GYPSIES - TRAMPS & THIEVES ? (2)
MUVVED OFF
The rain drove down. It sounded like pebbles on the metal roof of the caravan. Mary lit a fag from the fire and stared at the wall. There was just the sound of the rain and of her mother coughing in the sealed-off sleeping compartment. Without looking down she reached out and laid her hand on the buff envelope lying beside her. She cursed softly.
A lorry lurched to a halt outside the caravan, spraying mud against the door. A young man jumped out, a Kwiksave bag held crumpled on top of his head. He tugged the door open and fell into the caravan. He stood grinning, rainwater dripping from his clothes onto the lino. Dropping the plastic bag down by the door, he shook his head like a dog. Water flew in spirals from his dark wavy hair.
ìWell, they cameî, said the woman, a challenge in her voice. She closed her fingers around the envelope and held it out to him. ìThat mush with the grey hair and the overalls again. Him what Marky nearly knocked down last weekî.
The man nodded and took the envelope. He pressed it open and took out a white form. He stared at it, his eyes lingering on the crest at the top.
ìFrom the Council, Maryî, he grunted.
ìOf course itís from the Councilî, Mary snapped, reaching up and snatching the form from him. ìWe got to go Fridayî.
The man nodded again and put his hands in his pockets. He narrowed his eyes and rocked gently from heel to toe, softly whistling a Slim Whitman tune.
ìIs that all youíre gonna do?î screeched Mary, jumping up. ìYou gonna stand there and whistle ëRose Marieí while them bailiffs are hookiní our trailer out of here and onto the road?î
The man pulled his hands out of his pockets and, placing them against the bottom edge of a hanging cupboard, he leaned forward exhausted.
ìWhat díyou expect me to do, woman? Take a crowbar to ëem with the gavvers all around?î He turned and dropped onto the seat opposite his wife. He took out a cigarette and lit it. ìWe canít do nothing, Mary, you knows that. We been to court; we been to that Gypsy Council; we talked to them people from the tele. We done everything there was to be done. Now you tell me what I left outî.
Mary shrugged and threw her fag into the shallow gas fire.
ìIíll get your dinner, Jackie. You watch the tele and keep out of my wayî.
#
At 8 oíclock Jack went to the pub with Danny, Steve and Mark. They sat around the fire in the public bar and gazed into the flames. Mark kicked Jackís foot.
ìYou done them trees for that feller down Ritherdon way, Jackie?î he asked, grinning. ìThat posh mush with the daughter?î
The others chortled. Steve leaned back towards Jack and dug his elbow into his ribs, spilling beer from the glass in his hand.
ìOh, Jackie, my Jackie, what you been up to? Your Mary gonna cripple you when she finds outî.
Jackie smiled and pushed himself back in his chair. He folded his arms and looked around the circle.
ìI tell you what, boys ñ I stripped all them trees in the morning and still ëad time for a bit of work indoors in the afternoonî.
The men laughed noisily. Danny was doubled up, leaning forward out of his chair. Mark reached forward and clamped his hand behind Dannyís neck. In the struggle Jackieís beer was knocked over and a full ashtray fell into the fireplace. A young, red-faced barman in a rugby shirt leaned across the bar.
ìOi! Knock it off or get out!î He wiped the counter surface with a towelling beer cloth. ìBlocking the fire in any caseî, he grumbled.
Mark snapped two pound coins down onto the bar.
ìGet ëim a lager top, Roger, or youíre a dead manî.
Jackie took the drink and sipped the top away. He peered across the rim of the glass at a stuffed carp over the fireplace. There was writing on a plaque beneath it. He wondered idly what it said.
ìSo, where you gonna go, my Danny?î asked Steve, running a three-fingered hand around grey stubble. ìYou goiní back to Heatherfield estate?î
ìAinít nowhere else, is there?î asked Danny innocently in return. ìStop on the common and theyíll muv you off in twenty-four hours. Stop on army land and they donít even need papers to get you off. Yeah, I sípose Iím off to Heatherfield; find a little corner what they havenít built on yetî.
ìYouíll be lucky, my sonî, grunted Jackie. ìWherever they got them big signboards, that bit of groundís owned by the builders. You wonít find one dear little bit of road left whatís not been banked off with a signboard on itî.
Mark hooted and pushed the leg of Jackieís chair with his foot.
ìYou make me wanna laugh, Jackie. You donít know ëAí from a bullís hoof and youíre talking about signboards with builderís name on it. You ëave to get your Mary to read you the pictures in The Sunî.
They all laughed again, banging glasses on the table. The barman moved down the bar, gloomily vigilant.
ìSo where are you gonna go, Danny?î wheedled Mark. ìWhat you got tucked away that we donít know about?î
Danny spat into the fire.
ìYou know that turning just past the roundabout near them new ëouses? Where my Rosieís motor lost a wheel last Christmas?î
They leaned closer, intent and serious.
ìWell,î Danny continued, playing to his audience. ìGo down that turning ëtil you get to them big trees ñ you know, them trees standing all alone ñ then you take a left just past them, through a big old five-bar gate and you got about two acres of what used to be the car park for the golf clubî.
He leaned back and placed his hands behind his head, peering down his nose at them.
ìJust right for the likes of usî, he mused in conclusion.
Jackie rubbed his hands and drained his pint.
ìSo when do we go? Wait for the bailiffs or muv off early?î
ìIím away tomorrowî, said Danny. ìBefore them builders remember they got two acres of hard standing just waiting for a tribe of scraggy Gyppoes to fill it up. Iím not waitiní around for bulldozers and gavvers, mush. ëAd enough of that for this yearî.
The men nodded, finished their beers and stepped out into the rainy night.
#
A dog barking and the sound of an unsilenced car engine woke Jackie up. He looked at his watch: it was 2.25 in the morning. He pulled the curtain away from the window and peered out into the wet night. At that moment two shadowy figures scurried across the narrow opening to the disused roadway where the caravans were drawn up. Through the hiss and clatter of the rain Jackie heard a metallic cough. Simultaneously the window fractured into a star pattern around a tiny hole. He felt a stab of pain in his right cheek and putting a hand up to his cheek, he wiped away a streak of blood. Vaulting over the still sleeping Mary, he kicked open the sleeping compartment door and blundered into the living area of the caravan. His mother-in-law snored raggedly on the day-bed, a shaft of sallow light from a distant street lamp falling across her slack jaw. Frantically, Jackie pulled on boots and trousers and then, breathing hard, gently eased the door open. He stood in the doorway, peering into the darkness, seeing nothing. Then he heard laughter, muffled by the wind. He knew that he was being watched and, dry mouthed, he shrank back behind the shallow lintel. Two loud bangs blurted out of the night and Jackie lurched back into the caravan. His mind went blank; he looked around frantically for a weapon. A third explosion thumped in the dark; there was the sound of a car windscreen blowing out nearby, probably Stevieís. The sound of two car doors slamming and the firing up of the unsilenced engine galvanised him into action. He grabbed his car keys and threw himself through the open doorway. The old Volvo caught first time and, in a spray of mud and gravel, Jackie wrenched it across the asphalt an towards the source of the shotgun blasts.
ìSod allî, said Jackie, squinting up into the sooty morning sky. ìI chased them fuckers all the way across the common, but I lost ëem after the crossroads. They was driving an old red Sierra, I know that. A red Sierra with a busted aerial on itî. He kicked a piece of coal across the puddled roadway.
ìWeíll keep a lookoutî, muttered Mark, breaking open an old shotgun and peering down the barrel. ìIíll give ëem bloody shootersî.
Jackie grinned tiredly.
ìOK, Rambo, weíre right behind youî. He mimed a machine gun firing from the hip.
Jumping down from the back of his pickup truck, a jack handle in his hand, Danny joined the group.
ìIíll tell you what for nothiní, brothersî, he said quietly. ìIím not shifting from my pitch here ëtil the gavvers and the parish bailiffs pull me out with their bare hands. Iídíve gone quiet enough before, Lord knows, but after them cowboys last night they can stuff their fuckiní eviction papersî.
He leaned against the wing of the truck and levelled the jack lever, pointing at each member of the small attentive group of men. He continued, his voice returning to its normal grating volume.
ìIíve been a-waitiní for a proper site for twenty year or more. I ainít stupid ñ I know that the travelliní days is been and gone now but I ainít gonna cry no tears, even if I was born on the straw just down the road from ëere. But I been buggered around up hill and down dale by Councils, gavvers, landlords, the govíment and the devil hisself. I tell you, if I had in my hand now, may God strike me dead, all the money what I paid in fines in all them years, there wouldnít be a man ëere now would go thirsty again in his lifetimeî.
He jabbed the handle into the balding front tyre of the truck and jerked his head in emphasis. The men remained watching him, silent and still, joined now by others from around the site, drawn by Dannyís familiar boom.
ìNow, I got a good memory and ëereís what it tells me. First off, County Council says to us we got no rights ëcause we ainít local natives - not like all them kennicks what moved out of London and into them bitti little biscuit houses they built on the old fields. Then they says, ëYou can ëave a site but it ainít a-gonna be ready ëtil next autumn and itís atween the sewerage works and the motorwayí. Then the local council says, ëWell, we donít want you round hereabouts. Your dogs is eatiní our cats and weíre afraid youíre gonna steal our chavvies from their pramsí. And then ñ ëoo the fuck was it? ñ come along with that Criminal Justice law what says you travelliní people is finished, dead amí gone, like the Red Indians, so itís houses or we chase you into the seaÖ So, one moment weíre everywhere and the world donít want us aní then the next we gone invisible; we donít exist no more. Well, boys, I ainít muvviní, not even if the Queen of England she comes down ëere and presses money into me ëandî.
Danny stabbed the tyre again and folded his arms, the jack handle crooked in his elbow like a rifle. The men were silent for a moment longer then Jackie suddenly whistled a piercing blast through his fingers and big Mark leaned across and kissed Danny on the forehead. The others cheered and Danny raised the jack handle high and waved it like a standard.
ìDo you boys know what Iím a-gonna do with this?î he shouted. ìTake the fuckiní wheels off my trailer, thatís whatî.
He strode away towards his chrome-striped caravan to the yells of men, women and children. Then they too pulled jacks and ring spanners from lorry cabs and car boots and made for their caravans.
(continued)
GLOSSARY
bitti : small
chavvies : children
gavvers : police
kennick : housedweller
mush : mate or man
muvved : moved
10:35:23 PM 
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