Spies on Bikes

by Dennis Forster

  ‘Here comes Bert,’ said George. ‘Over here, Bert! Over here!’

  ‘He knows where we are,’ said Sir Charles, ‘no need for that … over here, Bert!’

  ‘Charles,’ said Lady Elizabeth, ‘you are getting excited.’

  ‘No, I’m not … Bert?’

  ‘It’s on, sir. Lord Frederick’s men have apprehended Gunther. A chloroform pad did for him.’

  ‘And the left luggage ticket?’

  ‘They have it, sir.’

  ‘It’s up to us now,’ said Sir Charles. ‘Hop in, Bert … put your foot down.’

  ‘Good luck, Jack,’ said Lady Elizabeth.

  Before turning away to stop him seeing she was crying she blew him a kiss.

  ‘Sieg Heil!’ said George.

  ‘Heil Hitler!’ said Jack. ‘And look after Moses.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ said O’Neil.

  ‘Mr O’Neil,’ said Lady Elizabeth, ‘what a fright you gave me.’

  ‘What’s a member of the Hitler Youth doing in your Rolls? Where is everyone?’

  ‘We’ll discuss your problem inside.’

  ‘My problem?’

  ‘Seeing things … we’ll talk about it over a glass of sherry. What’s the matter? George, please remove Moses from Mr O’Neil’s head.’

  3

  Bert drove the Rolls to a road mender’s hut. Parked beside it was a steamroller which, at intervals, breathed out steam and water vapour, rather like a spouting whale. There was a strong smell of tar and fried bacon. Lord Frederick’s men knew how to look after themselves. An army ambulance was being loaded with a body on a stretcher.

  ‘Gunther looks happy,’ said Sir Charles. ‘What have you given him, laughing gas?’

  ‘It’s the chloroform, sir,’ said a big road mender. ‘He’ll be floppy for as long as we want him to be.’

  ‘Here’s the left luggage ticket, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Bunny,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘Bit like being back at the old school, sir, don’t you think? Pranks and high jinks after lights out. Ha! Ha!’ He twirled his moustache.

  ‘Here’s the ticket, Jack,’ said Sir Charles. ‘You know what to do?’

  Jack nodded.

  ‘The Nazi’s bicycle, sir,’ said Bunny.

  ‘Off you go,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘Good luck,’ said Bert.

  ‘Remember, Lord Frederick’s men are everywhere. What’s the matter?’

  ‘I can’t ride a bicycle,’ said Jack.

  ‘What?’

  4

  ‘I never thought I’d see the day when I used a Rolls to carry a bicycle,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘Funny things happen in times of conflict, sir,’ said Bert.

  ‘If war breaks out CB wants to use our Rolls-Royces as ambulances. Jack, how many languages do you speak?’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘But you can’t ride a bike? If anyone asks why we are giving you a lift say it’s because you’ve had a puncture. I’ve let down one of the bike’s tyres. If anyone doubts our story they’ll see the flat tyre. When we get to the railway station I don’t know who might be watching; best to take no chances.’

  5

  ‘When the station opened in 1870, Bert,’ said Sir Charles, ‘this parking space was reserved for my great-grandfather. When a coal merchant tried to usurp it great-grand-pa-pa horse whipped the poor fellow. Not something one could get away with these days, what?’

  ‘Things have changed, sir.’

  ‘Jack, from now on you are not “Jack” you are “Gunther”. You do not know me. I am the kind gentleman who helped you when you had a puncture. Bert, untie Gunther’s bicycle. Meantimes I will affect a disinterested air.’

  ‘Like you did when you knew I was hiding behind those bushes and you and Tom went to get a hose-pipe,’ said Jack.

  ‘Was my acting not very good?’

  ‘I knew what you were going to do.’

  ‘And I thought I was Lawrence Olivier. When Bert gives you your bike remember … you are, Gunther. You are a member of the Hitler Youth, give him a Nazi salute.’

  6

  In the W H Smith’s outside the station Sir Charles browsed a copy of Country Life. An article on a Tudor mansion, the home of one of his wife’s cousins, caught his eye. Too many show-offs in Elizabeth’s family. And what he read wasn’t true. They hated dogs.

  A man with a white stick who’d just bought a newspaper had to be one of Freddy’s men. No doubt the fellow was bored. How long had he been on duty? Still, boredom was no excuse for a fellow stepping out of role. It was like going off-piste, dangerous. Did he have to check the racing page? Now the chump was off again, tap-tapping his way to a seat. Fingers crossed that Jack was better at acting the part of a Nazi than this fellow was at acting the part of a blind man.

  ‘Sir Charles!’

  Who was hailing him? Of all the times to pick. He felt like shouting, ’not now. I’m on a secret mission, don’t you know.’

  ‘Sir Charles,’ said Mr Crozier, ‘what’s going on in my hospital? That ward you had refurbished, it’s not Bristol Fashion. The medics who run it are flying the skull and crossbones.’

  ‘Lord Nelson would have approved.’

  ‘Why are the Hitler Youth being looked after in there? Why are they not under my care?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘It’s my hospital. I have a right to know. Are we living in a police state?’

  ‘We are on the brink of war.’

  ‘What’s that to do with it?’

  ‘New circumstances, new laws. You should know all about that.’

  ‘Should I?’

  ‘You have told me many times how you were Caesar’s doctor. I do hope you are not forgetting how your patient from ancient history crossed the Rubicon and changed the laws of Rome.’

  ‘Your uniform is making you aggressive, Sir Charles. You should not forget that when the military confront the Navy, the senior service always wins.’

  ‘Sir!’ shouted Bert.

  Sir Charles turned, saw Jack struggling to push his bicycle while shouldering a rucksack. It looked heavy.

  ‘A flat tyre?’ said Crozier in German.

  ‘Ja,’ said Jack.

  ‘You must allow me to help. That’s my car over there. May I suggest you leave your bicycle here? I will drive you back to your campsite. Your bicycle will be quite safe. The English are so honest, ha! I’ll bring you back with a repair kit. As a good Nazi you will be able to fix a flat tyre, ja?’

  ‘Ja.’

  ‘Give me the rucksack.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, Crozier, I’ll look after the young man,’ said Sir Charles. ‘Bert … ‘

  ‘Sah!’

  ‘Take this young man to the Rolls. We are giving him a lift.’

  ‘Sah! Follow me, young’n. And none of your Heil Hitlers, if you don’t mind.’ He winked. ‘Mr Crozier, sir, you’ve a spider on your starboard lapel.’

  Sir Charles wheeled the bicycle, all wobbly because of its flat tyre, to the agent whose disguise was pretending to be a blind man.

  ‘Look after this for me, will you,’ said Sir Charles, ‘there’s a good chap.’

  ‘Yes, sir. How’d you know I’m not what I’m supposed to be?’

  7

  On their way back to The Hall Sir Charles interrogated Jack.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I handed in the ticket. The man behind the counter gave me this.’ He patted the rucksack.

  ‘No questions asked?’

  Jack shook his head.

  ‘Did you see anyone watching?’

  ‘There was someone, I think, in a room at the back. The door was open.’

  ‘A railwayman?’<
br />
  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Uncle Charles, my legs feel wobbly. I’m thirsty. I really fancy a cup of tea.’

  ‘Jack, my boy, you are becoming an Englishman. I wonder what’s in the rucksack. It’s awfully heavy.’ Sir Charles poked a hand under its flap. ‘Feels like sand. I wonder why the Irish would give the Hitler Youth a rucksack full of sand. Bert, on our way home, stop at the Vicarage. We’ll give the rucksack to the boffins. They’ll find its secrets, if it has any. Do you think Crozier was there by accident?’

  ‘I was wondering that, sir. I set him a test, sir … told him he’d a spider on his starboard lapel … wanted to see which way he looked.’

  ‘Did he pass the test?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  8

  ‘You must wear a cap, I insist,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘In England all schoolboys wear caps. You do want to be English, don’t you, Jack? Sir Charles would never dream of going hatless … though I have known him not dress for dinner.’

  ‘Is it like a uniform?’ said Jack. ‘Like the Nazi uniform you made me wear this morning? When will I stop being blonde? I don’t like looking like a Nazi.’

  ‘Your hair will soon return to its normal colour. And please do not say you were “made” to wear the Nazi uniform … you volunteered. He volunteered, didn’t he, Charles?’

  ‘You did it for England,’ said Sir Charles. ‘Jack, you are a patriot.’

  ‘When can I wear a bowler hat? If I wore a bowler hat I’d look English.’

  ‘You’d look silly. The cap, please, on the head. George is wearing his cap.’

  ‘He doesn’t like wearing it.’

  ‘Yes, he does … don’t you, George?’

  George shrugged. Jack had a lot to learn about how to handle English memsahibs. Why didn’t he just wear the cap and take it off when Grandmother wasn’t around?

  ‘I’m waiting,’ said Lady Elizabeth.

  ‘What for?’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘Charles … ‘

  With reluctance Jack placed the cap on his head.

  ‘I am not being pernickety, Jack, but an English schoolboy’s cap is not a yarmulke. The peak should be over your eyes, not pointing at the ceiling. Please adjust … thank you. It is meant to keep your head warm.’

  ‘It’s a hot day.’

  ‘At Rorke’s Drift, English soldiers wore red tunics.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Jack’s not getting your drift, Elizabeth.’

  ‘Charles, please do not try to be clever. I’ve been married to you for a long time. You may not think it important that George and Jack should be properly dressed for their trip to Newcastle, but I do. Whatever will Rabbi Cohen think if they turn up not wearing caps?’

  ‘Rabbi Cohen is broad minded. He has a cupboard full of yarmulkes. At least he’ll have a drink with a chap … not like the Methodists in the village. I could never be a Methodist.’

  ‘You may have forgotten, Charles, but I have not, that after they have visited the rabbi George and Jack are taking tea with my sister. Mildred would be appalled if the boys were improperly dressed. You know what a snob her maid is.’

  ‘She should have married.’

  ‘Who, Mildred or the maid?’

  ‘Both of them.’

  ‘Mildred has Labradors.’

  ‘You’ll like the Labradors, Jack.

  ‘What about Mildred?’

  ‘You’ll like her too.’

  ‘And the good news, boys, is … I’m driving you to the railway station. Sir Charles and the staff are too busy preparing for war to do any chauffeuring. I know what boys are like … as soon as my back’s turned you’ll have your ties off and your caps in your pockets. Well, you’ll have to wait until your train’s left the station.’

  ‘You’re not coming to Newcastle with us?’ said Jack.

  ‘No … that’s the first time you’ve smiled today, Jack.’

  ‘Do Labradors like ferrets?’

  ‘Where is Moses?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘You must leave the creature here.’

  ‘I’m not going without him. Rabbi Cohen likes him. He’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t see Moses.’

  ‘You have taken Moses before? Goodness me and I never knew. On a serious note, Jack, I think it a good idea that you wear your cap in case anyone thinks this English schoolboy looks too much like a certain member of the Hitler Youth who earlier collected a rucksack from a left luggage office. Sir Charles and I have discussed the matter. We do not know how many people are helping the Hitler Youth.’

  ‘I can take Moses?’

  ‘Be warned … Mildred’s Labradors are carnivores.’

  Lady Elizabeth drove Bashful round corners on two wheels.

  ‘Are you stepping on the gas, Grandmother?’ said George.

  ‘Please do not talk American.’

  ‘It means, you are going fast.’

  ‘I know what it means.’

  ‘What’s Rorke’s Drift?’ said Jack.

  By the time Lady Elizabeth dropped the boys off at the railway station and saw them to seats in a first-class compartment, Jack knew lots about the Zulu Wars, at least from the point of view of the British.

  ‘Hold out your hands.’ Into each of their palms she pressed a florin. ‘That’s for sweets.’

  9

  ‘Chron-ic-al! Eve’ing Chron-ic-al!’

  It was simple. The more you shouted the more papers you sold. When he was selling, he never wore his prosthetic leg, it being an indisputable fact of the commercial life that a one legged man sold more newspapers than a man with two legs.

  His ambition was to sell fruit and veg. Fruit and veg sellers weren’t stuck with selling just one thing, they had variety, not like him, day-in, year-out, shouting the same thing … Chron-ic-al! Eve’ing Chron-ic-al! He wasn’t a jealous sort of chap but he did envy Billy, the fruit and veg seller with one arm who traded from a barrow round the corner. Billy had lost his arm at Plug Street. Colonel Churchill himself had given him a glass of brandy or so Billy said; you never knew with Billy, though. Churchill, the war monger. What was going to happen?

  ‘Chron-ic-al! Eve’ing Chron-ic-al!’

  Tonight’s headline … ‘Getting ready for war’. What sort of headline was that? What were folk supposed to do? He was glad that if the worst happened he’d not have to fight; he’d done his bit … felt heart sorry for the poor buggers who’d have to do what he’d done in the Great War. That was another thing. Whoever had decided to call the last conflict between Germany and England ‘Great’, hadn’t been a part of it. Great … it had been a bloody shambles.

  Before 1914 he’d sold papers standing up … like a real man, a pile of them under an arm, handing them out to customers and taking payment fast as a machine. Now, with only one leg, the other being somewhere in France, he found standing for long periods painful. He had to use a crutch or sit on the chair he carried every day to his pitch.

  He wouldn’t call himself a pacifist, could never be a ‘conchie’ but, after what he’d seen, he was against war. Was Hitler mad? In the army he’d seen officers go mad. Too many of them didn’t have a lot upstairs.

  ‘Chron-ic-al! Eve’ing Chron-ic-al! Thank you, sir. Thank you, madam.’

  Trade was brisk. Lots of people, all of them worried. Would he end up selling papers wearing a tin hat? Could you sell papers wearing a gas mask?

  ‘Chron-ic-al! Eve’ing Chron-ic-al!’

  Selling newspapers was like being an actor, wasn’t it? You had to put on a show. On match days you wore a black and white scarf. It was expected.

  Grey’s Monument, across the road from his pitch. Why was it called a ‘monument’ and not a ‘column’? It looked like Nelson’s Column in London. It was every bit as high, maybe higher but probably not, eve
rything being bigger in London. It should have been called Grey’s Column like Nelson’s Column was called, well, Nelson’s Column.

  The Monument or Column, or whatever you wanted to call it, was part of his life. Looking at it brought back memories. Before the war had taken off his leg he’d been to its top. A memory to treasure, that. For the price of a farthing you went through a door set into its pedestal. It was a little door. To get through it you had to bend double. Inside, stone steps spiralled upwards round a central stone column, like a staircase in a castle. Light came in through slits. It was dark but not so dark you couldn’t see. When he and his pal had been going up, some lasses had been coming down. What fun they’d had passing each other. Later they’d all gone to the pictures, kissing and cuddling in the back row. Now, no lass would have him. Bloody war. Left right! Left right! Chest out! Toffee nosed officers. Spiteful corporals. Stuff the army. I want my leg back.

  But you had to get on with it. What was it the song said? Wrap up your troubles in an old kit-bag. His pitch was a good one. He’d always be able to make a living. His ancestors had picked the spot. Grandfather had known a thing or two about selling. The pitch was hereditary. His father and his father before him had stood on this very spot shouting, ‘Chron-ic-al! Eve’ing Chron-ic-al!’

  The Duke of Northumberland inherited half of Northumberland and a castle, while he got a piece of pavement. Life wasn’t fair. Nevertheless, he was as proud of his inheritance as no doubt the duke was of his.

  Lots of others wanted the pitch. It was a good job he had family: two brothers – too young for the last war and hopefully too old for what might be about to happen – and five male cousins, all big lads. Everyone knew the rules; those who didn’t had to be taught. The young copper who was watching him would have to be taught. You never knew with the police. They were like everybody else. Some were nice, some were bastards. An older copper had introduced them last week. Why was the kid, because that’s what he was, all wet behind the ears, looking at him? Did he want his free paper? What was he looking at?