And so, with all the misplaced confidence of the underage drinker, I pushed upon the saloon bar door of The Four Horsemen.
All upon a whim it was.
It is funny how things go.
Because if I had had the faintest idea of what I was about to get myself into, I might well have walked right past that door and slouched on down to the High Street.
But probably not.
And so I entered into that bar.
And changed my life for ever.
35
There was a regular fog in that pub, though the technical term is fug. A wholesome, healthsome, fragrant fug, as of the Wild Woodbine. I stepped into this nebulosity and felt my way to the counter, encountering as I did so a regular rabble of folk. An aged piano was cranking out a popular dance-hall medley and there was much laughter and general joviality.
As I proceeded upon my tortuous route through this jocular throng, I recognised many faces coming towards me out of the swirling tobacco-flavoured mist. And all that I recognised were regular drinkers from The Purple Princess. As I saw them and they saw me they turned their shamed faces away.
‘Traitorous bunch,’ I said to myself. ‘I of course am only here in the spirit of research.’
The polished mahogany bar top was before me as I squeezed between merrymakers and attempted to make myself heard above the all-encompassing hubbub. At last I caught the brand-new guv’nor’s eye.
It was a steely blue eye that I caught. One of a pair housed above finely chiselled cheekbones and lying to either side of an aquiline nose, beneath which grew a delicate blond moustache. The hair of the barlord’s head was blond and there was much of it. And there was a certain vitality about the carriage of this fellow. A certain athleticism about his physique that would surely have pegged him as a gymnast or sportsman rather than a publican.
‘What is it, boy?’ said he. Which I did not consider to be a good start. ‘Have you come to collect the case of Kahana?’
Now there is a thing that folk who went through the Second World War will tell you. It is a thing to do with rationing and how there was never enough of anything. And this thing is that if you saw a queue, you got onto the end of it. In the hope that there might be something you needed waiting for you at the other end. And also, that if you were offered anything at all, you took it without question, whether you actually needed it or not. And as this new guv’nor clearly had me down as a delivery boy, come to collect a case of Kahana - well, I was not going to disillusion him. I mean, a case of Kahana! There was no telling just how much I might really need that. Whatever it was.
I nodded to the new guv’nor that I had indeed come to collect that case of Kahana. And he said that I would have to wait until it was packed, but would I care for a drink while I was waiting, on the house, of course.
So, as this all seemed to be working out so terribly well, I ordered a pint of the Haettenschweiler that I saw flagged up on the nearest pump handle.
And the new guv’nor laughed and said no to this. And poured me a lemonade.
And so I stood amidst the noisy throng, drinking lemonade and passive smoking and listening in to others’ conversations.
A tall spare chap in a seaman’s cap, with a rugged sweater and a whiskered chin, held forth to a crowd of smoking folk, who shared a joke and listened to him. He was clearly a sailor home from the sea and I cocked an ear to his talk.
‘That there,’ he said. ‘Above the bar. Now that can tell a tale.’ Above the bar hung a swordfish saw of almost a yard in length. ‘I had signed aboard a merchant packet,’ said the tall spare chap, ‘in Tobago, hoping to make it back to Blighty before Christmas. We had a cargo of ivory, apes and peacocks, sandalwood, cedar wood and sweet white wine. But we got no further than the coast of Trinidad, when out of the blue an aeroplane fell from the sky. It struck the packet and for all I know I was the only survivor. I found myself in an open rowing boat, without oars to row with, or hope of rescue, drifting all alone and out at sea.’
The company ‘ooohed’ and ‘oh’d’ at this and so the seaman continued. ‘And that night a mighty storm blew up, with breakers as high as a house, and being, as you know, a pious man, I prayed to the Lord to offer me salvation. There was a flash of lightning and that swordfish saw you see above the bar there burst up through the bottom of the boat.
‘Using the skills I had acquired whilst once working as a circus strongman, I snapped off that saw, put my foot in the hole and used that saw to row the boat ashore.’
There was much cheering and I shook my head - that was quite a tale. And then the company took to the singing of that famous sea shanty ‘Orange Claw Hammer’ and I joined in wherever I could. Especially during the verse about ‘I’ll buy you a Cherry Phosphate’. And when that was done the tall spare seaman patted me roundly about the shoulder regions and ordered in a round of drinks for all the singers, including myself.
And I took this opportunity to acquire a pint of Haettenschweiler.
Which did not taste nearly as good as it sounded, which was a bit of a shame.
‘Tell us another of your adventures, Jim,’ called out a tweedy cleric, and the tall spare sailor man thumbed his grizzled chin and said, ‘Well, I’ve many more.’
And then he went on to spin a marvellous yarn about how he had been torpedoed off yet another merchant packet in tropical waters, had been once more the sole survivor and found himself washed up upon a beautiful island where he was captured by cannibals, who later adopted him and later still made him their chief.
And I thought to myself what a very interesting fellow this was and what amazing adventures he had had and how very lucky he had been with the sinking of each boat. And I also thought that if I ever felt the desire to sign on for a voyage upon a merchant packet, I would check the crew list carefully to make sure that his name did not appear on it.
And while I listened I finished my drink and then felt a tap on my shoulder. ‘The case of Kahana is ready,’ said the new guv’nor. ‘Come around behind the bar here and you can take it out through the back door.’
I squeezed between jolly folk, moved behind the bar counter and followed the muscular barlord. And in doing so now found myself in a rear parlour whose contents put Fangio to shame. Here were stacks of boxes labelled as containing electrical appliances. TVs and food mixers, irons and Teasmades and toasters and hi-fis and Hoovers. And there were crates of exotic fruit and veg and casks of ale from foreign parts and something that looked like a treasure chest.
So whistle I did between my teeth because I was very impressed. I have always had this thing about pirates and I actually met some during my adventures with Hugo Rune that are chronicled in The Brightonomicon. And if ever there was a pirate hoard or ever a smugglers’ den, then this was it.
‘Don’t just stand there with your jaw on your navel, boy,’ quoth the brand-new guv’nor. ‘There’s the case of Kahana, with its address on the side. It’s all paid for, so there’ll be no money to collect. And don’t go asking for a tip or I’ll clip your ear if I hear of it. Deliver at the hurry-up, then come straight back for more.’
‘Right,’ I said and I gave a salute, then picked up the case of Kahana. Which looked to be twelve bottles of a tropical liqueur. I struggled under their weight.
The brand-new guv’nor opened the back door then propelled me through the opening upon the toe of his boot. I staggered and floundered but I did not fall. Not while carrying a case of Kahana.
The address on the case was that of a house on the Butts Estate. Which was a bit of a coincidence really, because I just happened to be going that way myself.
To deliver the case of Kahana.
To the house of Mr Hugo Rune.
Because after all, this was black-market contraband. And there was a war on. And that blighter had kicked me quite hard in the bottom.
And so I had won the case of Kahana.
I dropped it off at Mr Rune’s manse and wandered back for more. And so for the rest of the aftern
oon I went backwards and forwards from The Four Horseman to the house of Hugo Rune, with more and more contraband and an ever-growing smile on my face.
As it was now approaching teatime I thought that I had better return to The Purple Princess and wake up the snoozing Magus. But, I thought, I would pop into The Four Horsemen just the one more time before I did so. In the hope of picking up some wages.
Which I felt was fair as I had worked so hard all afternoon.
I re-entered the saloon bar and waded into the fug. The old piano tinkled and the jocularity and merriment were unabated. This really was a rather good fun sort of an establishment, but I suspected that I would probably not become a regular there myself.
The tall spare seaman seemed now rather drunk and was still holding forth, though the number of listeners had dropped off and more folk seemed interested in the antics of a dwarf who was dancing on top of the piano.
At the bar counter I found not the guv’nor, but rather the guv’nor’s blondie-headed wife. She looked kindly upon me though, then told me to get out.
‘I am the delivery boy,’ I explained. ‘I have been delivering for the new guv’nor for the entire afternoon and now I have come for my wages.’
‘My husband never said anything about this to me,’ she said to me.
I shrugged and smiled as I did so. ‘He said I was to take two pounds out of the cash register,’ I told her.
The lady of the bar room shook her blondie head and then fetched me two crisp oncers from the till.
It was at moments like this, although not that there ever had been any other moments quite like this, but say at a moment such as this, that I really quite wished that I kept a diary. Because then I could have circled the date and written ‘LUCKY DAY’.
I smiled at the blondie lady then I turned away.
And then I heard her say, ‘Oh no you don’t!’
It was not a phrase that I wished to hear and I would have run when I heard it, but the bar was so damn crowded that I had got penned in.
‘You are not going anywhere, young man,’ said the blondie lady and she reached across the bar counter and spun me around. Strong lady.
‘It has all been a terrible mistake,’ I said. ‘A misunderstanding. I am sorry I do not know what came over me.’
‘I don’t know what you are blabbering about,’ said the blondie lady. ‘But my husband did leave a message for you.’
‘Yes?’ I said. And I flinched as I said it.
‘He said you were to deliver one more thing. It is only a small thing, but very important, and the person who needs it awaits it now. He will pay you a pound when you place it into his hands. Do you think you can manage that all right?’
‘Ah,’ I said. And, ‘Yes I can.’
And she reached beneath the bar counter and pulled out a small cardboard box. It had those numbers and symbols that say ‘military’ and something about it that also said ‘component’.
‘It’s a valve,’ she said. ‘And fragile, so don’t drop it. Take it at once.’ And she whispered the name and address where I should take it.
‘And he will give me a pound?’ I said.
‘He will give you a pound.’
And I left The Four Horsemen with a spring in my step and a cardboard box tucked underneath my arm.
Only moments away now from that moment which would change my life.
And still quite blissfully unaware.
36
I had not gone but a hundred yards when a voice called out, ‘Hold hard.’ I wondered whether I should run, but did not for I recognised the voice.
I turned to see the tall spare sailor man ambling up, a tall spare sailor man who now looked all chipper and not drunk at all.
‘Hold on there, lad,’ he said.
I held my ground and he joined me there and beamed down smiles at me. ‘I’ll have to ask you to part with that box,’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘but I have to deliver it. It would be more than my job is worth to do otherwise.’
‘I will pay you the pound for it.’
‘It is yours.’
He dug into his seaman’s trews and fished about for coins.
‘It is only a valve,’ I said. ‘Nothing of value or interest.’
‘On the contrary. That valve is of major importance.’ He rooted out the coins he had and pressed them into my hand.
‘I do not think that is a full pound,’ I said.
‘I will owe you the rest.’
‘I have never met you before,’ I said. ‘I do not even know your name.’
‘Everybody knows me around here,’ said the tall spare seaman of a fellow. ‘My name is Jimmy. Jimmy Pooley.’
And my heart skipped and my throat grew dry.
And I looked up at my father.
37
His hand had touched my own. My father’s hand. The hand I had never felt as a child. That had never been there to wipe away a tear or give me a loving pat. And here he was, here in this time, years before I would be born.
And yes, as I looked up at him and he looked down at me, I could see it. The resemblance. Perhaps the way I would look when I grew up. I rather hoped so, because he had a rugged, handsome look.
‘Are you all right?’ my father asked. ‘Your eyes are a-pop and your face has grown pale. Are you ill? Would you like to sit down?’
‘I am fine,’ I said. ‘I just had a bit of a shock. But I am all right now. Here, take the valve, I do not want any more money. It does not matter.’
‘Good boy,’ said my dad. My dad! And he patted my head. And tousled my hair. ‘This is very important. A matter of national security.’
‘Are you a spy, then, or something?’ I asked.
And my tall spare dad just laughed. ‘Not a spy as such,’ he replied. ‘Although in a way. You might say I’m a secret agent.’
‘Really?’ I said and my eyes grew wide. Because how cool was this? My dad! A secret agent!
‘I can’t tell you why I need this,’ he said, taking the box from beneath my arm. ‘It’s top secret. Where were you supposed to deliver it to?’
‘Mr Betjamen at the electrical shop in the High Street.’
‘The electrical shop! Of course, I should have realised.’ My dad nodded thoughtfully and then said, ‘You’d better run along now.’
‘Run along?’ I said. ‘Oh no. If there is an adventure to be had in this, indeed a case to be had in this, then I want to be part of it.’
‘Oh yes?’ said my dad. And he laughed.
‘I am not just a delivery boy,’ I said. ‘I too am a secret agent.’
And my dad laughed and laughed some more.
‘I am!’ I told him. ‘I work for a top-secret organisation.’ And now my dad looked as if he was coming near to wetting himself through all his laughter.
‘I work for the Ministry of Serendipity,’ I said.
Which stopped his laughter dead and he stared at me.
‘It is true,’ I said. ‘I am the assistant of Mr Hugo Rune, guru’s guru and self-styled Most Amazing Man Who Ever Lived.’
‘The Hugo Rune?’
‘There can never be another.’
‘Then our paths have crossed through fate.’ And my dad put his arm about my shoulders and led me off down the road. We walked to the High Street and evening was approaching, the shops were closed up and blinds were being pulled. My father steered me down an alleyway that ran parallel to the High Street, along behind the shops on the right-hand side.
‘This valve is surely the breakthrough we have been waiting for,’ said my father in a whispered tone. ‘We have a twenty-four-hour surveillance running on The Four Horsemen. The contraband comes in by the ton, but we have no idea how. We have never seen it being unloaded.’
‘Perhaps there is a secret tunnel,’ I said. ‘From Brentford Docks.’
My father shook his head. ‘It is something more complicated than that. Every twenty-four hours, at precisely eight p.m., something sucks up half the borough
’s power.’
‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘I have noticed that, the lights all dim at eight o’clock. As regular as clockwork, so to speak. So what causes that, do you think?’
‘I have no idea. But through spying, as it were, I have peeped into the back room at The Four Horsemen. At three minutes to eight it is empty, at five past eight it is once more full again.’
‘It must be magic, then,’ I said. ‘There were some suggestions made that the new guv’nor might be in league with the Devil.’
‘In league with a devil, I suspect. And one that wears a swastika upon its armband.’
‘Well!’ I said. ‘So he is a spy. And his contraband comes from Germany?’
‘The electrical appliances are years ahead of anything we have here. Their technical superiority is awesome.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. But why are we now crouching in this alley?’
‘To see what happens here at eight p.m.’
‘And what do you expect to happen here?’
My father threw his hands up. ‘Who can say? Perhaps a spaceship will drop down from the stars. Perhaps the Earth itself will open up and subterranean warriors in league with the Nazis will pour forth. Perhaps—’
‘You have a rather lively imagination, do you not?’ I said. ‘Were those tales you told in the pub actually true?’
‘We should be quiet now,’ said my father. And he put his finger to his lips.
And so we crouched together in that alleyway, my dad and I, and I must confess that I did have a little sniff at my dad. Because I knew, because I had been told, that your own dad has a special smell that no other dads quite have.
And my dad smelled of pipe smoke. And of jersey wool.
And I really wanted to bury my face in his woolly jumper and have a good cuddle. But there was no way that I could ever have persuaded my dad as to who I really was. And it would probably have been very wrong to do so. And might have brought about some cosmic cataclysm or suchlike.