Burley Cross Postbox Theft

by Nicola Barker

  I use the phrase ‘my young charge’ advisedly, Mr Jennings, because I’m sure it’s clear by now that I considered Lydia May to be my sole responsibility (in so far as one can be ‘responsible’ for such a wild and wilful creature!). It was in this spirit that I entered the saloon, full in the knowledge – in other words – that I was ‘standing in’ for Catrin (Lydia May’s temporary – but official – carer).

  Imagine my horror then, Mr J, when my old eyes (and forgive me for playing the age card again at this point; as I believe I said before, I have perfect vision, so this is cheeky of me, to say the least!) were greeted by the unwelcome sight of my young ward, Lydia May (I say ‘young’, but I fear this is an emotional description rather than an actual one; I’ve since been informed that she is actually thirty-eight years of age!), in the midst of a bellowing throng, having her breasts manhandled (her breasts!) by an imposing, bearded, somewhat ferocious-seeming, silver-haired fellow in full biker apparel (this ‘imposing fellow’, it later transpired, was no less an individual than you yourself, Mr Jennings!).

  I didn’t know (indeed, how could I have known?) that this incident wasn’t simply a cruel and random attack, but the culmination of a series of immensely provocative (nay, wrong-headed) acts on the part of Lydia May herself (i.e. acts that might almost be said to have demanded the kind of response they ultimately garnered – not that manhandling a young woman’s breasts is ever justifiable, Mr J! Perish the thought!).

  These aforementioned ‘acts’, e.g. staggering on to the ‘oche’ and parading around, annoyingly, in front of the dartboard (thereby interrupting play at a critical juncture), ‘mooning’ the caller (when he politely asked her to desist), pushing over Mutley’s table (festooning his wife and your oldest daughter with drinks/bar snacks), and, finally, stealing your highly prized, reserve flights (as I understand the feathers on the dart are called) from the top pocket of your leather jacket (where you usually have them displayed during crucial matches as a kind of lucky ‘talisman’, I’ve been told) cannot and should not be supported under any circumstances.

  Although – in Lydia May’s defence – they were green flights, Mr Jennings! Fluorescent green! That’s why Lydia May persisted in yelling, ‘Fluorescent green! Fluorescent green!’ throughout the subsequent brawl; the foolish girl was still hoping to win her prize, I imagine (and as a matter of fact I posted the bookmark to her, a couple of days later. I do, of course, realize that ‘fluorescent’ isn’t really a type of green, as such, but I had to give her top marks for tenacity, Claw, if nothing else, and a deal is a deal, after all).

  Like I say, Mr J, I knew none of these pertinent details at the time. If I’d had even so much as an inkling that your precious flights had been cunningly shoved inside her bra (for safekeeping), how different things might have been! (It seems that Lydia May always stores precious objects inside her bra. When we were strip-searched at the police station an hour or so later, they found not only your flights, but a £50 note, a crumpled picture of Gordon Brown, a small plastic model of Father Abraham from The Smurfs and half a ‘bumper’ packet of Maynard’s Fruit Gums all stuffed in there.)

  Had I been better informed (and feeling a tad more like ‘myself’) then I may well have resisted the rash, not to say ill-advised course of action I consequently took (in fact I’m sure I would have thought better of it!).

  What I did was obviously wrong, Mr Jennings, but it was not premeditated in any way! And yes, I am seventy-two years old (pretty much ‘over the hill’ in most people’s estimations!), but I still can’t ignore the fact that I was a reserve for the 1960 British Women’s Olympic Hockey Team (my usual position was right back, formally a defensive role. I have a hefty ‘thwack’, in other words – no matter what manner of stick I happen to be employing!).

  But enough of me, now, Claw! I can find no earthy justification in ‘mithering’ on any further about these issues (to do so, at this late stage, would surely be pure self-indulgence!). Although I think it only fair to tell you that once I’d hit you with my stick (and had dragged Lydia May, kicking and screaming, from the saloon bar), I seriously believed that the worst of the affair was over – ‘done and dusted’, so to speak!

  Little did I realize that the worst was yet to come! Because Lydia May still had those precious flights hidden about her person (your late father’s flights) and you consequently felt unable (once you eventually came around, that is) to play on. The match was then awarded to the opposing team – a cruel decision, I feel, under the circumstances: you were suffering from quite a serious case of concussion, after all, an important detail which, I have been assured, your solicitor will be very keen indeed to put forward in your defence in court come January – and your thwarted hopes, profound sense of bafflement, deep feelings of frustration and disappointment simply combined to overwhelm you…

  What more is there left to say, Mr Jennings, but simply to repeat that I am sorry, truly sorry, for my pivotal role in this dark and dire farrago, and that I hope you will some day find it in your heart to forgive me?

  If I may beg your indulgence for just a few brief seconds longer, I would like to finish this letter with the first four stanzas of one of my favourite hymns: adapted from Rev. 3: 20, which always gives me solace, I find, even in my bleakest hours:

  REV. 3: 20

  Behold a stranger at the door!

  He gently knocks – has knocked before;

  Has waited long, is waiting still,

  You use no other friend so ill.

  But will he prove a friend indeed?

  He will – the very friend you need:

  The man of Nazareth – ’tis he,

  With garments dyed at Calvary.

  O lovely attitude – he stands

  With melting heart and open hands;

  O matchless kindness – and he shows

  This matchless kindness to his foes.

  Rise, touched with gratitude divine!

  Turn out his enemy and thine;

  Turn out that hateful monster – sin,

  And let the heavenly stranger in.

  Thank you for reading this letter, Mr Jennings. I do hope it’s cleared up a few of the outstanding questions that may still have been niggling away at you during those long and wearisome nights in your cell.

  If there is anything else you need to know, then please do not hesitate to contact me at the above address.

  It goes without saying (but I’ll say it, nonetheless) that you are constantly in my thoughts and prayers…

  God Bless You,

  Yours Faithfully,

  Unity (Gray)

  PS I have yet to hear back from Lydia May re the bookmark – although something tells me that she isn’t one of life’s natural correspondents!

  PPS I have been utterly bemused by the extensive coverage of the ‘Old Oak Riot’ in the local press. It took my dear nephew Timothy upwards of ten minutes to explain the Wharfedale Gazette banner headline ‘Flight Night!’ to me – and I’m still not sure if I’ve grasped it entirely!

  [letter 21]

  Hawksleigh House

  5 Shortcroft Road

  Burley Cross

  21st December

  Darlingest, Darlingest-est-est Mummy,

  Ethan says I must tell you, straight away (because he’s far too lazy to write himself, but he loves you VERY VERY VERY MUCH!!!!), that Mrs Jeyes awarded him a gold star for being Best in Class on Friday. He was so happy about it that he wore it all weekend – mainly on the tip of his nose (Yik!). It kept falling off (even though I glued it back on there, twice) so we all had to search for it.

  One time I found it floating in the toilet bowl AND HE STILL STUCK IT ON AGAIN, SOAKING WET!!!

  Oh, my God! He’s just totally DISGUSTING, Mum! (And I honestly don’t know why he can’t simply pick up a pen and tell you all this himself! HE ISN’T A BABY ANY MORE!!!)

  NOOOO! HE JUST HIT ME WITH UNCLE A’S BADMINTON RAQUET AND MADE ME GET BLACK MARKER PEN ON MY FAVOURITE, YELLOW SKIRT! I
HATE HIM SO MUCH! HE’S SUCH A PEST!

  Ha! Aunty P’s confiscated his PlayStation and is making him peel all the vegetables for dinner! ‘But what’s wrong with frozen peas?’ he keeps whimpering.

  I just made a special request for extra parsnips!

  Yes!

  The pile’s even bigger than he is!

  SERVES YOU RIGHT, YOU EVIL LITTLE MUTANT!! (I do love him, really, though - honest I do, honest, honest, honest…)

  Mum, if Dad is reading this to you as you lie in bed, please tell him not to use that silly voice he always uses when he reads things out loud! I’ll be FURIOUS if I find out he did!

  Oh, Mummy, I miss you so much and I wish you were here with us. Aunty Penelope and Uncle Angus have been really kind and lovely and everything but we miss you LIKE CRAZY!!! Yesterday we had Steak and Kidney Pudding for dinner (with dumplings – Granny Jane’s recipe) and Ethan COVERED his in brown sauce because it reminded him so much of yours that it made him want to cry.

  I ate all of mine! Every last scrap! Even the dumplings and I had THREE! Aunty P was really, really pleased with me, although she still won’t give me my phone back!

  Aaargh!!

  So UNFAIR!!

  But I won’t go on about it. I know you’ve got much more important things to think about: LIKE GETTING BETTER!

  TRY REALLY HARD, OKAY??

  OKAY?!

  Remember how I said I was going to send you something very special I was making at school for Christmas? Well, I’m not sending it, now. DON’T BE CROSS! LET ME EXPLAIN! I’m sending you something MUCH BETTER instead. Aunty P and I are making a HUGE batch of chocolate truffles on Saturday (with edible Christmas decorations etc. It was ALL my idea! We bought these really, really cute holly leaves made out of icing sugar from this AMAZING site on the internet) and we’re giving them to everyone we know in these pretty little boxes (which we got at the same place. You have to build them yourself, but it’s easy).

  Well, anyway, we are making you a special batch ALL OF YOUR OWN with 70 per cent cocoa chocolate. REALLY bitter, like you love! (And there might be something else, too, but it’s a surprise. DON’T LET DAD BLAB!!!!!!)

  Aunty P has just said she’s planning to send an extra few boxes down – one for the consultant, and a couple for those two nice nurses (but they won’t be as gorgeous as yours, I promise!).

  The thing I was working on at school (the other secret) was a piece of calligraphy (sp?). I was going to copy you out your favourite page from Jonathan Livingston Seagull, but then this girl I know gave me an even better idea (Kayla Dove – remember her? SHE’S BRILLIANT! SOOO FUNNY! I JUST LOVE HER NAME, DON’T YOU??!! She’s from New South Wales and has a belly-button piercing with a pink crystal on the one end and a silver dolphin on the other – it’s soooo, like, Britney-2004-tacky! AND she knows it, but she doesn’t care! She’s soooo FIERCE, I swear!!!).

  Kayla had found this beautiful poem on the internet for her grandad called ‘The Road Less Travelled’. When I read it I was just, like, wow! and immediately wanted to copy it out myself and give it to Mr Wolf.

  It took me two whole hours! IT’S REALLY LONG!! Then I made this stupid, little mistake in the third last line and thought I was going to have to start all over again from scratch! I was like, NO! NO! NO! THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING TO ME!! But then Mrs Turnbull came up with the idea of just covering the bottom half of the page with another piece of paper. She said because I was laminating it you wouldn’t really be able to tell, and she was right. It looked almost perfect!

  I took it over to Mr Wolf this morning and he was just, like: This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me!

  I mean I know everyone’s still really cross with him for deserting us on the hike and stuff, but I wanted to show them all that I still like him and trust him, even after what he did. He just made a mistake, Mummy, and, like I said to Aunty P (who didn’t want me to give it to him, but I stuck to my guns, because I just knew it was the right thing to do): We all make mistakes in life. I’ve done some things in the past that I really, really regret (you know this better than anybody, Mum, but you carried on loving me just the same) and people have forgiven me – mainly because I’m a kid. Well, I want to forgive him, and that’s that. Even Ethan thought it was a good idea (and his ear infection was nowhere near as bad in the end as everyone thought it would be).

  I wish you could have seen his face, Mummy! He said he knew the poem already and it was one of his favourites. He had tears in his eyes. He thought my calligraphy was amazing. He just kept saying, ‘I can’t believe you did this all by yourself! That’s incredible!’ He just couldn’t stop staring at it!

  Anyway, I hope you won’t mind about Jonathan Livingston. If I get time over the holidays I might do it for you anyway.

  Aunty P is taking me and Evaline (the girl from school I told you about with all the amazing, red hair – her mum and Aunty P are friends from bridge) into Leeds early next week to look for some boots and the black skinny jeans I want. Evaline has a pair exactly like the ones I’m after. She got them at H&M in August. I just really hope they still have them in stock. She says you can only get the ones I want at the bigger branches – so fingers crossed.

  I was telling Aunty P that Evaline gets the Otley bus to school in the morning and says it’s really well supervised. She said we could meet up every day and I could catch it with her, then Uncle Angus wouldn’t need to drive me, although – don’t get me wrong – I do enjoy getting a lift in the morning, especially in wet weather!

  Uncle A and I always listen to the news together and then have heated discussions about the big issues of the day. It’s fun! I would definitely miss that if he gave up driving me. But then I know how far out of his way he has to go to take me, and he works such a long day! It makes me feel guilty sometimes.

  Did Dad tell you about the speech I made in school assembly for Macmillan Cancer Relief? I raised £33! Some kids even gave all their lunch money. People said I was really brave, but I said I wasn’t brave at all, I said you were the brave one. I said you were so brave that it made us all want to try harder to be the best people we could be. I said you were an inspiration (AND I DIDN’T CRY! NOT EVEN A SNIFF!), because it’s true. I said that I loved you SO MUCH and that you are the cleverest and the funniest and the kindest, sweetest, most generous person in the whole universe (Okay. Maybe I did cry, just a little bit).

  Afterwards Mr Benson said that it wasn’t only about the money (he gave £5!) but about spreading information and creating awareness. Anyway, I just wondered if Dad had told you?

  Oh, I wish I could speak to you more, Mum! I know it’s hard for you to hold the phone, and that you’re very weak, but if I could just text you sometimes and tell you what I was doing – silly little things about my day etc. I would love that so much! I wouldn’t even need any texts back from you! I’d just like you to know that I am thinking about you ALL THE TIME!!

  It would be great to have my phone back so I could do that, although Jake Spencer says the electromagnetic fields caused by mobiles mean that sparrows can’t reproduce properly. He said it’s, like, destroying the sparrow population!

  Weird, huh?

  So maybe it’s good I’m not using my phone after all!

  See?! I’m trying to look on the bright side of things!!!

  Okay. I’ve got to go now, Mum. Aunty P wants to set the table for dinner.

  I love you SOOOOO much!

  Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please GET BETTER SOON!!!

  LOVE YOU, LOVE YOU, LOVE YOU!

  Astrid

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  (+XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX from Ethan, too)

  PS. He’s just finished the vegetables. What a mess! Bits of peeling all over the table and the floor. And the veg are so small, they look like Dolly Mixtures! Aunty P’s getting the peas out after all!

  AAAAARGH! BOYS!!!!

  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  [letter 22]

  Hawksleigh House

  5 Shortcroft Rd

  Burley Cross

  21 Dec ’06

  Dear Gabriel,

  This’ll have 2 be quick because Aunt P is watching me like a hawk. I CAN’T blow it this time. That fat old cow notices my every move. I am 6st.2oz. I have gained 2oz since I spoke 2 U on the phone from Hazlewood. It might just be water, though. I hid the plastic cup in the cistern like U said and it works a treat! You’re a genius! I have at least three glasses every time I’m in there! She ALWAYS knows if I’m drinking from the tap. The pipes in this hellhole start screaming whenever you turn them on. It’s sick.

  I HATE THIS PLACE, GAB! I AM GOING INSANE! U’VE GOT 2 COME AND GET ME!!!

  We don’t have much time, now – I’m sure Ethan’s starting 2 buckle. There’s a new teacher at his school who’s making a real effort with him – there’s only so much longer I can get the stupid, little troll 2 keep his fat mouth shut about the hike etc.

  I can’t wait 2 tell U about the move I pulled with Mr Wolf! OMG! It was a masterstroke! What an idiot! I almost felt SORRY 4 him! They’re all so easy 2 play, it’s, like, totally ridiculous! I’ve been being everybody’s perfect little miss! I have Uncle A eating out of my hand, now. I even made a speech at school to raise money 4 charity! I’m being the perfect, little ZOMBIE CHILD just like they all want me 2 be!! They’re all so stupid and pathetic! They make me SICK!!! I can’t wait 2 make them pay for what they’ve done 2 me!!

  None of them understands me like U do, Gab. None of them speaks 2 my soul like U do, my sweet, dark blade, my blood, my black, black Prince, my beautiful, brave and broken, skinny, Skinny Lad.

  I am working on a scheme 2 get my phone back, but it might end up taking too long. They watch my EVERY move – esp. Penelope. That ugly, fat cow HATES me. She’s so jealous of me, it’s pathetic! She keeps telling me lies about you, just like Mum did. WHY DO THEY NEED TO DO THAT?! DON’T THEY KNOW IT JUST MAKES US STRONGER?!