PHOTO (c) PAUL ROSS
GYPSIES - TRAMPS & THIEVES (2.)
MUVVED OFF (part 2)
On Friday morning at six oíclock two long-wheelbase Land Rovers pulled into the narrow roadway. Behind them, its engine ticking over, a tow-truck blocked the entrance. Sitting on the back with legs dangling were two security men in black uniforms. One of them was eating a sandwich. Three police cars were drawn up on the edge of the highway at the top of the bank flanking the roadway and several policemen and women stood with folded arms looking down onto the caravans. A small, elderly man, incongruous in oversized brown overalls pulled over a dark suit, walked uncertainly between the parked trailers, two policemen on either side of him. Danny and Jackie sat on the steps of Dannyís disabled caravan silently watching their approach.
ìGood morningî, said the man in overalls. ìI am Mr. Tarrant from Brougham Heath District Council and I have here a copy of an order to quit this land issued to you a week ago. I am here to enforce that order and must advise you that, unless you voluntarily tow your caravans from this road, I shall direct the security firm to remove themî.
His learned speech delivered, Tarrant glanced nervously at the bigger of the two policemen, a sergeant. Danny stared through the trio of officials to some point beyond; he gave no sign of having heard any of Tarrantís words. Jack lit a fag and flicked the match over the heads of the waiting man. The tall sergeant watched it arc away into the bushes as if judging the distance covered. He leaned forward from the waist.
ìDo you understand?î he asked patiently.
The men ignored the question. Then Jackie pointed to his left to where a pile of bricks supported the bare wheel-hub.
ìCanít shiftî, he muttered. ìNo wheelsî.
There was a pause. Turning on the spot, anxious not to give ground, the three officials surveyed the other caravans, each one similarly disabled. Once again Tarrant raised his head to look up at the big policemen in appeal. The sergeant turned back to face Jackie and Danny. Licking his lips, he planted both feet apart in the at-ease position, placing his hands behind his back. He breathed in deeply.
ìWheels back on now, Johnî, he said softly but clearly, looking directly at Danny. He tilted his head. ìJust put them back on and we can do the business and all go homeî.
By now the Gypsies had all emerged from their caravans and they stood in a rough semi-circle behind the two policemen and Tarrant, watching silently. The police on the embankment began to shuffle forward, heels digging sideways into the soft earth. Danny stood up slowly and stepped up into the doorway of his trailer. Almost in parody of Tarrant, he cleared his throat.
ìWell, nowî, he said slowly, loud enough for all to hear. " ëJust put the wheels on and we can all go homeí, eh? Ainít you the lucky one, then ñ haviní a home to go toî. Suddenly he slammed his open hand against the side of his trailer. ìWhat ëomes ëave we got to go to? Tell me that. You chuck us off of ëere and weíre on the road again. Where we stop is ëome, mush, and right now weíre stopped ëere!î
The sergeant stared back at Danny impassively, arms folded, legs still apart. His partner turned and began to chivvy the surrounding Gypsies back with a shooing motion of his hands as if they were recalcitrant cattle. Immobile and unusually silent, they stared back at him. Tarrant muttered something to the sergeant and they turned and walked slowly back up the road towards the tow truck. As the semi-circle parted to let them through, ironic cheers and whistles went up, quiet at first and then loud with derision. The police at the bottom of the bank stood fast, restrained by an inspector in a peaked cap and driving gloves. The Gypsies moved back towards their trailers, gathering now into small family groups around the steps and open doorways.
Jack strolled down the centre of the roadway towards his own caravan. He was a few yards behind Tarrant and the sergeant, both of whom were walking with a greater sense of purpose. Tarrant was talking animatedly into a mobile ëphone. As Jack approached the tow-truck for a closer look a plain Transit van emerged from concealment in the trees above the road and moved in behind it. The driver jumped out and ran round to the rear doors. He threw them open and twelve men in anoraks and donkey jackets clambered down and blinked in the sudden light. Tarrant hurried up to them issuing rapid orders, but Jack was too far away to hear what he was saying. The men dispersed rapidly along the roadway, grouping in threes by each of the parked Land Rovers. One man in each group carried a walkie-talkie and the other two stood poised around him like punters at a horse race. Jack threw his cigarette away and, glancing around uneasily, swung up into his caravan. Mary was sitting on the day bed with her mother, helping her to drink from a large china mug. She looked up.
ìWhatís happening, Jackie? What are they gonna do?î
Shrugging, Jack pulled the curtain back to watch. All was still. Just outside the trailer one of the trios of bailiffs was grouped around the walkie-talkie awaiting orders. Chewing at a ragged nail, Jack flopped onto the seat opposite the women.
ìI donít know, my Maryî, he said tiredly. ìBut whatever they gets up to, they canít shift us out of ëere without we got wheels on, can they?î
Four diesel engines spluttered and fired up in unison. Jack scrabbled with the curtain, his fingers catching in the webbed Nottingham lace. The Land Rovers were reversing towards the nearest caravans while council official and bailiffs gesticulated and shouted directions. Outside Jack and Maryís caravan a policeman was arguing fiercely with the trio of bailiffís men. He snatched at the walkie-talkie and fell heavily against the side of the trailer. Mary jumped up and lurched towards the door.
ìJackie! Theyíre gonna pull us off anyway!î she yelled in panic, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the door. ìTheyíre hooking us on! Tell ëem they canít do that! Bastards!î She pounded on the thin wall as if she were already trapped inside the vehicle.
As Jack leaped through the doorway, Tarrant came running down the road. The tall sergeant was close behind, trying to trot with dignity whilst rapping out orders into his radio. As Tarrant approached the caravan, Jack threw himself towards him, his fingers closing momentarily around the tan cloth of the overalls. The sergeant cannoned into him, grabbing him around the waist. As if in response to some subliminal signal, the roadway was suddenly full of Gypsies, young and old, male and female. They thronged about in a tight pack facing outwards whilst all around the Land Rovers roared and whined, belching out diesel fumes as they backed towards the disabled trailers. Small groups of security men and police jostled in brief confusion before coalescing into uneasy alliance against the yelling Gypsies. As stones began to fly, the police drew out their truncheons and moved forward, backed up by the bailiffs.
Jack fell heavily as the arms around his waist let go abruptly. He rolled sideways onto the scrubby grass and scrambled backwards, pushing himself beneath Mushy Kingís little tourer caravan, access to it impeded by Mushyís larger trailer. From this temporary concealment he manoeuvred himself into a position from which to assess the situation. All he could see from ground level was feet scuffling and kicking, struggling for purchase on the tarmac and grass as battle was joined. Almost drowning out the sounds of conflict there grated the noise of high-powered engines and the skirling of tyres throwing up gravel as the vehicles struggled to unseat the caravans from their stacked bricks or woodblocks. Jack struggled out from beneath the caravan just in time to see his own trailer jolt sideways twisting off its axle supports. As he stumbled up from a kneeling position, a young policeman with a thin blonde moustache seized him by the wrist & lifted his truncheon, attempting a blow towards his left shoulder. Unthinking, Jack bunched his fist, and, bending his elbow, swung it sideways into the policemanís jaw. He was barely aware of the broken grip as he watched his caravan slewing like a boat caught on a reef, the axle grinding into the cracked tarmac. He dived forward, throwing himself across the bonnet of the Land Rover that was attached to it. The vehicle braked sharply dumping him onto the roadway on the far side. As he heaved himself up onto his knees and twisted around to face the caravan, now broadside on, he caught a glimpse of Maryís face at the door window. Her mouth was gaping in a silent scream as she struggled with the latch. But the door was stuck fast, jammed in place by the distorting of the body of the caravan as it was wrenched out of position. Jackís head was suddenly jerked back by the hair and his right arm was tugged up behind his back. In the split second before his captor could slam him face down on the Land Roverís bonnet a single explosion like the slamming of a huge door threw both of them to the ground. There was a moment of thumping silence followed by the rain-like pattering of fragments of glass and shards of steel and aluminium all around them.
Seconds passed. Jack stopped breathing, his eyes screwed tight shut, his fists clenched. Then gingerly he lifted his head and opened his eyes. Inches in front of him lay a triangle of Crown Derby china, the pattern instantly recognisable as from the dinner service that he had bought at Stowe Fair the year that he and Mary had got married. He focussed on it, uncomprehending, his ears ringing from the explosion. Then, raising his head higher, he saw the caravan. Flames belched from its ruptured body. Police, security men and Gypsies were still leaping clear and the crew from the Land Rover left the vehicle bent double like men under gunfire. A jagged hole in the roof and the blown-out windows and door were fast disappearing behind thick coiling smoke. As Jack wrenched his way through the milling men and women and stumbled towards the trailer. As he headed for the smoke-filled doorway Mary tumbled through it and into his arms. Her face and arms were blackened with charred material and blood and her hair was puffed up and out in a grotesque bouffant full of fragments of plastic, formica and food. Her mouth was working but no sound came out. Convulsively she jerked her head back towards the caravan. Danny and Mark were now directly behind Jack. They lifted Mary gently and eased her away from the wreckage while Jack levered himself up into the van. Two policemen hastened forward to help but the two Gypsies ignored them as they moved forward into the crowd. A pathway parted before the two men, Mary hanging between them like a bizarre trophy.
Jack picked his way across the turmoil of the tilted floor towards the day bed. The smoke blew clear as the last remnants of the curtains burned up. Supporting himself on the upturned table he stared helplessly at the body of his mother-in-law flattened against the caravan wall, her arms spread wide in an attitude of crucifixion. Her head ñ the face hidden behind a mass of coagulated hair ñ was twisted back at an unnatural angle, seemingly gazing through the gap made by the split seam of the trailerís two walls.
#
The inquest returned a verdict of death by misadventure. A calor gas cylinder had exploded during the course of a scheduled eviction, throwing the body up against a wall, causing the neck to break. However, the coroner suggested that the manner of the eviction might have been somewhat over-zealous. Indeed, there was some confusion as to the exact circumstances in which it took place. There appeared to be certain inconsistencies in the accounts provided by the security firm hired by the County Council, council officials and the police officers in attendance. The matter was currently under investigation and a full report would be made at a later date.
Jack rolled a cigarette and stared into the fire. Mary was with her sister on an official site over the county border, recovering from relatively minor cuts and bruises. He was on his own in the tourer lent to them by Mushy King. In the corner a television flickered with the sound turned down. Lowering the cigarette to the jets of the fire, Jack relit it. Returning to his seat he picked up a buff envelope and extracted a white form. He shook it open and gazed at the council insignia. The words beneath it were a jumble of blurred letters. Only his own name was recognisable. Danny had told him that they had forty-eight hours to shift from the side of the dual carriageway after which time a security firm would move in to repossess the land. Outside the rain fell steadily. Jack watched it dancing on the bonnet of his truck. He dragged a hand across his face and took a last pull on his cigarette. Tossing it into the fire, he lay face down on the bed and tried to sleep.
11:01:45 PM 
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