Don't Get Me Wrong

© Tony Holkham 1977

My original text is on the left, and the text that was published in the Evening News on the right. Spot the differences!

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Don't get me wrong

It had rained a little the night before and the grass was soft beneath the tall man's suede shoes. He was clean-shaven, and he walked between the half-erected sideshows clicking his fingers constantly as if in time to some sombre tune in his head. Transferring his portable tape-recorder to his right hand, he waved at an old man who sat on the steps of a large caravan.

"Excuse me," said the tall man. "Where can I find the boss?"

The old man didn't look up, but prodded the stem of his pipe in the direction of a white Jaguar. "Thanks," said the tall man. He walked over to the car. Sat in its shade were two men, discussing what looked to be a plan of the fairground. They looked up. The tall man hesitated for a moment, but they were used to that. Identical twins are always given a second glance. "Which of you is the boss?" he asked quietly. One of them stood up. "I am. What can I do for you?"

The tall man held out his hand. "My name's Gardiner…" he pronounced every letter clearly "…and I wondered if I could have half an hour of your time. I thought you might not be too busy at this time of day…" The seated twin suppressed a snigger. The boss took the offered hand, but did not offer a name. "I'm busy all the time, mate," he said, "but what d'you want me for?"

"Well, I'm a writer, and I want to write a novel about a fair. I wanted a bit of information, not much."

"Ten minutes," said the boss, turning away. "This way." Gardiner followed him into a large, dated caravan, and lowered himself carefully into the offered armchair. He put his recorder on the table. "D'you mind?" "No."

Gardiner switched on the machine and sat back. "Let me tell you the plan I've thought out. The chief thief…" Gardiner smiled at his own rhyme "…let's call him Smith - cases the fairground on the first night of a two night stand. He watches the money being taken and sees how it's put away, notes separate. He sees eight generators, all diesel, all uncovered, presumably to aid cooling. It will be easy, the fuel pipes are exposed. They will be cut, all eight, simultaneously. In the ensuing chaos, the eight men will attack a number of pre-determined sideshows - the biggest money-takers, of course - and make themselves scarce. They will take, say, twenty thousand in ten minutes. Equipment needed for the job: one pair of pliers each." Gardiner smiled for the second time. It was not returned. "Now," he said, clicking his fingers softly, "can I ask you some questions? The boss nodded, slowly. Gardiner pulled out a small pad and referred to it. "First, how many generators have you got?"

"Eight."

"Oh." Gardiner raised an eyebrow, and smiled. "All diesel?"

"Yes."

"Do you post any guards - I suppose it's probable you won't want to answer that one?"

"Too right."

"Would it be possible to pinch twenty thousand, in notes or 50ps, in 10 minutes?"

The boss frowned momentarily. "I'm not answering that either."

"Oh. That makes it a bit difficult for me. I suppose I'll just have to assume it's possible, and that you don't post guards on the generators. You have too many sideshows to man and not enough trustworthy people. Is that realistic?"

"I suppose it'd be realistic to them who read the book." The boss leaned forward. "People don't know much about us entertainment fellas, and don't want to."

Gardiner nodded. "What about backup generators? If they all failed at once?"

"Your Mr Smith could find that out for himself if he looked around, so no harm in telling you. The answer is yes, usually. If one generator went out we could share the load out, but we can't afford to cart spare ones around with us."

"OK. Now for the next stage. Getting away. How soon d'you reckon before the police are called? Do your cashiers know their way around the site in the dark?"

"Damn well ought to."

"So you think ten minutes is reasonable before the police get organised?"

"No idea, mate."

"Oh." Gardiner paused for a few moments. "Anyway, something might go wrong. They might have to create a diversion. Perhaps a bomb hoax call to the station, or a pub down in the town. Or even set fire to part of the fair." The tall man waited for a reaction, but got an impassive stare. "Not funny, no. Are the sideshow covers fireproofed?"

The boss shook his head, very slowly. Gardiner continued: "If all the power was out, would anyone on the roundabouts or anything get hurt?"

"Maybe. If they panicked."

"Mm. That would give you some trouble wouldn't it, though?" "Maybe." The fairground boss stood up abruptly. "Look, I can't stop any longer. Hell of a lot to do."

Gardiner stood up as well. "OK. Thanks for your help anyway. Mind if I have a look round?" The boss looked at him sharply. "Help yourself, mate."

"Thanks. Oh, and when I find a publisher, I'll let you know. I'm sure you'd like to buy a copy?"

"That depends. Don't get much time for reading."

"No. Well, thank you again." Gardiner allowed the boss to precede him through the door, whereupon the latter turned sharply back towards the Jaguar. He sat down quickly beside his twin, his face tight with anger. "What's up?" asked his brother.

"Another one of them swines. Smart this one. Maybe too smart. The day I need protection is the day I quit." The boss looked squarely at his twin. "He said he was going to have a look round. You better go and look after him. Fairgrounds are dangerous places."

(Approx. 950 words, expanded to 1100 for Evening News)

The tall man in the suede shoes clicked his fingers constantly as he walked between the half-erected sideshows.

Transferring his tape-recorder to his right hand, he waved at an old man who sat on the steps of a large fairground living wagon.

"Excuse me," said the tall man, "where can I find the boss - the riding master I think you call him?"

The old man didn't look up, but prodded the stem of his pipe in the direction of a white Jaguar, parked haphazardly among the fairground debris.

"Thanks," said the tall man. He walked over to the car. Sitting in its shade were two men, discussing what looked to be a plan of the fairground. They looked up.

The tall man hesitated for a moment, but they were used to that. Identical twins are always given a second glance. "Which of you is the boss?" he asked quietly.

One remained seated, a fixed grin on his face. The other stood up. "I am. What can I do for you?"

The tall man held out his hand. "My name's Gardiner…" he pronounced every letter clearly "…and I wondered if I could have just a few minutes of your time. I thought you might not be too busy at this time of day…"

The seated twin suppressed a snigger.

The boss took the offered hand but did not offer a name. "I'm busy all the time, mate, but what d'you want me for?"

"Well, I'm a writer. I'm writing a novel about fairground people - travellers I think is your word. I wanted a bit of information, not much."

The boss turned to his brother. "Get Ken to peg out the ride centres will you? And come back." He turned to Gardiner. "I can give you ten minutes. This way."

Gardiner followed him into a large living Orton living wagon with full-length Mollycroft and belly boxes. He sat down opposite the showman and put his recorder on the table. "D'you mind?" The boss shook his head. "Blast away."

The tall man switched on the recorder and pointed the microphone at the space between them.

"Let me tell you the plan I've thought out first. The chief thief…" Gardiner smiled at his own rhyme "…let's say he's called Smith, cases the fairground on the second night of a three-night stand.

"He sees the money counted and put away, notes separately. He sees eight generators, all diesel, all uncovered, presumably to assist cooling. It will be easy.

"The fuel pipes on all eight generators will be cut simultaneously. In the ensuing chaos the eight men will attack eight separate, pre-determined cash desks - the biggest money-takers, of course - and disappear separately.

"They will take, say, a couple of thousand pounds in ten minutes. Equipment needed for the job, one pair of pliers each."

Gardiner smiled for the second time. It was not returned. "Now," he said, clicking his fingers softly, "can I ask you some questions?" The showman nodded slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. Gardiner pulled out a small pad and referred to it. "First, how many generators have you got?"

"Eight."

"Oh." Gardiner raised an eyebrow and smiled. "All diesel?"

"Yes."

"Do you post any guards? I suppose it's probable you won't want to answer that one."

"Too right."

"Would it be possible to pinch two or three thousand quid in notes or fifty ps in ten minutes?"

The boss frowned momentarily. "Not answering that one either."

"Oh." Gardiner referred to his notebook. That makes it a bit difficult for me. I suppose I'll just have to assume it's possible and that you don't post guards on the generators. You have too many separate rides to man, and not enough trustworthy people. Is that realistic?"

"I suppose it would be realistic to the people who'll read your book." The showman leaned forward. "People don't know much about fair business and travellers, and don't want to."

Gardiner nodded. "What about back-up generators? If they all failed at once?"

"You could find that out for yourself if you looked around, so no harm in telling you. If one generator went out, we could spread the load, but we can't afford to cart spare generators around."

"Mm. So if they all went at once, what would you do? Would you try to repair them, or would you use some other temporary power - like car lights, for instance?"

"I'd be suspicious." The boss rubbed his neck. "I've never known two generators go in one night."

Gardiner waited for him to say more, but the boss just sat still, looking vaguely in his direction. Gardiner clicked his fingers. "Okay, now for the next stage. Getting away. How soon d'you reckon before the police were called?"

"No idea, mate."

"Oh." Gardiner paused for a moment. "Anyway, something might go wrong. The villains might create a diversion. Perhaps a bomb hoax call to the railway station or a pub in the town. Or even set fire to part of the fair."

Then: "Are the sideshow covers - tilts I think you call them - fireproofed?"

The boss shook his head, very slowly. Gardiner continued: "If all the power was out, would anyone on the roundabouts get hurt?"

"Maybe. If they panicked."

"Mm. That would give you some trouble wouldn't it, though?"

"Maybe." The fairground boss stood up abruptly.

Gardiner stood as well. "Okay. Thanks for your help anyway. Mind if I have a look round?" The boss looked at him sharply. "Help yourself, mate."

"Thanks. Oh, and when I find a publisher, I'll let you know. I'm sure you'd like to buy a copy?"

"That depends. Don't get much time for reading."

"No? Well thank you again." Gardiner allowed the boss to precede him through the door, whereupon the latter turned sharply back towards the Jaguar.

The showman sat down quickly beside his twin, his face tight with anger.

"What's up?" the brother asked.

"Another one of them protection swine. Smart this one. Maybe too smart. The day I need protection is the day I quit."

The showman looked squarely at his twin.

"He said he was going to have a look around. You'd better go and look after him. Fairgrounds are dangerous places."