"I Saw Three Trucks Go Driving By" or The Christmas Tree Debacle (Part3)

Previously: Our hero has seen some strange going ons in a house a few doors away. Christmas trees are being loaded into a truck and driven away at high speed. Upon investigating he gets collard into joining the carol singers and drinking mulled wine with a deaf old man. After going back to the house he finds it full of fake Christmas trees and has a run in with a parrot that is constantly repeating his name. We join our hero and the enraged parrot trying to escape as more and more Christmas trees catch fire. 

With the parrot in a blind panic and the Christmas trees continuing to go up in smoke and what with  the gas from the stove adding to the mix. It seemed I was about to become an ex-detective. I cared little for the parrot now and although regretting giving it the helium from the balloons I had at least some idea what was going on with the loading of the truck from yesterday. Looking for an exit route was proving difficult. The back door was too dangerous to approach and the front door was blocked by the now fully ablaze Christmas trees, I had no desire to be fried along with the parrot. Looking around the kitchen window was my best bet and so I clambered onto the sink and forced the window open, diving out just as the manic parrot came for one last attack before he was I presumed, burnt to a cinder. I thought about going out the front way and then thought better as someone might see me. So I ran up the back garden, the effects of the fumes, helium and mulled wine were all too much to take and as I ran I started to loose balance and consciousness. I tripped on something hard and collapsed into a heap in a shed and knew nothing more of the nights events. 

Meanwhile

The house was now fully engulfed with flames. Fake Christmas trees and I presumed a parrot were no more. As was the house it seemed, as it then exploded, giving the now sleepy village of Leyhill a rather spectacular if unusual display of flying Christmas trees and decorations and flames reaching into the cold night sky. Within minutes a second truck had come down our road (the fire engine) as had half of the village, who it had to be said were rather enjoying what now was quite a pretty bonfire and had decided to turn the situation into something of an event. The carol singers who seemed to have brought along the mulled wine for everyone to keep warm also saw an opportunity and broke out in song. Others clearly felt the burning house was the perfect oven to prepare the Christmas turkey and didn't waste the opportunity to place their foil wrapped dinners as close to the fire as they could get. Others just enjoyed the spectacle.

"Jolly decent of whoever to put on a display like this so close to Christmas." Remarked old Mr Perth.

"It's someone's house you fool." Replied PC Bob Pig, who had arrived on the scene to control the growing crowds. 

"Pardon" came Mr Perth's reply. It took PC Bob Pig the next 20 minutes to try and explain, but with him not knowing that Mr Perth's hearing aid wasn't working his conversation was falling on deaf ears! 

Just then there was another explosion and it was later reported from a number of drunk on mulled wine carol singers that they thought they heard and saw a laughing but slightly demonic parrot get blown hundreds of feet into the air.  

"Quite extraordinary" came most people's reply as they dodged the flying fake trees. Not long after Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt had turned up in his truck (that would be the third one then.) And was reportedly completely bemused as to the carnage he was witnessing and that was just the ever increasing drunk carol singers, who seemed to be putting new meaning to the song Mistletoe and Wine! Order was finally restored and the crowds watched as the house and flying trees were put under control. 

The next morning was the day before the day before Christmas, all was calm and actually quite bright as well. Blue skies greeted the now ruined house. The fire had been put out, the burnt Christmas trees gathered and the partial wing of a once talkative parrot was found. I stumbled out of the shed. My head as sore as it had ever been and I had little recollection of what had happened the night before. Confused and dazed I walked past the remains of the house and back home. Upon arrival mother was sitting in the kitchen wiping the brow of a very disconsolate Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt.

"Where have you been?" She asked.

"Last thing I know I was carol singing." I replied. "Why?"

Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt piped up "Some idiot has blown my house up and the Christmas trees we were storing for the annual Chesham Christmas Tree Festival. Ruined, ruined" he mumbled as mother vigorously shoved a towel in his mouth to wipe out the soot. He clearly wasn't finished. "And my parrot, gone and wingless. It was only there because it was a surprise gift for my niece. She adores parrots. If I ever get hold of who did this they will be very sorry."

Things started to dawn on me and I felt a sudden panic come across my face. "Oh dear" and with that I headed to my bed hopeful that I had given nothing away.  

Christmas Eve 

Having clearly got away with the events of previous days I sat by the open fire and contemplated the Christmas to come. I had rather enjoyed the carol singing and thought I might give it a try again next year. And with a little chuckle I raised my glass of wine and bit into a rock hard mince pie. "Merry Christmas everyone." I mumbled between crumbs and watched the snow fall gently to the ground.

The Adventures of a Countryside Detective will return in 2015 with On The Trail Of The Yellow Fingernail

Authors note:  May I take this opportunity to thank everyone for reading these tales, I'm truly blown away by how many have looked, read and commented. I hope you will continue to enjoy the future stories to come. So may I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and a Happy and Peaceful New Year. 

"I Saw Three Trucks Go Driving By" or The Christmas Tree Debacle (Part 2)

The adventure continues with our hero currently slip, sliding his away towards an abandoned houses front door. A door that had earlier been the scene of strange going ons. With three men loading a van full of fake Christmas trees.  

As I was heading for the front door I somehow managed to do a triple salchow and land perfectly with a little twirl of the hands to add a certain flair to the move. I was rather proud and this and was suddenly aware of clapping.

"Bravo", "splendid move", "really very graceful for such a gangly fellow" called some voices. Another said "Rubbish". Clearly I hadn't managed to get rid of the carol singers but their words of praise were rather pleasing to the ear, apart from the rubbish comment. "Come on we need a lead vocalist for 'Away in a Manger'. Your vocal talents seem to be, how should we say, a little immature. So you rather fit the bill for the classic children's song." one of the carol singers suggested.

"I can't sing! " I explained.

"Exactly, as I said, just what we need, someone with a high pitched voice that doesn't sound very good."

"But I...." Before I could finish I was dragged away by the carol singers and thrown into singing verse two and the finale of 'Away in a Manger'. It soon became apparent they had made a rather bad decision and hurried me through the second verse and drowned me out completely in the final verse. Clearly I would be unable to get myself away until the end of the evening, so the house investigation would have to wait and mince pies beckoned.  

After a few more attempts at singing and them drowning me out even more, we arrived at the village hall where mince pies, mulled wine and some lovely nibbles were being served. I ate royally and drank rather a lot of the mulled wine. I ended up having to talk to old Mr Perth, who spoke gibberish for a hour, mainly about his colonic irrigation treatment he was currently having. Also his new hearing aid clearly wasn't working because he couldn't hear a word I was saying in return. Eventually I prised myself away, made my excuses to the carol singers and a little gingerly I headed back towards the house. The mulled wine was clearly going to my head but I was determined to accomplish my mission, whatever state I was in.

When I eventually got back to the house I creeped to the front window and peered inside. In the room was stacked dozens of Christmas trees, and on the floor were balloons, and lights. It all seemed a little strange. I decided to investigate further so went around the back of the house and noticed the back door was slightly open. The mulled wine had really taken effect and I was feeling a little giddy now. Unperturbed I entered what was the kitchen and found that there were more Christmas trees stacked up. All very odd. As I crept through the house it was the same, stacks of fake trees, decorations and balloons. What was that old man up too? As I walked into the living room I was greeted by a squawking voice. I jumped back out of sight, quick enough for whoever it was not to see me.

"Who's that?"

Rather hastily I replied "John Wilson."

"John Wilson, John Wilson, John Wilson." They kept repeating. 

"Yes that's me. Who's that?" 

"John Wilson"

"No I'm John Wilson." This conversation continued for a few minutes until I plucked up the courage to enter the room, mainly because I had had enough and with my head spinning even more from the mulled wine I needed to sit down. When I entered the room there in the corner was a parrot, surrounded by more stacked Christmas trees. Strange kind of guard for a house I thought. Until it hit me. It knows my name! It'll tell Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt the next time he visited and he'd know who had been snooping. I had to shut it up. I looked around the room. Nothing but the Christmas trees and decorations. Then in the corner I noticed a bunch of what must have been helium filled balloons. I hoped that with enough gas inside it the parrot would eventually be knocked out long enough so that I could remove it and hide it somewhere. So grabbing the balloons I raced across the room got hold of the parrot who was still repeating my name, used its beak to make a hole in the balloons and tried to get the helium down its throat. After a bit of resistance it felt like my plan was working as the parrots voice rose in pitch sharply, however in the ensuing struggle some of the gases must have escaped and my voice also rose in pitch. I started laughing at my now comical voice, as did the parrot. After a brief exchange of pleasantries the parrot seemingly had had quite enough. The gas took effect and it went floppy. It had worked, although my head was in a right state. 

I stumbled back into the kitchen. Putting the floppy parrot on the table. I needed to sit down and think of my next move. Noticing a kettle on an old gas stove I thought a cuppa would do me the world of good. I found some matches and a tea bag, filled the kettle and had just lit the gas when the parrot, who had clearly been faking its comatose state started to attack me again, still squeaking in a high pitched voice. I managed to get a hold of one of its wings and in the ensuing struggle the parrot passed over the naked gas flame and suddenly caught alight. It panicked and was flapping manically, flying into a number of the Christmas trees lined against the wall. They too caught fire. The parrot, now in a state of shock and looking for an escape flew into the hallway making sure that more Christmas trees caught fire. What with the gas still going it all added up to a recipe for disaster. With the fire spreading throughout the house and the parrot now in a blind panic I had to get myself out but the smoke and flames hampered my path to the door. The mulled wine and helium hadn't helped my cause and I had no idea what to do, other than snigger occasionally at my continued high pitched, panicky voice. 

Could I get out? Would I become as burnt as the helium filled and slightly overcooked parrot? Had I sung my last Christmas carol? (Well probably yes but that's not the point.) 

Find out in the final part of The Christmas Special - "I Saw Three Trunks Go Driving By" next week.

Authors note: No real parrots were harmed in the making of this story. Also can you guess the ending? Please leave your comments as I'd love to know what you think.  

"I Saw Three Trucks Go Driving By" or The Christmas Tree Debacle (Part 1)

It was a cold, crisp day before the day before the day before Christmas. I was sitting in the kitchen munching on a rock hard mince pie that mother had made. Since The Missing Turnips Case I had been muck spreading but also keeping an eye out for any wrongdoings in the village. Which there hadn't been. Mrs Wilcox's farm had been a success, Parish Councillors Kiln and Pickles were stamping their authority on village matters and seemingly everyones money with the help of Mrs Wilcox it seemed. I only knew that Mrs Wilcox's farm had been a success because she would tell me every day, giving a little wink as she said her goodbyes. There was something very suspicious about her actions but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. For now at least. She was trying to turn the farm into a Zoo but was refused permission due to an outbreak of foot and mouth. I laughed at that, small revenge for her continued mocking of my muck spreading duties. Other than that it was a little too silent, night and day in and around the village. Until that was I firstly heard and then saw a large truck drive at high speed down our road. Funny that I thought, don't see trucks coming our way much, if at all. I dropped the mince pie, which created a small dent in the table and decided to go out investigate. 

Peering around the gate post, so not to be seen I noticed the truck was parked at the disused house a few doors away. There were three men milling around the truck, loading Christmas tree into the truck. There was also an old man with a white beard who looked suspiciously like Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt. I thought he was in the slammer? (See the Case of the Missing Turnips for more details about him.) Clearly he wasn't in the nick and it seemed he was up to something. Probably no good. So I slide back into the shadows a little, not wanting to be seen.

"Boo". I jumped, throwing my arms in the air and smacking whoever it was right in the face and nose. "That hurt" they continued. I turned to see my pesky neighbour Clare Flynn, who had just delivered our Christmas card. "What are you doing?" She continued rubbing her swollen nose.

"Spying" I replied, and shoved her in front of me to show her.

"So what?" She stated.

"Bit suspicious don't you think?" 

"Not really its a Sainsbury's* van. Must be delivering some food or presents?". 

"What with 3 men and an old criminal. And anyway they're loading up some christmas trees". 

"Want me to go and ask them why?" She said as blood started to pour out of her nose.

"No, you need to get that cleaned up and anyway we need to approach this with caution. I'm going to find out what they are up to, but in a stealth like fashion. Like a Ninja". Pushing her some more in the direction of her house. 

"Idiot" she shouted as she ran home. That wasn't going to help her nose I thought and she was leaving a trail of blood and tears behind her. Suddenly the van sped past and vanished down the road towards the town of Chesham. Hopefully I hadn't been seen and I would wait until nightfall to investigate further. Well I didn't want to raise suspicion, not just yet anyway. It just so happened  The local carol singers were visiting our part of the village tonight. The perfect cover I thought. 

That night, dressed as carol singers do; bobble hat, warm jumper and gloves. I joined the back of the group as they worked their way down towards the house in question. I sang impressively for the first note and deteriorated somewhat thereafter. When they had walked past the dark house that was my destination I made my move. Slipping away at the back of the group, moving a bit too quickly for my liking and on the icy pavement slipped and pirouetted all over the place, like an Olympic ice skater towards the front door! Would I stop in time? Would the door feel the full impact of my ice skating routine? Would I get a good score for my rather excellent skating skills? Would the choir hear me and come and investigate to see who had made the noise? Would I be charged for being a fake carol singer? Or would they carry on until they were given a warm mug of cocoa and a nice mince pie at the village hall? Whatever was about to happen it wasn't going to be pretty. 

Authors Notes:
* A UK based supermarket chain

Find out what happens next week or if you think you know what might happen then please leave a comment. 

Coming next week: Part 2 of I Saw Three Trucks Go Driving By

A Summers Fete (fate) or How not to Capture a Kidnapper

Case 1:The Case of the Missing Turnips - The Conclusion (sort of) 

Late June

It was the day of the annual summer fete, Leyhill's biggest annual event, the day I was going to finally ensnare the kidnapper. Before setting up my stall I had to complete a number of forms allowing me the privilege to be part of the event. Why? No idea to be honest, clearly bureaucracy in Leyhill was strictly controlled by Mr Kiln and Co, who seemed to pocket most of the received fees. I had to pay Mr Kiln a fiver for the pleasure. which he duly pocketed in his expensive jacket. The plan was to set up a stall that would catch the kidnapper red handed, it went something like this..

The game was an impersonation game called "Can you be a kidnapper?" I would ask them to take on the role of a person trying to steal some pigs or goats or even turnips. And I might throw in role plays of the stabbing of Mrs Johnson or the kidnapping of Mrs Wilcox, if I felt the need. The one who was the most convincing would surely be the one who had done all these crimes and I would have solved the case. I was rather proud of my idea and just a little excited with the anticipation of putting my plan into place, hence the nervous farting again! 

Later that day

The fete was opened by old Mr Perth, a parish councillor, who seemed to be completely unaware of what was going on and kept complaining about the noise. Apparently the local celebrity Paine Delight (real name Stan Partridge) a singer was on a tour of Bedfordshire, so wasn't available. The whole village had turned out and I knew so had the kidnapper. I had set up my stall and waited. And waited some more. I waited a bit longer and a bit more after that for at least one person to try, alas nobody. The fete was going extremely well; for everyone else and I was just about to give up when someone came to the stall. They seemed a little suspicious in their attitude, always looking around to check that nobody was watching. Was this the moment? I told them the instructions, which seemed to puzzle them a little but they were willing to give it a go and were all too convincing in their interpretation. So the moment had come;

"You are under arrest for being all too convincing as a kidnapper" I stated.

"Are you barking mad?" Came the reply. "I'm PC Bob Pig you fool, out of uniform. See." He took his cap off to reveal his rather portly face. "How dare you even insinuate that I would be a kidnapper. You're nicked." He paused momentarily and then rattled through his list. "One, making ME, a police officer impersonate a kidnapper. Two for setting up an illegal stall, I've seen your papers and I can hardly read the writing." I had to admit I did rush them a little. "Three for not making any money on the stall and four we've already solved the case and the councillors were found not guilty as Mrs Wilcox returned this morning. Apparently she had gone away on business."

"When did that happen?"

"Yesterday." 

"Must have missed that, was trying to catch the real kidnapper up at Tyler's Hill. So really you haven't solved the case of Mr Johnsons animals at all. So whoever they are is still at large!" 

"Well yeah, but at least it wasn't the councillors. They paid me a handsome fine, which I've um pocketed for now and will eventually put in next years Fete fund. Anyway come with me, Oh thought of another reason, so that's five things now."

"Why five?"

"For making me waste my time and the 50p I've paid. Which I shall reclaim for the stress of the situation."
"Oh" came my reply. "Look I'm trying to catch the kidnapper. They left me a note saying they would be here. I'm so close to solving it".
"That's six reasons now."
"What, for not solving the case?"
"No for making me miss the fetes raffle. I could have won the new petrol lawnmower they were giving away. Could have done with that."

And so I was dragged away cuffed like a criminal. I was sure I saw Mrs Wilcox hiding in the shadows laughing at me but I couldn't be certain. And my dreams of catching the kidnapper in tatters. That evening in the village hall I was put on trial.  PC Bob Pig, Mr Kiln and Pickles and old Mr Perth; who was still complaining about the noise, were in attendance as was the local hack for the LeyHill Echo, Mum and Jock the Block (both crying), Clare Flynn and her dad (both laughing) and a mysterious person who looked like an old lady who was wearing a balaclava (clapping). I was charged with wasting everyone's evening and for the six charges as laid out by PC Bob Pig! My sentence was to work on Mr Johnsons farm as his muck spreader and do all the other farm jobs his now deceased wife used to do. I tried to protest my innocence, keeping quiet about the disappearance of Mrs Johnson (which to this day remains unsolved, thankfully). However it was to no avail and so the case was closed on my time as a detective and the case of the missing farm animals and the turnips. 

I was to start work the following morning and after that they all left to go to the pub for a pint. I sat thinking about the events of the day and the case overall. Ok so I had failed to find and trap the kidnapper, even if they were right under my and the rest of Leyhills nose. But I had found the career for me and I was sure that eventually my fortunes would change and I would show them all that I was a good detective. So I made my way home defeated and a little downcast but also knowing that The Case of the Missing Turnips was only the beginning, new adventures awaited that was for sure.

The End?............
Well not quite.......

Postscript
A few weeks later Mrs Wilcox had opened up a children's farm for visiting city kids in Tylers Hill. Funnily enough the farm had pigs, goats, cows and also a vegetable patch which grew amongst other treats; turnips! However I was keeping my nose to the floor for now (although not too close, especially being a muck spreader!) The kidnapper was still out there and I would be ready to catch them when they made their next move. Although a good wash would be required first. 

Coming soon (A Christmas special - "I Saw 3 Trucks Go Driving By")

Want to kidnap a cow?

Case 1 - The Case of the Missing Turnips
Part 10

20 something of June (with all this detective work I've lost track of the days!)

I had a meeting to attend, so packing my flask I headed up to Tyler's Hill and sat on the bench outside the church. I took out mums homemade cake she had made, took a bite and then put it back in my bag again. Tasted awful. All I needed now was a kidnapper to chat to. 

At 4:15 there was still no sign of them. My nerves were making me fart a bit too often and I just wanted to get this over with. Suddenly I heard footsteps. In the distance I saw someone who looked an awful lot like Mrs Wilcox. As she drew closer I realised it was Mrs Wilcox! 

"I thought you'd been kidnapped" I stated.

"I have" came a rather forthright reply. "I kidnapped myself but I was told to come and meet some-one here at 4pm."

"Really!" I replied slightly confused "So was I". 

"Well maybe we're waiting for the same person then" she said.

And so we sat together waiting for the kidnapper to appear. In the meantime at least one mystery had been solved and Mrs Wilcox was safe and well. We waited for another ten minutes or so and with nothing happening Mrs Wilcox stood up and said she was fed up and going back home. She suggested I may have got the wrong day and should come back tomorrow. I was sure it was today but also thought she may have a point and decided I would return tomorrow. As she walked away I'm sure I heard her mumble something about "just can't get the right kidnappers these days". If that was what she had said then I tended to agree with her. So I went home, rather confused at what had just taken place, but would be back tomorrow for sure.

The Next Morning..

So the next morning (and still farting a little) I headed back to the meeting point, sure that I would make contact and finally trap this wicked villain. However pinned to the bench was a note which upon opening just had the words,

"ha, ha , ha, ha, ha you fool, you are no kidnapper, go back to mummy"

No way was I going back to Mum, especially if her tea was as bad as the cake I tried yesterday. Puzzled I didn't quite know what to do. So I sat down to think about it, eventually falling asleep. I awoke sometime later and when my eyes had readjusted to the light I noticed another note sitting on my lap which said;

"I will be at the village fete tomorrow. Catch me if you can! Signed W"

Who was W? They had always addressed it as Kidnapper. So the final showdown had been set. I would set up my own stall and trap them that way. I would become the hero of the village or would I? 

To be concluded....

A goats tail

The Case of the Missing Turnips - Part 9

23rd June

Having had the brainwave of the letter to get the kidnapper to help me steal the prize bull from the Johnsons field. I set about writing it, which was quite difficult considering I wasn't well versed. It went something like this;

Dear Mr or Mrs kidnapper and accomplices 

I am a trainee kidnapper in need of some help. I have a kidnapping to perform and you seem like the best one to help me. You seem to be quite good at it, so please could I meet you for a chat.

I'll be up in the little hamlet of Tyler's Hill, by the pub at 4pm for a ginger beer and a packet of pork scratchings. 

Yours in hope,

Another kidnapper

P.S I think my plan is much bigger than yours, it involves cows! 

I was rather pleased with the letter, so I rode to the Leyhill Echo's office (a shed) and waited, thinking it would be published there and then. In fact I waited quite a long time until I realised that the paper wouldn't come out until tomorrow, and that the office was closed, so I went home. 

I awoke early the next morning, perhaps it was the adrenaline that I was going to meet a dangerous criminal? Or it could have been mums snoring! I waited at the front door for the delivery of the newspaper. That little squirt Claire Flynn was our newspaper girl so I knew it wouldn't be delivered on time. It wasn't, infact it was so late I had already had breakfast, lunch and an afternoon snack of scones with some homemade jam. Eventually the paper came through the door. I was going to apprehend Flynn but thought against it as she was with her Dad. I quickly opened the paper, to see if my letter had been printed..it had. My plan was set, however my eye caught a larger headline on the opposite page, that was to throw open the case even more.

Johnson's' Goats Go Missing

The missing animals mystery has had another twist to its tail. In a similar vain to the pigs and chickens, now Mr Johnsons' goats have gone missing. These kidnappings are said to be driving Mr Johnson mad. 

In other Johnson related news, Mrs Johnson is still missing presumed kidnapped as well. It hasnt been a particularly good month for Mr Johnson sources suggest.

This was all getting beyond a joke. How was I suppose to try and solve these cases if whoever was doing this was taking all of the Johnsons farm animals. What next cattle I thought? I turned the page...

Late news

Reports suggest that a prize bull has also been stolen and a herd of cattle have been seen making their way towards the nearby village of Bovingdon. An old lady wearing a balacalva was supposedly seen sheparding the cows on their way and walking off with the bull towards the small hamlet of Tylers Hill. Mr Johnson is unable to comment as he was last seen face down in cow dung, clearly a broken man.  

Well that had blown it, hadn't it? My plan was in pieces, much like Mr Johnson it seemed. Well that was it. I had to act and it was now or never. I was headed for Tylers Hill and I would find the bull and the kidnapper of the goats, chickens, pigs and Mrs Wilcox.

To be continued......

The flying lady

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips (Part 7 - the second bit)

June 22nd - Continued..

The press conference was to be held at St George's Hall (normally used by the local play group and the pensioners kendo club) at the top of a road called Jasons Hill. On arrival (minus the flask) I noticed that all the local press were there (i.e. The Leyhill Echo), represented by their young hack William (aged 12). PC Bob Pig was sitting at the centre of a large table with the deaf Mr Perth to his right, the accused Messrs Kiln and Pickles (who looked rather peeved by it all) and old Mrs Flueberry-Jones (who was asleep).  I assumed she was there for the kendo club? I took my seat at the back and listened intently to PC Bob Pigs statement.

Mr Pig spoke slowly and in such a monotone voice that I wasn't surprised that William the local hack was having far more fun flicking bogeys at the sleeping Mrs Flueberry-Jones. It all sounded rather boring to be honest, and didn't make much sense as the evidence he was presenting didn't add up. They had kidnapped her because she had argued at the last village committee meeting about the lack of funds for a new slaughter house she wanted to set up and they had stated that with one already owned by a local farmer called Mr Johnson. The need for another wasn't required. After what seemed an eternity of waffling from PC Bob Pig, in which he was going through those irrelevant facts of the councillors arrest I fell asleep myself. I was awoken by Mrs Flueberry-Jones, who was shaking me violently for some reason. Being a little sleepy and really unaware that it was Mrs Flueberry-Jones I pushed her back, angry at being woken. She fell, falling onto the playgroups see-saw, I stumbled when getting up and fell onto the other end of said see-saw, which in turn threw her into the air. Upon hitting the roof she descended towards the children's play pool, which hadn't been cleaned out and was full of dirty water. She landed with an almighty splash and a scream; a cry for help no-less. I stood around and waited to see if anyone would come and help, no-one did! Considering the hall was empty it wasn't really a surprise. The lack of care for the elderly was outrageous these days , I thought. So reluctantly I had to pull her up and left her to sort herself out. Well I thought, she did wake me up and I was having a rather nice snooze.

Having fallen asleep I had clearly no idea whether PC Bob Pig had in fact caught the kidnappers and also if that was the case, why hadn't Mrs Wilcox been found and paraded to the villagers? I had a hunch that Mrs Wilcox was still kidnapped and that the kidnapper was still at large in the village. Whilst walking home I came up with an idea that would hopefully draw out the kidnapper and I could then prove that PC Bob Pig had got it wrong and I could take all the credit. I would write a letter to the Leyhill Echo asking the kidnapper for his or her help and wait for a response. I would use the fact that the pigs, sheep and turnips had been stolen and I was thinking of stealing Mr Johnson's prize bull! Would it work? I was about to find out...

To be continued....

Holidays

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips (Part 7)

22nd June

courtesy of Drew Comika

Having a dead body lying around the house was not exactly a good thing, neither was a barking dog. And hiding it in mums antique suit of armour that stood on the landing wasn't going to solve the problem. I had got rid of the barking dog by dragging it back to the farm in the evening, and tying it to the front gate post. I can only assume Mr Johnson retrived it? I certainly wasn't hanging around to find out. I decided I needed to get out of the village and dispose of the body. I wasn't going to get the blame for a murder I hadn't committed. So dragging the body in the suit of armour down the stairs (past the broken cupboard, which still hadn't been cleared). I attached it to my back and cycled to the nearby village of Latimer. I had a few suspicious looks, most notably from Mr Johnson who was walking around calling out for Mrs Johnson and thankfully dragging a still barking dog. I peddled quicker to get as far away as quickly as possible, I didn't need a confrontation.

The village of Latimer had a deep well and was as good as any place to dispose of the late Mrs Johnson. Unfortunately it had been concreted in! I had to change plans. So I dug a hole in the local church graveyard (undercover of darkness of course). Having found a shovel at the church gates. I decided to stay on for a couple of days to try and make it look like I had been away on business. Which technically I had. Cycling home a few days later, I spotted our local policeman P.C. Bob Pig walking around questioning people. Again I cycled quickly to avoid having to explain my absence. On returning home there was a note pinned to the floor. I picked it up and half the carpet with it. Although it was hard to read I sort of got the gist.

Iff  yoo wan 2 see the oled laydi agin, it ill co2t ya...loads!!

Yors sinserely 

Kid napier 

Attached on the back was a stamped addressed envelope for the ransom demand, it was labelled c/o Mrs Wilcox. Strange I thought? Why address it to the person who had been kidnapped? And how much was loads? None the wiser I put it in my coat pocket and went out to have a think about what to do next. I was thinking so hard that I didn't notice the tree I walked into; causing great damage to the tree I may add. After recovering it had to be said that this tree wasn't one I was familiar with (what with me being a tree climber) and it soon transpired that I had wondered so far that I had no idea where I was. I was lost! I turned and aimlessly walked about for an hour or two, finally coming across a small hut. On closer inspection I discovered it was our outside toilet and mum was inside who upon hearing my footsteps asked where I had been. The smell was horrendous and telling her I had gone for a long walk, in which she replied "for three days!" I fled mainly because a minute longer with that smell would be enough to put me on a longer holiday in a hospital.

In the kitchen I slumped onto the chair, I was getting nowhere, no ideas, no clues and still no idea where the pigs, chickens, turnips and not forgetting a missing Mrs Wilcox. I picked up that mornings Leyhill Echo for some encouragement. The headline was about Mr Johnson wondering where his wife had gone? I skipped that one quickly and saw a small article that read;

Shock, Horror

Mrs Wilcox is still missing or so a letter from the kidnapper tells us. PC Bob Pig has however arrested Messers Kiln and Pickles, both councillors on the village commity suspected of the kidnapping. A press conference is to be held this afternoon at the village hall of St Georges. No tea or coffee will be provided so bring a flask.

I had to get myself down there and quick, I had no time to make a flask of tea this was an important development and I needed to hear the facts. Had part of the case been solved? Or was PC Bob Pig snorting about in the wrong mud bath?

To be continued......

Chickens off the menu then?

The Case of the Missing Turnips - Part 6

19th June

"Blooming heck" I thought as I read The Leyhill Echo the next morning. The leading article was about some train heist that had gone wrong due to unprepared planning. Apparently whilst organising the heist the gang leaders were rudely interrupted by some bloke asking about a cheap golden ring. The report stated that an elderly gentleman had vowed revenge! No idea what that was about and it was none of my concern really. I was just about to turn the page when into the kitchen stepped Mrs Johnson the farmers wife, she seemed flustered, as if she had forgotten something! She apologised and turned and walked out? Having no idea why she had come in, and how for that matter I got back to reading the newspaper. Suddenly she appeared again with a dogs lead trailing behind her. 

"Opps, I've forgotten the dog!" She said and was once again gone. Clearly the missing pigs business had turned her completely mad, so I carried on reading and noticed a significant story at the bottom on page 3.

Mrs Wilcox goes missing 

Leyhills very own super granny and life president of Leyhill cricket club, Leyhill bowls club, Leyhill Pensioners Ravers Club, the Bridge club, Leyhills flower arranging club and the Brownies; Mrs Wilcox has gone missing reports suggest today. P.C. Bob Pig (the local policeman) stated "it's a tragedy for the community. She's never been kidnapped before.'

"Is this the right place for the party?", added Mr Kiln a local councillor who happens to be deaf. A note was found pinned to her front door with a ransom demand of £5 and a years supply of booze. P.C. Bob Pig has stated that a reward has been issued to whoever can find the old dear or give clues leading to her safe return. Mr Kiln continued by asking what time the party was starting. More to follow...

I read the report again. A reward...wow I could do with some cash, although the report didn't state what the reward would be. I was about to get cracking with what seemed to be two cases, when you guessed it Mrs Johnson returned. This time the dog was on the lead, although it looked like it didn't want to be, and who could blame it?

"Mr Wilson" she cried right in my ear, which flipping hurt by the way. "All our chickens have been stolen". 

"No!" I replied in surprise.

"Yes" she stated matter of factly. "Are you doubting me? I should know they are our chickens!"
"No" I replied again.
"What do you mean no? They are our chickens, how dare you think I am a liar"
"No I don't doubt you" I stated.
"Well, thats alright then" she pronounced, still close to my ear.

"How? When?" I asked, trying desperately to move her away from my ear, but she wouldn't budge. 

"Last night, I went down to feed them this morning and they were gone, all that was left were the eggs!" 

"Oh well at least you can still make an omelette" I clucked with a chuckle.

 "This is very distressing Mr Wilson and not a good time for jokes".

 "Its not much fun for me either, I can tell you" I said as I finally managed to shove her away from my deafened ear.  She fell a little awkwardly and disappeared out of the kitchen for a brief moment, screaming as she went.

She eventually staggered back into the kitchen, looking a little pale it had to be said. I tried asking her a number of questions, mainly about how she had walked into our house without knocking! But it was becoming increasingly hard to hear her as the dog was now barking and she was standing in a strange way, as if she was about to collapse onto the floor. When I walked over to her I discovered the reason for the lack of answers and the weird stance; a knife was stuck in her back, she was infact dead. Funny place to leave a knife I thought. I now had an extra problem, where was I going to put the body of the once Mrs Johnson? And when would I be able to get back on the case to look for missing pigs, chickens and turnips? And not forgetting searching for Mrs Wilcox and working out who had just stabbed Mrs Johnson and why?  Being a detective was a lot harder than I first thought and my ear was still aching! Had I been framed so that I could be taken off the case?

To be continued.....

Vodka Tea, Little Old Ladies and Wardrobes

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips  (Part 5)

17th June

Because of the revelation that the owner of the ring was my neighbour Mrs Wilcox I had to pay her a visit. First though I needed to dress, stripped pyjamas are not the most pratical of clothes, especially ones with a flap rather than a button or zip on the front! Eventually I strode to her house with a purpose in my steps. I knocked on her door, which fell off its hinges. Strange? So I moved cautiously inside, perhaps it was a trap? I was not cautious enough as I tripped on the fallen door a fell towards her small coffee table that had a priceless ming vase sitting pretty on its shiny surface. Hitting the table with considerable force, the vase flew into the air, I outstretched a gloved hand and just managed to....miss it. The crash could be heard from as far away as the kitchen, where Mrs Wilcox was making her homemade blackberry vodka (something she was apparently developing for Russian friend that she had got to know through her pal Mrs Blouse at the cricket club!) She peered around the kitchen door, but couldn't see a thing as her glasses had fallen off so was unaware of the broken ming vase or a suspious looking gentleman sprayed across her floor entangled with her front door. I said hi it's John from next door and she asked if I wouldn't mind helping her find her glasses. With pleasure I replied. An hour later they were discovered in her pinny pocket! She offered me a cup of tea. How could I refuse? And anyway I had to ask her about the ring and also needed to delay her from leaving the kitchen and discovering the devastation of a once priceless vase and a broken front door. Unless of course it was all an elaborate plan by her?

I showed her the ring, which she took from me, nearly pulling me finger off! It was my precious, I had decided and I wanted to keep it, but clearly wasn't going to get it back. She thanked me for returning it and proceeded to talk about some ladies club outing to Eastbourne and how the price of pork had risen so sharply in the supermarkets these days. All I wanted to do was ask her about the ring but she was cannily good at avoiding my questions and I was suddenly feeling a little light headed after the third cup of tea she gave me. I decided I was getting nowhere and thought that it was best to leave and try again when my head felt better. On turning away I felt a sudden blow to the head, not helped by a seemingly increasing headache I flopped to the floor, in an unconscious heap.

I awoke to find myself inside a locked wardrobe, full of old bloomers which clearly had seen better days. I was a hostage, I had to get out of here. I bashed the door with my foot, rocking the wardrobe as I did so, the bloomers started flying into my face, all pinks and floral patterns. I bashed some more and eventually the wardrobe decided to fall over. Hitting the floor it shattered, myself and the bloomers being thrown onto the bedroom carpet, eventually ending up in the opposite corner to where the wardrobe had been. Brushing them aside I rose, not noticing the giant moose head that hung from the wall. Hitting it square in the jaw we ended up both entangled in a pile of bloomers and wood. I had had quite enough. Clearly I had been set up by Mrs Wilcox, I had to find out why she had done this, what she had put in my tea and also ask about that ring, which was the whole reason for visiting in the first place. Remembering that the front door had, like the wardrobe been shattered into a thousand pieces I raced down the stairs, about to leap to freedom. However the door had been mended (how long had I been with her bloomers?) And once again I found myself nursing an increasingly sore head, but clear that Mrs Wilcox was up to something and quite possibly had a hand in the case of the missing turnips and the pigs. Also she was nowhere to be seen, so letting myself out I walked into freedom unaware that events were about to take a major turn....

To be continued.....

The Golden Ring and Bikes and strange Criminal masterminds!

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips (Part 4)

16th June

Woke up and got hit on the head. Something hard had struck me. Discovered it was the cricket ball belonging to that little squirt Clare Flynn, which had flown through my open bedroom window. Reluctantly, knowing the consequences after the cricket bat incident, threw it back at her. Luckily for my part I missed, although her fathers' greenhouse now had a smashed window. Decided I would  blame his daughter if I bumped into him again. It was time to get up and continue looking for clues and whilst walking out of the house I noticed a small shiny object lying in the grass. On picking it up, and half the grass with it, it turned out to be a golden ring. Wow..a clue. I needed to get an experts opinion to help shed some light on whose it might be, when it was made and if it might have any remnants of pig dung on it. That way I could link it to the case.

I ran back to the house, jumped on my bike; and missed. Picking myself up and dusting myself down I cautiously mounted the bike and rode towards the nearby town of Chesham. My journey was long and perilous, they had been re-tarmacking the road and I hadn't noticed. I did wonder why it was especially bumpy and having to mend four punctures wasn't exactly normal for a 2 mile journey to the town. Chesham had one jeweler's shop, KP Crips and Son, so with no other options available other than a pawn brokers, a high end diamond shop, a second hand craft store, a watch repair shop, a butchers and a vegetable store I went there. On entering I found Mr KP Crips and Son discussing business with an old gentleman, a certain Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt (a local crime lord of Dutch / German decent it transpired). They seemed to be talking about a heist they were about to commit on a train that was coming to London. I wasn't particularly interested and as time was ticking I decided to push Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt aside. I had pushed him a little too hard and he careered into the window display, there was a bit of a commotion, although with him being quite old it wasn't very quick in either the fall or the getting up and the attempt to attack me. This would allow me time to ask for the information I needed. I explained my situation and reluctantly Mr KP (his son was attending to the slightly shocked and increasingly angry Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt) examined the ring.  Eventually Mr KP stood up, straightened his tie and then his shirt and trousers. He lent forward and said softly:

"It belongs to Mrs Wilcox, sir!" "Gordon Bennett" I replied. "No sir, Mrs Wilcox". "Yeah I know you have already told me that" I stated matter of factually. "How do you know" I continued. "Well her name is engraved on the inside of the ring if you had bothered to look. That'll be £5, please". Slightly surprised at the consultation cost I thanked Mr KP, reluctantly giving him all my pocket money. 

Making haste I picked my way through the mess on the shop floor and was confronted by Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt. It must have taken him 5 minutes to get up?  I smiled, he frowned back. I then decided to scarper just as he was about to bring his forearm towards my face. Luckily he missed me but not both Mr KP and his Son. I'm not sure what happened next as I had already retrieved my bike, having again missed the saddle when attempting my escape. But I'm sure I heard Mr Van Winddycke-Schmidt cursing and Mr KP Crips and his Son stating they would be seeing their lawyers. I wasn't going to hang about to find out and I wasn't entirely sure if it was aimed at me or not. So Mrs Wilcox had dropped her ring outside our house, well that was at least something to go on, especially as I had forgotten to ask if the ring had any pigs dung on it. I had to confront her as to why she had dropped it outside the house, the case was clearly progressing.

to be continued....  

Boiled Cabbage

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips (Part 3)

14th June

     

Woke up and felt ill. It was either mums boiled cabbage or the punch to the stomach I got when collared by Clare Flynn's dad on the way home from a disappointing day looking for clues. I had decided to start at the end of the village which happened to be the park, saw that nobody was around and ended up playing on the swings. It gave me time to think, swinging backwards and forwards, without a care in the world. After some 3 hours of swinging, the kids that had been waiting for a go decided to take action and push me off. Slightly annoyed at this I thought about reclaiming the swing, giving up when a number of the kids mums decided to gather around me and vent their anger. I decided it best to get back to searching for clues, although coming up with nothing unfortunately. Getting hit in the stomach upon returning to our house certainly did bring some things up and it certainly wasn't clues about turnips or missing pigs. I tried to apologise to Clare Flynns dad, stating that I was deeply involved in an important mission but he was having none of it. So putting my ill health to this blow to the stomach and not mums boiled cabbages I decided to stay in bed and think about what to do next and also watch the paint dry on my newly decorated walls. Pink wasn't really my colour but I had no say in the matter. Jock the Block as he was known (him being Scottish and a bodybuilder) had done some decorating and being mums "friend" thought that pink would suit me. I just think it's their way of getting me to move out and having a laugh at my expense, thinking I wouldn't want to live in a pink coloured room. I'd show them. So I watched the paint dry, the case could wait.

Then shouting from downstairs shattered the silence. Forgetting to dress and forgetting the slippery carpet, I tripped and fell down the stairs. I flew towards the carpet below. It was a heavy landing, not helped because Jock the Block had been moving cupboards. That too decided it wanted to fall down the stairs at the same time; must have knocked it in the mayhem. We met at the bottom with a loud crash. It was a cupboard no more and I wasn't exactly in tip top shape either. The splinters would take days to remove. Moving all the broken bits of wood away I turned to see that mum was being held hostage. A short woman (well they were wearing a dress and a pair of female slippers so I assumed they were) was holding what looked like a plastic hammer and wearing a balaclava. She/they were struggling to hold mum but she still managed looked at me and in a terrible impersonation of a deep mans voice spoke.

"Sonny!" , she said. I told her my name was John. "John", she said. I congratulated them on getting it right. "Don't work on this case, otherwise you and your mother will be in great danger". 

Wanting to delay her I tried to make conversation.  I told her that mum was past it anyway. I got a stare from mum but that was probably more to do with standing there naked than the comment. The mystery person looked at mum and seemed to agree with her. Seizing her moment she dropped mum to the floor and fled shouting we had been warned. Leaving mum to pick herself up I gave chase. But by the time I reached the gate they had gone, they certainly moved rather swiftly for someone wearing slippers and anyway I needed to visit the loo and being naked didn't help. The days events had taken their toll not only on my body but my stomach, head, arms and toes and I needed to do some explaining to mum. The case felt like it was moving forward somewhat, but who was the mystery person? Were they the kidnappers of the pigs and thieves of the turnips? I was about to find out.

To be continued.....

Bringing Home the Bacon

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips

13th June 

Awoke to the smell of cooking bacon. Stood up to see mum finish the last bit off, was curious about why I had woken up in the kitchen? Couldn't think why and was annoyed that mum had had all the bacon. Cornflakes as always then. Sulking I sat and read the Leyhill Echo, our local paper. There was a story about a strange looking man; who smelt of bacon, was covered in muck and had no socks or wellies on. He was seen wondering around shouting it was a rash decision nicking his pigs and he'd fry them if he found out who had done it. Didn't make much sense to me so I thought nothing more of it and looked at the problem pages.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I ran to answer it, slipping on the doormat and hitting it full in the face. At the doorstep was Mrs Johnson, the local farmers wife. She was crying for some reason. Having just smacked my face in the door I felt it should be me crying. She let herself in...and her dog, two cats and various other creatures that seemed to have attached themselves to her. She went into the living room and settled herself, the animals dispersed themselves into the kitchen and any other place where food was available. After waiting for me to make her a cuppa, several hints were made before I realised, she began her terrifying tale. It was all a little confusing at this point.

"It happened at two this morning. Myself and my husband were asleep, he was snoring. I awoke to hear strange sounds coming from the yard. Slightly scared I woke up Mr Johnson, he was grateful for this as he had been having a nightmare about his wife."

There was a momentary pause and after picking her nose she continued. "Anyway, I told him what was happening. He climbed out of bed. Putting on his wellies and picking up his shotgun, he decided to head straight to the yard, telling me to be quiet, which was a bit of a cheek considering he snored so loudly. Bravely he walked down the stairs, treading on the cats tail. The cat bit him. He bit the cat. After a brief scuffle he walked outside and found footprints in the mud. So he followed them and eventually arrived at the pig sty, after a terrible journey. He fell into the water trough, walked into the tractor, tripped and landed in the cow dung, also losing both wellies in the process. At the pig sty he found the gate was open. Some swine had stolen the pigs! and upon further inspection our supply of turnips had gone missing." 

So that was what the Leyhill Echo had been rabbiting on about. Mrs Johnson had stood up at this point and was shaking me violently, pleading for my help. She eventually put me down, what with her being taller than me. I told her I would think about it, wondering why she had come to me in the first place. I mean I pretended to be a detective but had actually never done any detecting of note, apart from when I had lost my wellies and discovered through elimination of the shoes on the shoe rack that mum had borrowed them.

"You have PI on your front door" she explained. 

I gave her a puzzled look and after she had gone, and the various animals she had brought with her as well a trail of pig muck on the carpet I checked the front door. Sure enough it said PI, although upon closer inspection I found that a slug trail had turned the number 1 into a P. Thus my detecting days started. I ran back inside eager to get going. Gathering my bits and pieces together I ran for the door. Mum was leaving at the same time (some ale tasting afternoon at the cricket club!) and I tried to beat her to the door. She won, slamming it shut in my face. 

Fully recovered I got to the front gate meeting our neighbour Mrs Wilcox. She had a strange look about her, perhaps the balaclava was a bit of a giveaway, and she was holding a large amount of money. I knew that because the bag had swag in large letters all over it. I asked her where she had got the money from.

"Selling some animals and vegetables I had acquired" she replied rather sheepishly.

I didn't know she had a vegetable patch and found this a little strange. She walked off shaking her head and muttering under her smelly breath. Turning away from my house I suddenly got a wack to the head from a hard object. It was from our other neighbour, Clare Flynn, who had been playing cricket. Picking up the bat I threw it back, hitting her right in the stomach. She ran home crying, I had a case to solve, so little time for sentiment. I needed to find a clue as to who had stolen the pigs and why anyone would want to nick some turnips? The case was well and truly up and running. 

To be continued.......

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The Adventures of John Wilson the Countryside Detective

Case 1: The Case of the Missing Turnips

12th June

Woke up and fell over. Had got my pyjamas in a twist, been sitting on the loo and dropped back into sleep, in a moment of panic had tried to pull them up. Lack of space and dreariness were contributing factors . There was a coldness about the place. Maybe that had something to do with it being 5am and the toilet being at the bottom of the garden. I stumbled back to my room, pyjamas still twisted, deciding that breakfast would be first on the agenda. The life of a detective was full of difficulties and tough decisions. I put on my tuxedo and shorts and then tiptoed down the stairs, trying to avoid those bits of carpet that are worn and slippery and can take you on a tumble downwards to the floor below. I got away with it this time. 

I moved swiftly towards the kitchen table, sliding onto a chair and nearly sliding off the other end. Suddenly I felt breathing behind me. Whoever it was had bad breath. Slowly I turned, picking the small water pistol from my array of weaponry concealed within my tuxedo. I was ready for the unexpected. Turning quickly I discovered it was Mum. 

"Your Brecky will be ready shortly, so be patient", she barked. 

I sat back, tipping the chair too far. Falling over was becoming something of a regularity it seemed. After my cornflakes I washed, which wasn't easy when wearing a tuxedo. Changing from my now soaking wet clothes into my more casual detecting gear; long dark coat and shorts. I set about the day in a positive frame of mind, all be it with a slight headache from the events of earlier. I had a feeling that today was going to be a good day, a day were my detecting skills would make me the talk of the village and it's surrounding areas. I'd be in the local paper, perhaps even the county news letter? I'd be a hero. 

I abruptly came back to reality, as a whiff of something horrible hit my nose. I had been daydreaming and found myself outside the toilet once again, mum was inside. Turning sharply to avoid any further stench from the toilet I returned to the house. I looked at my watch. It had stopped. In fact time seemed to have stopped and the day passed uneventfully as most days did. I went to bed that night unaware of the events that were about to change my life for at least the next week. The case of the missing turnips was about to begin.