From the diaries of Sir Shash, August 19_
Market Snodsbury is a small town in Worcestershire. Small is being generous. However, to its credit, said no one ever, it did have a rather wide road outside town. I suppose this road was its connection with the rest of humanity and to the nearest village of Berrington. The distance of twenty miles between the two settlements was to be the first leg of the race and the return was to be the decisive leg. The two councils had already issued the necessary notifications and warnings to the local populace to avoid the road for a period of two hours when the race was to take place.
There was quite some excitement. In fact, to me it seemed that there was a carnival atmosphere in Market Snodsbury. The children of the grammar school had posted flyers and hand drawn posters at several establishments and boards. Betting had reached a fervent pitch. The crowd was building. Makeshift stalls had been set up near the starting point. The previous night a large truck had carried the motor vehicles to Market Snodsbury. Bobbie and Honoria had found happy sponsors in the car company who had also managed to arrange some gentlemen from the press to come in for the necessary photographs and publicity.
Some of the Drones lads had arrived. Betting was involved. That was our favourite human activity.
Aunt Agatha had walked in, arm in arm with Lord Worplesodon. I saw Bertie maintain a safe distance. However, his escape was short lived.
‘Bertie!’ Aunt Agatha boomed. He ran over in haste.
Meanwhile I went ahead and greeted Lord Tom Travers, Aunt Dahlia, Lady Angela and the young scamp Bonzo who had also made an appearance. They always made me feel one of the family.
Young Tuppy Glossop seemed to be preoccupied with an attractive cotton candy seller. Lady Angele walked over to that stall and Tuppy received the usual smack on the head from her. Corrected, he back walked hand in hand with her.
Bobbie and Honoria were standing near the sponsors of the race. They were fully decked in their racing attire. They were shaking hands with some enthusiastic children. Bobbie looked at me and waved. I waved back. Honoria looked at me. It was a stare from the upper echelons of stares. I know that every stare carries a meaning. This one carried more than one. I gave her a polite nod. She tilted her chin ever so slightly and ignored it.
Bertie and I moved to chat with the Drones lads.
Bingo Little was on his third cigarette. Gussie Fink-Nottle was on his second. Bertie addressed the both of them.
‘What are you two up to? What is with the chain smoking, eh?’
Bingo replied first, ‘I have bet fifty pounds on Bobbie winning the race. Now that I have seen Honoria in her driver’s outfit, I am rethinking my life’s choices. The woman looks set to go to war. Lizard boy here told me that Bobbie winning the race was a given. Apparently, he had his pet newt pick out the winning name by eating the worm off the right name card. Absolute tosh and unscientific, I now believe.’
‘You believed that method to be scientific earlier?’ I enquired. Bingo looked at me puzzled.
Gussie did not take kindly to the jibe at his newt. He replied to Bingo aggressively, ‘Fathead, who asked you to bet fifty pounds if you weren’t sure? I have bet fifty myself. Do you see me shivering like a newly born fawn? In any case, reptiles have a sixth sense. You shall see.’
Bingo countered, ‘Why are you smoking like a chimney then? Admit it, you feel jumpy.’
Bertie interrupted, ‘Hold on boys, this squabbling isn’t done. Where is the Esprit de fraternité? Jeeves told me to put money on Bobbie. That fellow has never been wrong.’
Bertie and I walked around a bit.
Bertie said. ‘Old boy, talking to those two has made me nervous now. To tell you the latest scoop, sources have informed me that Aunt Agatha has made a bet of two hundred pounds on Honoria winning this.’
‘Aunt Agatha has placed a bet?’
‘I don’t think she ever forgave me for evading the altar visit with Honoria. She hasn’t forgiven Jeeves either.’
‘I see, I suppose you could not stop yourself from placing a little bet, could you?’
‘How could I? A Wooster is not known to back down from a challenge.’
‘How much?’
‘Five hundred.’
‘You raving lunatic!’
‘Old bean, I suppose I am in the soup.’
‘Here, eat this sweet bun.’
‘Dash the sweet bun.’
Our conversation was interrupted by a pumpkin in human form.
‘Ho’ it said loudly.
It was Stilton Cheesewright looking bulkier and more pink than he usually did.
‘Ho’ he repeated loudly.
‘Ho’ I replied.
‘Many Hoes to you,’ said Bertie.
‘You two,’ said Stilton, ‘Doing your usual snake-in-the-grassing. Corrupting dignified ladies and making them race each other. Ho! I see through you.’
‘Old chap,’ said Bertie, ‘You appear to be labouring under some misapprehension.’
‘Hah!’
‘What?’
‘Hah!’ repeated Stilton. ‘Snakes in the grass. An English grass snake. An Equatorial Viper. Ho! How I shall enjoy your downfall today! Lady Honoria will win easily. I am here to watch you both cry.’
‘Best wishes, Stilton,’ I said.
He made a noise that sounded like a growl and stomped off.
A shrill whistle blew. We realized that the race was about to begin.
From the diaries of Sir Shash, August 19_
The two racers sat in their respective Bugatti Type 35 race cars. As the sponsors offered a choice, Bobbie chose the red one. Honoria responded to this by saying ‘Ha! Typical’ and moved to the blue car. Bertie gave Lady Wickham a hug before she got in.
Sport unites. Betting unites even better. A sense of wonder and thrill had now seized the Market Snodsbury crowd that had gathered for this unusual spectacle. The old money crowd suppressed their anticipation by tilting their chins upwards. One or two took a closer look at their monocles. Random voices could be heard from all strata of life.
‘The weather is unusually pleasant for a diversion of this sort. I must say, an amusement like this is perfectly inoffensive Lady T________’
‘Lady Glossop is about to teach Lady Wickham a life lesson and I daresay Lady Agatha, she will be better off with the education. Did you see those pictures of her in Italy in The Daily Mail? Surely, you must agree that it isn’t good form for a young woman to be travelling so inconsiderately?
‘Terence, stop gawking. She ain’t your girlie. I am.’
‘I believe Lady Glossop could outwrestle a few men.’
‘Reverend Grahan, what are you doing here Sir?’
‘Did you get her pictures Jones? I will not be outdone by The Daily Mail.’
‘Dororthy, just imagine if they run over someone. What a scandal that would cause, eh?’
‘Women and racing machines, O Lord, have mercy, these are truly the end of days.’
‘The pretty one does not have a hope.’
‘Do you see that rich goof over there Clarissa? I am told he and the movie star are together. What do you mean she isn’t a movie star?
‘Who do they think they are? It is illegal, I say. Where are my fish and chips, Edmund?
‘I say that sounds like a police siren.’
That last comment got my attention. It was a police siren. Speeding towards the racing area in an ungodly hurry was a Morris Cowley pursued at some distance by an Austin 7 with the official police siren blaring from it. The crowd shouted in alarm and people ran in different directions. Many of us remained gaping. The Morris Cowley now hit the road that was to be the race track. I noticed a man and a woman sitting in it. It narrowly missed hitting Honoria’s Bugatti. She screamed. It sped away. Some seconds later the police car arrived on the scene and immediately blew a single tyre. It swung wildly, tilted, balanced itself, swung wildly, and finally came to a screeching halt with the two constables in it remembering every oath that they had ever taken and shouting out a string of words that was educational in a non-scholastic sense.
I realized that the people being chased had a really fast car. One could barely glimpse it now; it was speck in the distance.
The crowd that had scampered off had now returned. Bertie, Bingo, Gussie and I ran towards the girls in the car to make sure they were okay. Honoria was shaken but fine. Bobbie was grinning ear to ear.
I had a sinking realization when I heard her say, “Whoop-de-doo!” Before either Bertie or I could stop her, the Bugatti sprang forward like a startled leopard with the redhead steering away.
‘What is she doing? That little sneak! She isn’t going to win like this,’ said Honoria and turned the key in her own vehicle and sped off.
‘Hot ziggety!’ said Bertie.
‘Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!’ said Bingo.
‘Nerts!’ said Gussie.
‘Ho!’ said Stilton. ‘Ho!’ he said again.
People gathered round the two policemen as well. From what I could gather in the next few minutes. Whatever they were expecting whether it was a sympathetic ear or a glass of water, they most certainly did not get it.
Aunt Dahlia was upon them. ‘What is this, officers? What do you mean by pulling a stunt like this on the race track? Thousands of pounds are at stake and you barge in like lunatics and a danger to public safety! I demand an explanation.’
The constables gaped. They were not used to dressing downs.
Lord Travers found his voice.
‘Dahlia, dearest, this is a police pursuit. It may be more important than the infernal race.’
The two constables emboldened by this intervention after the voice of Aunt Dahlia had given them another shock spoke up.
‘Madame, Sir, there has been a jail break. Notorious shoplifter who was recently arrested hereabouts a few weeks ago broke out of jail. She is accompanied by her boyfriend McDonald. They were making a run for it. We gave pursuit these last twenty miles having identified them. Unfortunately, the government vehicle has proven unreliable. We must get to a telephone and inform the station at the next town.’
Aunt Dahlia saw the sense in this. She fell silent and the two constables followed a couple of villagers to a place where they could place a phone call.
The excitement of the crowd had only deepened. More voices everywhere.
‘What a day to be alive, women are chasing the criminal element, the men are making a phone call.’
‘Bet you a fiver, Lady Glossop and the magazine model manage to catch them.’
‘Hey, where do we get our money back?
‘Gor blimey! Never have I ever…’
‘I say, this is divine intervention, this is holy wrath on a sinful diversion. Everyone must repent.’
‘What happens to our sponsorship money?’
‘Did you get her pictures, Jones? I will not be outdone by The Daily Mail.’
‘By Jove, I have never had a more exciting day!’
Bertie stood with Gussie and Bingo. He was repeatedly running his hand through his hair. I was pretty stumped myself.
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