Writing for Fun
October 2015
The Secret Garden - Peter Rogers
William George Bunter manfully suppressed a groan. He had been at a loose end for the summer hols, having failed to land himself on the millionaire's son, Vernon-Smith or Lord Maulevener. Therefore, when Harry Wharton & co. mentioned they were going to the Lake District and didn't kick Bunter out of the study when he suggested adding himself to the party, he grabbed the opportunity with both grubby paws.
What he didn't realise, although with five athletic youths like the Famous Five he should have, was that their vacation was to be a walking holiday! Hence the fat owl's displeasure and discomfort.
'I say you fellows,' cried Bunter, 'When are we going to rest? I believe I've got plumbago in my knee.'
'Not long now, old fat man,' came the cheery tones of Bob Cherry, who was leading the expedition that day. 'I do sympathise with your plumbago, but another ten minutes and you'll be able to rest that 5 ton carcass of yours. Believe me, the view at our destination will be worth the hike.'
'Beast!' called Bunter. He had harboured a hope that the mysterious place Bob was leading them to would be a café of some sort, but that seemed unlikely now. 'Look here, Cherry,' Bunter yelled, 'Why don't you let me take the rucksack for a while?'
'No thanks, Billy, I can manage,' was Bob's reply.
'Look here, Bob,' demanded Johnny Bull, the rather stolid Yorkshire member of the company, 'Isn't it about time that fat slacker took his turn?'
'Oh really, Bull,' said the affronted owl.
'My dear Johnny,' said Bob, 'If Bunter took the rucksack, he would gradually fall further behind and the end result would be that we'd need an X-Ray machine to see what had become of the grub!'
'Well, I like that! I hope I'm not like some fellow always thinking of grub.'
'Hopeful chap, Bunter,' opined Frank Nugent.
Shortly thereafter, the six hikers arrived at Bob's secret beauty spot. Five of them agreed it was indeed a beauty spot. There were masses of St John's Wort, Wood Sage, Hound's Tongue, Wall Germander, almost any kind of wild flower you could think of. It was indeed, as Harry Wharton expressed it, a secret garden.
One member of the hikers, however, was distinctly unimpressed.
'Is this it? You mean you've dragged us all these miles and miles and miles just to see some beastly plants?' was Bunter's indignant comment.
'Don't worry, old porpoise,' said Bob, 'We'll have some lunch here so you can gorge to your heart's content while the rest of us admire the view.'
'Yah,' was the fat owl's elegant rejoinder.
Sometime later, having disposed of enough to satisfy five or six normal fellows' appetites, it dawned on Bunter that the rest of the company would soon be wanting to move on. So more as a means of distracting the Famous Five and thereby delaying the onward journey, Billy Bunter enquired, 'How far do you fellow think we have walked today?'
'We've walked about three and a half miles so far. Don't worry, fatty, we've only a couple of miles to go,' said Bob Cherry, reassuringly.
'What?!' thundered Bunter. 'I thought once we got to this be-knighted spot we'd simply head back.'
'Sorry, porker, never mind, you can have another blow-out when we have tea at the next village.'
Billy Bunter brightened up at this prospect.
'The blow-outfullness by the esteemed and ludicrous Bunter will be terrible,' said Harree Singh, the Indian member of the five.
However, he still felt reluctant to shift his corpulent body, now a little more corpulent body, however.
'I say, you fellows,' he began, 'have any of you given a thought to what would happen if one of us became injured here, miles from anywhere. Perhaps we ought to just return to camp.'
Your concerns about our welfare are most appreciated, old fat man,' said Harry Wharton sarcastically. 'As it happens our folks, knowing we were going hiking for the summer, chipped in and bought us this locater beacon.'
'What the dickens is that?' enquired Bunter peevishly.
'It's something you use as a means of last resource,' explained Harry. 'Unlike our mobile phones, which only have about 80% land coverage, out PLB has almost 100% land access to Search & Rescue satellites. In any case, the mobiles probably wouldn't work in this terrain.'
'Chuck it over here, Wharton, so I can have a look.'
Wharton chucked Bunter the bright yellow gadget, which the fat owl studiously inspected, not out of any great scientific interest, but merely to prolong his rest.
'What's this plastic lid thing?' he asked.
'That's the protective shield, you fat ass,' howled Wharton, 'Whatever you do don't remove it!'
'But Harry's warning came too late. Billy Bunter had already removed the shield and an aerial magically unwound and pointed southward. The obtuse owl was so startled that he dropped the device which somehow accidentally hit an outcrop of rock that pressed the 'on' button.
'Oh you prize lunatic. This time you've really done it!' yelled Johnny Bull.
'Oh, I – I say, do you think anyone will come?' asked Bunter hopefully.
'Will anyone come?!' cried Johnny. 'Within 50 seconds, you pernicious porker. Our signal will reach the rescue satellite. Then the RAF Rescue coordinator will contact the police who will in turn alert the Mountain Rescue and UK Air Reserve coordinator, who, if we are really unlucky, will send a helicopter, you unmitigated idiot!'
'Alright, Bull, there's no need to call a fellow names,' said Bunter indignantly. 'Look, when these rescue fellows come, I – I'd rather you didn't mention that it was me who activated the PLB or whatever it is. That – that is most important. Besides, if Wharton hadn't shouted at a fellow, a fellow wouldn't have dropped it.'
'Why did Bunter's people send him to Greyfriars instead of a home for idiots,' demanded Frank Nugent.
'The why-fullness is terrific,' said Harree Singh.
'Oh really, Nugent,' said Bunter. 'Look here, you fellows, I think we'd better head back before those Mountain Rescue Johnnies get here and make out we've brought them out on a wild goose chase. I think – Yarooh!'
A kick from Johnnie Bull put an end to the fat Removite's eloquence.
'You're not going anywhere, you be-knighted chump. We're all staying here to face the music.'
And face it they did. Fortunately the six hikers weren't fined, but they were given a very stern lecture by the leader of the six man Mountain Rescue team, far worse than any of the six had received from Mr Quelch or even Dr Locke, their headmaster, followed by letters to their parents.
The Famous Five's only consolation was to kick W. G. Bunter all the way back to the camp and bump him several times there. Never again would they invite the fat and fatuous owl on a walking holiday.