False Immigrant

Hi Mags. Glad to have caught you in. It’s an opportune time to recap the case.”

“What do you mean Jack? Are you dropping the search? Is that why you called?”

“Hang on Mags. You’re jumping too far ahead with your assumptions. Yes, it has been over two weeks and yes, we normally drop things after ten days but I’ve had my boys at the Met put in a lot of hours on this and he’s fallen off the radar.”

“That means you’re dropping the case, doesn’t it Jack?”

“Mags, we’ve been friends for a long time and you know I would do my best for you but I cannot be putting resources willy-nilly into the case without some justification. Questions will be asked and they’re probably being asked right now. I will have a job if questioned to justify the manpower I’ve used on this case so far.”

“Sorry Jack, but I just can’t believe that in this day and age with all the surveillance that someone can just disappear like that.”

“Mags, Mags it happens all the time. We have hundreds of these cases each month and as long as they haven’t committed a crime, we cannot continue to pursue them.”

“I know Jack. You’ve told me all this before but it’s still hard to believe that somebody can just up, be off and disappear into thin air in this day and age.”

“Mags, to justify the manpower used so far, I used this as a test case, to check the validity of our extensive CCTV coverage and our internal search systems. They are obviously not up to it. For God’s sake, don’t spread that around because it seems we couldn’t even track a real terrorist suspect if we needed to.”

“OK, what do you propose next?”

“Well Mags, we haven’t dropped the case but we have to find another track. I’ve got one of my men working on a project for Airport and Seaport security. He is using your husband John as one of his many suspects and we will check if he’s left the Country. I’m also getting somebody to copy John’s movements as far as we know them to see if we can identify where we lost him off our radar.”

“Thanks Jack. I knew I could count on you.”

“Hey Mags, don’t put too much faith in me. The system doesn’t allow me too much time on the case. Now, if John had committed a crime, especially a major embezzlement of funds, then I could keep on hunting.”

“You mean Jack if John had attacked someone at work….?”

“No Mags, that wouldn’t be as high a priority as him getting his hands on somebody else’s dosh.”

“What’s the world coming to Jack?”

“Don’t ask me Mags. Now let’s just recap all the circumstances and see if we may have missed something?”

“Jack, we’ve gone over this countless time and got nowhere.”

“Just bear with me. It’s a proven method so let’s go though it again.”

“OK, OK, you start.”

“Thanks Mags. Now we know John left work as normal, packed his briefcase, put on his coat and walked out of his building prompt at five fifteen as per the CCTV footage. He smiled and blew a kiss to that gorgeous receptionist as he does every day and walked to the station. We pick him up at the station again and see him onto the train. His usual train wasn’t it Mags?”

“Yes Jack, the five twenty-five which was two minutes late that Wednesday and yes, he always came home and didn’t stay late at the office because he did his best work here, at home.”

“Just bear with me Mags. It may be tedious but please get in the spirit of this inquiry. It’s the only way I can help.”

“Sorry Jack. Please go on.”

“Somewhere along the line he gets off but we don’t catch him on the CCTV. We find his briefcase. The guard does. Recognises it as belonging to John since it’s in the rack above his reserved seat. The guard holds onto the briefcase overnight to hand it back to John on the morning train but it’s too late. John’s gone.”

“I know the guard wasn’t following regulation but he did phone John’s office that morning to tell them about the briefcase and its whereabouts. If he had put it in ‘lost luggage’ we don’t know what would have happened to it then.”

“You’re right Mags, but we put the frighteners on the guard to sharpen his memory. He’ll be alright. When we opened the case we found his mobile, watch, tie and wallet in the case. Is that normal Mags?”

“I wouldn’t know Jack. By the time I get home John’s changed and got the dinner on so I very rarely see him in business attire. I saw him the previous night after the party but he’d come home in a taxi and was three sheets to the wind. I’ve never seen him so happy and drunk. Not drunk you know Jack but a bit tiddly and yes, his tie was askew and so was his hair, obviously had a ball.”

“Right, so we don’t know if this was a one off or normal behaviour to place his watch, mobile, tie and wallet in the case, on the train.”

“I’m afraid so Jack.”His usuaH

“His wallet had all of his cards and forty-five quid in cash. Is that a normal amount?”

“We have a joint account Jack and it’s easier for me to withdraw cash. I usually give him forty to sixty pounds which he uses for lunches, papers and bits and pieces. If I’m short, he lets me have some back. He uses his cards for larger purchases. Generally, doesn’t have much need for lots of cash.”

“Could he have accumulated a wedge, over time Mags?”

“I certainly didn’t notice and some recent weeks I have even forgotten to give him any so I can’t see how he would have accumulated much, maybe a few hundred. I don’t really think so Jack.”

“He certainly would need some money for food, accommodation and new clothes to change his appearance.”

“I agree. I can’t see John dossing down in some bus shelter and living off fish and chips. I’ve checked all our bank and credit accounts and there is nothing odd there.”

“You told me he set up a trust fund for the girls. Have there been any odd withdrawals there?”

“I checked that and it’s clean. I do think it was an unplanned, instant decision by John to just disappear. I just can’t believe he planned this for weeks or months ahead. His two passports are still in his desk so he can’t have gone off abroad easily.”

“So, you think his disappearance is solely due to his bad day at the office? How were you two getting on? You know what I mean Mags?”

“I’ve given it some thought Jack and yes, we didn’t see much of each other with me working all hours God sent. Look, I got this huge award to do research on head injuries and comas and I had a lot of setting up to do with little help. After something to eat, which John had prepared, I was in bed fast asleep by ten. So yes, I admit, life was somewhat strained but John never complained and was even encouraging. Did I tell you he even typed and drew up the final proposal for my award? Never would have got it without his help Jack.”

“Yes, you told me that Mags and I can see that it all put a strain on your relationship. So, you still think that the works thing was the final straw?”

“Must have been Jack. Look, on Tuesday he was elated that they had completed the big contract, a month in advance and told me he would be late next day since he was going to take his team out to celebrate. That’s when he came home late and tiddly. Had to put him to bed myself you know. He was legless but happy.”

“So, when did you know he was missing Mags?”

“Jack, I know I was a stupid cow but I only noticed he was missing on Friday evening. I told you I though he was celebrating again on Thursday and I went to bed early and found he hadn’t come home the previous evening. I only got to know when they rang from work to say they found his briefcase on the train and asking when he was coming into the office. It was only then that I found out what happened on Black Thursday!”

“OK Mags, just recap what you found out happened at the office and before you rang me.”

“Well, his Head of Section, Henry, told me that he had been called by the Sales Director to an urgent meeting. John told Henry that it was probably about the completed contract and John was going to ensure that all of his team got a good bonus out of it. Henry said the team was all excited and hovered around the Sales Directors office, waiting and expecting the good news. What they heard was a shouting match with John accusing the Director of deceit and unfairness and the Director bollocking John for not having the new proposal ready.”

“Now let me take you through what I found out after questioning the staff. It appears that John had set up a multimillion-pound contract with Bolton and Warley, all by himself and presented it to the MD when the Sales Director was on holiday in the Caribbean.”

“Yes Jack, but John was not trying to bypass the Sales Director, just wanted someone to OK the deal.”

“We know that John and Fernley were on good terms until that point. Why did John bypass him? He should have given him some inkling, even a progress report.”

“Jack, the Bolton’s are our long-time friends. Laura and I go back to school days. John and Harry go back to Uni. times. You’ve met them at our house. They did some work together on the back of a fag packet as John said and altered an existing contract to fit. They were both excited by the prospect. John ordered in a case of champagne to celebrate. Don’t you remember Jack?”

“Oh, I remember Mags. A grand party. Had to get a taxi home and Alison doesn’t even remember how she got home to this very day. Grand it was. Anyway, to move on, John was called into the office by Fernley to get a bollocking for being late with a follow up contract. Henry, John’s side kick told me later that the firm was incapable of completing that contract since they didn’t have the necessary expertise. Fernley disagreed and a shouting match erupted. John told him in no uncertain terms that the commission that Fernley had earned for doing sweet FA, thanks to him, had paid for Fernley’s new mansion. That enraged the man and he let slip that the bonus that they had earned on the early completion would be divided only amongst the Directors. This was heard by all the office standing outside. At this point John stormed out and went back to his desk. The others meekly got back to work.”

“That’s exactly what I heard. The cheek of the man, to have a go at John! He was right about the lack of expertise. He told me some time ago that he would have to recruit some new people but wasn’t sure he would get the approval from the Board.”

“It was Friday afternoon, I believe, that they had to escort you out of their building?”

“No doubt you heard Jack that I gave the Sales Director and the MD the ‘What for’ treatment. The whole building must have heard what I called those two morons.”

“I did, I did. But you shouldn’t have threatened them with blacklisting them with all the Companies they’ve done work for. There may be a backlash, Mags.”

“I don’t care Jack. I know all the wives of all their major clients. We have their kids over to the house at the weekends and I know how they can influence their husband’s thoughts.”

“You mean poison them Mags! Anyway, that brings me to another topic of interest, the kids. Surely John will miss his daughters. He always seemed proud of their achievements and their variety of interests. Isn’t he going to miss them terribly Mags?”

“I’m sure he will but we didn’t see too much of them since they were boarding and even away many weekends with school activities.”

“But when they were at home, didn’t he spend time with them?”

“Look Jack, the girls were horse crazy. They spent all of the weekends with their friend’s pony. OK, I grant you that they tended to bring the pony to the house and rode it around the grounds but I don’t think they noticed either me or John. We were just superfluous.”

“So, what did John get up to at the weekends Mags?”

“He spent most of the daylight hours maintaining the grounds. Wouldn’t get a gardener, said that the money saved went to the Trust Fund for the girl’s education. Do you know it took him four hours to cut the grass with his sit-on mower?”

“I can believe it, the size of your place. But didn’t he have any interaction with the girls and ponies whilst in the garden?”

“Oh yes, he watched them and helped to set up and move the jumps. But you know what it’s like with teenagers. They used him as a labourer. And the airs they teach them at public school are unforgivable. They treat us grownups as their slaves.”

“Do the girls know yet? When will you tell them? Surely, they will find out from the grapevine?”

“I haven’t told them. I don’t think I will until they raise the matter. Knowing them they won’t bloody care! Sorry Jack, I’m getting a bit emotional.”

“No worries, Mags. I understand. What is the state of the trust fund for the girl’s education? Will you have to take them out of that posh school?”

“Expensive you mean! No Jack, when I checked with the trustees at your suggestion, they told me that there is sufficient until Uni. and NO, John hasn’t drawn any funds from there. I believe that missing out on the bonus share-out was the thing that must have affected John’s mind. All bonuses and cash awards John got went into investments to be transferred to the trust fund on maturity. John did well with his investments. Just look at the lifestyle we lead Jack.”

“You are probably right. That greedy act by the Directors must have had an impact on John, but there’s nothing we can do now Mags.”

“Oh yes there is. The Bolton’s are going to refuse or delay the final payment on their project.”

“But how can they do that, particularly since the project was such a success by all accounts.”

“It is, but John was asked to work on an enhancement and the Bolton’s are going to call it a glitch that needs to be fixed and only John can do that.”

Mags, can you explain the hard-drive fiasco and John’s involvement. Sound to me this could backfire if he’s walked off with company vital information.”

“John always brought his hard drive home out of his office laptop and stuck it into a similar machine at home. Less to carry he used to say and more secure. The hard drive found in his case was brand new and needed formatting and tinkering with first. The hard drive in the office machine was the original so nothing was stolen.”

“But the new contract information was not on it. Even the PC nerds can’t see any trace of it on the machine. Where do you think the information is then Mags?”

“Don’t know and don’t care. Serves the bloody lot of them right!

“OK Mags, we haven’t dug up anything new there. Thanks for being patient. We may have to go through this again at some point but in the meantime, we are doing all we can. Keep in touch. Come over for dinner if you can get away from the hospital and your new research project.”

“Thanks Jack. I’ll give you some dates I’m free. I wonder what John is up to at the moment? I hope he’s alright. I hope he is well.”

Yes, John was well thank you very much and doing fine on his own. He had been ‘Totally pissed off’ with the Directors, the firm, his mundane life and decided to pack it all in. Nobody would miss him at home. Mags was deep into head injuries and comas, the girls into horses and no one seemed to have a care in the world for John or so he surmised. He didn’t flip, he just decided to disappear for a while and try a new life. He might even like it.

The plan was simple, leave all of his identification in the briefcase and get off at a small station and catch the following train, twenty minutes behind where he wasn’t known. He decided against keeping his season ticket. He would make up a story if the ticket collector challenged him. He surmised that he would need some seed money but not too much as he felt he needed a challenge in survival. He had hundred and forty-five pounds in his wallet. He would leave the forty-five behind which would seem he had disappeared without any cash. As the train slowed, he strode off towards the toilet and picked up a trilby from the hat rack. It was naughty but necessary to fool the CCTV on the station.

Fortunately, it was drizzling so with the trilby and with his collapsible brolly up, he joined the crowds rushing to the exit and to the car park. He heard an announcement over the tannoy that the next train leaving the platform was bound for Harwich and made an instant decision to board it. At the exit to the station, he joined the group heading for the next train. He picked up a free newspaper and to any onlookers on the platform, he was engrossed with the sudoku page. As the train approached, he joined the throng up towards the front so that he could get into First Class surmising he was less likely to be confronted there. Sure enough an empty seat with a discarded Evening Standard presented itself for him plus a half-finished paper cup of coffee. He slung the trilby on the rack and stuck his wet brolly under the seat out of sight and settled down as if he had been on the train all the way from London. He bought a sandwich and a coffee from the trolley service when it came by and settled down wondering what Harwich might have in store for him.

Harwich didn’t welcome him with open arms and he was glad to have retrieved the brolly and hat since the drizzle had turned into a downpour. He walked in the direction of the docks but realised it was futile since he had no passport to take him abroad. Even if he had, the authorities would have spotted him as a missing person so he found a house advertising lodgings and paid the man twenty-five pounds for a moth-eaten room. He was ‘robbed’ he surmised. He left early next morning and found himself amongst foot passengers heading for the bus station. They were mainly of East European origin and heading off to find work in East Angliaon the farms. One approached him and asked directions for the bus station. He was able to point it out and into the bargain exchanged his trilby for a typical East European green canvas cap. He approached another man and offered him ten pounds for his gaudy sweater. After a quick calculation the man agreed, nodding his head in amazement at his good fortune to get a week’s wages back home for a scruffy sweater.

With cap and sweater John went off in search of the charity shops. For peanuts he purchased a polo shirt, a pair of serviceable blue denim trousers, some boots, a small holdall and a hair trimming kit. At the bus station he dived into the toilets and changed into his new gear. He shaved his head with the number two blade and stuffed his crumpled suit into the hold-all, with the trimming kit. He was now ready for the world  as a new immigrant, straight off the boat and eager for work. A quick look in the mirror confirmed he looked quite ridiculous but in tune with the other folk around him.

There was a commotion as a dilapidated bus drew up and a scrum formed around the door with shouts of what sounded like ‘Peterborough.’ That made the decision for him and he joined the throng pushing and shoving with the best, paid his five pounds and managed to get a window seat so that he could pull his cap over his eyes and feign sleep to avoid any conversation with his neighbour. The feigning was good because the next thing he knew was his neighbour prodding him roughly awake and shouting excitedly in some unintelligible language that they had arrived at their destination. The next bit was going to be interesting because as they got off the bus, they were met by a mass of people shouting and offering accommodation and work.

He suddenly realised that he should be eternally grateful to his Polish grandmother who baby sat and in fact brought him up whilst his parents were at work. She insisted on speaking to him in Polish whilst he, being a stubborn youngster, insisted on replying in English. He smiled at the memory of it all. He had relented a little when his grandma or Babcia as she insisted she was called, begged him to read the Polish daily newspaper to her, since her eyesight was bad and her glasses didn’t help. He now realised it was her ploy to get him to learn some Polish. Oh, how grateful he was and said a quiet prayer to her, hoping she was safe up there with her husband.

His smiling must have been misconstrued as a ‘yes’ because he was grabbed by a hard-faced English woman who spoke to him in pidgin English with a few Polish words thrown in for good measure. It was difficult for him to understand her but she managed to convey that she had a bed for him for ten pounds a night and would find him work. Sounded good, so he nodded and smiled. She signed for him not to move and stay at the lamp post whilst she was off touting for more business. She managed to get three other men and they all piled into her rusty Escort and were driven to their lodgings. As she drove, she spent most of her time gesticulating with her hands and subjecting them to a stream of unintelligible pidgin English and they all smiled and nodded their heads feigning agreement interspersed with a ‘Tak, Tak,’ or a ‘Da, Da.’

They had an attic room to share with four mattresses on the floor. At least the bedding was clean. She insisted that they paid up front and John had to part with a twenty note which he insisted was all he had. The others were fleeced for all they had like lambs to the slaughter. After she left them, they made introductions. One was Latvian, One Ukrainian and the other Estonian. John introduced himself as ‘Boleslaw Koval’ the only name he could remember from a gravestone next to his Grandma’s and Grandpa’s grave. He would have to now think of them as Babcia and Dzjadek, the Polish equivalents. The Latvian immediately called John ‘Bolek’ which was probably the shortened version of Boleslaw. He adopted Bolek as his name for the future. The Latvian and Ukrainian immediately gesticulated and suggested they go out to get some food. John, or now Bolek refused the invitation and so did the young Estonian lad. Bolek surmised he had been fleeced totally by the aggressive landlady and was too proud to go out on the town with no money.

Later in the evening, Bolek caught the young lad’s attention and conspiratorially, winked, stroked his nose and showed him a ten-pound note that he had kept from the lady. He pointed to the boy and himself that they should go out and spend it on “Fish-n-chips.” The boy was hungry and immediately understood and they went downstairs to hunt for a ‘chippy.’ That was easy, a sniff in the air soon guided them to a van on the corner doing brisk trade. Bolek took charge and bought them both, battered fish, large portions of chips, saveloy sausages and a carton of hot tea with lots of sugar. They sat on a nearby wall and inspected their purchase. It was all a bit greasy but since they were both hungry, they tucked in. The lad was a bit uncomfortable with the fried and battered fish as Bolek had suspected and swapped his saveloy for the fish to the lad’s delight. The tea was painfully sweet but hot and refreshing.

Next morning, they were rudely woken up by the landlady who was going to find them work. They piled into the rusty Escort with two others and were driven out. En route the lady showed them the bus stop, told them the number and how much it would cost, all in pidgin English or a form of international language which surprisingly all seemed to understand. They also understood that from here they were on their own. No more molly coddling by the landlady. They arrived at a lay-by, just off a roundabout, leading to a large shopping centre. The landlady generously gave each person a pound coin which she explained they were to give to the driver as a tip when they were chosen for work. She also went to great pains to explain that she wouldn’t be giving out pound coins in the future. Again, her multi-lingual skills were amazing in that all clearly understood what she meant. After a quick wave to the fat greasy café van owner, she was off like a mother hen who had finally got rid of her brood.

A lot of people were milling around, most with sleepy disinterested faces knowing the ropes and just wanting to get on. Others like Bolek and his mates were eager and fresh faced, looking about with expectation and interest. Two smart minibuses turned up and were immediately surrounded by a swarm of men waving fivers at the drivers. The drivers nonchalantly dismounted from their steeds and sauntered to the greasy counter for a steaming mug of tea and a hot, bacon butty. After some repartee with the bum behind the counter, the two drivers swaggered back to their steeds and flung open the passenger door. They seemed to ignore the waving fivers and nodded to a line of men who approached the doors. The crowd parted and the line of workers quietly got in the bus, handing the man a pound coin which he pocketed, with the butty stuck in his mouth. Ignoring the pleadings of the others, the elite were shut in with a flourish, the last bit of bun washed down with hot tea, the residue swished on the ground, the mug tossed deftly to the greasy bum behind the counter, a quick salute to no one in particular and the driver mounted his steed and rode off with a screech of tyre on the road.

Further vehicles arrived of various vintages and the crowd got smaller until the fiver waving became non existent. Bolek surmised that the prime jobs had long gone and only the mundane remained. Eventually with a bit of pushing and eye contact Bolek and the lad were taken on to work on a farm, picking vegetables. They settled down at the back of a crowded van and tried to get some shut eye. It took an hour to get to the farm and it was about nine o’clock and they hadn’t even started work. Bolek wondered how much he would make for a day’s labour. The minimum wage was on offer but no doubt there would be add on costs like transport and food. He expected to clear about fifty quid if he was lucky. So far all was well and as long as he could cope with hard labour he would survive. After all, his weekends were all hard labour, cutting grass, trimming trees, laying paths and building an earth dam for the pond.

They arrived at a large farm with packing facility and also growing vegetables which he would have to pick all day. Fortune struck again as they were waiting in the outer office. A label printer had jammed and the operator didn’t know what to do. Bolek stepped in and tapped in a few commands and the printer restarted. The guy in charge was impressed and Bolek got the job of printing labels and making tea and coffee for the so called management and office staff, much better than being bent double picking pumpkins. By saying nothing other than ‘Tak, Tak’ he fitted in and appeared to understand English commands even though they were uttered in pidgin English and in a loud voice. His main saviour was he knew how to mash tea, English style. Lunch was a measly affair of thin slices of bread, sandwiching a micron thick piece of cheese with a tiny smear of cheap marg. followed by a mug of sweet milky tea. Most of the regulars had brought some extra food to supplement the poor fare.

At the end of the first day both Bolek and the Estonian lad had cleared just over fifty quid after the horrendous charges for transport, food and tea. Beggars can’t be choosers. The lad was bent double with pain and when they got back to their lodgings after negotiating the bus system, Bolek had to go to the late-night chemist to get a hot rub for the lad’s back. It stank dreadfully but the rubbing and the applied heat provided him with some relief and comfort. Bolek was glad he had missed the first day out in the fields. The only downside was that the landlady demanded more money in advance. Bolek only allowed her to take another three days worth and ensured that the lad wasn’t fleeced again. That night the Estonian insisted on buying supper. Bolek bought four jumbo Mars bars to supplement their daily fare the next day.

Next morning was a totally different affair. There was no kind landlady to get them up and transport them to the lay-by. Bolek woke early and got the lad up and they were off on a bus to get to the selection area early. The café van was doing a roaring trade in early breakfasts but Bolek noted that the immigrant workers were getting short changed with measly filled buns and half cups of tea for their breakfast. When he gestured for a full cup, he got a two fingered gesture in reply. A captive audience! The same routine followed but this time the previous day’s driver picked out Bolek first and since the lad was with him, he took him on again. Bolek gave the driver an extra pound coin and pointed to the lad and uttered ‘packing.’ The driver understood and when they arrived at the farm the lad was assigned to the packing sheds. At least he didn’t have to be bent double all-day picking vegetables.

Things fell into a routine and Bolek became part of the furniture in the office. He even assigned himself to making the sandwiches and since no one bothered about them, he was able to order thick sliced loaves, and a decent thickness of cheese with some pickle. The Estonian lad put him onto using dripping instead of marg. They called it ‘Smalec’ and it certainly gave the sandwiches some bite and since it was cheaper than the awful margarine, no one cared. All they cared about was that the order quota was completed that day. Being on the lowest pay rate in the industry the pace of work was slow. The management made up for this by hiring more workers. Bolek calculated that that the management had worked it right and were probably making a handsome profit on the back of the cheap labour.

The accommodation was getting Bolek down, particularly the grasping landlady who always seemed to be always pestering them for more money. The Estonian lad had found himself a friend of his own age and Nationality and had moved out. Bolek’s main concern was that people were trying to befriend him and he wanted to be left to his own devises. He could understand some Polish but anyone would soon see him a fraud if he opened his mouth. One day he was asked to help throwing away some old machinery. All farms seem to have the same dumping ground for ‘dead’ items and on this farm, there was an extensive area of pig sties which were slowly being covered by mounds of discarded junk. On closer inspection Bolek decided it would be quite easy to convert one of the far sties, near the back lane, into a habitable dwelling. Water was available and there were plenty materials lying about to knock up some furnishings. He reckoned that if he bought some electric cable, he could get some power in for lighting, heating and a microwave. In the event he didn’t need to buy any cable, there was more than sufficient discarded stuff lying around. Over a week, he converted the old pigsty with pallet boards for a floor and bit of tarpaulin to make a tent like structure for him to sleep in.

All that was necessary was to purchase a foam mattress, a sleeping bag, silk liner, a kettle and a lamp. A discarded microwave cleaned up nicely and he was ready to move in. His biggest problem was to announce to the management that he would make his own way to the farm and not rely on the transport provided. The answer came to him when he tripped over a rusty bike as he was searching for reusable materials amongst the junk. He mimed that he would bike in and no one seemed to mind. At eight in the morning he would pick the bike up out of a tarpaulin cover and cycle down the lane and up the front drive of the farm, park the bike against the office wall and start work. The only one who noticed was the paymaster and the driver. He continued to tip the driver and the paymaster allowed him another hour and stopped deducting the transport charge. Problem solved! Well not quite. Being out of town he had problems with shopping for essentials. He managed after a fashion by cycling to the nearest pub and catching a bus into the nearest village for his supplies.

Troubles began when the supermarket buyer put the squeeze on the farm, reducing their farm gate prices and making greater demands on packaging. It was no consequence to the farm manager who just maintained his margins by reducing the wages. Bolek found this intolerable and switched his allegiance to the workforce of another nearby farm. It meant more cycling but at least he was getting a minimum wage and felt less of a slave. He wormed his way into the packing sheds, opting out of the more back breaking work out in the fields. He showed that he could read and understand English so they gave him the task of sticking labels on the packed trays. The whole setup was badly run. At one time, the farm was well run by the old man who managed to buy and marry into two adjoining farms. He had retired and left the job to his son and wife. The son was useless and the wife a spendthrift. She was tasked with going into town to collect the cash for the wages from the bank. She had the habit of going shopping on the wages so that there was always a cash shortage at pay time and disgruntled workers. There was also a daughter who reminded him of his own. Horse crazy and thought the world revolved around her. Always coming in and dragging men out to muck out her stables or set up jumps to her liking. Nice job if you could get it but it all had to be paid for.

Bolek soon wormed his way into the office and was left in charge of printing and sticking the labels on the packs. One day, minding his own business printing labels, the driver or gang master burst in and started shouting at Bradley junior and at the old man. He had every right because the workers were refusing to show up since they never knew if they were going to get paid or not that day. He told the Bradley’s in no uncertain terms that he had given up on them and would be working for another outfit and stormed out slamming the door to boot. This altercation brought in the wife and daughter and it ended up in a real family scrap with everybody blaming each other for the problem. They had quotas to fulfil and contracts to meet otherwise they would be charged huge penalty fees and they had no workers. As the apt saying goes, ‘They couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery.’ Bolek had had enough of this and stopped the shouting dead by dropping a pack of labels on the floor with a crashing noise. They stopped their shouting and gazed at him. In pidgin English, he explained that he could get workers for them using their van normally used for transporting workers to the fields. The old man grasped the bull by the horns and chased the others out and agreed terms with Bolek.

Bolek drove the van to the lay-by and was met by a group of workers who had missed out on the first and second selections and were hoping that a late van would come to get extra hands. They were in luck as Bolek filled the van with men and women. Standing room only! He wrote a sign which listed the terms of employment mainly the hourly rate, guaranteed hours paid and the deductions. By all accounts the terms seemed generous and he had an eager van load of workers whose lucky number had come up. A quick visit to the supermarket for a trolley dash to get provisions for lunch and they reached the farm by ten o’clock. Jobs were assigned and the production wheezed to a start. Both Bradley junior and the old man were visibly relieved. Bolek sent Bradley junior to supervise the picking whilst he supervised the packing shed. He calculated the wage size and sent the old man to the bank. Fortunately, the young wife had fallen into a huff and had rushed off shopping with her daughter to spend her own money this time.

At the end of the day Bolek gave each worker his pay packet which stated exactly what he was entitled to and the deductions. He also gave them a printed card which ensured they would get a job next day if they turned up at seven o’clock at the lay by. By the end of the week, production had geared up to a satisfactory level and the workers had even time to clean up the machinery and clean themselves up before being transported back to Peterborough. Bolek would park the van at the farm and cycle five miles to his palatial accommodation in the pigsty at an adjoining farm.

After a few weeks Bolek became the General Manager, not in title but everyone referred to him and all business decisions were left to him. Bradley junior was promoted to his level of capability and became Transport Manager whose only role was to truck the daily packed produce to the main distribution centre and then ship the workers to and from their field duties. He was even quite competent at that and even started to gain some job satisfaction. The old man or grandpa took on a serious role of following Bolek about and regaling him with past experiences in a monologue, occasionally getting a ‘Tak, tak’ in response. Apart from his money collecting duties the old man had never been happier, seeing his business prosper again and occasionally would fall into a deep slumber on a comfy armchair in the office. Bolek had appointed a broad-shouldered Latvian as supervisor of the field workers and a Ukrainian woman as supervisor in the packing sheds. No one argued with the burly Latvian and all were scared stiff of the Ukrainian. She would have been a prime candidate for a guard at a prison camp. She ruled the roost and Bolek had to intervene on a number of occasions when she got too bossy. Bolek held the trump card of hiring and firing if she crossed the line he set.

One day a rep called from a large agricultural contractor and made his pitch to Bradley junior and the old man whilst Bolek was preparing the sandwiches for the workers lunch, seemingly ignored. The salesman was selling the service of checking soil condition, soil preparation, drilling, fertilising, weeding and bringing the crop to maturity ready for picking with guaranteed yields. Sounded too good to be true because the current practice on the farm seemed very much hit and miss and Bolek’s knowledge of crop cultivation was limited to lawn management, so he eaves dropped with interest. Having finished his spiel the salesman awaited a response and all he got was much sucking of teeth and shaking of heads which was fortunate because he had left the best to the last. Seeing a noncommittal response the rep put on the table his trump card which was a free survey and full report on the state of the farm and fields. Even this fell on conservative ears as Bradley junior stuttered some garbled response and the old man looked on bewildered.

Bolek saved the day by making eye contact with Bradley junior who suddenly realised who was the real boss and decision maker around here even though he was making sandwiches and referred the salesman to Bolek. Bolek wiped his hands on the apron and shook hands with the amazed salesman, banged his chest and announced ‘Bolek.’ He picked up the literature, gave it a quick glance and announced ‘Tak!’ then pointed at the calendar on the wall and asked ‘When?’ The salesman was taken aback but took his cue from Bradley junior and the old man who both were nodding their heads, pleased that they hadn’t had to make any decisions. The salesman gave them a date when the survey would be done and the report completed pointing at the calendar to the dates as if he was dealing with a child. He got a shock when Bolek brought the survey forward by a week and the report by three weeks. Bolek got back to his sandwich making as the salesman completed his pleasantries and went off rather bewildered and probably feeling somewhat sheepish in not determining at the outset who was the main decision maker of this outfit.

The report arrived on time and an appointment made for a meeting. Bolek read the report from cover to cover at home in his pigsty, making notes and digesting the contents. The report was very thorough and pulled no punches. It basically said that the agricultural practises on the farm were out of date and the soil management techniques non-existent and that the farm was being run on less than forty per cent of its potential. This wasn’t much of a surprise to Bolek but other than operating the picking and packing he had no experience of agriculture but he knew how to manage projects from his former career.

The meeting was held in the main farmhouse in the large dining room with the big table. First time that Bolek had ventured into this hallowed territory. Bradley junior and grandpa sat on one side and the salesman, his surveyor and the Managing Director sat on the other. Bolek chose neutral territory by sitting at one end. He looked quite incongruous and out of place with his peculiar green cap, gaudy sweater and sporting a Stalinesque bushy moustache. Even his wife wouldn’t have recognised him as John Whatley. The salesman made the introductions with special reference to Bolek and both the surveyor and MD eyed him up and down with interest, sitting there with a green cap and lurid sweater. The MD gave a quick and concise introduction to his Company and handed over to the surveyor.

The surveyor started going through his report. Every now and again Bolek coughed lightly to catch his attention and gestured with his arms for him to expand or explain a point in more detail. As the surveyor continued, more and more his comments were being addressed to Bolek rather than the Bradleys. He obviously saw that Bolek’s report was highlighted and annotated. Only Bolek was taking notes in a scribble on the side of the report. The surveyor began taking the cue from Bolek and missing out sections of the report, concentrated on the bits that Bolek had highlighted. When they got to the recommendations, which were quite numerous, the light coughs and expanding gestures got more frequent. They eventually finished the report and the surveyor asked for further questions but there weren’t any from the Bradley’s and since Bolek hadn’t said a word throughout the proceedings it didn’t seem proper to ask him.

They then went into the various options they had on offer and trials that they could carry out. The surveyor went through them all without interruption and at the end looked at the Bradleys for some response. They in turn just turned to Bolek, who took out his marker pen, leant over and ringed six sections of the surveyor’s report and marked them one to six in priority order. The MD was taken aback that so much of the report was being accepted whilst the surveyor beamed at a job well done. Bolek produced a girly calendar, startling the visitors and pointed out the start dates for the various projects and trials. He then produced a completed contract that had been enclosed in the report and handed it to the MD to peruse. Certain elements had been crossed out but all the main points were there. The MD nodded in agreement and Bolek handed the contract to the Bradleys to sign, to their concern. They had to be encouraged with a few utterances of ‘Tak, Tak’ from Bolek, who then got up and left.

An agricultural expert was assigned to them who almost lived on the farm during the trial period. He would check the soil for temperature and nutrients, recommend the corrective fertiliser dose and a contractor would come and apply it. Same for the ploughing and drilling so that the Bradleys could sit back and concentrate on the picking and packing. When a contractor needed labour then Bolek would supply it at an enhanced rate and the surplus would go into the farm profits. Bolek guaranteed ten hours of work a day minimum and if there were spare hours the workers would do farm maintenance so that gradually the farm started looking shipshape rather than a smelly junk yard. All farms seem to have a graveyard for their junk and this one was no exception. The Bradley’s appointed the old stable block and yard for this function. Gradually the area was cleared to the delight of a local scrap merchant. Now that contractors were tilling the fields, Bolek sold off all the unused farm machinery after it was first made serviceable and then sent off to a farm auction. There were numerous surplus tractors, combine harvesters, ploughs, drills and much other machinery that Bolek didn’t know the use of. This fetched a tidy sum which offset the bank overdraft and cleared out a number of machine sheds.

One day the spoiled daughter, Lucinda, rushed into the office with some demands and orders and saw Bolek making up sandwiches. She was obviously hungry and asked or demanded a sandwich. Bolek looked sternly at her and uttered more words in English than any one had heard from him, “You eat, you make.” To his surprise Lucinda didn’t blink an eye but just washed her hands donned an apron and pushed Bolek aside and started making sandwiches, without a murmur. They were far daintier and more appetising than the ones Bolek made. He was assigned the task of clearing up and putting things back in the fridge. She grabbed a sandwich, took a bite and was off. After that she was there making sandwiches daily with no prompting and took on the ordering of provisions from the caterer that delivered to the farm. Bolek had lost a job but he was pleased that the daughter had shown a bit of willingness to help in the family firm.

A full year had swiftly gone by and Bolek was quite content. The farm business was doing well with the agricultural contractors being a massive success. The cultivated yield had doubled and was reaching some sixty percent of its potential and everybody was pleased. The agricultural expert Ernie, was almost a permanent resident at the farm, arriving in time for a sandwich and cup of tea and then updating the charts and plans. The farm had also become a show piece for other farmers wanting to be convinced. Bolek had nothing to do with that. The old man took over this duty and showed them around and Amanda Bradley would offer them an exquisite lunch, even though she still had a chip on her shoulder about Bolek. The packing production under Olga ‘the guard’ was running under capacity and one of Bradley junior’s new tasks was to go to the local farms or wholesalers and truck in more produce which more than trebled in value once packed and labelled. Bolek had Bradley junior sack the accountant suggested by the bank and switch to one Ernie recommended. He immediately attacked their bank with gusto over the crippling charges. Lucinda ‘the spoilt,’ as Bolek labelled her, suddenly decided to take over the label printing and telephone duties and make herself even more useful around the office.

Bolek still got up early at six and cycled to the farm to pick up the now brand-new minibus and drove it to the lay-by to pick up workers every morning. He was now one of the elite drivers and was therefore surrounded by a crowd of potential workers waving fivers at him to be selected by him for work. He usually took pity on one or two and guaranteed them work for a week. He was the one to swagger up to the café for a mug of sweet tea and a bacon butty even though he felt cheated.

One day the greasy chef was in his foulest mood and swore and cursed the immigrants, threatening them with the BNP and the Police. Bolek had enough of him and spread the word for all to boycott the café. Even the other drivers had had enough and agreed. Next morning the workers arrived and called in at the nearby supermarket for sandwiches and drinks for their breakfast. They stood around the stall and munched away happily ignoring the jibes of the greasy chef. Anyone approaching the stand was warned off. The second day the jibes turned to angry threats, shouts of abuse and lots of foul sign language.

On the third morning the chef had realised that his takings had dwindled to nothing and the workers were still standing around laughing at his predicament. The jibes turned to pleas and offers of extra fillings and free cups of tea. One of the elite gang-masters took the bull by the horns and approaching the chef, laid out a series of demands. First of all, he had to take down all the BNP flags and stickers, wear a long-sleeved clean shirt to cover his provocative tattoos, wear a clean apron, sell full portions exactly as he did to the truck drivers and lastly the gang-masters and drivers were to get a free cup of tea and bacon butty, nothing too extravagant, only a request for good service. On the fourth morning there was a complete turnaround and the greasy chef was transformed. He even covered up his aggressive hair style with a chef’s white hat. His business was brisk from then on.

The clear up operation at the farm was progressing at a quick pace particularly with the stable block where one partition had been converted to an elegant office area, a small kitchen area and canteen area in the second and the outer stable was converted into a locker room for the field workers with a couple of showers and a washing machine and drier. The adjoining two stables seem to be untouched, only the yard had been repaved and new separating walls built on the outside to fence it off from the farmyard as such. On one particular lunch time, one of the key workers came into the office and stuck his thumb up to Bolek who immediately tapped Lucinda on the shoulder and beckoned her to follow them. The worker led the way through the little gate in the new wall and towards the old wing of the stable block. He gave Lucinda a large key and Bolek signed for her to open the stable doors. She was astounded and speechless with what she saw. The inside had been converted and upgraded to two stalls, a tack room,  storage room for fodder and a loft for the hay bales and straw. She screamed and jumped for joy, kissing Bolek on both cheeks and dancing around with the young worker. She could now stable her two horses close to the farmhouse and reach the paddock through the old orchard. What she hadn’t bargained for was that Bolek had designs on her paddock for other uses but that would come later.

With the long hours, Bolek was managing to clear over a thousand pounds a week especially with his tips and other money-making schemes. Since he paid no tax, rent and his breakfast and lunch all found, only a dinner to find, he was accumulating a nice little pot in his Post Office savings account. Since all the workers were paid in cash daily, he would pop out to the local post office and deposit his takings. Since most of the workers had difficulty finding time to get to a post office to send money back home, Bolek would do that for them, charging them a couple of quid for the privilege. This soon turned into quite a business and he would be taking thousands of pounds to the local village Post Office for sending abroad. He would be given some twenty to thirty envelopes each morning at the lay-by plus some more from his own workers. The old man didn’t relish the task of going to the bank each day, having read in the daily tabloid the number of muggings and thefts about so it was arranged that Bolek would take over even that task. Bolek quickly realised that he had more than the daily wage packet in the envelopes so rather than taking the money to the Post Office he would use this to make up the daily pay and use the Farm Debit card to pay for the transactions, saving the farm enormous bank charges. Every now and again Bolek would transfer odd sums of his own money to his children’s trust fund, making it appear like a dividend payout.

Life became a routine for Bolek. Up early to pick up the workers, check the mail, sign off agreements with the agricultural contractor, decide on what other farm work needed doing to use up any spare hours, post office duties and return the workers back to town. He would then drive to the leisure complex, have a swim, shower, shave and change into clean clothes. He would then drive back to the farm to pick up his bike and cycle to the pub on the crossroads halfway between the farm and his pigsty lodgings. At the pub he would order a pint of the local brew and a bar meal and read the paper in his usual corner, undisturbed by the locals. Since it was past the rush hour for meals by the time he ordered, his meal was brought out by the lady chef called by the locals, ‘Trim little Betty,’ an attractive lady who stayed late to finish the books and prepare for the next day. No one flirted with ‘Trim little Betty’ since her husband had been a prop forward for a major rugby club. He would collect her now and again and apparently was into a bit of wife beating when he had one over the odds at the bar.

One evening Bolek left the ten pounds for the meal on the tray as Betty collected it, finished the paper, nodded a good-by to the locals, mostly farmers and a couple of off duty policeman and went off to collect his bike. There, outside was the huge rugby player slapping his wife about in the car park. She was trying to push him off and he was just getting more violent. Bolek didn’t want to get involved in a brawl in which he would get the worse off but he couldn’t stand by and watch. Instead, he came up behind the man and gave him a massive rabbit punch behind the right ear with an empty wine bottle.  The husband collapsed to the ground unconscious and in a heap to the tarmac. Betty then took advantage of the situation and got her own back by kicking and stamping all over her husband in a frenzy. It took her husband six weeks to recover from the injuries before he could go back to work. Bolek pulled Betty off eventually and they both bundled him into the front of Betty’s estate car. Betty, having been so worked up over the revenge, then dragged Bolek to her car and he was given pudding on the back seat and extras to follow. Pudding became the norm after that either at the pub or down the lane in the back of Betty’s estate car. Mr. Rugby Man never molested Betty again after she threatened that ‘the boys in the pub’ would repeat the performance if she was harmed again.

In the second year of contracting, the agricultural experts were successfully managing all the technicalities on the farm. Bolek was more than peeved by the fact that every month, one of the truckloads of packed vegetables were rejected by the supermarket distribution centre that they were supplying, particularly that their volume and quality had leapt up by leaps and bounds. He was even more ‘pissed off’ when he found out that Bradley junior was handing the manager there a monthly brown envelope full of money. Bradley whimpered that it was common practice of all suppliers to maintain their contract for the next year. Bolek ordered Bradley junior to ‘Bring back next rejected load!” in a threatening manner. It happened in a week’s time when the load was trucked back and Bradley junior went off to be placated by his wife at the thought of the consequences of his daring action. Sure enough, midmorning there was an expected phone call from the Distribution Director.

“Gurnley here, put me through to Bradley!” shouted an angry voice down the phone as Bolek took the phone into the inner office and closed the door.

“Hello Mr. Gurnley, Mr. Bradley gone to crapper. Bolek here.”

“Get me Bradley on the line straight away Bollocks!” screamed Gurnley.

“No Mr. Gurnley, Bolek, ‘Beh, Oh, Leh, Eh, Keh,’ Bolek,” said Bolek settling himself down on the office chair and putting his feet up on the desk.

“Now listen here Bollocks, get me Bradley I don’t care where he is. He’ll be shitting himself when I finished with him! What possessed him to take the load back this morning?” shouted Gurnley.

“No Mr. Gurnley, you reject, Mr. Bradley bring back,” answered Bolek with a smile as he settled down to enjoy this telephone conversation. “Mr. Bradley say he sell to Marks and Sparks, good money.”

“He can’t do that. We have an exclusive contract. I’ll have his guts for garters over this,” yelled Gurnley getting even more exasperated.

“Vot is? Vot is ‘Exclusive’ Mr Gurnley?” asked Bolek enjoying his victim being worked up even further.

“No need for you to concern yourself about that Bollocks. Call Bradley, get him on the phone now, quick!” yelled Gurnley.

“He call you ‘Thieving Bastard’ Mr. Gurnley,” added Bolek with a smirk as the recipient had apoplexy and before Gurnley could recover and reply, “Mr. Gurnley, I have Mr. Hartley. He want talk to you.”

“James Hartley here, from Hartley, Hartley and Kitchin. I’m here from our Londonoffice to collect monies owing on behalf of Butlers the Packing Plant Engineers,” said a posh voice in a very polite but firm manner.

“What’s this got to do with me?” answered Gurnley more cautiously.

“It has everything to do with you Mr. Gurnley, everything! We have checked the accounts here and find a monthly discrepancy of a delivery that you haven’t paid for. Can you explain this element Mr. Gurnley?”

“That’s exactly what I’m phoning Bradley for right now. I rejected his delivery this morning as substandard,” answered Gurnley, raising his voice again.

“Now Mr Gurnley, in the past you have rejected loads and still sold them on to the public. We have proof of packing wrappers obtained from a variety of your retail outlets. How do you explain this? Are you selling substandard products now Mr. Gurnley?”

“I can explain all that. There must have been a mistake at the depot.”

“I hope you do have an explanation Mr. Gurnley. You seem to have many and regular mistakes at your depot Mr. Gurnley. I expect you to sign off the receipts and allow payment of the last six deliveries you rejected so we can recover our moneys.”

“Now I’m not sure I can do that!” retorted Gurnley.

“I’m sure you can and will Mr. Gurnley. I am in the process of writing to your Managing Director, Department of Trading Standards and copying your Association. I understand that this is your common practice affecting all of your suppliers.”

“You can’t prove anything. What do you call yourself again?” came a more frightened reply.

“It’s James Hartley and you can expect a call from the Inland Revenue to check if you have declared the monthly cash in brown envelopes you have received from all of your suppliers. Goodbye Mr. Gurnley and have a good day,” said Bolek as he replaced the receiver smiling and pulled forward the keyboard to write the aforementioned letters to the MD and the Tax man.

Gurnley was sacked and was under investigation by the Inland Revenue and the Fraud Squad. The local farmers had an unexpected windfall as the Distribution Centre paid up hush money to the farmers for their past rejected loads. The malpractice was stopped for a while anyway.

When the weather deteriorated in the Autumn and the work on the farm slackened off, Bolek would take ten days of unpaid holiday, feigning he was visiting his family. He would catch a bus to Luton Airport and meet up with Betty who was ‘holidaying’ with the sister she never had. Bolek would buy shirts, slacks and shoes at the airport shops and stuff his own everyday cloths into his old holdall. Both Betty and Bolek would travel on the same plane independently to Tenerife where they had booked a luxury villa. There Betty handed out Bolek lots of pudding, afters and sweet and in between they would sun themselves on their private terrace and occasionally cool off in their private pool. On return from their ordeal, they would part company at the airport, Bolek changing back into his usual gear and ditching the holiday garb and life continued as normal.

One night as Bolek was finishing his meal at the pub and wondering whether he would be getting his pudding that night, a group of loud men arrived in their Mini Cooper. Hooray Henries from ‘Up Town’ the locals called them. Bolek finished his meal and Betty collected his tray indicating that pudding wouldn’t be on the menu that night. Bolek finished his beer in a gulp, nodded a farewell to the locals and went out to get his bike. The local policeman happened to follow Bolek out about twenty minutes later and would often pass him cycling on the verge, on his way home. Often gave him a friendly toot on the horn. This time he spotted a bicycle sticking out on the road and Bolek, covered in blood, lying on the verge. He also spotted tyre marks leading off the road onto the verge and back onto the road. He stopped, phoned for an ambulance and immediately went to see what aid he could give Bolek. Bolek was unconscious and bleeding. Rather than wait for an ambulance he decided that getting him to A&E was of utmost importance. He carefully lifted him into the back of his car, wrapped him in his coat and screeched off with siren and light going, full pelt to the hospital. On the way he warned the A&E and also put a call out to stop any Mini Cooper and retain the four men inside and charge them with ‘Hit and Run.’

Mrs. Whatley, the Senior Consultant at the new extension of Luton Hospital, specialising in head injuries, was doing her rounds with the usual entourage of junior Doctors and Medical students.

“Sister, show me the new patient brought in this morning first of all. Now Dr. Stanley can you read out his case notes before we discuss the patient’s proposed care in detail. Loud and clear please Dr. Stanley.”

“Boleslaw Kowal, locally known as ‘Bolek,’ an immigrant worker from Poznan, Poland, worked for the last four and a half years at Bradley Farms near Peterborough as a General Manager. Notes say he was well respected but quite taciturn and kept to himself. No known abode or lodgings. His passport and all of his papers including his driving licence and ID card were forged and his next of kin have therefore not been informed. A Post Office savings book only showed address of the Post Office he used in the village nearby, so was of no help. He was knocked off his bike in a hit and run incident. The culprits apprehended. He was received at the Peterborough A&E with major cuts and bruises to the face and chest. Left arm dislocated and left femur fractured. A blow to the head from the fall has left him with a slight fracture but x-rays and MRI scan show only superficial internal damage. He has been in a coma for the last four weeks and therefore referred to this unit.”

“Thank you, Dr. Stanley, for the precise précis of the report, very good. Now let’s take a closer look at Bolek, our new patient. Nurse, wait a minute, Nurse! Give me those X-rays again. Look, here is a previous fracture of the pelvis. Nurse, just pull back the sheet for me and check the patients left knee cap. Is there a ‘Y’ shaped old scar on his left kneecap? There it is! This is not Bolek or Boleslaw Kowal as he calls himself! This is John, John Whatley, my husband!”