PERCY's REVENGE

Percy's Revenge..or Ulterior Motive?

N
ow Dominic Clutterbuck had a problem. Having been summoned to the
Chairman's office he'd been told in no uncertain terms to find it, get
it or don't bother to come back. Finding it wasn't a problem. Getting
it might be difficult.

So as our tale unfolds we find the said gentleman, nestling in the
corner of the Public bar of the Wise Owl Tavern at Middlethorpe in the
Mire which, (quoted merely for reasons of tradition) is a sleepy hamlet
which nestles serenely in it's own peculiar brand of congenial squalor
amidst the rurally obscure conurbation of Toddlesworth on the river
Pee.

Fred, landlord and host of the said hostelry didn't like strangers.
Custom, practice and years of historical precedent dictates that anyone
entering a strange pub be treated in the traditional manner. That is,
being unenthusiastically greeted, treated with abject suspicion, served
short measure and exorbitantly overcharged in thirty seconds flat, then
subsequently being condemned to being totally ignored by all and sundry
until closing time. Attempts to get a refill which pass from the polite
"er, excuse me landlord" to the manic thumping of the bar accompanied
by shrill cries of "What the bloody hell does a poor thirsty sod have
to do to get a drink around here?" both of which are met with equal
degrees of feigned deafness.

The case in point was no exception. There were more important issues
afoot.

In stark contrast to the Public Bar the lounge bar was a hive of
activity. Practically the whole population of the village were
shoehorned into the tiny room. Fred couldn't remember when there were
so many bodies crammed into such a small space, but, if the heat and
the smoke made 'em thirsty then why should he complain. Even Freda
Stoic the Worshipful Lady Mayoress had been seconded to help behind the
bar. She was on wages that night. Albert, The Mayor had decided to hold
this public meeting in the pub instead of the far less convivial
atmosphere of the town hall. For that, Fred would see he got
commission. Even with the increase in staff the only way there to get a
first drink, let alone another round, was to adopt a method similar to
the fire brigades water bucket chain passing brimming glasses from hand
to hand. That's fine if everyone co-operates. But when the crowd, as in
tonights case, are in a boisterous and angry mood, what starts as a
pint at the bar, with knocks, spillages and surreptitious slurps as it
passes through many helping hands, ends up with the poor punter at the
back with less fluid in the glass than a double gin and tonic. The
money to actually pay for the drink seldom arrives back at the bar
intact either, if, indeed it ever arrives at all.

His Worshipful Mayor Albert Stoic esquire took centre stage and called
for order. A reluctant hush fell upon the even more reluctant
congregation.

"For those of you as don't already know the purpose of tonights public
meeting" he began. "I am going to quote you the headline news from this
weeks edition of the Ferret Racers Gazette. Now I know most of us take
what that particular publication says with half a ton of salt,
unfortunately this time they got it right......"

Eyes turned to Benjamin Penn, the Gazette's editor, sitting near the
back. The frown of resentment on hearing "half a ton of salt" was
replaced in short order by an expression of self satisfied smugness
upon hearing "This time they got it right..."

One or two unprintable remarks appeared from the side of the room. The
bar erupted in laughter as Benjamin Penn resumed his frown and inwardly
planned recrimination.

"Ladies...Gentlemen...please..If I might continue" shouted Albert.
There really was no need to shout but Albert found this the best way to
stifle the effects of heavily wielded gavel in right hand suddenly and
uncompromisingly impacting with left thumb. The crowd was suitably
silenced.

Albert's voice dropped to almost normal.

"I Quote." He continued.

"The Toddlesworth and District Council today confirmed that it was
selling a small parcel of land on the outskirts of Middlethorpe to the
Safebuybury Supermarket group who have submitted detailed plans to
build a Hypermarket on the site. News of the complex which is to
include a petrol station and an in-store restaurant was warmly welcomed
by The Right Honourable Darracliffe Ainscough, our local M.P. as a
thoroughly worthwhile and profitable use of this particular pocket of
wasteland....
"
"Ay...and I bet 'is pocket showed a profit an' all." interrupted a
voice from the back.

"And you might notice..." this from another dissenter "....that that
said gentleman.... who's supposed to be our representative...is tonight
totally absent by his conspicuousness."

"We're better off wi'out 'im." This from Clarence Braithwaite.

"We'd be better off without him in Parliament." Rebecca Cloutworth
chipped in.

"''ere 'ere." came the reply, quickly followed by
"Where, Where?"...and "'o's payin'?

"IF I MIGHT FINISH !!" yelled Albert. This time he had to yell to be
heard.... The tide of noise subsided once again.

Albert continued. "However, much opposition is expected from the
Middlethorpe residents and tradespeople who see this as yet another
attempt by a large organisation to threaten their livelihoods in the
local community. A public meeting has been arranged....et cetera et
cetera....."

"I notice." came in John Claythorpe before the cacophony erupted once
more, and staring accusingly once more at Benjamin Penn, the by now
beleaguered Gazette editor..."That you manage to publish our esteemed
M.P's opinion on the matter....but not a word of how the residents
feel."

"Not a dicky bird." confirmed Brian Belcher, casting aside a copy of
the paper from which he had continued to read beyond the parts which
Albert had quoted..."Not one single jot even in the margin."

More pairs of accusing eyes fell on the newspaperman.

"Well one will certainly report sympathetically on the reactions of
ones townsfolk when one has established what those feelings are." came
the defensive reply. But, one can hardly quote what hasn't yet been
expressed yet, can one?"

"One supposes one can't." came the rejoinder, this time from Fred
Sumner, not often moved to sarcasm... "but one might suggest that one
gets out ones notebook, one sharpens ones pencil and one pricks ones
bloody ears up...!"

"''ere 'ere." came the reply, quickly followed by
"Where? Where?"...and "'o's payin'?

The room erupted with noise. Albert was about to call for order when
half a pint of Joshia Stiffes best Bitter was spilt down the front of
his shirt as another glassful, trying to make it's previously described
perilous voyage from the bar to the back of the room, was accidentally
head butted by a cross legged resident making a foolhardy attempt to
get to the loo.

It should be noted that Joshia Stiffe and Reprobates had been the local
brewers in the area for many years. They also were against the scheme
and a spokesman was quoted as saying that they would be making Stiffe
opposition.

"Order ! Order! Ladies,... Gentlemen... please.
I realise that what we 'ave 'ere is a highly emotive subject an'
everyone'll get a chance to say his or her piece...but lets take things
in numerical order."

"Surely you mean alphabetical order." replied Freda, who was doing her
best to mop the beer drips off his Mayoral chain of office with a paper
napkin.

"Normally, yes my dear." came the reply "But tonight I DO mean
numerically....One at a bloody time !!"

It was the falsetto tones of Clarence Braithwaite the local purveyor of
fish and chips who seemed to take the lead.

"Sold down the Pee! That's what we've been!" he exclaimed. " If that
'ere store 'as a kaff...you know.. one o' them chili in a baked spud
places... it'll not only be me fish that takes a batterin' but me
flippin' takins as well. I'm just down right disgusted and that's all I
have to say."

Cries of " 'ere 'ere" filled the bar shortly followed by cries of
"Where, Where? and 'O's payin'?"

Clarence was a man whose opinion was normally wrapped up with only a
few words. Clarence's fish was normally wrapped up with only a few
chips.

Alistair Tatum's hand shot up like his hairy armpit was on fire. It
should be noted that Alistair and his wife Felicity are the local
butcher and baker partnership. He had a load of tripe (which he spoke
most of the time), and she had a bun in the oven every night except
Saturdays.

"What about me and my missus?." he asked. "Here we are trying to make a
livin' but those big boys 'll crucify the prices I have to charge.
Their costs are a damned sight less than mine..."

"Rubbish." came a voice from the back. It was Harold Snoad. The local
undertaker was not often moved to raise his voice but this was an
exception.

"Half your bloody stock is poached." he accused. "Well the poultry is
anyway..."

"I'll have you know" began an irate Felicity Tatum jumping to her
spouses defence "that my 'usband and I provide first class produce.
What about my Christmas Puddings? Genuine silver sixpences you find in
those."

"Agreed" replied Harold "But you usually find genuine twelve bore lead
buckshot up the backsides of Alistair's Christmas turkeys as
well...!!"

More cries of " 'ere 'ere " "Where? Where?" and "I bought the last
round!" echoed from the assembly.

Thus the Tatums were suitably silenced.

The meeting was going off course. Albert was about to intervene when
the local military in the shape of Brigadier Richard Grandwilly (Civil
Service, Retired) beat him to it.

(Authors note. The gentleman concerned, perhaps somewhat embarrassed
about the pronunciation of his name, always made out that he was of
Norman French ancestry and thus the name should be pronounced as in the
French as Grande Wee. Frankly I don't see the difference. The English
version seems to be the means and the French version the end
result....What am I bladdering on about?....)

"This is damned reprehensible." began the Brigadier pompously, as
though he were remonstrating with some inadequate lance corporal.
"There's no point in bickering with each other...We need to unite for
the common good against the common enemy. What we need is action, a
battle plan, a call to arms...civil unrest if necessary....."

It was just prior to that moment that an itinerant member of the
Salvation Army marched in through the door with the view to selling
copies of the War Cry. Sensing the moment was, to say the least,
inappropriate, she turned on her heel and promptly marched out
again.

The pomposity gradually fizzled out as the Brigadier subsided into his
chair suitably reassured by Albert that if anything bordering on the
use of fisticuffs was ultimately required then the Brigadiers extensive
military strategic knowledge would be the first to be called
upon.

"If they 'as a fillin' station down there it won't do my trade any
favours either." This from Harry Titheridge the local garage
proprietor. "O.K. so me and the wife's gonna retire very soon but, like
the way I see it, it's the tip of the wedge, the thin end of the
iceberg. Next thing you know there'll be one o' them big car and bike
spares stores down there an' all."

There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

"Aye, an' one o' them bleedin' do it yerself places." This from Percy
Floggit squatting on the bar billiards table.

"Not even over MY dead body!" Harold Snoad, the undertaker chipped
in.

"'t wont affect me much," continued Harry, " but what about John 'ere.
He looks after all the bikes in this neck o' the woods just like 'is
father did."

John Claythorpe was less concerned. "Well I've always got me lawnmower
repairs to fall back on." he said.

Mellisa Goodbody the local district nurse, until now simply an
interested onlooker, remembered exactly what had happened when our John
had literally fallen back on one of his lawnmower repairs but that was
quite another story.

"I think" came Cristobel Harsnip, the local newsagent "that I mirror
and express the feelings of us all. If the telegraph is right Times
will be hard. We must Mail our MP and stand up as guardians of our own
Independents."...Her voice tailed off as she ran out of newspaper
cliches.

Thank God it's not a Womens World, thought Albert.

Almost un-noticed sitting at the bar all evening was Percy Golightly.
There were two reasons he'd sat at the bar. The first was that if he
was going to buy a pint, which he did very seldom for himself and about
once a decade for anyone else, he proposed to drink a full one and not
entrust it to the chain gang or anyone else's hands. The second reason
was that he wanted to keep his thoughts on the matter in hand until
last.

Few people had time for Percy. Though not exactly an outcast, his tight
fistedness and somewhat simple nature did not enamour him to the
Middlethorpe social scene. Tonight he seemed somewhat restless. It
seemed no-one wanted to hear his opinions. Albert, perhaps one of the
more sympathetic of the residents towards the old farmer, and, somehow
sensing Percy's unease, moved towards him.

"And what might you have to say, Perce?" he asked.

Well. This is it thought Percy. He felt a tightening in his
stomach.

"Well as it 'appens I've got quite a lot to say." began Percy. "You see
I bin sittin' 'ere all evenin' listnin' to all you folks a grizzlin'
and a gripin' 'bout things, when truth to tell, there's only one bloke
who's gonna decide whether yon shop gets built or not....and that's
me...."

The guffaws of laughter subsided when Percy raised his voice to
continue.

"Now just listen." It was an instruction not a request. No-one had ever
seen Percy in this mood before. He had something to get off his chest
and had obviously decided that this was going to be both the time and
the place.

"Go on laugh if you must." He almost jeered. "I know what you're
thinkin'. Here's the village idiot makin' a fool of hi'self
again."

Albert had known Percy for years. He had never seen the old farmer
quite so pent up. Albert didn't think that Percy had ever addressed a
crowd or made a speech in his life but sensed that right now he needed
to, but he needed help.

"Ladies...Gentlemen...Please....You've all 'ad your turns." he said.
"Let's 'ear what the man's got to say."

"Thanks Albert, but this time I don't need no 'elp. I got all me fax
together this time and before you lot starts a gigglin' again I don't
mean one of they elec me tronic messaage gadgets either...I've even add
me solicitor 'elpin' me....and 'e don't come cheap."

Even the crowd had hushed and now made way for Percy as he moved
towards the map on the wall which occupied the space normally reserved
for the dartboard.

"Truth to tell," began Percy again, now somewhat more confident..."is
that I've been up t' town 'all and 'ad a look at t'plans. Now I know I
aint as edumicated as you town folks but I aint quite as daft as you
think I is either. For a start the buildin' they's wantin' to put up
would 'ave to face ...." Percy twisted his head trying to work out the
orientation of the map. Logic suggests that double top should have been
North. Practice dictated it was nor' nor' west.

"West?" someone prompted.

"East?" prompted someone else

"North to South." finished Percy. "Simple reason why. If t'were t'other
way round they'd never fill it..."

"Fill it with what?" someone asked.

"The damned stuff they wanna sell." replied Percy as though it was
obvious.

"'S'obvious baint it? They's dirty great trucks they use, them t'ings
like damned gert haystacks on nineteen wheels......."

Lopsided ones thought Fred who's mental arithmetic had quickly
calculated that two sides of a truck into nineteen went nine and a
half.

"......they'd never get 'em across the bridge would they? Lookie. I'll
show yer. If they build it 'ere (He pointed to the map) then the only
ways they'd get they's trucks in an' out would be to drive 'em through
the blinkin ford in the river. They couldn't go over t'bridge cos it's
not wide enough. Seems originally they's planners thought they could
widen it but dey can't cos 'corrdin' to all things what's legal it's a
listed historical monument...built by t'same people what built Egrevold
Castle......'S' got some kinda limitations of use legal
whadyermecallit"

"You mean there's a covenant injunction?" came a voice from the
back.

"Dunno." came the reply. "The legal man'll be 'ere in a while...ask
'Im. What I do know is there aint room for an injunction and an
outjunction....and never will be."

All eyes momemtarily returned to Sir Robert Soames Egrevold, owner of
the castle who nodded in confirmation.

Sir Robert had been silent all evening, but, sensing the route the
meeting was taking had just got off the phone to his stockbroker who
was left in no doubt that Sir Robert wanted all his shares in
Safebuybury Group sold...and very first thing in the morning.

" So they'd 'ave to build it this way round and leave room for an
entrance...'ere." One of Percy's knurled hands moved across the map to
show what he meant. A full pint of ale somehow appeared in the
other.

"They can't build round the back or round t'other sides cos that's
Toddlesworth Common...and you can't build on common land. I've a right
of way across there and if they did build on it I'd still exercise my
right to go that way to my old barn otherwise I gotta deteriorate right
round the bloody houses and across the cricket field. I'm quite sure
they wouldn't like me walkin' my prize bull down their frozen foods
aisle especially if he decides to cock his tail and do a you smell what
all over their...er delima..dela..."

"Delicatessen?" prompted Freda Stoic.

"Cheese and cold meat counter."

The assembly seemed to pause to take this all in. Percy had, in the
past few moments gone way up in most people's estimation.

Albert had only partly cottoned on. "Even if you're right Percy...I
still don't understand why they have to get your permission to build
the place."

"Simple." came the reply.

"It can't be that simple." whispered Claudia Shutlybottom to Joanna
Trollop.

Joanna was not convinced. "I still think he's simple." she whispered
back.

The whisper was overheard.

"Nothwithstanding a degree of scepticism from some quarters
......perhaps I might be allowed to continue?"

Percy Golightly now shot up in everyones estimation. Not only had he
never before used such a string of long words, he'd never before got
them right first time and never all in one breath.

"If they were forced to turn it round like I showed you they'd then
have to get hold of a piece of my bottom twenty acre meadow. Otherwise
they wouldn't 'ave enough room."

"Enough room for what?" asked Fred the landlord who, like everyone
else, had thought that a ten thousand square foot building was a ten
thousand square foot building whichever way round it went.

"That damned great thing that always 'as to go with a damned great
store...."

Albert had cottoned on fully now and the words from both he and Percy
came out in almost simultaneous stereo..." A damned great CAR
PARK!!"

"Perzactly !!!" said Percy triumphantly. "Unless I agree to sell 'em a
bit o' my land the whole damned 'air brained scheme's a non flippin'
starter.

Enter Rupert Ponsonby-Green. (Readers of previous tales will recall
this gentleman as the local M.P's electoral agent.) Equally though he
was the senior partner in Ponsonby-Green, Second Cousin and Partners,
Solicitors at Law.

"What Mr Golightly....er my Client has told you" he began "....is
perfectly correct. According to my researches through the deeds of his
farm, ancient rights of way, the Covenant of Toddlesworth Common, and
certain legal precedents which have been set over the years.....well, I
suppose it is just possible that they might challenge those...but I
don't believe they would win, The legal arguement could go on for years
and it would cost them a fortune."

If I'm any judge, thought Albert, Percy's costs have just gone up by
twenty quid by being referred to as Ponsonby-Green's "Client".

"So like I said....." came in Percy again, apparently relishing his
moment of triumph....."'S' down to me....aint it?"

There seemed to be an overlong pause. It was Mellisa Goodbody who
eventually asked. "And are you going to sell it?"

Percy had enjoyed his moment. He took long slurps of his beer to
lengthen the moment of drama...

"No" he said "I'm not."

Dominic Clutterbuck, who, as predicted, had been ignored, certainly for
the last six pages came through the connecting door between the bars.
His fate was settled. He passed his visiting card across the bar to
Fred. "In case Mr Golightly changes his mind" he said ...and walked
away. Fred read the card. Dominic C. Clutterbuck B.A. Property
Department, Safebuybury Superstores Group.

Fred didn't like strangers.

"Don't worry....," he said to the back of the disappearing figure,
"....He wont."

Just how many residents bought drinks for Percy after that
no&;#64979; one knows. Fred certainly lost count. Albert was far too
intoxicated to spell intoxicated. The beer flowed well into the
night.

Sir Robert Soames Egrevold was on the phone again. This time a message
on a certain anserphone instructing the purchase of shares in Joshia
Stiffe and reprobates.

It was a couple of days later when a suitably sobered up Percy
Golightly knocked on Albert and Freda Stoics door.

"I'd like to say a word of thanks, Albert, fer like clearin' the way
for me t'other night. I were right scared talkin' to that lot."

"I think half the population of Middlethorpe owe you thanks for not
selling that land." replied Albert. "Now I know this may be a daft
question, and you may well say that it was just that you didn't need
the money...but why did you turn it down?"

"Well Albert, my friend" came the reply. 'Twern't the time nor t'place.
I'm sixty four years old. Forty odd years I b'en growin' turnips and
next year I'm gonna retire. If you think I'm going to let ten thousand
pounds get in't way of my future you've got another think comin'.
"

Albert was gobsmacked. So was Freda. They didn't actually say so but
the sentiment was close.

"Ten thousand quid !!" exclaimed Albert. "You turned down ten thousand
quid!!!...You could do an awful lot of retiring on that sort of
money."

For once in his life Percy was going to have the last word.

"aye..." replied the farmer with a wink,"... but when Theme Leisure
Parks Limited want to build a golf course and have offered me 'alf a
million fo' t'whole bloody farm...we can't 'ave a bloody supermarket in
the way of the approach to the seventeenth green....now can
we...??"

"But you'd still have to get planning permission" blurted Albert.

Percy smiled.

"Well with the Chief Planning Officer over at Toddlesworth being a keen
golfer, a "contribution" to Darracliffe Ainscough's re-election funds,
you being the Chairman of the Recreational Resources Committee down
'ere in Middlethorpe and our landlord friend Fred with the sole
concession to run the club's bar....I don't see that being a
problem...Do you?"