to Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Puck's Dell, Stumblefrith Forest, Wealdshire. Friday 29 May 1998

Penelope looked at her daughter lying on the ground with her arm down the drain pipe. 'Are you still all right?' she asked.

'I'm okay, Mum,' Jaine-Marie said. 'When no-one's looking we can change arms. I'm bursting for the loo, though.'

Penelope pulled a face. 'What's the . . . um . . . plan for . . . uh . . . relieving yourselves?'

The other girls laughed. 'Three choices.' one said. 'We can try to nip off somewhere and get back without being caught — or get someone to bring a bucket and watch the goons going red and turning away — or,' she said in a loud voice, 'we can piss our pants.'

Penelope gave up trying to keep a straight face. It was good to have a laugh. She looked up and caught the eye of the woman police officer who was standing nearby. There was a slight movement of her head. Is she calling me over? Penelope wondered. She got to her feet and strolled across to the policewoman.

'Do they need to spend a penny?' the WPC asked.

'Yes. They're getting rather desperate.'

'Hmmm. I know how they feel. I've got to wait until I get back to Kingsbourne, unless I can slip off and find a tree somewhere.'

Is she suggesting something? Penelope asked herself. 'Will . . . uh . . . will anyone shout at you if you nip off for a minute?'

'Probably not. When I go . . . if I go, I'll probably be gone for three minutes. Do you think that will be long enough?'

'I . . . uh . . . yes, I'm sure that will be long enough. Perhaps, if you could sort of . . . cough when you go, I could check my watch and let you know how long you've been.'

'Well, you could certainly keep an eye on the time,' said the WPC, 'but I don't think you'll need to let me know how long I've been away. I will, of course, only go when no-one else is around.' She winked.

Penelope smiled, and whispered, 'Thank you. I won't forget this.' She sidled back to the tree. 'Listen, girls. In a minute that nice policewoman behind me is going to disappear for three minutes, so if you're quick . . .

At 5.30 the first film crews arrived. Alan Jenkins had been dreading this moment. The whole world would now know that he was being thwarted by the actions of eco-warriors. He'd hoped that News at Ten would show him announcing a successful operation, not that he would have had much of a mention. The media were always more attentive when the professionals were made to look foolish by a bunch of amateurs. He wished he could ask the police to keep the media out, but he knew that might backfire on him. When the media had been barred from evictions in other parts of the country, all sorts of rumours about barbaric actions by the bailiffs had circulated. He let it be known that he would speak to the press at 17.45.

Radio reporters had arrived earlier. In the tree houses, several pixies had tuned their radios to Radio 4 at five o'clock in the hope that there would be a mention on PM, the hour-long news programme. They were not disappointed.

'Our South-of-England correspondent, Clive Derby, reports from the protesters' camp on the proposed route of the Kingsbourne Bypass.'

'That was Clive Derby reporting from Wealdshire. The Sheriff of Wealdshire is expected to make a statement shortly. We hope to go back to Puck's Dell before the end of the programme.'

Twiggy had climbed out of her tree house, clipped her safety harness to the top line of a rope walkway, and edged her way across to Gerard.

'We were on the radio just now,' she had told him. 'Evidently the Sheriff expects to have us all out by tonight because there are no tunnels to worry about. Poor old Sheriff. I wonder how he feels about telling all those reporters down there that he's made a boo-boo.'

She had stayed with Gerard so that he could hear the Sheriff's statement. At 17.40 they saw Alan Jenkins begin to be surrounded by camera crews and reporters. Twiggy wished she had a pair of binoculars so that she could see the Sheriff's face. She wondered how he was going to break the bad news.

'We go back to Clive Derby at Puck's Dell in Wealdshire where the Sheriff is about to make a statement.'

'And that was Clive Derby reporting from Puck's Dell in Wealdshire.

'Good on ya, Ant!' called Twiggy.

Twiggy's delight didn't last long, however, when she saw what was happening. A number of men in white overalls and safety helmets were swarming up the trees. It looked as if the Sheriff had ordered an offensive to coincide with his statement to the press. She climbed onto the walkway and made her way back to her own home to prepare to repel boarders.

The climbers ignored the tree houses. Their targets were the rope walkways and net.

Shadow looked up. Misty joined him to watch what was happening. Neither had been asked to leave by the bailiffs. Shadow knew that he would be allowed to stay as he had information about the tunnels which would be useful to the bailiffs — not that he had any intention of telling anyone about Phantom Digger. Why Misty was being allowed to stay was a bit of a mystery. Shadow had noticed that whenever any police, or bailiffs or security guards found themselves anywhere near her, they seemed not to notice her. If Misty had told Shadow that she was wearing a fairy cloak of invisibility, he would probably have believed her — but he felt certain that the evictors were simply avoiding her. There was something about her that made people reluctant to tackle her.

'Bugger,' Shadow muttered, angrily. 'They'll have the net down in no time.'

The usual method of dealing with protesters in nets was to either use a cherry picker to allow men to reach the net, or to get climbers to shin up the trees and then make their way into the protesters' web. In either case, they would have to untangle the enmeshed arms and legs and then lower the 'spiders' to the ground. What they were doing now was attempting to remove the web with its occupants still in place. Pulleys had been carried up the four supporting trees and lashed to branches. Ropes ran from the ground, up to the pulleys, and down to the net. Once the ropes had been secured, the four net lines could be cut, and the net lowered.

Shadow shook his head. 'One up to them,' he said, licking his finger and drawing an imaginary figure 1 in the air. 'I wonder how they'll tackle the rope walkways.'

He didn't have to wait long to find out. The unoccupied walkways were cut with sharp knives and the ropes tumbled to the ground. The remaining walkway had five people standing on it, each of them with a safety harness clipped to the top rope so that, if they slipped, they would be left dangling. Shadow noticed that Martha was in the middle. Climbers were making their way towards them, two approaching from each end.

The five linked arms.

The two climbers at each end stopped and prepared themselves. One moved forward until he was facing his colleague. The two then slowly edged along the rope looking like a four-legged, four-armed creature. When one pair reached their target, they put two arms around him and started pulling. Two strong men pulling one youth — whose arms were already aching from being on the walkway for a couple of hours — was no contest. The first protester was detached from his friends, a rope was attached to his harness, and he was lowered to the ground. At the other end, a girl was captured in the same way.

'What a shame,' Misty sighed, as the second two were dealt with in the same way. 'Martha shouldn't give them too much of a problem, not with four of them to deal with her.'

'If I know Martha,' Shadow said, 'she won't give in that easily.'

Before the climbers had a chance to move towards her, Martha unclipped her safety harness, lifted a foot away from the bottom rope, and let go of the top rope with her left hand. Misty and Shadow heard her call out, 'Stay where you are. Don't come any closer.'

The climbers hesitated. If this woman fell as they were about to grab her, it might be thought that they were responsible for her death. They weren't being paid to make people commit suicide or take the flak if someone had an accident. Besides, there were too many camera lenses pointing in their direction. One took out his walkie-talkie and spoke into it. A moment later, the four climbers withdrew. Martha clipped herself back on.

'One up to us,' Shadow announced, drawing a figure 1 in the pixies column of his imaginary scoreboard.

'How long do you think she can stay up there?' Misty asked.

'It wouldn't surprise me if she stayed there all night but, I think she may come down now.'

'Why should she do that?' Misty asked, unable to think of a reason for Martha to quit now.

'It's all about morale and public awareness,' Shadow answered. 'Martha has just achieved a victory. A lone woman, in her sixties, has risked her life to defend something that she believes is far more important than her own survival. She's given us all a boost by demonstrating that we can do something to make life difficult for those who want to trash the countryside. It's all on film. The public will love it. Four macho climbers defeated by the actions of one woman. That episode will be seen by everyone watching the news tonight. Whether she likes it or not, Martha will be a celebrity, in much the same way that Animal and Swampy were after they avoided capture in the Fairmile tunnels. Martha will be more of a celebrity if everyone at home sees that she is an ordinary person who believes that some things are worth fighting for. All those media people over there want to interview her. She'll do far more good talking to the cameras now than spending an uncomfortable night hanging onto a rope.'

'You're right,' Misty agreed. 'And look. I think she's coming down.'

'Yeah. And there go the reporters. They're gonna love this. Shall we go and listen?'

Alan Jenkins would not be a happy man when he arrived home that night and watched the Nine O'Clock News and News at Ten that his wife had recorded for him. He would be most unimpressed by the brief footage of himself confidently predicting that the eviction would soon be completed. He would be angry about the shot of a security-guard reaching out to grab a young girl who, for the benefit of the cameras, was cowering in terror and begging, 'Don't hit me.' But, most of all, he would be bursting a blood vessel when he watched a 62-year old woman, balancing on a rope to defeat four professional climbers before calmly telling the whole world that she would be prepared to die if her death saved the forest from destruction by the barbarians and vandals who operated with the government's blessing. While the item on the Nine O'Clock News finished with an academic declaring authoritatively that the government should rethink its whole road- building strategy, the piece on News at Ten ended with scenes of dozens of respectable people of a certain age making a huge fuss of bizarrely-dressed young people who had been evicted from the camp.

The Sheriff would not sleep well tonight.

By eight o'clock the light was beginning to go. Charles Rowney checked that his torch was in his pocket. He'd brought it for emergencies only. He knew that it was much better to rely on your night vision than to depend on artificial light. Besides, the enemy could see if you went around flashing torches. He and Sasha had been creeping towards Puck's Dell from the south. They hadn't seen anyone so far.

'This takes me back,' Charles said, 'The last time I did this was in 1943.'

'At least you won't get shot at this time.'

'Hope not,' he chuckled.

'Is that a fence?' Sasha said, pointing ahead.

'I do believe it is. Someone has put up a chain link fence. We can't have that, can we?'

'Certainly not,' Sasha agreed. 'The poor foxes and badgers won't be able to get to where they want to go.'

'What do you think we ought to do about it, then?'

'I think we ought to check that no nasty people are watching, and then make some holes for the animals to get through.'

'What a good idea, Sasha. And what a good job we brought our wire cutters with us.'

Dr Sengupta was allowed to enter what was left of Puck's Dell, now illuminated by the unnatural white glare from a set of arc lights powered by a portable generator. His many shadows followed him across the clearing to where Shadow and Misty were standing.

'Evening, Doctor,' said Shadow. 'We don't have any war wounds for you, but thanks for coming.'

'Who's left here? I saw that quite a few pixies had been persuaded to leave.'

Shadow pointed up to the tree houses which looked eerie in the bright light from below. 'All the tree houses are still occupied but,' he held his arms out and gestured around him, 'as you can see all the benders have gone. There are six girls locked-on over there.' He pointed to the tree where Penelope Starling was standing.

'I'd better go and check that they're all right,' Dr Sengupta said. 'Where is everyone going to sleep tonight?'

'There's a little village of tents being set up north of here near the road. Dennis and Janet Trimble, Sally Crowe, Harold Bartholomew and Howard Perkins organised it. They brought their own tents and managed to borrow some from other supporters. The police will allow everyone to stay there until the eviction is completed.'

'That's good. It sounds as if the police have been cooperative.'

'No complaints in that department. I've told the chief cop, Inspector Ward, how pleased I've been with how they've handled everything.'

'Right. Good. I'll go and check on those young ladies.' As Dr Sengupta was about to walk towards the lock-on tree, he remembered something. 'Shadow. I forgot to ask. I've heard there are some tunnels. I need to satisfy myself that the occupants are all right.'

Shadow looked down at his feet. 'Uh . . . okay. What about if I just tell you that they're in good health and in no danger?'

Dr Sengupta eyed Shadow suspiciously. 'Are you up to something?'

'Who, me?' Shadow said with exaggerated innocence.

'Hmmm. I would like to talk to those who are in the tunnels — if that's possible.'

Shadow pointed to his left. Over there is a van. It's our communications centre. The Sheriff is there at the moment, talking to our . . . um . . . tunnellers.'

Dr Sengupta nodded, convinced that he wasn't being told the whole story, and walked up to Penelope.

'How are these girls doing?'

'They're a bit cold and stiff, Doctor, but they're tough.'

Dr Sengupta crouched down and checked each of them. Satisfied that they were in good condition, he said, 'Listen, girls. I know you want to stay here as long as possible, but you've done your bit. If any of you want to give up — no-one will blame you.'

He smiled when they all assured him that they'd like to hold on a bit longer. 'Okay. I'll get someone to provide you with a bit of shelter in case it rains tonight. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to continue my rounds.'

Dr Sengupta found the Sheriff sitting in a very rusty red van that had once belonged to the Post Office. He didn't know who it belonged to now, but guessed it wasn't the Sheriff. 'Good evening. I'm Dr Sengupta. I've been looking after the residents of Puck's Dell since they first moved in.'

'Oh have you,' said Alan Jenkins, with a distinct lack of warmth. 'And what can I do for you?'

Dr Sengupta felt his hackles rise. 'Firstly, you can ensure that the girls who are locked-on are provided with adequate bedding and shelter for the night.' He didn't wait for a response. 'Secondly, I wish to speak to whoever is in the tunnels.'

Alan Jenkins held his gaze for a while. He was feeling very tired and he wanted to tell this doctor where to stick his stethoscope. But, frightened of reading accusations in the newspapers about barbaric treatment of protesters, he decided to be cooperative. 'I'll ask someone to see if those girls can be made more comfortable. As for the people in the tunnel, you can use this.'

Dr Sengupta was handed a microphone with a button on it. 'Press the button when you want to speak,' the Sheriff rasped.

'Hello. This is Dr Sengupta. Is there anyone there?' He released the button.

'Hello Dr Sengupta. How're you doing?'

'I'm all right. But I'm more concerned about how you are.'

'Fine. Don't worry about us. We're in good shape. Loads of food and drink. We can stick it out for weeks.'

Dr Sengupta heard the Sheriff making unintelligible noises behind him — and tried not to smile.

'Do you have a good air supply?'

'Oh yeah. As good as if I was sitting at home. Know what I mean?'

Dr Sengupta managed to keep a straight face. 'All right. You hang in there. I'll hand you back to the Sheriff.'

'Thanks, doctor. But tell the Sheriff I'm going up to bed now and I'll speak to him in the morning. Night.'

Dr Sengupta climbed out of the van, gave the Sheriff a curt nod, and set off to find the car park. Shadow caught up with him.

'Everything all right?' Shadow asked.

'You're a devious . . . person,' said the doctor.

Shadow pretended to look shocked. 'I'm sure I don't know what you mean — unless you're talking about Phantom Digger.'

Dr Sengupta was about to ask Shadow what he was talking about when he was distracted by a commotion on the south side of the camp. 'I wonder what's going on there.' he said.

Shadow shielded his eyes against the glare from the lights and tried to see what was causing the disturbance. He could see two policemen remonstrating with — two soldiers. At least, they appeared to be soldiers but, as he moved in their direction for a closer inspection, Shadow realised that they were too old. 'Good God!' he yelled, unable to contain his excitement. 'It's Charles and Sasha Rowney.'

'Are you sure?' said the doctor sceptically, unable to believe that the gentle, elderly couple that he had seen at the Trimbles' home could be the same as these two face-blackened individuals dressed in camouflage kit and steel helmets festooned with bracken, grass and branches.

'A night exercise, old chap,' they heard Charles say to one of the policemen. 'Someone has to keep Stumblefrith free of vandals and hooligans. If you've nothing better to do, perhaps you could lend us a hand.'

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