is a survival weekend, ye won’t be getting taxis, cars or buses – no mechanical transport allowed. Ye’ll have to hike it, walk it, run it, or, if you’re feeling fruity, you could ride a horse.’
Damian smirked at Conor and Charlie. ‘Should be no bother to you two at all. Sure isn’t Clobberstown covered in piebald ponies?’
Charlie growled. Damian heard her and immediately ordered Gulliver to come with him for safety. Gulliver took a big gulp from his bottle of ink.
‘Glurk. Such a filthy habit, Gulliver,’ said Damian, hitting the nail on the head for once. ‘I wish you’d give up drinking ink. It makes your teeth all blue.’
Gulliver smiled an apologetic, slightly blue-tinged smile.
Ogg shrugged his huge shoulders and marched his four scouts through the woods.
Charlie turned to Conor as they walked. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d nearly say he knows where he’s going!’
Now it was Conor’s turn to shrug. ‘Well, he’s lived six thousand years longer than we have. You never know, maybe he used to visit the Phoenix Park thousands of years ago.’
Ogg led them far away from the paths, to a clearing surrounded by high oak trees. Although they were in a park that was visited by hundreds of thousands of Dubliners and tourists every year, when the scouts looked around the clearing they felt as if they were the first humans in history to have stood there. The grass beneath their feet was soft and long, the oak branches above swayed in a gentle breeze. It was absolutely silent; they couldn’t hear people or traffic, even though they knew they were only a couple of hundred metres from the busy roads of Chapelizod and Strawberry Beds. Even Damian looked impressed. ‘Janey mack,’ he said, ‘this place is actually quite nice.’
‘Home,’ whispered Ogg.
Conor, Charlie, Damian and Gulliver started to gather materials to build their shelters. They had read the scout manuals and had a fair idea what to do. Damian, being the scout leader’s son, tried to take charge, but Conor and Charlie (and even Gulliver) ignored him and went off into the woods to find fallen branches and logs.
They returned after half an hour to an amazing sight. While they were gone, Ogg had built the most awesome shelter in the centre of the clearing. He had dug a small pit for the inside of the shelter and lined the floor with leaves, then, using branches and vines, he had constructed an eight-foot-high teepee. The outer walls were covered in ferns and, from an opening in the back, a ladder made of straight branches tied together led up to a lookout post high in one of the oak trees.
Ogg pointed up to the crow’s nest he had made. ‘For hunt elk!’
The whole troop laughed and followed Ogg into their cozy, warm shelter.
Chapter Twelve
Let’s Be Frank
As Ogg and his scouts settled into their camp that evening, over at Conor’s house, the spare key rattled in the front door and Frank let himself in. He wasn’t happy about Conor ‘adopting’ a random hobo. To tell the truth, though, he hadn’t even mentioned it to Clarissa. Even though he was a cop and was meant to be rough and tough, Frank was slightly scared of Conor’s mum. She worked quite a lot and was often very tired and very cranky. And everyone knows tired and cranky beats rough and tough any day of the week.
Frank opened the back door and went around the side of the house. He pulled the creeper plant out of the way and rapped on the roof of the kennel. Nobody home?
He leant down and stuck his head in the doorway of Clarissa’s ex-dog’s former digs, but no-one, vagabond or vagrant, was to be seen. In fact, he couldn’t see much at all, it was so dark in there. But cops, like scouts, are always prepared. Frank took a slim flashlight out of his trousers pocket, clicked it on and climbed into the big kennel.
All over the floor of the doghouse were sharp stones. He picked one up. It looked like flint – is that what you call it? The stones were chipped into sharp shapes, kind of like arrowheads or axe blades, he thought.
And what was this one? He picked up another stone. It seemed to be carved into the shape of a dog. Or maybe a wolf, since it had pointy ears.
Frank swung his torch around the walls of the kennel. There were pictures on all of them, drawn on with charcoal from burnt bits of wood or sticks. There was a woman in one of them, and what looked like a couple of children in another – maybe a boy and a girl (it was hard to tell, as both the woman and the children had the same long hair and single eyebrow). On the third wall was a drawing of a wolf, the exact same as the carved stone Frank had found on the floor.
He looked at the carving of the wolf in his hand, and his cop senses started to tingle. Could this stuff be stolen property? Hmmm.
Frank took out his phone and searched for the number of the Natural History Museum. If this stuff – the flint arrowheads, the axe blades, the wolf carving – WAS stolen, the museum might have reported it.
The phone rang once, twice, three times. On the third ring someone picked up. ‘Hello, Dublin Museum of – oh, I don’t know, Natural History, I suppose? Professor Cromwell Griffin speaking.’
‘Hi,’ Frank said, ‘this is Sergeant Frank Delaney from Clobberstown Station. I’m just wondering if you had any artifacts stolen recently. I’ve found some here – they appear to be Stone Age tools and stuff, but the strange thing is, they look quite new.’
‘Don’t you know how late it is? Hold on, did you say they look new?’ said the voice at the other end of the line excitedly. ‘Stone Age tools that look NEW??’
‘Yes,’ said Frank. ‘No wear and tear. They look like they were just made yesterday.’
‘It’s a little late now, Sergeant, but myself and my team will be with you first thing in the morning,’ said Professor Griffin, smiling a sneering smile. ‘Now, tell me your address …’
Chapter Thirteen
Home Sweet Cave
The next morning Conor, Charlie, Damian and Gulliver woke to a delicious cooking smell wafting in through the doorway of the teepee. They got out of their sleeping bags, rubbing their eyes. Conor sniffed the air. He couldn’t quite place the smell, but he was glad it was a cooking smell he was smelling and not one of Gulliver’s guffs.
The kids looked out the opening. Ogg was outside, and on the ground in front of him were huge leaves filled with raspberries, strawberries and nuts. He had built a fire and was roasting a rabbit on a spit over the flames. It smelt LUSCIOUS! The four scouts, still in their pyjamas, emerged from the makeshift teepee, drooling.
‘I have to hand it to him,’ said Damian to Conor, ‘your Uncle Ogg is quite the cook.’
‘Yes, he seems to be,’ said Conor, wondering how early Ogg had gotten up to do all this foraging for food.
‘Sit,’ said Ogg. ‘Conor, Charlie, friends, sit down. Eat.’
They sat down around the fire and Ogg handed them leaves filled with nuts, berries and succulent pieces of roast rabbit, which they ate with gusto. (Up until that moment Gulliver always believed that ‘gusto’ was
his third cousin on his mother’s side.)
Ogg gave Gulliver a plastic glass filled with fresh, crystal-clear stream water flavoured with honey. As soon as he tasted the delicious concoction, Gulliver licked his lips, quietly took the bottle of blue ink out of his pocket and poured it out onto the grass. He would never drink ink again!
When they had all finished, Damian and Gulliver were so impressed by the early morning feast that they actually volunteered to clean up.
‘You know what,’ said Damian to Gulliver, ‘don’t tell my dad, but that was the best breakfast I’ve ever had on a scout trip. I’m glad we went with Ogg, even though he IS a big lug.’
Gulliver frowned and smiled at the same time – a ‘smrown’, if you will. ‘Hmm. Nothing wrong with being a big lug …’ he said quietly.
Ogg turned to Conor and Charlie. ‘Conor, Charlie,’ he said, ‘you come with Ogg.’
Ogg walked off through the trees. Conor and Charlie looked at each other and then followed him. They walked down a shallow, rocky slope to where Ogg was standing by a large, flat boulder. He had moved the rock to one side – there were scrapes in the earth and grass where he had shifted it. It was only a small rock, but it must have taken great strength to move it at all, Conor thought as he looked up at his enormous caveman friend.
Behind the rock was a smallish tunnel, just large enough for a sizeable man, or maybe even a caveman, to squeeze through. Ogg got down on his hands and knees and started to crawl into the passage. ‘You come! Follow me!’
He wriggled in until all they could see were his big, hairy feet. They got down on all fours and followed him into the stoney burrow that went deep into the slope.
