Chapter 15
Tall Trees, Swainshurst, Wealdshire. Tuesday 19 May 1998
The eco-strategy meeting at Tall Trees, the home of the Trimbles, was due to begin at 6.30 in the evening. Shadow, accompanied by Martha, Misty and Bounce, arrived early in an old Bedford van which was gaily painted and bore the legend 'Rainbow Warriors Unite'. Whereas Penelope Starling would have died a thousand deaths if such a vehicle had been parked in her drive, the Trimbles were delighted to have it standing where all the neighbours could see it.
Dennis Trimble, a retired bank manager with more hair in his eyebrows than on his head, welcomed the gang as warmly as if they had been children of his own who hadn't visited for ten years. Janet Trimble, once everyone had insisted upon removing their boots, herded them all into the kitchen where a table was virtually creaking beneath its burden of food and drink. 'Help yourselves,' she commanded. 'Eat as much as you like. And if there's anything left over at the end of the evening . . .' She held up a roll of plastic bags to show what she meant.
The dogs had been confined to the back room, but were making sure that everyone knew where they were.
'Oh dear,' said Janet, 'I hope they're not going to keep up that racket all night.'
'Do they have to be locked away?' asked Misty.
Janet looked at her husband. 'What do you think?' she mouthed.
'Go on, then,' he laughed. 'Let the little so-and-sos out.'
Janet walked along the hall and opened the door to the spare room. A second later, the eco-warriors were almost knocked to the ground by the onslaught of five sets of wagging tails, inquisitive noses, slobbering tongues and scrabbling feet.
Misty, fending off a particularly-affectionate animal, the like of which would never have appeared in a book on pedigree breeds, asked the Trimbles what sort of dogs they were.
'They're all reject hounds,' Dennis replied with a chuckle. 'Who else would want a bunch of ugly monsters like this lot.'
'Well, I think they're all lovely,' spluttered Misty as a tail tried to wag its way into her mouth. 'You're real beauties, aren't you?'
A moment later all the dogs had rushed off to the front door to find out who had rung the bell.
'Come here, dogs!' called Dennis. Our other visitors might not be quite so keen on being licked to death.'
Luckily, all the newcomers were tolerant of the Trimbles' canine crew. By 6.35, there were fourteen people and five dogs sitting in the living room waiting for the meeting to begin. Jerry Sanders had been the first to arrive, quickly followed by the other seven. All (except the dogs) had made their way to the living room via the kitchen where they had helped themselves from the buffet. While the pixies chose to sit on cushions and bean bags on the floor (which delighted the dogs), all the others sat in the armchairs or on the settee.
There was no formal agenda but Jerry, having chatted to Shadow earlier, had made a short list of the items to be discussed. 'If no-one minds,' he announced, 'I'll get the meeting started and sort of act as chairperson.' He looked around him, saw that there were no dissenters, and continued, 'Looks as if everyone's happy with that arrangement. Firstly, I'd like to thank Mr and Mrs Trimble for allowing us —'
'Do call us Janet and Dennis,' interrupted Dennis Trimble.
'Okay,' Jerry laughed. 'Thanks very much — Janet and Dennis — for letting us hold our meeting here tonight. Perhaps we ought to do some introductions. You all know the pixies, don't you? Shadow, Misty, Martha, and Bounce.'
(Misty was relieved to see that he was able to look at her without laughing — unlike the last occasion when she had seen him.)
Jerry continued, 'I'm Jerry Sanders and the others . . . well, perhaps you'd like to introduce yourselves.'
A large and jolly-looking man sitting opposite Jerry spoke first. 'I'm Howard Perkins — do call me Howard. I retired from the Wealdshire Constabulary five years ago. But don't let that put you off. I'm as determined to stop the road as any of you.'
'Good on you, Howard,' said Jerry. 'Who's next? You, Jean?' he invited a bespectacled woman sitting next to Howard.
'I'm Jean Richardson. I'm a very ordinary person. I love the countryside. I want to do all I can to help.'
'What Jean hasn't told you,' said Jerry, giving Jean a wink, 'is that she has started working as our unofficial secretary. She'll be opening all those letters which we've started to receive, banking the odd cheque that arrives from supporters, and sending out newsletters to those who've asked to be on the mailing list.'
'Great!' said a gruff voice. It was Bounce, his tattooed arms wrapped lovingly around a shaggy nondescript dog. 'It's serious business, keeping in with all our fans. As long as you get two new people for every one that I scare away, we'll be all right.'
Martha, sitting next to Bounce, patted him on the head. 'I don't think anyone would be scared of you if they saw the way you're cuddling that dog. You're the biggest softy I've ever met.'
Bounce didn't often blush. In fact no-one had ever seen him blush. But a few people guessed why he suddenly hid his face in the shaggy coat of his friend.
Dr Sengupta introduced himself next. 'I visit Puck's Dell once a week — or more often if the silly devils start eating Amanita phalloides.'
'Come again?' said Dennis Trimble.
'Death cap toadstools. They're not terribly good for you. Luckily, as a rule, the pixies don't get too much wrong with them — apart from foot-rot. I'm beginning to think that an outdoor life is good for you — but I won't be joining them on a more permanent basis. I somehow think my regular patients would exhibit a certain reluctance to visit me if I held my surgery in the woods.'
When the laughter had died away, Misty stood up. 'I'd just like to say that all the pixies are really grateful to Dr Sengupta. Not only does he mend us when we're broken, but he has had words with the goons when they've been a bit over-enthusiastic in trying to evict us. He's a cool guy.'
Dr Sengupta nodded his appreciation, wondering when he'd last been called a cool guy.
'I didn't know anyone had tried to evict you already,' remarked Jean Richardson.
Jerry answered. 'A few weeks ago they tried, but they hadn't got an eviction order and they were 'persuaded' to go away. Things got a bit rough for a while. I think the bailiffs were just testing us. It was more a skirmish than a battle. They wanted to find out what sort of resistance they're gonna get when the real eviction takes place.'
He looked at the last four people who had yet to introduce themselves.
An elderly couple held their hands up. The husband spoke first. 'Charles Rowney. After the Second World War, everyone thought we were going to have a better world and I always believed that animals and the environment should be part of that better world. I was wrong. It's been a long time since I last fought — but now I'm ready to fight again. Sasha — my wife — and I are willing to do anything. Just give us the word.'
When the hubbub of approval had died down, the next person introduced himself.
'I'm Harold Bartholomew. I'm not old enough to have fought in the war, but I am a fighter — in my own little way. My weapon is the pen — actually it's a word processor these days. If I'm good at anything, it's writing letters of complaint, even if I do say so myself. So I'm happy to undertake some lobbying — MPs, the European Court, local papers, national press, and anyone else you can think of.'
'The pen is mightier than the sword, eh Harold? I'll chat to you later,' said Jerry. He turned his attention to a slim woman who appeared to be in her thirties. 'And that leaves us with, last but not least, Sally Crowe.'
'You can put me in the 'bored housewife' category,' said Sally pretending to yawn. 'Both my kids are at school now and I haven't managed to find myself a job. My husband sympathises with the cause — but he's much too busy to engage in any direct action.'
Leaning in her direction, Jerry joked, 'He could always give us some money, Sally,' and wished that he hadn't when she drew a cheque from her handbag.
'Funny you should say that,' she replied as she handed the cheque to Jean. 'I think this goes to you. Dan didn't know who to make it payable to so you'll have to fill it in yourself.'
'Thanks. I'll give you a receipt,' said Jean.
'Me and my big mouth, eh?' muttered Jerry, trying to look penitent. 'Always putting my foot in it.' Then, clapping his hands and rubbing them together to indicate a change of subject, he said, 'Okay. Now that we all know each other, let's get on with the real business. Shadow — do you want to give a brief report on the situation at Puck's Dell?'
'Love to,' Shadow answered. He gently moved the dog that was resting its head on his thigh, stood up, and cleared his throat.
'I'll start by explaining why we're at Puck's Dell — just in case anyone isn't quite sure.' He paused, waited to see if anyone wanted to admit ignorance, and then continued. 'We want to stop the Kingsbourne Bypass being built. In particular, we want to save Stumblefrith Forest. We don't believe it's the best route, and we don't want to see an area of beautiful countryside decimated for no good reason. Also, of course, there are the animals — foxes, badgers, bats and lots of different bird species. They'll all disappear if their habitat is destroyed. Our protest is just one of many. You probably all remember some of the other ones such as the 1992 protest against the M3 extension at Twyford Down — Solsbury Hill where the A46 cut into an ancient hill fort — the M11 Link in East London which destroyed 350 homes — the A34 Newbury Bypass which attracted worldwide attention — and the A30 between Honiton and Exeter which got lots of good publicity. It's not just roads, of course. Remember the Manchester Airport protest?'
Shadow was pleased to see that everyone was nodding — they were obviously familiar with the relatively- short history of the road (and airport) protest movement. 'There are about thirty of us living at Puck's Dell at the moment, but we're expecting a lot more to be living there before eviction day. And of course, we want to have hundreds of people who can just come for the day, or even a few hours.'
'You can count on us!' called out Charles Rowney. 'Sasha and I have young grandchildren. We want them to see a green and pleasant land. That's why we'll be happy to trudge through the mud and stand in the pouring rain facing a row of psychopaths. We can't just sit back in our armchairs and let the youngsters do it all.'
'That's right!' chimed in Harold Bartholomew. 'I'm getting more and more militant as I get older. I'm getting more and more grumpy. More fed up with the government and all those people who want to cover the countryside with concrete and tarmac. What am I going to be like when I'm eighty! I'll probably be wearing a combat jacket and hitting yobbos with my Zimmer frame!'
'That'll be next year, won't it?' slipped in Charles Rowney and held up his hands in submission when Harold playfully shook his fist at him. 'Sorry Shadow. Carry on.'
Shadow was quite happy to be interrupted. It was good to hear how the older generation felt — and he wanted them to feel that they were playing as important a part as the front line fighters.
'All I was going to say is that some of us live in benders and the rest live in tree houses.' He gestured to Martha. 'Martha's our tree expert so she can tell you about life on high.'
Martha, demonstrating her extreme agility, leapt up and started her talk before Shadow had even had time to think about returning to his bean bag.
'The tree houses are made of old planks which are fastened to the trees with rope — we never hammer nails into trees. My house has a window that opens, and a woodburning stove which keeps the house really warm, even in the worst of weathers.'
'Too right!' added Bounce, 'A good wood burner keeps you well cosy.'
Martha carried on. ' There's usually one house per tree. They're connected by rope walkways. These are pairs of ropes — one to stand on and one to hold onto with your hands.'
'Do you mean,' asked Harold Bartholomew incredulously, 'that you get from tree to tree by walking along a rope?'
'Do you mean me,' she asked, pointing to herself, 'or all the tree dwellers?'
'Uh . . . well . . . I um . . . I wasn't suggesting that . . .'
'That I'm too old to be leaping around in the tree tops?'
'Oh damn. You've got me. Yes, I was, I suppose — I know I couldn't do it.'
'There isn't much the youngsters can do up a tree that I can't —'
'Hey!' protested Misty. 'Don't sell yourself short, Martha. Most of the tree bods look like clumsy oafs compared with you.'
Martha couldn't resist smiling at the compliment. 'Okay. Anyway — the answer to the question is that we do walk along a rope to get from tree to tree. As long as you've got a head for heights, it's easy enough. Ideally, you wear a safety harness which you clip to the top rope. Then, if you fall, you don't fall too far.'
'I'm impressed,' said Harold, unable to disguise his admiration. 'Sorry for interrupting.'
Jerry chipped in, 'Don't worry about that. We want you all to know as much as possible about the whole operation.'
Martha continued. 'The other reason for the walkways is that, when the cherry pickers come, you can stand in the middle of a walkway and protect two trees at the same time. They can't bulldoze either tree without bringing down the walkway — and whoever is occupying it.'
'Cherry pickers?' queried Sasha Rowney.
'They're like cranes. They have a platform on the end of a long, hydraulic arm. There are controls on the platform which allow the operator to guide it anywhere — up, down, left right, forward and backward — so it's highly manoeuvrable. If three men on a platform come for you, there's not a lot you can do. They'll get you in the end but, of course, it may take them a long time. And that's what it's all about — making life as difficult as possible for the bailiffs when they come to trash us.'
Martha thrust her hand into her pocket and took out a handkerchief. 'We also have nets.' She held the handkerchief out as if to catch something in it. 'Imagine that this is a net. Each corner has a rope going to a tree. We get half-a-dozen people to lie in the net and so stop four, or possibly more, trees from being knocked down. Again, they'll get you in the end, but it can take quite a while to remove people who've woven their arms and legs through the mesh. Unfortunately, the enemy started using professional climbers last year. It strikes me as rather odd that people who love climbing mountains — and presumably love the wild parts of Britain — are happy to lend a hand to ensure that other parts of the country are totally destroyed. I wonder how they sleep at night.'
Martha looked down at the other pixies. 'Have I covered everything?'
'I think so,' answered Shadow as he got up again. 'Any questions anyone?'
Sasha Rowney held her hand up. 'What about tunnels? Do any of you live underground?'
Shadow nodded. 'A good question. At the moment we don't have any tunnels. In the same way that I would be scared stiff of living in a tree, most of us wouldn't be too happy about living underground. I think we were put off a bit by what happened at Trollheim.'
Janet Trimble waved to attract Shadow's attention, 'Excuse me, Shadow. What's Trollheim?'
'It was a camp on the site of the A30 near Honiton, in Devon. It had a lot of well-built tunnels. The bailiffs turned up at 3.30 in the morning, rigged up powerful searchlights, and didn't allow any legal observers in to watch what they were doing. It's always suspicious when they want to work unobserved. Lots of Trolls — the 'citizens' of Trollheim — reckon that the goons cut the ventilation pipes to the tunnels and used such force that lots of the tunnels started to collapse. They said that one protester, who was locked on in a tunnel, had a rope tied to his ankles and then the goons pulled on the rope and left him stretched out for half an hour. When a doctor arrived to attend to an injured protester, he was horrified by what the bailiffs were doing and ordered them to get fresh air into the tunnels and shore up the passages to stop them collapsing.' He glanced at Dr Sengupta. 'As Misty said, doctors can be very useful at times.'
Sasha had another question. 'I appreciate what you're saying, but people wouldn't actually have to live in the tunnels, would they? Couldn't they live in benders and then take to the tunnels when the eviction starts?'
'Yes, you're right, Sasha. I did mislead you a bit there. But there's still the problem that we don't fancy being underground, even if it's only for a few hours. I also misled you a bit when I talked about Trollheim. When the bailiffs evicted the A30 Fairmile camp a few days later, the whole process was carried out in in a very amicable fashion, and the folk in the tunnels weren't put in any danger. However — perhaps the biggest reason why I'm not keen on tunnels is that it would take us months, or even years, to dig a system that would be good enough to be worthwhile.'
Dennis Trimble stood up and suggested that it might be a good idea if they had a ten minute break to refill their plates, cups and glasses — and empty their bladders. The pixies persuaded the dogs to go and look for some new friends, and made their way to the kitchen. Howard Perkins, the ex-policeman joined them.
'I don't see the point in building all these roads,' he managed to say whilst munching a tomato sandwich. 'All they do is let you go as fast as possible from one place to another — and when you've got to where you're going — it looks exactly the same as where you started from. There'll be the same Tesco superstore, the same Sainsbury's, the same Marks & Sparks. Wait a few years and there won't be any point in going anywhere.'
On the opposite side of the kitchen, Sarah Rowney was chatting to Jerry. 'It was Shoreham and Brightlingsea that woke us up,' she said. 'When we saw on the television how all those middle-aged and elderly people — ordinary people like us — were prepared to risk arrest to try and stop those poor sheep and calves being loaded onto ships — that's when we knew that we could do something — that we ought to do something.'
In the sitting room, Harold Bartholomew was speaking to Jean Richardson, 'I read the other day that one in four voters are over sixty. Imagine what it would be like if every retired person in the country said, 'If you carry on building roads we won't vote for you.' I reckon there would be a sudden shift in government policy, eh?'
All the conversations suddenly stopped as the sound of loud and insistent barking was heard coming from the garden. Janet went to the open kitchen door and called, 'Dogs! Come in!' When the barking persisted, she called again, 'Dogs! Come in! — Floss! — Jed! — Plodder! — Guinness! — Jackie! — Come! — Here dogs!'
Puzzled by their unusual behaviour, Dennis asked, 'What on earth is wrong with those stupid animals?'
Bounce and Shadow exchanged glances. Bounce nodded and slowly crept out through the kitchen door (in his socks).
'Could I pop upstairs?' asked Shadow, already halfway to the stairs.
'Sure,' answered Dennis. 'The loo is the second door on the left.'
Shadow raced up the stairs, ignored the second door on the left, turned off the landing light, and let himself into the bedroom which he hoped would give him a view of the road. Stooping down, he crept across the room and stood with his back against the wall next to the window. He turned his head sideways and peered through the gap between the wall and the curtain. He could see no-one in the garden, and the road seemed to be clear. He crouched down, moved to the other side of the window, and looked in the other direction. A black Ford Transit was parked outside the next house. Was it the same van which had followed them some of the way from Stumblefrith Forest? He wasn't sure. He looked around the bedroom on the off chance that there might be some binoculars handy but, if there were, it was too dark for him to see them. He looked back at the van. He wasn't certain, but he thought there might be a couple of people sitting in the front seats.
He crept out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him, and went back to the kitchen. Seeing that Bounce had returned from the garden, Shadow gave him a questioning look. Bounce shook his head. Shadow kept his voice low. 'Okay everyone, this may be a false alarm, but it's just possible that someone has been eavesdropping on us. Did any of you come in a black Transit?' He looked round and saw only shaking heads. 'There's one outside now. Dennis, what about your neighbours?'
Dennis shook his head. 'No. A Citroen one side and a Toyota the other side.'
Shadow pursed his lips and screwed up his eyes. 'When we were driving here, a black Transit followed us for part of the way. I should have gone outside and checked earlier. They may have been using directional microphones to overhear what we were saying. But don't panic. We hadn't got to the part of the meeting that would interest them. I guess the best plan is for some of us to drive away in the Rainbow van and see if they follow us. Jerry, Bounce — do you want to come with me?'
'And me,' insisted Howard Perkins. 'You never know when an ex-policeman will come in handy.'
Shadow gave him a quick grin. 'Okay. Good. Misty — can you go upstairs and keep an eye on the Transit? Assuming that Dennis and Janet don't mind us spying from their bedroom window.' He waited for a nod from Dennis, then continued. 'If it's the enemy, the van will either follow us immediately or, if someone was snooping in the garden, they'll wait for them to return before they follow us.' To the rest of the crowd he said, 'We'll be back as soon as we've found out whether or not there are baddies in that van. Don't worry — there won't be any bother.' He hoped he was right. 'Okay guys. Let's go. And remember to act normally!'
While Misty crept upstairs to the bedroom, the pixies made their way to the front door and quickly put their boots on. 'Dennis,' called Shadow. 'Can you come out and wave goodbye to us?'
The pixies laughed and chatted loudly as they left the house, hoping that they sounded natural. Shadow took his time unlocking the door. 'Okay you pixies,' he called out as he climbed in, 'Let's go and do that little job.' If the spies heard that it should arouse their interest, he thought as he started the engine.
Dennis Trimble kept on waving as the Rainbow van drove out of the drive and down the road. He saw the black Transit but avoided looking at it directly. When the van turned the corner into Lime Lane, Dennis went back indoors.
From the upstairs window, Misty saw the Rainbow van leave. She saw Dennis wave goodbye and then go indoors. She saw the headlights of the Transit flash once. And she saw two men scurry along the road carrying some equipment, and dive into the back of the van.
The Transit started up, performed a three-point turn, and headed off in pursuit of the Rainbow van.
'Shit!' Misty yelled. And raced downstairs to tell the others.