Writing for Fun
Murder In The Woods - Gwenda Syratt
July 2014
The Jubilee Cup, he must win it this year.
John gazed at the beautiful ornate silver cup on display in the glass cabinet above the bar. JOHN GRAY, he could see his name engraved on the base now. The honour, the respect, and the power he would have over his club colleagues. His eyes shone with anticipation and excitement caused a small smile to upturn the corner of his lip. He wouldn't be done out of it this year, pipped at the post he was. 'm going to get it this year. He thought hard, his face changing to determination.
'Have another half will you?' said Seb. John's thoughts were broken as he accepted the invitation to have another drink. 'You've bowled well again this year John, right through to the finals, but I wouldn't mind betting you will have to fight hard to beat old Tom this year.'
John flushed. Could Seb, with his stringent police training, even observe his thoughts? Last year he bowled against Tom Wise in the men's singles competition and missed the thrill of winning the Jubilee Cup by just one shot. Just one shot threw his spirits down to the depths of despair. So close, and still the honour missed him. But not this year, he must be the victor. He must!
How to be sure though? It must not be in the hands of 'Lady Luck,' It must be in his own trained hands. Survival flashed through his mind and he felt a great urgency to return home as he wished Seb goodnight well before 'time' was called.
On entering his bedroom he climbed the chair to reach a small metal box in the cupboard above the wardrobe.
Emergency! Yes this was an emergency!
During the 1950's and 60's John was a young dedicated and devout member of the CND and was on the committee that in 1958, organised the first four day march from Trafalgar Square to Aldermaston. On following years the route was reversed: Aldermaston to the seat of power Westminster to create a stronger impact.
During this time the elite members of the CND were issued secretly with a suicide pill to be spared the agonizing death that would follow a nuclear explosion. He removed the small white pill which was still sealed and in perfect condition and slipped it into his wallet. His hands were shaking, his heart pounding, was it excitement or fear?
Sunday was a sunny day and the crowd gathered at the bowling club set in woods having been forged by villagers over a hundred years ago. All members were looking forward to the season's finals day and laughter could be heard coming from the men's changing room.
As John changed into his flat soled bowling shoes he watched Gladys carry a tray of hot steamy tea to club members on arrival. The ladies always provided good refreshments on special occasions freshly cut sandwiches and delicious home made cake. John gave a quick thought to how he valued this old world tradition.
Old Tom arrived, his red round face shining from the heat and smiling, he was a steady well built man, overweight really but took everything in his stride.
'Hello there, John, out to thrash me this year?' he joked.
John forced his thin lips into a natural smile. 'Well, you know I will do my best Tom, let me get you a cup of tea.'
The pill slipped silently into the cup.
The competition began with trial ends and John had won the toss. He had called 'heads' as the silver coin spun in the air and fell to the ground enabling him to bowl first. He cast the jack the full length of the green, he instructed Jim who was the marker keeping score, to line the white ball to the centre of the rink. As he bowled his first bowl to get the line of the green he showed his accuracy even on trial ends. The formalities over both men began to play.
Although dressed the same, both wearing white trousers and shirts and the club's bright red tie, they were very different in appearance. Tom, big and fleshy; John small and of a wiry build, almost delicate in appearance. Both men in unison with their concentration. Tom was enjoying the game; John's nerves were tight.
John placed the mat three mat lengths from the edge of the green and rolled the white jack again almost full length of the green. After lining up the jack he bowled the first of his four woods, it rolled to within three inches of the jack. Then Tom bowled his wood . . . it slowly ambled along the green in a curved line until it stopped just behind the jack. They played alternately until all eight bowls encircled the white ball. They walked to the end of the green and studied the position of the bowls.
'It's a good head,' said Tom, 'but I fancy it its two to me.'
'I'll have a measure on it,' said John. Jim knelt on the lush green grass to measure the bowls from the white jack. It was two points to Tom.
'Silly fool,' said Gladys, 'What did he want to call a measure on that for, you could see it was two shots to Tom from here'.
'He was quite right,' said Seb, 'Distances can be deceiving and if he had any doubts, well – it is just as well to measure.'
Now they were playing to the opposite end of the green, Tom bowling first as he had won the last end. The length of the jack was short this time and Tom's wood rolled gently along the grass until it rested side by side to the jack.
The crowd at the club applauded their praise.
John bowled with a little too much weight, not adjusting quickly to the change of length and his wood rolled steadily on until it finally rested about five inches behind the jack.
'Where is he going to now, round to Will's Mum?' joked Gladys, pleased to have the opportunity to belittle John, he wasn't warm or bawdy enough for her liking. John soon controlled the length of the bowls and at the completion of end two he had gained three shots. The game continued very evenly until the seventh end when Tom gained four shots over John.
The sun was beating down and the club members followed the game with great interest. They clapped and Ooooed' and 'Aaaahd' at the right moments.
Tom felt very hot. Suddenly almost feverish perspiration stood out on his brow and Tom mopped his face with a large white handkerchief.
Something's wrong with Tom, thought Seb, he doesn't look well.
John's heart was beating faster, why did it take so long? The atmosphere was electric as the score increased to the required twenty-one points. John was holding nineteen points and needed just two more to hold that beautiful cup in his hands. He must win, he must! Make something happen soon.
Tom, who was holding twenty shots bent to bowl his wood but suddenly a sharp steel like pain shot through his body, his head throbbed and he felt tremendous heat as his body slumped heavily onto the grass beneath his feet. His colleagues gasped and ran to his side. John was the first to try to lift him but it was too late. Tom had bowled his last wood.
The sultry heat and events of the day created a sad hushed atmosphere at the club that evening. 'Fancy old Tom having a heart attack just like that,' said Jim.
'What do we do now about the cup, the game wasn't finished?' said Gladys.
'We have put it to the committee,' said Jim, 'and have decided that as Tom was one shot ahead and just one shot away from winning the game, and to show our respect, the cup will be engraved in memory of Tom Wise'.
Everyone nodded their agreement.
'Too bad John,' said Jim, 'You did play well; the way your woods kept steering to the jack you certainly had lady luck in them.'
As John's tear-filled eyes met Seb's pale blue observant gaze, John was the only one who heard Seb murmur 'Murder in the woods more like it.'