up my ears. I’d never heard that name before. But you live and learn, in our trade.
‘Must look them up in a book,’ I said.
‘Probably worked for shipbuilders – real ship-builders I mean. You know, model to show the customer, afore the real one’s built.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. And forgot about it. But not for long.
Then we had the business about the bomb; and then the business about the firemen.
The students were thrilled to bits to have found a bomb. Though it was only a very small one. They were thrilled to bits until the police arrived, and moved everyone away from the Pond, so that they couldn’t get on with their work.
As we waited for the bomb disposal squad, I was surprised at the amount they bickered among themselves. Really spiteful it was; they had one girl in tears. I truly felt like smashing a couple of the men’s faces in for it. But Hermione went and smoothed things over, and brought the girl back to the caravan for a cup of tea. She was a pretty little thing called Ruth. A bit frail and forlorn; I suppose you could write her down as one of life’s victims, but I liked her.
She sipped her tea and said, ‘Bastards! This is the nastiest dig I’ve ever been on. People are so good-tempered, usually.’
‘They have been a bit much,’ said Hermione, running her hand through her hair. ‘And it’s getting worse. Sometimes I feel like sacking the lot of them, and getting in a fresh bunch.’
‘Bloody good idea,’ said Ruth feelingly. ‘All girls for a change.’
‘The girls are being as bad as the men,’ said Hermione. ‘Bitch, bitch, bitch.’
‘Maybe it’s the mud,’ I said. ‘And the smell. And those kids hanging around trying to nick stuff . . .’
‘Rory really hurt one of them again this morning. I’d not be surprised if the boy’s mum came up. With a lawyer. Rory’s not his usual cheerful self at all. I’ve worked with him before . . .’
It was just then we saw the firemen. Two of them, running along the edge of the Pond, one after the other, about twenty yards apart. They had stripped down to their vests in the heat, but were still in uniform on their lower parts.
The front one was carrying some sort of box, and throwing bits of white stuff from it into the Pond.
‘What’s this – a paper-chase?’ asked Hermione, shading her eyes with her hand and staring at them. ‘Now there’s three of them.’
The third man, a hundred yards behind, was still in full uniform. He was running more reluctantly, somehow, and falling behind. And all three of them were shouting at each other.
They drew nearer.
‘That’s a sandwich-box,’ said Hermione. ‘He’s throwing his sandwiches into the mud. Why? There’s not a duck in sight.’
Now the leader was only fifty yards away; still turning his head to shout over his shoulder. He threw what looked like a small apple-pie into the Pond, and then what was certainly an orange.
And then, not looking where he was going, he tripped over the muddy frame of a bicycle that somebody had dragged out of the Pond and left lying about; and went full-length. He was up in a flash, but limping now, and in another ten yards, the second man was on him.
I suppose we expected some kind of horseplay. It dawned on me that the first man must not have been throwing his own sandwiches into the Pond, but the sandwiches that belonged to the pursuing second man. Or perhaps we just expected a nasty argument. Certainly we never expected what happened.
A fist flew. There was a cry of pain, and the first man doubled up, holding his nose with fingers from which blood flowed.
The second fireman raised his boot and kicked him in the gut. He collapsed, screeching. Then the second man began to kick him as he lay writhing on the ground.
We all stood paralysed. I don’t think we were cowards. We just couldn’t believe our eyes. I mean, we’re conditioned to think our London firemen are wonderful, even if we’re starting to have doubts about our policemen. Firemen are supposed to rescue people: from burning buildings; from having their heads stuck through railings. Firemen are compassionate and caring: they come and rescue your dear pussy-cat, if it gets stuck up some tree.
Firemen do not kick each other to a bloody pulp.
It was lucky for the first man that the third man arrived when he did.
‘Rogers!’ he