could very easily get out of hand, or get too many hands into other’s pants', and announced that if these women did not leave the venue immediately, we would arrange for their arrest. This did have the desired effect and most left the hall, flashing their butts at the crowd.
Poppy had the pleasure of disposing of the few that remained, carrying them out two at a time clasped under his arms, giving them each a solid slap on the arse once outside, to send them on their way. It turned out that the girls were from a hockey team that was touring the country and happened to be overnighting in the holiday resort.
Months later Jack and I got our own back on the councillors that stopped our motorized advertising for the big dance!
As these councillors were also some of the more prominent business men of the town, the Editor of our newspaper treated them with kid gloves. He did not only have political ambitions himself, but these men were important to the survival of the paper as they brought in a fair amount of revenue with the advertising of their businesses.
But I had no qualms!
Once a year the Editor went on leave, and I was left in charge of the newspaper, having clear instructions not to upset the wrong people. My hearing wasn’t all that good though.
One Sunday morning early on my way home from staying over at a girl I met at the dance’s house, I came across an interesting ‘accident’. The neck of a 22 wheel flatbed trailer had broken off just there where it was attached to the horse. It was carrying massive granite blocks.
These granite blocks were quarried near town and then exported to Europe where they were turned into statues and gravestones. The quarry was owned by some of the town’s prominent business men, including some councillors.
On closer inspection of the trailer, I saw that it was registered to carry a total mass of 18 tons. On each granite block its weight was stencilled, weighing well over 10 ton per piece, making the total weight of the six blocks 67 tons, nearly four times the weight the trailer was registered to carry. No wonder the trailer's neck snapped on taking a sharp corner. I had a story, a news event!
I jumped into my car and raced out to fetch Jack from bed. I needed photographs and did not have a camera on me! Waking the man up in the early hours of a Sunday morning was not easy! Getting him to come with me without having coffee was as difficult. I managed, with Jack still pyjama-ed, with camera around his neck; we raced back to the scene of the crime. My ears were ringing with “You will pay for this, you will pay for this!” I would not, the town councillors would!
Two of the town’s traffic police at first tried to prevent Jack from taking photos and me from taking some measurements. I quickly quoted an imagined law about preventing a newsman from executing his duties in a public place, like on a street corner, and the dire consequences they and their employers, in this case the town council, could face if they persist. They backed off and Jack took pictures of the truck, its broken neck and close-ups of the registration plate indicated the maximum load permitted, and of each stencilled weight of the granite blocks. One uniformed moron actually misunderstood the situation, and offered to pose for some photographs, standing next to the truck, pointing at the stencilling. By the end of the week he sorely regretted his bashfulness.
On my way to the newsroom to write my story I dropped Jack off at his studio to develop his film and prepare the photos for the printers.
When our story “Town Councillors break law, Traffic Officers try to cover up!” hit the newsstands the next morning all hell broke loose. The phone never stopped ringing; some calls were from congratulating citizens happy that some “money-grabbing” councillors now had to face the music. Other calls were from the councillors themselves, making all kinds of threats. We had a standard answer worked out for them: “See you in court then!”
The Editor was a very unhappy man when shortly after this he returned from leave: “I had asked you so nicely not to upset these important men.” In the end the story did serve his ambitions though, the councillors in question had to resign their positions, above having had to pay some heavy fines. Because the Editor’s newspaper had exposed the corruption, he was elected as town councillor in the by-election that followed.
Jack and I were happy; we had gotten even with those who had opposed us from arranging a dance in the holiday resort!
A strange thing happened. Jack didn’t come to the pub anymore. So I went to the studio to find out what was going on. Did his father make a breakthrough about the drinking, and associating with the less savoury characters in town like Poppy and me?
Jack was very stand-offish; he obviously didn’t want me around the studio. I was a bit disappointed, we did have a good friendship, but I left.
I lived on a farm a fair distance away from the town, so, whenever I worked late at night I stayed over at the hotel, where I had a room free of charge whenever needed, in appreciation from the owners for helping put the hotel on the map.
The night after visiting the studio, I had to work late attending a product launch, even having to take photographs myself. So I stayed over at the hotel, going straight to bed, after having a quick shower. My head had just hit the pillow when somebody knocked on the door as if intending to actually break it down. I opened, and was faced by the police.
“Where is she?” the sergeant seemingly in charge demanded. I didn’t know what he was on about; I was alone, even though at one stage during the evening I thought of bringing a woman with me, but as her husband was considerably bigger than me, I left it at wishful thinking.
The police stormed in and searched the room, in the bathroom, wardrobes and under the beds. Nothing! The police left with a “Tell your buddy we will find her and then we will nail him!”
I didn’t have a clue what they were on about, but having dealt with the police on many occasions before I was well aware that most of the time they themselves didn’t know what they were doing, so I went to bed and had a good night’s sleep.
A week later the story came out. The police were searching for a seventeen year old girl that Jack had supposedly kidnapped. The police searched my hotel room to see if I was hiding her on behalf of my friend. Unfortunately for them I knew nothing about Jacks latest transgression.
This whole incident was very personal to Jack; he never shared the full details with me. So I shall relate what happened as I uncovered some of the story as a newspaper reporter.
This young 17 year old, going on 18, schoolgirl spent a lot of time with Jack in his studio helping wherever and however she could. Although she was never paid for these services, she enjoyed being part of the artistic world of the photographer. They fell in love.
During Jack’s trial for kidnapping it came to light that she actually had run away from home, where she was very unhappy, due to beatings and verbal abuse, and begged Jack for assistance. Being the kind hearted man he was, and being in love, Jack agreed and hid the girl in his studio, with her spending most of 10 days lying under a false floor in a backroom, a large space with a restricted height of 450 millimetres, where all movement was done by on hand and knee crawling. She did confess to not being alone, a number of spiders, rats and other fauna kept her company.
A medical practitioner gave evidence that he found no signs of any sexual activities and that the girl was still a virgin.
Once all the facts came to light, all charges against my drinking partner, photographer and friend were dropped. A week after the conclusion of the case the same magistrate officiated at Jack and the girl’s wedding.
Due to the stigma attached to the couple in the town, Jack closed his studio and moved to a city where he took on the job of managing a number of buildings. His new wife though continued with photography, limiting her work to children and family portraits.
Today, many years later, the couple is still happily married, having brought up three children, all doing very well in their chosen professions, all attached to artistic endeavours.
I left the newspaper shortly afterwards as well, somehow driving a
round the country reporting on silly incidents had lost its fun side, without my friend and camera man it became a boring occupation.
To round this tale off I believe I am obliged to write just a little more about the third member of the team, Poppy van Eck.
Poppy was a married man, although I never met the lady, as Poppy kept his private life very private. I did happen to see her and the two children only once. The couple did own a car, a not very reliable old Volkswagen Golf.
One day driving down a side street, I saw this tiny woman; she could not have weighed more than 45 kilogram, pushing her heart out trying to get a VW Golf started. In the backseat of the car were two children, behind the steering wheel was a massive man, it was our Poppy.
I once received a phone call from the police in a neighbouring town. They needed my help with a giant drunk who was impossible to arrest. My name was given to police by the giant as a mediator.
On arriving at the scene I found a police van parked in the middle of the road, in front of a pub, with a huge crowd of spectators surrounding it. In the back was Poppy van Eck.
Apparently Poppy was having a few drinks in this pub but did not cotton on to the pub regulars remarks about his size, so he had decided to clear out the pub as to give himself the time to have a few beers in peace. The barman