In the last few months there have been a spate of garden
based burglaries in the street and this week saw another one. I say spate but
up until now there had only been two, but people don’t describe burglaries in
terms of duos, do they? I also don’t think they are referred to as a spate when
only one person has been burgled, that person being Reg.
It started with an old wheelbarrow that for some reason
he’d left in his front garden overnight, it contained a few plants ready to be
potted up and some manure. The burglar clearly had no need for these garden
goodies and had upturned the contents onto the border and made off with the
barrow. Reg was fuming, he discovered his loss the next morning as he headed
off for the daily paper and his ranting and shouting woke me from my
slumber.
‘Well beggar me, Margaret, come and look at this, some
blighter’s had me barrow. Margaret, Margaret, can you hear me, we’ve been
burgled.’
Margaret hurried to the front door, I think more to try to
shut Reg up than to commiserate with his loss. The absence of a phone in her
hand seemed to antagonise him more.
‘Well, have you rung the police, can’t you see we’ve been
victims of crime? You need to get a move on woman the first 24 hours are crucial.’
‘The police? Do you really think that’s necessary, I mean,
it was only a wheelbarrow.’
I thought his head would explode, this was causing more
anguish than Ken’s bush.
‘It’s not what was taken Margaret, it’s the effect it’s had
on me, look at my garden, manure and plants strewn all over, I feel violated
Margaret and no mistake. I want action taken and I want compensation.’
I can report that the police had no interest whatsoever, I
think mainly due to the small value of the item in question, although they did
send a victim support worker a few days later to make sure Reg was ok. I
felt very sorry for that poor woman, she appeared to be a well-meaning
volunteer with the intention of doing her bit for society. If she’s still
volunteering now I’ll be amazed, Reg sent her away with such a large flea in
her ear that she would have needed the help of a vet to dislodge it.
The wheelbarrow was spotted a week or so later in someone’s
garden a few streets away, being used as a hen house, Reg did knock but the owner
said he had found it in a skip, and as it had a hole in the side to provide a
doorway for the chickens, he decided to let it drop.
The next thing that went missing was a bra off of
Margaret’s washing line, it was a pink lacy affair, not quite the underwear
you’d imagine for her, but someone other than her and Reg had clearly decided
it was to their liking. It had been a windy night so the surrounding gardens
were searched but to no avail. Reg again had phoned the police but as
previously they were not interested and with his words of anger he did add a
request not to have the victim support worker appear again (I imagine she was extremely
relieved).
This week it was Norman the Gnome. It stands in Regs’ front
garden, a solitary figure without friends, I think it was a present from one of
his grandchildren and although I have heard him claim to hate it, he is always
very complimentary about it in front of them. The problem is, this is not the
first time Norman has gone missing, in fact it is year three. The first year he
was gone from May till July, being returned one night as mysteriously as when
he disappeared, the second year he went from May till August and this time he
sent a postcard of himself relaxing on a boat. The rest of the street found
this highly amusing but Reg remained unmoved, this year however he was raging.
‘Is this all a joke Margaret, is someone tormenting me on purpose? And if so, why? What have I done to deserve this? D’you think its Micky the meat from the market?’
Margaret remained tight lipped on the subject and I don’t blame her, but why Micky the meat would want to get involved in rearranging Regs garden equipment is a mystery to me.
‘Is this all a joke Margaret, is someone tormenting me on purpose? And if so, why? What have I done to deserve this? D’you think its Micky the meat from the market?’
Margaret remained tight lipped on the subject and I don’t blame her, but why Micky the meat would want to get involved in rearranging Regs garden equipment is a mystery to me.
I suppose the good news to report is that the bra did
finally turn up, in a tree in the churchyard, whether it had blown to its final
resting place or been thrown there by a high spirited joker remains to be seen,
but it has certainly been put to good use.