THE COLONEL had been remarkably quiet for a few days, cogitated as to what steps he had to take to legitimately top-up his meagre financial resources. He walked along the south bank of the River Crabbe, stopping to watch the swans heading up stream and the coots scuttling across the water to hide in foliage in the opposite bank. He pondered the reason why so many men sat on the river bank. Many obscured by their tents were trying to catch fish that had no desire to commit suicide.
By midday, he’d thought of many ideas and then dismissed them. Finally, he headed for the Talbot to meet the other three, whom he called ‘his team’.
After some ten minutes of mono-symbolic conversation and still nursing his first pint, Reg tentatively enquired, "You alright?
You’re very quiet."
“No, no, everything is just fine. Doin’ some thinkin’.”
“Oh, that’s alright, then. Just thinkin’. Anything important, like?”
“Yeh, me future.”
“You ain’t got much of that left,” Lenny muttered.
“Maybe not,” the Colonel stood up with an empty pint jug in his hand. He looked at others’ almost-empty glasses. “Same again? It’s a choice. Stay honest and be miserable, or try one last heist, get banged up and see out me days in an environment I understand, or I find an honest way of earnin’ a few quid. Simple as that.” As the Colonel headed for the bar to get another round of drinks, Lenny questioned Reg.
“Ere, Reg, what’s an envirymunt thingy?”
"Well, yer know, environment, somewhere nasty or nice.
Yer surroundin’ and all that."
Lenny’s expression showed he wasn’t any wiser.
The Colonel returned, followed by the barman who delivered the drinks.
Jock opened the conversation with a slight chuckle to his voice. “Ye, tellin’ us that you’re thinkin’ about one last blagging and get banged up or yer take on somethin’ honest fer the first time in yer life.”
“That’s about spot on Jock,” the Colonel replied. He looked crestfallen when they all laughed. There was a short period of silence. Then, they chuckled at Lenny’s quip. “Good grief can society cope with an ’onest Colonel. Anyway, I’ve got an idea.” Reg was standing ready to leave. "Shock, horror, drama.
Lenny’s bin thinkin’ and’s gotta an idea."
Both the Colonel and Jock laughed at this outburst.
Unperturbed, Lenny continued, “What we need is a disguise. Somethin’ that’ll confuse ’em all.”
The Colonel queried, “OK, smarty. What’s this great idea? Pray tell us.”
Lenny took a deep breath. “We dress up as a bunch of gorillas, yer know, heavily disguised. No one would think it were us.”
Jock was the first to say anything, “I suppose you’ve got some gorilla gear ready for action.”
“Got five gorilla suits.”
The other three looked at each other until the Colonel took a deep breath and quietly asked, "You’ve got five gorilla suits?
Where did you get five gorilla suits from, the African jungle?
“Bought ’em from that music shop.”
Later, they walked into the Retreat. Lenny stopped. "Colonel, what about the robbery? Yer really plannin’ on goin’ honest, are yer?
“If we can’t do a decent blaggin’, then I’ve gotta another plan.”
“Cor, what a turn-up! You goin’ honest.” Lenny shook his head as he entered his flat.
The Colonel plotted the heist. Gorilla costumes bugged him. As he settled down and watched an afternoon repeat TV, an ambulance arrived, and the two-person crew helped an elderly man into the Retreat. They were met by Mary, who let them into the flat on the ground floor. Percy Planter was back after some weeks spent in a psychiatric hospital, better known to musical hall fans, holiday camp visitors and the early days of TV as ‘Flasher – the Mystery Man’.
Mary read his file and moaned, “Oh, no! Another problem.” How prophetic her words would become as the ninety-five-year-old settled in!
As Percy was helped into the Retreat by two ambulance personnel, a large, long-haired, ginger cat looked on imperiously at the activity.