The Ladies from ARPAD
So, once we had prepared ourselves in our roles (quite exciting really as I always enjoyed my time in character with the Gilbert and Sullivan Society), we opened the back gate, shutting it carefully behind us and made our way up through the wood to the back of the school. We shuffled around the side and arrived at the main door.
Sybil flung the heavy door open impressively, but there was no one to stop us from entering as we imagined there would be. So much for all the fuss about safeguarding.
The “black crow of doom” reached into her carpetbag and withdrew a large file which she handed to me. ‘If anyone asks,’ she said, ‘we are from OFSTED.’
We suddenly came upon the door emblazoned ‘Headmaster’ in gold lettering.
Sybil took a step back to look at me. ‘You are looking good Nellie. Giving a good impression of being “past your sell-by date”. Remember you are the good cop. Dim but friendly, and I am the bad cop. Sharp and dangerous.’
‘You always have all the fun,’ I said, ‘and I don’t like the inference I am “past my sell-by date.”’
‘I am not saying you are,’ answered Sybil, ‘just that you look like it.’ Again said with that same half-smile.
Sometimes I really hate her when she insults me, and I am not sure if she means it.
Without knocking she flung the door open.
The headmaster was giving instructions to his secretary and looked up with a mixture of shock and anger at the intrusion.
‘Just who do you think you are?’ he demanded getting to his feet. ‘How did you get here?’
‘Through the main door,’ I announced. ‘Where is your safeguarding, headmaster? We just walked in here without being challenged.’ I smiled sweetly, looking at him over my half glasses.
‘And as for who we are,’ said Sybil drawing herself up to her full height, ‘we are your worst nightmare headmaster, worse than OFSTED.’
The headmaster gulped.
‘Yes, dear. We are from ARPAD.’ I added.
Sybil threw me a challenging and confused look.
Before I could explain any further, she cut in .‘We will tell you what that stands for later.’
I noticed that the headmaster was wearing platform shoes too, but he only reached 5ft 4 so was immediately disadvantaged by Sybil who towered over him.
He oozed pomposity and it was clear he believed he was only second in command to God. His bald head shone as though it had been polished. He had thick-rimmed glasses but was of course outdone by Sybil’s shades.
She peered over the top of her dark glasses with an expression that the headmaster was no more than a nasty smell under her nose.
The headmaster suddenly decided we should all sit down. I reckoned this was because it reduced Sybil’s height apart from anything else, and no doubt he felt safer with a wide heavy wooden desk between him and us.
‘Well now ladies,…’ he said.
‘I am NOT a lady,’ interrupted Sybil before he could go any further. ‘As you will find out. However, she is!’ she continued pointing at me.
I blinked. We hadn’t discussed names before leaving home.
‘This is Lady Philida Farquhar. You can address her as your ladyship, and I am the well-known actress Dame Dorinda Drysdale Dubois.’
I pretended to reach for my handbag on the floor and whispered sideways at Sybil ‘For heaven’s sake, I don’t even know how to spell Farquhar! What if we have to sign a visitors’ book?’
The headmaster’s secretary had taken refuge in the background with her hand resting on the door handle, ready for a quick getaway.
‘Miss Smith,’ said the headmaster, ‘how about some tea for these nice, er, members of the community?’
‘Sod the tea,’ said Sybil with a snort. ‘A gin would be better.’
‘Er, we don’t stretch to that I’m afraid,’ said the headmaster.
‘I bet if I were to open the 3rd drawer down of your filing cabinet over there,’ continued Sybil menacingly, ‘we would find a variety of bottles containing spirits.’
She made a move toward the cabinet.
Surprisingly quickly the headmaster leapt to his feet and stood in front of it.
‘No madam you cannot touch that! It’s private property! Personal documents and all that.’
‘Ah,’ I said in a gentle voice contrasting with Sybil’s harsh accusation. ‘So Dame Dorinda is right. I worked for Naval Intelligence. Been up against the KGB, the Triads, MI5 and the Hospital Medical Social Workers Association! They all have a drawer containing alcohol. Usually the 3rd drawer down in a filing cabinet.’
The headmaster looked nervously toward me as though I might have X-ray vision or planted a bug or something. He blinked like a startled mole in the sunlight.
A shaky voice from the corner said ‘Er, what shall I do then headmaster?’
‘Just bring strong coffee for three Miss Smith,’ said the headmaster trying to reclaim his dignity.
‘With brandy in it if you haven’t got gin,’ shouted Sybil after her. ‘Or even whisky. I’m sure our man here drinks at least one or all of them.’
I noticed the headmaster had developed a twitch. ‘Bring the sherry then Miss Smith’ he called as the door clicked quietly shut.
‘Skinflint,’ Sybil muttered under her breath. ‘Always goes for the cheapest option I would think.’
The headmaster sat down quickly, finally aware he was in the presence of a bigger power than himself. Then, getting up again, he went to close an open window. I imagined in case any of Naval Intelligence was listening outside.
I could feel Sybil stiffening in her seat, and while his back was turned I whispered, ‘Any alcohol is better than nothing.’ Then to my horror, I saw her reach into her carpetbag and fondle the saucepan handle in readiness.
‘Too soon dear,’ I said.‘We haven’t made our points yet! Let him hang himself first.’
Sybil glowered at me. ‘He’s already got up my nose,’ she snarled.
‘Patience, Sybil,’ I reasoned. ‘The sound of saucepan meeting head will be all the more satisfying if we wait. And anyway, I want my sherry first.’
The headmaster returned to his seat. ‘Now then dear Ladies, er, sorry Dame Dorinda and Lady Philida. What is it exactly I can do for you?’
‘Well for a start,’ I replied sweetly, ‘you can stop the planning application you have made to turn the wood into an internment camp.’
There was a light knock at the door and Miss Smith reappeared with three steaming cups of coffee and a fresh bottle of sherry on a tray with three glasses. She placed it on the desk before us.
‘Well thank heavens for that,’ said Sybil ungraciously, as she unscrewed the lid on the sherry bottle and poured two full glasses. ‘I imagine you will not be drinking with us headmaster as you are in charge of safeguarding the school.’
The headmaster looked longingly at the sherry bottle and took a cup of coffee with a meek smile.
You could see he was trying to work out what ARPAD meant, as indeed so was I. He had written it down.
I fumbled with the file which contained some genuine documents, along with some old scripts of Sybil’s to make it look much fuller than it really was.
‘I have here a document in which you libel all the residents and members of the community. I think it is called a CIF document.’ I slapped it down before him in the same way as I had seen interrogators do it on television.
The headmaster blanched. ‘Er, how did you get hold of that may I ask?’ he enquired trembling slightly. ‘It is not for public viewing.’
‘No, you may not ask,’ shouted Sybil rather overdoing the bad cop bit I thought. ‘Your duty is to answer the allegations one by one. I will now hand you over to Naval Intelligence,’ Sybil nodded at me.
By now I was quite enjoying being the good cop. It was possible to be even more menacing than the bad cop by being very quiet. I could lure him into the net slowly and gently without him noticing.
‘I see you accuse the residents of fly-tipping in the wood used by your pupils for playtime.’ I said tapping the document.
‘Lunch hour,’ corrected the headmaster, ‘not playtime. They are not primary school age.’
‘Well, with many of them old enough to join the school corps, surely the only people you need to safeguard are the public that are daft enough to go into the wood while they are playing?’ I asked innocently. ‘And from what I have heard of their language the discipline is sadly lacking. I am learning new words each day and I was part of Naval Intelligence.’
‘Are you sure you are part of OFSTED?’ asked the headmaster suspiciously. ‘You seem to be working on the opposite side!’
‘Do you really want to challenge us?’ queried Sybil dangerously, and I saw the headmaster wince.
‘You see,’ I went on looking at the document, ‘it says here that we the residents dump fridges, mattresses, garden sheds and tools, and double beds in the wood.
‘Now dear,’ I said softly, ‘aren’t we letting our imaginations run a bit wild? Can you really see me humping a fridge on my back, squeezing through the back gate and dumping it far enough away so it could not be traced back to me?’
‘Well…’ blustered the headmaster, ‘I obviously wasn’t talking about residents of your calibre.’
‘But we are all this “calibre”,’ I continued softly. ‘Why I was only saying to Dame Dorinda here the other day – do the residents in our road really look like the drug dealing, litter dumping thugs you make us out to be?’
‘I obviously wasn’t talking about your ladyship or Dame Dorinda,’ stuttered the headmaster. ‘It was the others.’
‘But what others exactly, dear?’ I asked innocently. ‘Are you prepared to name them? Shall we run an identity parade for you? It would be easier for their solicitors I must admit if you came out into the open and named them.’
The headmaster’s jaw dropped at the mention of solicitors.
‘You see this photo?’ he asked accusingly taking one out of the desk drawer. ‘What do you make of this.’
Sybil stared hard at it ‘It’s a bong,’ she said flatly.
I looked at her confused. ‘No Dame Dorinda. It is an empty lemonade bottle with a spout at the side.’
‘Exactly. A bong,’ insisted Sybil. ‘And where did you find this offending article? I see it has been photographed within the school premises!’
‘A senior boy said he had found it in the wood,’ said the headmaster very quietly.
‘And you believed a senior boy?’ enquired Sybil with a snort. ‘It was probably his and he was just getting himself out of trouble.’
Suddenly Sybil and I began to feel like the heads of the school and this quivering jelly in front of us was one of the pupils.
Feeling empowered, I helped myself to another glass of sherry and took two painkillers for good measure.
‘And what about this remark then,’ shouted Sybil slamming the document under his nose again. ‘There was once a clown in the wood it says. Sounds like the beginning of a fairy story.’
‘Well, there was,’ said the headmaster defensively. ‘There was a clown in the wood.’
‘Was he juggling dear?’ I asked innocently.
‘No no…’ the headmaster began to look frightened. ‘He was just, well, in the wood.’
‘Doing what exactly?’ shouted Sybil.
‘Well, I don’t know, do I?’ said the headmaster mopping his head with his handkerchief.
‘You mean you didn’t ask him, dear,’ I asked sweetly. ‘You found a clown in the wood and didn’t ask him? Well, I think I can help you there. That will be Neon Leon. He is a wonderful man. A deliverer of parcels for Hermes. He dresses like that to cheer people up. Probably taking a shortcut and using one of the public rights of way. Did I mention that the wood has lots of public rights of way going through the trees?’
The headmaster blew his nose loudly.
‘As I understand it headmaster,’ I continued, ‘you could be accused of being prejudiced and using an “ism”.’
‘A what?’ exclaimed both the headmaster and Sybil at once. She gave me a glance as though I was perhaps overdoing things.
‘You know,’ I explained. ‘An ‘ism’. Like Racism, Ageism and Sexism, you could be accused of Clownism.’
‘And it seems to be catching,’ said Sybil menacingly looking over the top of her glasses at the accused. ‘So, you really think that if someone is up to no good in a wood, they would dress up as a clown? It is hardly good camouflage.’
‘Maybe you have been reading too many Stephen King books headmaster,’ I said gently, reaching across the table and patting his hand. ‘Watched too many horror films like “IT”. I do hope you are not spreading your ‘isms’ to the boys. That would be a real blot on your career.’
‘And anyway,’ said Sybil using her forceful loud voice, ‘if any of your little dears met a clown in the wood, it would be the clown that would be terrified. Don’t you think it sounds a bit silly?’
The headmaster hung his head and snuffled into his handkerchief ‘Yes.’ His answer was almost inaudible.
‘There, there,’ I said patting his hand again. ‘Don’t upset yourself, dear. We all make mistakes. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to withdraw the planning application to build a huge fence around the wood so the public and residents cannot use it anymore? I mean think of the wildlife too. All the dear little foxes, badgers, stag beetles and European tree bumblebees…’ Here Sybil butted in. ‘That’s enough for now Lady Philida,’ she said forcefully with a glare. ‘We won’t go into all that now.’
The headmaster sat upright and seemed to get a second wind. ‘I want proof that you are indeed higher than OFSTED and were part of Naval Intelligence. I am beginning to get suspicious as these objections sound very similar to some sent into the planning office.’
Sybil glanced at me. ‘Time for plan “B” I think,’ she said and reached for the saucepan handle.
It all happened so quickly after that. With a wonderful resounding boing, the saucepan crowned the headmaster and left him reeling.
‘Damn,’ said Sybil looking at the bottom of the saucepan. ‘That’s completely ruined it for cooking. he must have a very hard head!’
The headmaster looked as though he might be coming to, so I grabbed the saucepan and issued the second blow, as I had always wanted.
‘Don’t ruin it any more than it already is!’ shouted Sybil.
Then, as she crammed the saucepan back into the carpet bag, I picked up the nearly full sherry bottle and placed it in there as well. ‘Waste not, want not,’ I said to Sybil.
The headmaster appeared to be coming to again and was reaching for a red button on the desk.
‘Flob a blob!’ yelled Sybil.
I looked at her in disbelief as she continued. ‘Ging gang goolie goolie goolie goolie wotsit ging gang goo, ging gang goo.’
I then understood. ‘You will have to forgive Dame Dorinda’ I said to the dazed headmaster, as I swiftly removed his hand from the button. ‘She obviously has not had her medication today. She always talks Mongolian when things are about to get really dangerous. I must take her back to the Rolls Royce outside straight away and get her home quickly before her condition becomes any worse.’
‘It sounded like a mixture of the Flower Pot Men and a Scout Jamboree to me,’ said the headmaster. ‘I speak a bit of Mongolian myself and it certainly wasn’t that.’ The second whack on the head with the saucepan started to take effect and he slipped into unconsciousness once more.
‘Flob a blob,’ yelled Sybil again. And then under her breath, ‘bloody know-all.’
‘Come along dear,’ I said soothingly. ‘We will soon get you your medication.’
I took Sybil by the arm as we made for the door.
We were halfway down the corridor when we met a worried Miss Smith.
‘Is everything alright?’ she asked nervously.
‘Flob a blob,’ said Sybil.
‘Everything is fine dear.’ I said ‘She has had a turn. I’m afraid the headmaster upset her. Heaven only knows what OFSTED will make of his behaviour. If he reports it things will not go well for him, and if he has any sense, he will withdraw the planning application. I must get her home for her medication.’
‘I heard a funny noise,’ said Miss Smith. ‘A sort of boing-oing-oing… As though someone had been hit by a saucepan.’
‘No dear, you are imagining things,’ I said soothingly. ‘But the headmaster does not want to see anyone just now. He asked me to tell you he has a bad headache and not to admit anyone.’
With that Sybil and I legged it to the main door, in as much as two elderly ladies can ‘leg it’ anywhere. I was really glad I had taken her advice and worn my psychedelic pink trainers as it was so much easier to run in them, albeit sedately and with Sybil leaning on me.