Riotous Retirement
Page 9
“I wonder if you could explain to us. Your dip at the drinks on the verandah the other night was quite a bit darker than that of today. Does that depend on the time you simmer the mixture at the end of the process?”
Duncan stood up. “No, no,” he said, “it’s got nothing to do with the cooking. It’s the colour of the bird’s flesh. The bird I made it with at the drinks on the verandah was that bloody bush turkey that was bothering us!”
There was a deathly hush as every member at the Burnside Café morning evaluated exactly what Duncan had just confessed to. Some had hands up to mouths and heads bowed and most of this group had attended the drinks on the verandah gathering.
It was Gabriel who saved the day. “Good on ya Duncan that was a terrific dip at drinks on the verandah we all enjoyed it ...we didn’t know what the hell it was of course, and that’s probably why we all enjoyed it. Now all I need from you is how to catch the little buggers and we can have some more!”
Special Biscuit Dip
Duncan’s Dip was enjoyed a lot
The comments he received were hot
The second batch was a lighter brew
Hey Duncan - whatever did you do
It’s Bush Tucker-Turkey in the pot
Security
“Well, gates and special security measures are all very well,” Helga explained at a residents’ meeting, “but we are all part of the greater local community and we all knew what we were getting into when we purchased our villas here. We all knew that this small area of Burnside Retirement Village is close to a major road. Perhaps we didn’t expect that some local people would use this as a short cut through to other areas of the suburb but we must be tolerant.”
“Tolerant, did you say tolerant?” Liz Waverly was on her feet and fuming. “You sold us these houses on the pretext that this place was secure. The word secure and security are plastered all over your sales material. Don’t you lecture me on being part of my local community. How would you like it if every time you put a foot outdoors you were in danger of being knocked down by some young hoon on a skateboard? Tolerance my ar...” and Liz’s voice trailed off as, exhausted, she sank into her seat again.
The problem was that this area of Burnside village was not only a short cut for the locals but it was also downhill and a narrow winding roadway, ideal for kids on skateboards! The PRIVATE signs had no effect whatsoever. Liz’s idea of fostering the correct relationship with the greater community was to catch these little buggers, thrash them to within an inch of their lives and then confiscate their skateboards and bikes. Liz was totally intractable until she did some research and discovered that this was now illegal—damn it!
However, even though she knew it was against the law, it didn’t prevent her going into great detail about how they might be trapped with invisible trip-wire, knocked off their bikes or boards and then the residents could pounce on them. Liz spent most of her waking hours scheming and planning and at night in her dreams it all happened! “Got the little buggers last night though,” she would tell her neighbours in the morning.
But the problem was most certainly getting worse for the affected residents. New gnomes were going missing; at least two garden hoses, and several solar powered garden lights had disappeared.
“I didn’t come here to spend half the day taking things in at night and putting them out in the morning. What’s the good of garden lights if you have to take them in at night?” This from one quiet aged gent who never bothered to come to the regular residents’ meetings, let alone speak up at one, but he was determined to have his say. “I came out for a smoke and to read the paper, as I do every morning, and some little bastard had stolen my chair and the table! Are you going to replace them?” He directed his question to Helga.
So it was proposed and agreed by all that a Security Sub-Committee would be set up and make recommendations to the Body Corporate on these matters.
Gabriel Bovary was on his feet in a split second, motioning for the microphone and desperate to become involved. But Brenda knew instinctively what his intention was and before the microphone could arrive had pulled hard on the back of Gabriel’s jumper so he fell back into his chair.
“We agreed, Gabriel!” she hissed loudly and stared at him as only determined and angry wives can stare.
“Alright dear,” was all that Gabriel could muster as he adjusted himself in his seat.
The eventual appointee for the chair of the Security Sub-Committee was Hector Laird. Hector was always well organised. This was his greatest asset and his expectation that everyone else should be equally well organised and informed was probably his greatest weakness. But this slight drawback was made up for by his offsider on the sub-committee Lionel White, who believed that he (Lionel) had very good interpersonal skills. He was sure he could placate Hector if ever it became necessary. So Hector Laird, Lionel White, Liz Waverly and a couple of lesser mortals from the village made up the new security sub-committee. They received continual and uncalled for advice from Gabriel of course, no matter how hard they tried to avoid him. Liz Waverly paid attention to Gabriel’s suggestions because they were in line with her thoughts about how these little skateboarding vermin ought to be dealt with. Liz and Gabriel now had something in common to discuss and complain about, so past conflicts such as that caused by the health and safety audit incident, were soon forgotten.
“What we really need is a moat and a drawbridge right across the entrance to this area. Could we have a costing for that from the security sub-committee?” suggested one resident at the next meeting.
“Is that with or without the crocodiles?” asked another.
Many residents who did not live in the area of the village experiencing these problems were inclined to make fun of the situation. One resident had actually produced a drawing for the cover of the local newsletter with a huge gate across the entrance complete with sentry and sentry box. It was circulated but never published due to sensitivity about this topic.
Meanwhile Hector, who was holding the microphone and about to report on the activities of the security committee, was not amused.
“Could you please all just shut up? This is a serious matter and your security committee members have been working hard to solve this problem—thank you. We have been in touch through the manager with the village operator and they have agreed to fund half the cost of a gate.”
There was much muttering and dissent in the audience, so in response to this Lionel White motioned for the microphone and stood up to talk. He fluffed around the topic telling everyone what they already knew and then in conclusion stated:
“You see, we tried to argue with the village operator that, since they had advertised the village as secure, they should pay for the total cost of a suitable gate. Unfortunately we did not achieve that but we did manage to get their agreement to pay for half.”
This comment was meant to be calming and informative but what it did was bore the residents and enrage Hector.
“Isn’t that just what I explained! God’s truth, man!” Hector stood up, put his papers under his arm and stormed out from the meeting.
Over the next few weeks the residents in this area of the village, lead by Liz Waverly, were all engaged in observing and documenting each and every security breach so that the committee had concrete examples as evidence to support their case. They were determined to get the village operator to fund the full cost of the gate. They were very conscientious in this task and old Mrs. Walker from the villa next to the parking bay had a particularly interesting report. Always very precise, she documented the incident in great detail.
It was at 10.14 pm on Wednesday evening and I was just preparing to go to bed when I heard a car. I thought it must be my neighbours opposite returning home. However when I opened my front door and peered out I could just see a car in the parking bay near my garage. I didn’t recognise the car because of the darkness. I thought I better have a closer look because if it was strangers what could they possibly be doing t
here? Nothing good, I was sure. When I got nearer to the car I saw it was dark green and I was sure it did not belong to anyone in the village. Could it be a visitor I thought, but since I had never seen the car before I thought not. I was almost convinced they were out stealing and they would be returning to the car at any moment when I saw the car move. I got a terrible fright but crept a bit closer and then became aware of noises. They were human noises but not in a language that I recognised. When I got closer to the car I knew the engine was not running although the car was still moving. Closer still I tried to see inside but the windows were all steamed up. When I knocked on the windows I got a glimpse of two people who both seemed to be in very light coloured clothing and I think someone swore at me in English as they drove off. They were certainly up to no good!
Not only were skateboards and pushbikes a problem but also late one afternoon a 15 or 16 year old on a trail bike had deliberately decided to annoy the residents. About every 15 minutes or so he would enter the village, roar down the street and do a skid turn. Residents would rush out, especially Liz Waverly. The bike rider would roar up the street again, dodging individuals, and out of the village giving them the finger on the way. What this young hoon did not count on was the speed at which the residents, in a situation such as this could organise themselves. By the time this bloke had made two similar trips, the residents were aware of what was happening and were ready.
The young man in question, getting overly cocky, came down the street for the third time that afternoon with a pillion passenger. This time he misjudged the skid turn, or perhaps it was caused by the presence of the passenger, and they took a tumble. They were both there in the middle of the road, the bike on its side and motor still running. When they were able to look up a terrible sight met their eyes. This time a group of residents were there from one side of the road to the other, all armed to the teeth and ready. Walking sticks, baseball bats, hammers, and Liz Waverly with a sawn off golf club (for close quarter fighting she explained later). They were all advancing deliberately, this geriatric but oh so determined and obviously armed and aggressive mob at what to them was top speed.
“Aw shit!” one of the riders was heard to shout as they scrambled to recover. They were able to remount and rather than try to dodge past the mob they took off up between two houses, drove through two backyards, doing considerable damage in the process, and out onto the village road again behind the mob, thus gaining the safety of the public highway.
This was the last straw for many of the residents. All sorts of suggestions were made to improve the situation from buying protection from the local motorcycle club—they had a chapter close by—to implementing some of Liz’s more bizarre suggestions about booby traps and the like. In addition Gabriel and Liz had been conferring a lot lately. Hector, who suspected something was up, and who as Chairperson reckoned he ought to know about it, was unfortunately unable to prise information from either of them.
A few days later the whole affair came to a head. Helga had a telephone call from her boss asking what the hell was going on at Burnside Retirement Village. Why had she let everything get to this stage? Had she lost control altogether and had she seen her local newspaper, because it had already made its way to the nationals! And finally what the hell was she doing about it?
Well, it turned out that Helga’s boss had his paper delivered every morning first thing and a headline on page one read: RESIDENTS AT BURNSIDE RETIREMENT VILLAGE TAKE ACTION. This complete with a photograph of a bloody human head (presumably plastic) on top of a spike right above the PRIVATE sign outside the village entrance, with the village name and oh my God, the village operator’s name and logo. Underneath the bloody head was written in bold simple letters on a piece of card THIS IS WHAT WE DO WITH KIDS IN HERE!
Her boss relayed all this to her on the telephone and that was bad enough but when Helga eventually got a copy of the newspaper she learned that there was also a hat on the bloody head which was the kind worn as part of the local school uniform. Secondly, the story was based on a police complaint from the mother of a child who had been completely traumatised by seeing this head and had since been too frightened to leave his house, let alone use his skateboard, and was now under psychiatric care.
“Well look at that then. I told you it would work!” said Gabriel to Liz Waverly. They were talking in Liz’s front garden and Gabriel had taken a copy of the paper to her to celebrate the success of their ploy. They were laughing fit to burst and congratulating each other as Helga approached.
“Right, so I take it this was your doing then.” It was a statement not a question from Helga.
“Yea, well it must have given the little bugger a helluva fright, don’t you think?” said Gabriel.
“Sure did. I think we’ve solved the problem.” Liz added.
“Right I’ll just direct the police to you two when they come calling shall I? You have read the whole article have you?” said Helga.
“Of course I have,” said Gabriel, “but surely the police wouldn’t take it seriously—would they?”
And both Gabriel and Liz went back to reading the article. Both began to re-assess their conclusion at exactly the same time.
“I guess they might ask a few questions because it says here that the police are to make enquiries!” Liz said.
“Just you send them to see me then, I’ll sort them out.” said Gabriel directly to Helga, much more bravely than he felt, and then he also heard himself say—“I’ll take responsibility, it had nothing to do with Liz here.”
Gabriel was not worried about the police so much as he was worried about how he was going to explain this to Brenda. What an idiot he had been. But what’s done is done and there would be plenty in the village that would approve his actions—surely—but then doubt started to creep in even about this.
However there was an upside to this story and both Gabriel and Liz were able to glean at least a little kudos for the result because the village operator immediately agreed to fund the whole cost of the gate. They wanted to remove from people’s minds, as immediately and thoroughly as possible, that terrible business of the head on the spike above the entrance to one of their villages. They didn’t even want to have to think about it again.
The police enquiry was another matter. It was more than a week before the police arrived to interview Gabriel by which time he had already suffered the real punishment for his foolishness. There was little the police or even the court could do that would be worse than he had already suffered. Brenda had only this morning muttered the first word to him since the incident. It was a very reluctant and terse “You’ve got your story ready then?”
And that was all, no loving tag, not even his name, but it was human contact of the kind that Gabriel had been in very sore need of this past week. At least he now had hopes of a thaw over the coming week or so.
Gabriel was charged with assault which at first he could not understand at all. However the police explained very patiently that assault can be, as in this case, an act that causes another to apprehend, or expect, or anticipate, immediate personal violence. So Gabriel had to attend the Magistrates court, which was most embarrassing for all and postponed the thaw in the Bovary household for a full two weeks.
The trial judge summed up thus: “It is my view that having such a realistic model of a bloody head stuck on a spike, at the entrance to Burnside Village in a position to be viewed by this child, and, in addition, the said head to be wearing the school uniform, to whit, one school cap, is more than enough to constitute anticipation of violence, in the mind of this young victim. I therefore find the defendant guilty.”
Gabriel got 80 hours community service, most appropriately to be served in the local school reading to the kids, some of whom included the very kids that had been such a pest. It was not easy for Gabriel at the start but the good thing was Brenda had by this time thawed and she was in essence the loving and caring wife that Gabriel sorely required at this crisis in his life.
And so now in the community around Burnside Retirement Village there is a group of young men and women in their late teens who probably know more about sixteenth century France than any other group in the world! Gabriel stayed on long after he had served his 80 hours!
Security
The Village has got to have gates
‘Twas the subject of frequent debates
Youngsters have no respect for our age
Gabe’s pushed his way onto centre stage
It’s classes now in French History dates
Veronica’s Dog
Veronica Churchward had a little trouble getting her dog into the village. There were very strict rules about the pets that came to live at Burnside Retirement Village. Cats, small dogs and birds were generally accepted, but any animal likely to upset the neighbours was disallowed—snakes, roosters or donkeys for example. Whatever the pet it had to be quiet of course. Veronica argued that her dog was small—Bluey was not a cattle dog. Yes, he was a rusty sort of colour apart from the grey around the muzzle and had a bit of kelpie in him but he was small, much, much smaller than the normal kelpie and quiet and obedient like you wouldn’t believe. Of course Veronica saw Bluey through the eyes of a companion and true friend of many years and would argue anything in order to keep him. Most others would just see an old red kelpie. Anyway the sales staff was bound to agree that, yes, it fitted the small dog category because, if it didn’t, Veronica was not interested in the villa!