Remembering Becky Ch 06
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South Buckinghamshire. September.
It was the sound of music, music loud enough to overcome the sound of their own vehicle, that drew their attention. The four man patrol was bored and irritable. They had been on duty for nearly six hours, since seven that morning, patrolling an area of countryside that had a lot of tiny villages and hamlets, and even more roads that seemed narrower than their vehicle.
Most of what they had seen so far was fields, trees, birds and the occasional cow or horse in the neighbouring field. There were very few people around, it didn’t look like there was anyone out in the fields doing ‘farming’. Not that any of them there would have known what any farmer might have been doing in the fields at this time of year. They had passed a few country pubs, most appeared open, but they didn’t stop. It was too risky. Only a few weeks earlier a patrol had decided to stop at a pub and try and bully a few drinks out of the landlord, only to find out that it was a regular stopping point for a senior leader; and he just happened to be in the pub with his family enjoying a Sunday lunch. The four men of that particular patrol had been punished exceedingly severely for disturbing a senior officer.
The only thing that made the day even slightly bearable was the simple fact that though it was the last Sunday in September it was a gloriously hot and sunny day.
There was a sullen silence in the Mitsubishi 4x4 as they crawled around a tight corner, only going slowly because they couldn’t see around the bend in the very narrow road. It was unlikely anything was coming the other way, but Sod’s law stated that the one time they assumed they were the only vehicle on the road would be the one time they would find they weren’t. And all four men believed absolutely in Sod’s law.
“Can you hear music?” asked the senior man present, who was sitting in the front passenger seat. The driver took his foot off the accelerator to let the noise of the engine die down a little as all four listened intently.
They all heard the music now.
“Yeah,” said one in the back.
“So where’s it coming from?” asked the driver.
They all knew the area reasonably well, but none of them knew well enough that they could state categorically where the sounds might be coming from. That is, they knew the roads, not what was behind the high hedges.
They crawled carefully around another bend, all of them having now wound their windows down to try and get a better feel for where the sound might be coming from. It didn’t help that it was intermittent and would die down for a few seconds and then get louder again.
“My side, I think,” said the driver.
“Yeah,” the man sitting behind him agreed.
After a few more seconds or careful listening, the other two also agreed that the sound was ‘somewhere’ to their right.
The road straightened and they could now see for about 500 yards or so in front of them. There was a large hand written sign stuck to a post on the left hand side of the road about half way along. “START” it said, with a huge arrow pointing across the road.
They slowed and as they approached it was obvious that there was a gateway in the hedge leading onto a field.
“Some sort of local event?” one of the men in the back wondered aloud.
“Guess so. Some sort of fun run or cycle race maybe?” wondered the driver.
“Haven’t seen any bikes out and about so it’s unlikely to be that,” the patrol leader murmured. “Nor any extra cars.”
The driver just nodded.
They pulled into the gate and stopped, deliberately blocking the gate so that no-one could leave. This was standard practice and none of them thought anything of it. In front of them, in a field of probably about three or four acres were about two or three hundred people, it was a little hard to tell as they were moving around. Many of them were wearing bright green tops.
“Yeah look,” said the driver, pointing. “He’s got a number on. He’s probably a runner or something.”
“Hmm,” pondered the man in charge. “I don’t remember anything in the daily briefing.”
“Oh shit,” said another. “Does that mean we’ve wandered out of our patch?”
“Bugger. I’d better call it in, just in case. Let’s find out exactly where we are, and what’s going on first. Be careful, we all know what happened to Mally and his guys the other month. Don’t make the same mistake. This is exactly the sort of area the senior officers like to live in, so watch it. Be nice. Be polite. Be everything the plebs think we are.”
The men nodded and smiled. They understood the warning. And it was a lovely warm day, no wind, little cloud, and this was unlikely to be the sort of crowd that would cause trouble. The men relaxed a little. But only a little.
A young woman approached them carrying a clipboard and a radio. “Hi guys, you okay?”
“What’s happening here?” asked the leader curiously.
The woman smiled. “It’s a charity event. We’re raising money for a couple of local hospices.” She turned and pointed across the field. “The runners start over there and run a 5k route through the grounds, come out over there,” she moved her arm and pointed in a slightly different direction. “They can do a second circuit if they like for a 10k, or they can finish after the five, it’s entirely up to them. To finish they go over that obstacle there, then over to the finish line there.” She now pointed at a large black inflatable arch, probably about five meters high in the centre, ten wide, and about a meter deep.
“How come there’s an obstacle at the finish?” asked one of the other men. A few years earlier he might have done something like this himself.
“There’s about twenty-five around the course. You don’t have to go through them, you can go round if you want.”
“Do they lose marks or something if they do?”
She smiled, shaking her head gently. “It’s not a race. Not in the sense you mean. It’s just a bit of fun. They aren’t timed, and in fact they go off at different times so there’s no bunching at the obstacles.”
“Ah. So what... , “
“Hang on Col,” interrupted their leader. “Sorry miss, don’t mean to be rude, but this is registered with the authorities isn’t it?”
She looked startled. “I wasn’t aware it needed to be registered, but I’ll ask.” She turned slightly away from them and pressed a button on her radio. “Sarah to Alan, are you there?”
There was a pause. “Sarah to Alan, come in please.”
Another pause and then she looked at them. “He’s not answering. He may be around the course somewhere, or just busy with something. Come on, I’ll take you over to the organisers’ tent.”
They began to walk. Colin, who was slightly taken by the young woman, moved alongside her. “So which hospices?”
She named two, one of which triggered their driver to move forward also. “Oh my nan was in there about ten year ago. It were lovely and they really cared for her. I reckon that last month or so before she died were the best and most comfortable she’d had for about four years. The nurses were wonderful and she seemed far more relaxed.”
Sarah smiled at him. “I’m glad,” she said softly. “They do do wonderful work. I originally started helping with their fund raising after my dad died of cancer a couple of years ago. They looked after him so well in the last couple of weeks of his life that I felt I just had to do something in return.” She smiled. “I got a couple of my work colleagues to help on last years event, and now this year my boss’s company is one of the sponsors of the event.”
“I’ve never truly understood the point of a hospice,” said another. “I mean, isn’t it just a hospital?”
“Jack, you’re a dick,” said Rudy. “The whole point of a hospice is it’s for people who have a terminal illness and nothing the hospital can do will cure them.”
“The point,” said Sarah firmly, “is that it’s for people in the final stages. People who are now too weak to look after themselves. In too much pain or discomfort. There’s one woman working there who has terminal cancer, but she’s got at very least another six months. Maybe more. It’ll only be in the final couple of weeks that she might need to be admitted. Maybe even only in the last days. It’s also about pain relief. Some diseases can be very painful in the terminal stages. And it’s not only for cancers,” she paused and listened on her radio.
“Sarah to Alan, you there?”
There was a pause, then: “Alan, I’m with some guys from the Patrol, they need to see you so we’re coming over to the control tent.”
Pause. “Okay.”
She tuned to the patrol leader. “Alan’ll be about fifteen minutes. He’s out on the course but he’ll get back here as fast as he safely can.”
“Section leader?”
Rudy turned. “Jer, what?”
“I was just telling Sarah here that my Nan died in the hospice they’re raising funds for. Do you mind if I head over and maybe put some money in their collecting box?” He glanced at Sarah. “I guess you do have something like that?”
She nodded and smiled at him. “You’ll probably find something over by the finish line. Or just go and buy some food from one of the catering vans. They’re all run by us so we get all the profit.”
The section leader looked at him and nodded. “Take Jack with you. Get him properly educated on what a hospice is.” He pointed to a van with a tent next to it. “That looks like it might be a good place to start.”
The two men peeled off and headed in the direction the section leader had pointed. They knew he was also telling them to be observant and to report back if anything looked even slightly ‘odd’.
Colin moved back alongside Sarah, while the section leader flanked her on the other side as they made their way towards the control tent.
The music seemed somewhat intermittent and at the moment the general level of noise was not loud, but it suddenly went up, clapping and cheering, and next moment a group of about ten men ran out of the trees to their left, turned sharply left, and headed away from them at a good pace. The music also picked that moment to get loud again, though not so loud it was impossible to talk.
“They’ve finished the first loop so they’re heading off to do a second loop for ten,” Sarah said with a pleased smile.
“They look very fit,” the section leader pondered.
“We get a lot of club runners from some of the local running clubs. This is good training for them, though it’s not specifically the sort of running they would usually do.”
“What do you mean?” the word ‘training’ had piqued the section leader’s interest.
“Well they would normally do road running. Half marathons, marathons, that sort of thing. A cross country obstacle course fun-run would not normally be their thing. Not for true training anyway.”
“Ah. I see. All right.”
He watched as a couple of older men and women, obviously no where near as fit, ran slowly towards the finish line, bypassing the tall scramble net that was the final obstacle. Then a couple more came out and did scramble up and over the net.
The three paused for a moment, checking to see that the way was clear before crossing the race line. Rudy could see a couple more people struggling towards them. “Large range of fitness levels,” he murmured to no one in particular.
“Yeah. They are likely to be local people and hobbyists, as well as people who have a particular connection with one or other of our sponsors, or with one of the hospices.”
They arrived at the control tent. “Alan’ll be here shortly. I’ll leave you here till he gets back.”
She gave them a smile and wandered off in the direction of the finish line. Colin looked after her, admiring her trim, slim figure.
The section leader clipped him lightly across the back of the head. “Pay attention. Did you notice anything odd about that last group of runners who carried on for the second circuit?”
Colin shook his head. “Can’t say as I did.”
“Look at all the other runners. Apart from the green shirts they’re all wearing, what else do they have in common?”
“The numbers?”
“No! Ignore the shirts. Is there anything else that they all have in common?”
Colin looked carefully. “Um,” he started, “is it that they all,” he paused and shook his head.
“That’s the point,” Rudy told him. “They’re all different. They have different coloured running shorts or trackie bottoms, different running shoes. Look. They are all different.”
Colin was confused. “So?”
“Those ten men. I’ve only just twigged. They weren’t wearing running shoes. They were wearing boots. And they were all wearing dark green combat trousers.”
“Oh. Do you think the Patrol have some runners then?”
“The Patrol? You serious? And even if we did, do you really think we’d run in boots and green combats?”
“Well, no.”
“No. Of course not. Something funny’s going on here.” He paused. “I’m gonna wait here for this Alan, you go off somewhere out of earshot of anyone and call it in. Tell them,” he paused as a small sandy haired man in his late fifties hurried into the tent.
“Gents, hi, sorry about that.” He grinned at them. “Some pillock went off the marked track and disturbed a wasp’s nest. They got a bit annoyed and stung him a couple of times. He’ll be all right but we’ve had to adjust the course slightly to take the runners farther away from the nest.”
He stuck out his hand at the section leader. “Alan Welesley.”
“Section Leader Rudy Inglis. Look, sorry about this, but we weren’t told you were doing anything today. Did you get permission for this event?”
Alan looked surprised. “Permission? We’ve got permission from the land owner, if that’s what you mean. The local ambulance service are aware of where we are in case of emergencies. We’ve got the local St John Ambulance out for first aid cover, and we’ve got insurance cover. I can show you that document.”
Rudy shook his head. “No. With the Patrol. Did you register this event with us?”
Alan shook his head, perplexed. “No. We’ve never done that in the past. We’ve been doing this event since ‘99 and no one has ever complained about us. We’re not close enough to any houses for the music to annoy anyone. Penn House Estate has always welcomed us with open arms.” He gave a small chuckle. “All sorts of filming is done here.”
Rudy shook his head again.
“Not relevant. You should have informed us of this event. It’s the law. Any public event with more than fifty people has to be notified to the local Patrol station no less than seven days before the event. If there’ll be more than two hundred people you need to actually get written permission at least a month before the event. That means you need to tell us at least two months in advance. That’s the law.”
“But, but, no one has ever said anything before now. The local police used to show up occasionally but they never said anything.”
Rudy’s face darkened. “It wasn’t necessary back then. But it’s been law for over a year now. You did this event last year?”
Alan nodded.
“At this time of year?”
Alan nodded again.
“Then that’s twice you broke the law.”
“Oh. Oh. I never knew that.”
“Ignorance is not a defence. That’s been true for a great many years and it’s just as true now.” He turned to Colin. “Go and do what I asked you to do please. You know where we are.”
Colin nodded and left the tent. He too had picked up on Alan’s reference to Penn House.
“What’s he doing?”
“Never you mind. What time did you start this morning?”
“Eight.”
“And roughly from what time would you say there were more than fifty people here?”
“Right from the start. We were just setting up. There’s nearly forty people involved in the marshalling alone. Then there’s the catering, the comms, the runners admin. We have a couple of people who’s sole role is general health and safety, plus the first aiders on top of that. There’s easily fifty people, closer to a hundred. The runners didn’t start arriving until just before half nine.”
“And roughly what was the maximum number of people here? Including yourselves.”
“We had one hundred and eighty-seven registered runners before today, plus about another forty or so who registered on the day. Many will have brought family and friends, so say four to five hundred people including spectators. Ish,” he added moments later. “There may have been a few more or a few less.”
“Plus yourselves as the organisers?”
“Indeed.”
“So up to six hundred all told?”
“I guess.”
“That’s three tiimes the number at which you have to actually ask permission from the Patrol.”
“Oh. Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll make sure it gets done for next year.”
“If you’re around next year.”
“What?”
“You broke the law,” Rudy said harshly. “You may not be free to sort it next year.”
“But ... oh.” Alan looked downcast. “What’s going to happen now?” he asked quietly.
“How much longer are you intending to go on?”
“Not too sure. We plan on having everything tidied up and packed away by about two, so the last of the punters gone by one or one thirty at the very latest. The first to actually leave will probably be leaving anytime now, but for most it’ll be noon or so before they start heading off.”
“Do you have the names of everyone who is, or was, here?”
“Only the runners.”
“Well you should have had the names of everyone. That’s the law.”
“Oh.”
Rudy was about to add something else when there was a shout outside. “Some arse has blocked the gate. I can’t get my car out.”
Alan went pale with fright and almost scuttled out of the tent.
Rudy followed. He was furious, but remembering what he’d told his men earlier, he reigned it in. For the moment.
“That’s our vehicle,” he said coldly. “I’ll shift it when I’m happy that no laws have been broken. And at the moment I’m not happy.”
The man who had obviously shouted looked shocked. “Oh. I’m sorry. Your car isn’t marked up.” He suddenly looked up. “You should get it marked up, I can do that for you. At no cost to you obviously.”
Elissa
- 12.08.2022
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