Trouble on the Heath: A Comedy of Russian Gangsters, Town Planners and a Dog Called Nigel

Chapter Three

Lady Chesney was a tolerant soul. She tolerated the lowly people who jammed her sitting room at these meetings. She tolerated the off-the-peg clothes they wore. She tolerated their accents and the way they had to work for a living. She was even willing to shake hands with one or two of them, if they seemed important enough. Were any of them as grateful as they should have been? She doubted it.

That awkward young man, Malcolm Thomas, was trying to call the meeting to order. She still found it perfectly shocking that he was supposed to be a professor of something or other at the University of London. He certainly didn’t look to her like a professor, and her opinion was worth something one would think! What was the world coming to, when a young man in a cheap suit, with a Liverpool accent, could be a professor?

Lady Chesney sighed. The country was going to the dogs. She already knew that, of course, but it was painful to see the evidence in one’s own home.

Eventually the rabble became quiet, and Malcolm looked around the room.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said. “Fellow members of the Highgrove Park Residents’ Association. Welcome to this emergency meeting to deal with the threat to demolish two houses in the…”

“What about the Minutes?” shouted a voice from the back.

“And the Treasurer’s Report?” added another.

“This is an emergency meeting,” said Malcolm. “Can’t we just get on with the business we’ve come to discuss?”

Mr Clarkson stood up. Before he’d retired, Mr Clarkson had been head manager of a minicab company, but he’d always fancied himself as a lawyer.

“I think they have a point. If we don’t have the Minutes of the last meeting and the Treasurer’s Report, this meeting could be considered in breach of the Association’s rules. So, any action we decide on might be seen as invalid.”

“I don’t think that is the case…” began Patrick Simpson, who actually was a lawyer.

“I agree!” piped up Mrs Furlong. She had upset Lady Chesney by wearing a rather vulgar pair of high-heeled shoes. “I’d like to hear the Treasurer’s Report.”

“And the Minutes!” said somebody else.

“But the Treasurer hasn’t prepared a report for this meeting,” Malcolm started to explain, “because it’s an emergency…”

“Oh yes I have!” exclaimed the Treasurer, jumping to his feet. “I could read it out now if you like!”

“Yes! Let’s have the Treasurer’s Report!” said Mrs Furlong, fluttering her eyelashes at the Treasurer.

“And the Minutes!” said the same somebody else.

Malcolm sat down again with a sinking heart. He’d been chairing these meetings for the last two years and he knew what would happen next.

An hour later, they were still arguing about whether the Residents’ Summer Party should be held on a Saturday or a Sunday. Finally Malcolm jumped up and waved his hands in the air.

“Please! Please!” he said. “This meeting was called to talk about the demolition of numbers 26 and 27 Highgrove Park. They want to replace them with an eyesore with fourteen bedrooms and two basements. One of these basements will contain an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Can we please just focus on that, before we run out of time?”

Lady Chesney looked at her watch and smiled. She didn’t mind at all if the meeting went on longer than planned. That was because she charged the Residents’ Association for the use of her room by the hour.

“I’ve got to go anyway,” announced Major Riddington. “She Who Must Be Obeyed told me to be back by 8.00 in time for supper.”

“I’ve just remembered we’ve got a dinner party!” said Paul Edgar, leaping to his feet. “My wife’ll kill me!” and he dashed for the door.

Major Riddington followed him, and so did somebody else. “I only came for the Minutes,” he whispered as he squeezed past Lady Chesney.

Malcolm watched them disappear, astonished. “Why do they bother to come?” he murmured.

“It’s the tea and biscuits,” said Barbara, the Secretary of the Residents’ Association.

“But they haven’t had them yet,” said Malcolm.

“Then it’s not the tea and biscuits,” replied Barbara, who was always prepared to agree with anyone.

Malcolm clapped his hands for silence, as a buzz of voices had naturally followed the departure of so many members.

“The planning application in front of you explains what is proposed. The new building will be huge. Quite out of keeping with the other houses in the road… ”

Someone had raised his hand. Malcolm paused: “Yes?”

“Shouldn’t we have our tea and biscuits now, before anyone else has to leave?” It was Mr Kendrick, the vet, who lived at number 25.

“Let’s just talk about the threat to our environment first,” pleaded Malcolm.

“But I’ll have to go in fifteen minutes,” said Mr Kendrick.

“But you live opposite the planned development! You’re going to be the one most affected by it!” exclaimed Malcolm. “Isn’t it worth a few minutes of your time to talk about it?”

“I’ve already written to the Council to object,” replied Mr Kendrick.

“On what grounds?”

“Well… on the grounds that I don’t want it.”

“Is that all?” asked Malcolm.

“Well, of course. That’s the only reason anyone objects,” said Mr Kendrick.

“But it’s not enough just to say you don’t want it.” Malcolm was trying to be patient.

“But I don’t!” said Mr Kendrick, and there were murmurs of agreement around the room.

“None of us wants it,” said Mrs Furlong.

Malcolm tried to keep calm. “We have to present the Council with a proper argument. We have to convince them that it’s a bad idea to allow this development to go forward.”

“I also live opposite the site. It’ll spoil the view from my front room.” This was Mr Kahn, who ran some sort of business from his home. No one was quite sure what his business was.

“Well, you can put that view to the Council. But I’m not sure it’ll be considered grounds for an objection,” said Malcolm.

“How about the ‘damage to the environment’?” said Mr Kahn. “That’s how I was going to put it.”

“That’s more like it!” said Malcolm. He turned to the rest of the room: “This is precisely why this meeting is important. We need to work out our grounds for objecting to the development. It’s no good coming up with objections that the Council can ignore – because they are desperate to find ways of ignoring them.”

“And there are plenty of proper grounds for objection,” Malcolm went on. “The proposed development is not in keeping with the other houses in the road, which is in a Conservation Area. It is twice the size of the existing two houses put together. It will mean felling no less than forty trees and it’s in a Tree Conservation Area. But there are even worse problems. Patrick, you’ve got some facts on the groundwater, I believe?”

Patrick Simpson, the lawyer, stood up. He was a strong supporter of the Residents’ Association. “Yes, we’ve had a hydrological study done…”

“A what?” put in Mr Kendrick, the vet.

“A study of the ground-water and streams in the area,” said Patrick.

“Well why didn’t you say?”

“I did,” Patrick replied.

“I still think we should have our tea and biscuits now,” Mr Kendrick said.

“I’ll get Molly to put the kettle on,” said Lady Chesney. She was worrying that more people might leave. She charged £1.50 for the tea and biscuits, and was counting on making enough money to buy another bottle of vodka.

“Please allow Patrick to continue!” Malcolm’s voice had a whine in it now.

“Well. This second basement they’re proposing…” said Patrick.

“The one with the swimming pool?” asked Mrs Furlong.

“Exactly!”

“Will they let us use it?” asked someone.

“I don’t think so,” replied Malcolm.

“I wouldn’t mind a swimming pool,” said Mrs Furlong.

“Yes! I can’t see how we can object to that!” said Mr Kendrick.

“Well listen!” shouted Malcolm. “Listen to what Patrick’s going to tell you!”

“This second basement,” continued Patrick, “will be built right across one of the underground streams in the area. The weight of the building and the way it will divert the water will flood the wild-life sanctuary on the corner. Plus we have no idea how the development might affect the ponds. It could drain them by altering the water courses and the level of the water table.”

“These are strong grounds for objection to the development!” exclaimed Malcolm triumphantly.

“The Council can’t ignore things like that, not in a Conservation Area,” added Patrick.

“And what about the lorries?” Mr Clarkson was on his feet again.

“And the mess,” said Barbara, the Secretary of the Residents’ Association.

“Exactly!” said Malcolm. “With the amount of building work they are proposing, we calculate that there will be something like forty lorry movements per day for something like four years! The road is only three metres wide. There’s just about room for a car, but a lorry will take up the entire road. There’d be nowhere for people on foot to get out of the way. So there is a serious risk of accidents.”

“And where are the lorries going to turn?”

“And think about the noise!”

“And the damage to the road surface. It’s a private road. We pay for its upkeep.”

By the time the tea and biscuits arrived, Malcolm was quite happy with the level of outrage in the room. Lady Chesney was equally happy that she would be able to afford another bottle of vodka. The tea and biscuits triggered a buzz of conversation. Malcolm banged his teaspoon against his cup.

“OK, everybody,” he said loudly. “If you’ve all got your teas can we carry on, please!”

“What! There’s more?” asked Mr Kendrick, the vet.

“Yes, of course there’s more!” Malcolm felt himself getting irritated by Mr Kendrick. There was something about the vet’s moustache that annoyed him. It was so clearly based on Adolf Hitler’s moustache. Had Mr Kendrick grown it on purpose as a tribute to the Great Dictator? If he hadn’t, shouldn’t someone have a quiet word with him?

Malcolm pulled his mind away from Mr Kendrick’s moustache and forced himself to speak calmly.

“We still haven’t decided what action to take,” he said.

“I thought we were going to write to the Council?” said Mrs Furlong.

“Shall we each do that or will the Residents’ Association write on all our behalves?” asked Lady Chesney. She did not normally join in the discussions. She felt it was beneath her dignity, but the thought of actually having to make the effort of writing a letter moved her to speak.

“Well, it would be good to do both,” replied Malcolm.

“Oh!” Lady Chesney’s face fell.

“But there are all sorts of other things we need to discuss, like publicity, whether we should demonstrate, who else we can get to join the protest. All that sort of thing,” Malcolm looked around the faces of the members of the Residents’ Association. Most of them looked dismayed.