Yesterday was the day I discovered first hand that policemen are indeed looking very much younger than they used to. I should have known how Tuesday was panning out when I managed to lock myself in the toilet at lunchtime – but that, as they say, is another story.
And this particular story doesn’t need lengthening, so I will cut it short and just say that yesterday afternoon Kite Flying Friend and his father, the Pocket Druid, were helping me to clear out an old shed that used to belong to a neighbour but now belongs to me.
We had moved the countless rusting tools outside and emptied the cupboards of half used paint pots. We had put the small stash of leftover holiday currency in a bag for Husband to sort through later and disentangled the numerous old shoes from the yards of bird netting on the floor. I’d never realised my neighbour’s late husband was the male equivalent of Imelda Marcus. In short, we had reached the exciting point where we could almost see concrete beneath our feet and KFF decided to put an old rake to good use to remove the remaining debris.
It was all going splendidly until he reached under a cupboard and met with an immoveable object. Immoveable with a rake, that is. So he gave it a good tug with his hands and at least part of a rotten seed tray came away, with a beautifully preserved mummified rat on top. Fascinated, we took our find out into the sunshine to take a closer look, leaving PD to explore the remaining contents of the tray.
It wasn’t long before he followed us, carrying a rusty orb in his hands. “I think it’s a cannonball!” he joked and put it down on the grass. Taking a closer look he realised that although parts of it were flaking away, the stopper for the hole where the charge goes was clearly visible. We looked at each other uncertainly then decided a hasty retreat to the house for a coffee was the only course of action.
It took us two cups and quite a few digestive biscuits before we decided to call the police. Of course we hadn’t really found a bomb, that sort of thing happens so rarely and only to other people – it must be a bowling ball or something. But there was still a nagging doubt; the stopper-like protrusion and the fact that Imelda had been in the Merchant Navy.
I was quite taken aback when the lady on the police switchboard decided it was an emergency and put me through to the 999 number, but it was still a very long while before PC Dave arrived. So long that KFF and PD had gone home and I was left to take him up to the shed alone. I removed the bucket PD had carefully placed over his find and PC Dave crouched down to take a closer look. Then he straightened up, flipped open his notebook and all but licked his pencil. “I don’t like the look of it” he said. “I’m going to write as detailed a description as I can and phone my Sarg. We had one of these on a building site at Tangmere last month and the army blokes said it could have killed someone!”
When he had finished writing he placed the bucket back over the offending object with exaggerated care and we processed back to the house. While I made him coffee he called his Sarg. And then we waited while Sarg called the Bomb Squad. And then we waited for the Bomb Squad to call PC Dave. And then the Bomb Squad decided they were going to come – blue lights blazing – all the way from Aldershot. I started to laugh. I apologised, but I just couldn’t help it – this sort of thing does not happen to me. PC Dave looked at me glumly. “They’re going to arrive, take one look at it and tell me I’ve wasted their time. I’m going to feel a right tit.”
He said he would wait for them in his car and do some paperwork, but a few minutes later he was back, following hotly on the heels of Husband who had just come in from work. “I’m really sorry” he said, “but I’ve been told I’ve got to wait in the house – in case you decide to go and throw yourselves on top of it or something.” I suppose at least he didn’t have to stand by the shed, truncheon in hand, to ward off passing rabbits and pheasants.
When the Bomb Squad arrived it was something of an anticlimax. A plain white van and a few guys in camouflage. PC Dave took them up the garden, only to return about five minutes later. “You did the right thing” he told us solemnly. “It was a cannonball and it was full of live explosive. They’ve taken it away to deal with it.” A look of admiration spread across his face. “Actually, they just lobbed it in the back of the van. Said it had been a nice trip out.” Better than Helmand Province, anyway.
