When they tried to throw us of our pitch!

You’re not going to believe this – but every word is true...                        

When we first arrived at the caravan site, the owner, Malcolm, warned us that he was fully booked for the Easter weekend, so come the end of March, we’d have to move off our hardstanding pitch onto the grass opposite for three nights.

We accepted this with good grace, although we didn’t relish the prospect. We were happy on our hardstanding pitch, immune to the wet weather, handy for the water tap, with fine views across the Cheshire countryside. And, even though the move was only thirty yards, it would mean taking down the awning, transporting its contents, and putting everything away inside the ‘van to prevent breakages during the short journey across the uneven ground. In short, a lot of work and bother just to move from one side of the small site to the other.

But we accepted we would have to do it, because that’s the sort of people we are; reasonable, fair and understanding. Secretly though, I was hoping it would snow on Good Friday, so they couldn’t get here, or they’d have a breakdown, or just cancel because the new grandchild had been born, or the dog had cut its head open and had to be taken to the vet, or they’d decided to go to Tenerife instead.

Whatever, but we would accept our fate.

We'd have to move of our hardstanding for some soggy grass...

I spoke to Malcolm a couple of days before about it, and he’d told me, “Yes, you’ll have to move, unfortunately, but if I can see a way around it, I’ll let you know.”

The weirdness began appropriately on the morning of Good Friday. Call it synchronicity if you like, although we didn’t realise this until later in the day. We got up, had breakfast, and come ten o’clock, were wondering when Malcolm was going to give us our marching orders, as we were hoping to go into town as there was jazz and blues artists playing in the pubs. I decided to go over to the office to find out.

I found Malcolm, and his thick black eye-brows rose when he saw me. “We were wondering what the position was, regarding us having to move.”

He checked the bookings’ ledger. “Yes, you’re going to definitely have to move onto the grass.”

My heart sank. As well as all the hassle, heavy rain was forecast later in the day. 

“You’ll definitely have to move,” he continued. “Definitely. Unless I can persuade one of the new arrivals to go onto the grass.”

My heart lifted, but not for long. “Obviously I won’t know until everyone’s here – so we’re talking this afternoon.”

“The earliest arrival time is 2pm,” I said gloomily, quoting from the website, thinking we’ll be hanging around for most of the day, then we’ll probably have to move after all. No jazz but plenty of blues.

“No, I think it’s twelve or one, maybe.”

That’s when I became aware of a chap standing in the doorway, because a voice said, “It’s definitely 2pm. It’s on a notice in big letters in the information room.”

Malcolm could be forgiven for the lapse of memory, as he had been busting a gut these last few days putting in a few extra hardstandings. Although not for us, apparently.

Malcolm seemed to soften. “There is a couple I’ve got in mind who I think I can persuade to pitch on the grass. I’ll tell you what, you can have a choice. You can either move now and then do something with the rest of the day, or you can leave the caravan where it is, go out, and I can ring you if I need your pitch, and they’ll just have to wait.”

I thanked Malcolm, and turned to leave, apologising to the chap in the doorway. He smiled. “It’s okay; I just wanted to know where the elsan emptying point is.” (Non-caravanners, don’t ask).

He got a lot more than that. In retrospect, I wondered how much of the conversation he had heard, and how much of it he had taken in...

We decided to leave the caravan in situ, and go into Nantwich for lunch and sample the entertainment. As Linda pointed out, “If we’re not here, it’s more likely the other people will go on the grass.”

After parking the car on the edge of the town, we set off, Linda (still) hobbling beside me with her walking stick. An amusing incident occurred as we approached the centre. She asked me how much money I was carrying. I took out my wallet and found almost two hundred pounds inside. She asked me for some of it, and as I was peeling off the notes and handing them over, a couple walked past and the man gave me a smile and a wink, like we were both members of a secret club.

There are two interpretations of his behaviour. The second one goes something like this: I know the feeling, mate. Handing over some of your hard earned cash to the missus so she can buy a new dress. Well, it keeps ‘em happy!

It’s sexist, and condescending – and if he knew the truth, completely wrong!  I told Linda, and we had a good laugh.

After shopping and some lunch, we settled down in one of the bars for some musical entertainment. It was a very talented acoustic duo called Toftie & Bennett, who played rock classics, including Floyd’s, Comfortably Numb!

It was during a break by the band, that a couple standing near us began to chat. “Aren’t you staying at Riverbank Touring Park?” the man asked. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. “Remember me? I was standing there when you were talking to Malcolm.” I nodded. Yeah, the man in the doorway listening to our conversation.

Toftie & Bennett were brill - but we had a secret agenda...

In retrospect I’m really pleased that he didn’t want to talk about it. It could have gone something like this: “What do you think of the band?”

Me: “They’re great, but really we’re hiding away for a couple of hours.”

Him: “Why’s that?”

Me: “We’re hoping if we’re not onsite, that couple who should be on our pitch, will get peed-off with waiting, and will just go on the grass.”

This would end with me smiling at how clever we were, and them joining in. Maybe not.

We went our separate ways, sampling the live music in some of the other bars and pubs. At about four o’clock we decided it would be safe to return to Riverbank. As we drove in there was a sense of relief. A caravan was pitched on the grass. We got out of the car at the same time the couple we’d been talking to in the pub were walking past. It was then I was so glad I’d kept my big mouth shut.

The chap who had heard my conversation with Malcolm was walking across the grass towards the new caravan. She stopped when she saw us.

“They’re our friends, she explained, pointing. “They’ve just arrived. Apparently they’ve been put on the grass, and they’re not happy at all!”

“Well, it’s only over the Easter weekend,” I said putting a positive spin on it. “And there’s no heavy rain forecast until tonight!”

I wondered if her husband would fess up to her about what he’d overheard that morning. More importantly, would he tell their friends?

We hurried into the ‘van, and pulled down the blinds.

(Read my novels; Stench of Evil https://goo.gl/VQOVuS and The Devil in Them https://goo.gl/aS1cjZ in ebook format and paperback...)