Crickley Meadow

*Unbeknown to anyone else, Cuthbert Fanshaw had been hatching a plan. Having spoken to his laboratory workers he now called in his two lackeys, Brian Starbuck and Bill Nilly. ‘I want you two to find me some animals—about a dozen guinea pigs will do nicely,’ he said to them. ‘I didn’t know you were interested in keeping pets!’ grunted Bill. ‘They’re not for pets you imbecile!’ boomed Cuthbert. ‘Then what are they for?’ stuttered Brian, a little puzzled. ‘They’re for testing our products on, isn’t that obvious?’ rasped Cuthbert impatiently. ‘You can’t do that!’ protested Brian. ‘No!’ nodded Bill, ‘you agreed to stop animal testing!’ ‘I know I did, but don’t you see, it’s perfect!’ hissed Cuthbert, with a hint of self-satisfaction. ‘How’s that?’ asked Bill and Brian. ‘Because if we do the tests in secret no one will suspect us! Everyone knows that we gave all our animals to good homes and now they think we’re the good guys.’ ‘What if someone finds out?’ asked Brian warily. ‘No one will find out if we’re very careful, and it’s important that you two don’t tell anyone what we’re up to!’ warned Cuthbert sternly. ‘Only the laboratory workers know about this and I think they’re looking forward to the experiments as much as I am, ha, ha, ha!’ ‘What about the night-time security guard—do you think you can trust him?’ asked Bill. ‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten about him—I suppose he’ll have to know. Still, I think he needs his job too much!’ laughed Cuthbert wickedly. ‘Can’t you just do tests on rats?—there’s plenty of them in the sewers around here!’ suggested Brian. ‘Ugh, horrible, smelly creatures!—I’d use them as a last resort but right now I prefer to have them working for me!’ ‘Right then, we’ll go down to Whitebridge Pet Centre and buy all the guinea pigs they’ve got!’ said Bill. ‘Don’t be so stupid!’ roared Cuthbert angrily. ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you how strange it would look if you just waltzed into a pet shop and bought that many guinea pigs all at once? Anyway, they’ll know that you work for me.’ ‘Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,’ sighed Bill lamely. ‘Well you had better start thinking because I want you two to come up with a plan before the day is over!’ demanded Cuthbert. As they were about to leave the room Brian suddenly stopped in his tracks. ‘I’ve had a thought!’ he announced. ‘Now there’s a first, let’s declare a public holiday!’ bellowed Cuthbert sarcastically. ‘About the guinea pigs I mean.’ ‘Well, go on,’ Fanshaw implored him. ‘Do you know the Fitchetts at Crickley Meadow?’ ‘Yes, I know of them—darn troublemakers if I remember rightly,’ snarled Cuthbert. ‘Well, they’ve got an outhouse and I’ve heard it’s full of guinea pigs—leastways there’s more than a dozen!’ ‘It sounds perfect!’ Cuthbert enthused as he ran over and kissed Brian on the cheek. ‘But how will we get them here without anyone knowing?’ asked Bill as Brian wiped his cheek with his shirtsleeve. ‘We’ll kidnap them!’ replied Cuthbert. ‘Don’t you mean pignap them,’ laughed Brian. ‘I’ll do the jokes thank you very much!’ Cuthbert snapped. ‘But if we just go in there and take them won’t someone suspect?’ asked Bill. ‘No!’ replied Cuthbert smugly, ‘and this is the good bit—when you break in just pinch a few garden tools. It will look like an ordinary burglary and then, when they find a few hutches and the garden gate open they’ll just think that the stupid creatures have escaped and put themselves at the mercy of the foxes, ha, ha, ha!'* *‘We could keep going round in the same circle forever!’ moaned Patrick. ‘I think we should ask someone the way,’ suggested B2. ‘Like who?’ protested Gnasher. ‘How about him over there?’ said B1, pointing to a small grey creature with a bushy tail who was standing a short distance away by the foot of an oak tree. ‘Well I’m not asking him,’ Gnasher assured her. ‘Nor me,’ insisted Cedric, ‘I’m sure we’ll find the way if we keep looking.’ ‘Oh, what is it with men that they won’t ask for directions?’ moaned B1 in frustration. ‘Come on B2, we’ll ask him ourselves.’ ‘Hello Mr Squirrel,’ B1 began. ‘Oh, hello!’ replied the squirrel. ‘We were wondering if you could tell us the way to Whitebridge,’ continued B2. ‘Whitebridge eh!—well let me see now, hmm—I think it’s that way—or maybe that way, umm—or even that way!’ the squirrel dithered, as he pointed first west, then south, then east, ‘now where did I bury that acorn?’ ‘So you’re not too sure then!’ pronounced B1 with polite understatement. The squirrel shot a puzzled glance at the guinea pigs. ‘You’re funny looking rats!—where are your tails?’ ‘We’re not rats!’ replied Charlie indignantly. ‘We’re guinea pigs!’ stated Dorie. ‘You look very small for pigs,’ answered the squirrel. ‘So, you’ve no idea where Whitebridge is then?’ B2 asked once again. ‘Well it’s, umm,’ began the squirrel. ‘Oh no, not again,’ B1 responded. ‘I’ve got it!’ proclaimed the squirrel. ‘Well I hope it’s not catching,’ declared Patrick. At that, the squirrel leapt onto the trunk of a nearby oak tree and scampered up it at startling speed. In no time he had reached the very top and, after a quick look round he shouted down, ‘it’s that way!’ as he pointed north. ‘What’s your name?’ Dorie enquired of the squirrel, who had arrived swiftly back on terra firma. ‘All my friends call me Nutty,’ he replied. ‘I wonder why?’ muttered B1 to B2 with a gentle hint of sarcasm.*