Burley Cross Postbox Theft (22 page)

Purchased by:   Paula Coombes – c/o Sharp Crag Farm, nr BC.

Amount paid:   £10

Upshot:            As I’m sure you can imagine, once Paula put up her hand for this lot nobody else had the heart to bid against her. Wincey hasn’t breathed a word about it herself (isn’t that just Wincey, though? So wonderfully sensitive and discreet?), but I was talking to someone (they shall remain nameless – discretion
is
my watchword) who happened to be dining in the pub on the day Paula went to claim her promise (okay – you twisted my arm, Prue… God, you’re so
good
at that! – it was Leonard Noble) and he told me – perfectly aghast – how her ‘mob’ ate poor Wincey out of house and home. He said it put him in mind of the time he was on safari in the Gobi Desert during the early 1970s and met up with a primitive clan of nomads who sacrificed a goat in his honour. Apparently they didn’t waste an inch of the creature, but consumed the
entire
animal – brain, eyes, ears, hooves, tail… (Do goats even
have
tails?) He said the Coombes family behaved in a comparable manner, even going so far as to range around the dining rooms like a flock of locusts, devouring leftovers and scraps from other diners’ abandoned plates. He said they licked
the crockery clean, and one of them – the littlest – even ate the decorative sprigs of parsley which the fish dishes were served with (and pronounced them ‘delicious’!). Oh yes, and they all talked – with their mouths full – throughout the meal, in unison, without interruption, and at a perfectly
deafening
volume. Leonard said the dining rooms were all but empty when they arrived and completely empty by the time they left. A uniform success, in other words.

LOT 5

Promise made:  Nick Endive at 1, The Old Cavalry Yard, The High Street, BC, promised a rare tour of the ‘Space Surveillance Centre’ at RAF Fylingdales (where he is currently employed).

Purchased by:   Nina Springhill, 7 Station Road, Ilkley (or c/o BC PO).

Amount paid:   £45

Upshot:            The tour took place a few weeks back and was accorded a ‘triumph’ by all parties (although I believe there was some difficulty with wheelchair access for Ms Springhill’s disabled beau).

LOT 6

Promise made:  Tilly Brooks from Threadbare Cottage, The Calls, promised to decorate a piece of white porcelain – of the purchaser’s choice – with one of her (I must say)
incredibly
beautiful flower paintings.

Purchased by:   PC Roger Topping, 17 Dean Street, Addingham (or c/o Ilkley Police Station).

Amount paid:   £95 (much to Tilly’s blatant horror/embarrassment/astonishment!)

Upshot:            I think this was a good result, overall, Prue. I know it took a huge amount of persuasion (on your part) to get Tilly to agree to auction some of her work, but the demand for it really was quite substantial! We even had a phone vote for this one: Joanna Jones, who resides part-time in BC at the Winter Barn, started the bidding off – from her studio in London – at £50. The bids then went up in £5 increments until, at £90, the phone line suddenly went dead and PC Topping (who turned up – out of breath – halfway through) was able to secure Tilly’s services for himself! Strange man, the PC. Grows on you, over time (rather like a mould, I suppose). Collects Staffordshire figures, you know. He once confided in me that his father – a manic depressive who died by his own hand when poor PC Topping was ‘naught but a lad’ – had worked for a short but blissful interlude as a painter in the Staffordshire Potteries. Some of PC Topping’s most prized pieces were subsequently bequeathed to him in his father’s will. I must confess that he has a surprisingly sophisticated eye for such a huge, apparently gormless lunk of a man. Ms Jones – by the by – is absolutely furious that she missed out. She gave me quite an earful on the subject when we met up, by chance, at Samson’s Electricals in Ilkley the other afternoon (somewhat
unnecessary, I felt… I mean am I now to be held responsible for the vagaries of technology on top of everything else?!).

LOT 7

Promise made:  Norma Spoot of 13, The Beck, BC (or c/o Choice Cut’s Butchers, The High Street, BC) promised one of her legendary sponges.

Purchased by:   Jonty Weiss-Quinn at Saxonby Manor.

Amount paid:   £12

Upshot:            Mr Weiss-Quinn bought the cake as a surprise for his wife Rosabella’s birthday (Rosabella wasn’t actually in attendance at the auction), but when Mr Weiss-Quinn confirmed the details with Norma afterwards, he idly let slip that Rosabella was severely gluten intolerant. Poor Norma was utterly horrified! Her ‘legendary’ sponge comes from a recipe that has been in her family for generations. As you will know (probably better than I, Prue), it is soft and light and very, very wheaty (it’s a
sponge
, for heaven’s sake!). What Mr Weiss-Quinn wanted, in effect, was Norma’s wonderful sponge cake but without its main, constituent ingredient. What he received was a delicious chocolate fridge cake made from dark chocolate, Kirsch, grated almonds and coconut (Norma apparently got the recipe from a gluten-free cake site after several thankless hours spent trawling around on the internet). The ‘sponge’ was delivered to the Manor on
Rosabella’s birthday, with due ceremony. Rosabella professed herself ‘delighted’ with it, ate a large, sticky slice and promptly began to gasp (it transpires that Rosabella is also chronically allergic to nuts!). The emergency doctor was called. A buttock-full of anti-histamines/adrenalin was injected. Rosabella’s eyes apparently swelled up ‘like a toad’s’ (the change was almost imperceptible, then. Ho ho!). A weekend trip to London’s Dorchester Hotel was cancelled, and the tickets they’d had booked for
Wicked
went to waste. (It was Rosabella’s fortieth – I was astonished when I found out. She always looks so effortlessly ‘well-preserved’ I had her down for fifty, at the very least!) The following day a curt card was sent to Norma (via the butcher’s), chastising her for not having informed them, in advance, that such a ‘toxic allergen’ had been ‘thoughtlessly included’ in the cake’s list of ingredients. Norma was understandably furious. ‘I mean what the heck did that pair of gormless idiots
think
the damn thing was made out of?’(she apparently said afterwards) ‘Gypsy teeth? Fairy eggs?
Elf
breath?!’ The Weiss-Quinns are now refusing to pay for the cake, ‘out of principle’, and Shayne Spoot, in turn, has unofficially ‘banned’ them from the shop.

LOT 8

Promise made:  Jeremy Baverstock of The Retreat promised a ‘no-holds-barred’, private guided tour of the legendary dungeons at Saxonby Manor (parties of up to ten people accepted).

Purchased by:   Emily and Duncan Tanner’s son, Ned Tanner (of 3, The Mead, Denby Lane, Fallow Hill) who happened to be visiting his parents in BC on the night of the auction (he’s currently resident in Bradford). It seems his daughter, Cherry (aged seven), is ‘obsessed by Vampires’, and Ned felt it might be useful to try and redirect this (somewhat baroque) fascination of hers in a more traditional, healthy, ‘historical’ direction. Ned is a truly sensitive and wonderful man. It never ceases to amaze me that he managed to turn out so well with such a crazed, hysterical blabber-mouth for a mother.

Amount paid:   £27

Upshot:            What the lovely Mr Jez Baverstock
didn’t
get around to telling us all was that he had neglected to acquire
permission
from the Weiss-Quinns for this wonderfully exciting tour of his. Somewhat perplexingly, Mr Jonty Weiss-Quinn was still in attendance at the auction when this lot was being bid for and yet didn’t see fit to save us all from a world of heartache by speaking up on the issue at the time. Instead he phoned Mr Baverstock afterwards and apparently gave him ‘a piece of his mind’ (it would have to be a small piece, Prue, because it’s a tiny mind. Not by
any
stretch of the imagination could we count Mr Jonty Weiss-Quinn among the world’s ‘intellectual mammoths’ – although he is, on occasion, quite a cunning little swine). Mr Baverstock professed himself ‘somewhat taken aback’ by Mr Weiss-Quinn’s ‘aggressive, not to say
uncharitable attitude’. He claimed that he had conducted ‘numerous’ tours of the dungeons during Lady Beatrix Morrison’s long residency at the Manor (she was ‘constantly pestering’ him to do them, apparently, and, when he did, she invariably tagged along on the tour parties herself because she found Mr Baverstock’s ‘fresh, historical perspective so utterly riveting’!). In fact the Weiss-Quinns were so unnecessarily spiteful and hostile towards Mr Baverstock (and his charitable scheme) that his suspicions were aroused and he promptly decided to conduct a small investigation into the matter using ‘a secret “contact” with ready access to the Manor’ (Sally Trident, I’m assuming. Doesn’t she polish their silver?). Using this ‘secret contact’, Mr Baverstock was soon able to discover that the Weiss-Quinns had actually converted the ancient dungeons into a luxury gym and pool room –
without acquiring the requisite planning permission!
Oh
-ho!
So what does Mr Baverstock do? How does he choose to
respond
to this shocking piece of information? But how
else
, Prue?!
Blackmail
, of course! He promises to keep their flagrant act of architectural vandalism under wraps if they, in turn, offer him public support over some convoluted rights of access issue he is currently engaged in relating to his small cottage – The Retreat – which is located inside the Manor’s extensive grounds.
And how am
I
privy to this information, Prue? Why, Mr Baverstock told me himself!
Bragged
about it, no less, when he phoned me up to tell
me that the tour was probably off, then airily offered the Tanners a guided walk around the church crypt instead (which – for the record – he hasn’t bothered asking Reverend Paul permission for, either!).
Ned Tanner has yet to get back to me on the matter.

LOT 9

Promise made:  Rhona Brooks of Threadbare Cottage promised to put her extensive horticultural skills to work by offering a basic, Winter Garden Overhaul to any resident of BC who felt their garden might currently be in need of one.

Purchased by:   The Jonty Weiss-Quinns at Saxonby Manor (yes, they
did
have a busy night, Prue. Sorry? What’s that strange and powerful
aroma
, you wonder? Could it be the pungent stench of
Noblesse Oblige
, perhaps? Or did someone just tread in a fresh cowpat?).

Amount paid:   £25

Upshot:            
God
. As soon as I even start to
think
about this situation, Prue, my blood literally begins to boil. I suppose this is because in the short time I have been living in Burley Cross I have developed a powerful admiration for the senior Ms Brooks, who strikes me as a fair and reasonable sort of female (not unlike yourself). Admittedly there’s always that gruff exterior to contend with (she can be a fearful old battle-axe), but underneath it – I’m convinced – beats
the kindest and most Christian of hearts. It is this very Christian heart of hers, I fear, that has allowed the superficially brusque and irascible Ms Brooks to fall prey to a false sense of ‘obligation’ to the Weiss-Quinns (which I feel sure is having a seriously deleterious effect on her physical and psychological well-being). When Ms Brooks promised a Winter Garden Overhaul at the auction, she surely can’t have had any inkling that the garden she would soon feel duty-bound to ‘overhaul’ would be one of over seven and a half acres (possessing 230-odd foot of yew hedges in desperate need of ‘work’). And all this for the princely sum of £25! While I don’t doubt that Ms Brooks’s constitution is relatively robust, she is hardly in the first flush of youth, and I have almost lost count of the number of times that I have chanced to see her in the Manor’s grounds (on my daily perambulations with darling Chloe), perched precariously atop a ladder, brandishing some shears, or trundling home through the village after dark, plainly exhausted, pushing her squeaking wheelbarrow full of tools. I have tried to talk to her about it, but she simply brushes me off. ‘I like to think I’m as good as my word, Mr St John,’ is all she’ll volunteer on the issue. I’ve also had several
‘tête-à-têtes’
with the Weiss-Quinns, but they treat my interference with the standard combination of fastidious hauteur and lofty amusement. ‘Oh, but Rhoda just
loves
to potter around the grounds all day,’ they say, or – worse still – ‘We’re sure she’d be
dreadfully
offended if we asked her to stop before she’s completed the job.’

For the record:  their old, full-time gardener, George Swinbourne, retired in June, after fifty years’ service, without a proper send-off. And they
still
haven’t forked up the £25 yet.

LOT 10

Promise made:  Mrs Tirza Parry (widow) at Hursley End, Lamb’s Green, promised a piece of her handmade jewellery to be ‘created, to order’.

Purchased by:   Mr Conan Hopkiss Jnr, 111 Wellington Drive, Denver, Colorado.

Amount paid:   £2,175

Upshot:            Yes, Prue, I know. Utterly, utterly bizarre. But then it gets still stranger!
All of the promises for the auction were listed (by yourself) on the BC Village website for ten or so days before the auction took place (‘to give people a general idea of the kinds of things that were up for grabs’).
Towards the end of this ten-day period (just after you left), an email was received, from America, offering £2,175 for Lot 10, sight unseen! Well, initially I thought there must have been some kind of a mistake (I swear I thought she made those awful monstrosities out of Play-Doh!), or that this was simply a cruel prank. So I got back to Mr Hopkiss Jr myself (online) and it transpired that he was a ‘keen collector’ of Mrs Parry’s work and extremely determined that the new ‘piece’ should be his! I didn’t mention this extraordinary communication to
anyone, thinking it would be more exciting to announce the bid on the night in front of a live audience. This was a mistake on my part – a big mistake. I made the announcement – to audible gasps (and the odd snigger, naturally) – then was astonished when Mrs Parry stood up on hearing the bidder’s name (and seeing his cheque, which he had already sent, sure in the knowledge that his bid wouldn’t be bettered), declaring that Mr Hopkiss Jr was ‘a pest’, and that it was ‘inconceivable’ that she should make a piece of work for him. She then turned to the assembled mass and asked, ‘Isn’t anybody going to make me a better offer?’
Silence. ‘For a Tirza Parry original?’
she exclaimed (as though perfectly astonished by their reticence). I tried to move things along (as auctioneer) by suggesting to Mrs Parry that we might ‘discuss the issue afterwards’. This we did. Mrs Parry remained adamant. It seems that Mr Conan Hopkiss Jnr has been collecting Mrs Parry’s work for several years, and that his appetite for it is so great that he has effectively ‘hoovered it all up’ from the market – something Mrs Parry seemed to find deeply objectionable. In fact she repeated this phrase – ‘hoovered it all up!’ – with expansive gestures several times in her odd, Bulgarian accent, while stamping her white, cowboy-booted foot (I must confess that I find the woman absolutely terrifying). I asked her if she would just ‘think about it’ for a few days, and reminded her that the auction was ‘for charity, after all’. Her immediate response was to tell me to ‘drop dead’ and then to storm out of the hall! She has refused to speak to me
ever since.
Twice
, she has slammed her door in my face! After the auction I had taken the precaution of giving the cheque to Wincey (our lovely Treasurer) for safekeeping, but as my confidence in bringing Mrs Parry around began to falter I asked for it back (intent on returning it). Wincey then confessed that she had already
banked
the damn thing, naively believing that Mrs Parry would ‘inevitably feel morally obliged to fulfil her promise’. I have consequently put Reverend Paul on the case (although I don’t hold out much hope – I believe Mrs Parry is a passionate atheist). He has promised to visit Mrs Parry this very evening, so I just hope and pray some good will come out of his intervention.