Writing for Fun
March 2019
It's A Crime - Jeff Kebbell
It was a lovely summer’s day. It was a happy day, crowds thronged the beach and the road as the yearly Carnival passed on its way. Schools, colleges and charities slowly wended their way along the road represented by floats colourfully decorated and crewed by enthusiastic people all trying to provide a happiness somewhere for people who were less fortunate than themselves.
Making their way through the throng were three elderly men, ragged down and outs who really had no place in this merry crowd – or did they?
Tom, Dick and Harold walked purposefully alongside the floats looking for an opportunity to find a means of surviving each day in a society that wanted nothing to do with them. Tom and Dick were ex Barnardo boys and ex commandos, more than capable of looking after themselves. Harold was an ex-doctor who operated on a girl to save her and her family from disgrace. The girl unfortunately died and Harold, who was newly qualified and inexperienced, was struck off and saved from suicide by his two friends.
‘Here we are,’ said Dick, who was the survival brains of the trio, pointing to a float mounted on a lorry for the homeless. He and Tom went boldly up to the chap on the lorry who had the collecting buckets. ‘Give us a bucket’ said Tom with a grin. The young man didn’t know them but appreciated the way that they had dressed themselves to help. Harold did not join his friends. ‘It’s a crime,’ he said to himself but walked along with Dick as he chivvied the crowd into putting coins into his bucket. Harold’s woeful face encouraged people to dig a little deeper and it wasn’t too long before the bucket was becoming too heavy for comfort. A signal to Tom and the tramps moved onto the beach then counted their winnings – it was nearly £50 in one pound coins and lots of small change. Dick put the pound coins in a bag round his waist and the buckets and their change were handed back to the float further along the route.
Later, with a big bag of fish and chips and a beer can, the three sat in deckchairs facing the sea, an attendant having been told to ‘Sod off’ when he approached them with tickets.
‘You see,’ explained Dick to Harold, ‘we haven’t done anything particularly dishonest as we are the recipients of the charity anyway and have cut out the well paid public schoolboys who run these charities’.
‘God helps those who help themselves,’ smiled Tom through a grin of green teeth.
‘I suppose so,’ said Harold but he still thought it’s a crime although the fish and chips tasted better and the Stella cleared his conscience.