MARTIN ASHWORTH : FOURTEEN PLUS
Published by Pianist Storyteller Novels 2010
26 Holmwood Avenue, Shenfield, Brentwood Essex CM15 8QS
ISBN 978-0-9559080-5-7
And by Kindle for their electronic reader - click
MARTIN-ASHWORTH-FOURTEEN-PLUS
For paper copy see
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Martin-Ashworth-Fourteen-George-Acton/dp/1502410702/ref=tmm_pap_title_0
John G Acton as the author asserts his right to copyright of the novel,
frontispiece, Musical Clue and the Oakwood Hall Estate Plan in Martin Ashworth
Fourteen Plus and to copyright of the other novels and their illustrations in this series:-
Martin Ashworth Fourteen (Also published by Kindle)
Jack Banks Discovery,
Jack Banks on Trial,
The King’s Son,
Ben Bugden Thirteen
Full details can be found on the Internet by going to.-
http://pianist-storyteller.blogspot.c
Martin Ashworth Fourteen Plus Preface
This is a sequel to Martin Fourteen, the first book about Martin and his adventures. With two parents in hospital and injured himself, Martin was forced to go and live in the distinctively Christian household of the Sweetings. You don’t have to read the first book before starting the second.
The first book had a strong musical as well as a Christian slant. Martin and Jane are keen piano students. Both Martin and Jane were kidnapped by a drug smuggling gang led by Colette, an evil French woman. They escaped and Colette and most of the gang were caught and put in prison awaiting trial. But the murder in prison of Brian, one of the gang who was prepared to give evidence for the prosecution, causes much alarm. The police are concerned to protect the life of Martin’s father, the Customs investigator, and also for the safety of Martin and Jane. They fear that a drug baron or Mr Big must still be at large.
Martin admits to Jane that he is writing a journal about their kidnapping experiences. She demands to see it and is disgusted by what she reads about plain Jane with mousy hair and specs. So she intervenes and writes her own account. These exchanges continue throughout the novel unlike the first book which is just Martin’s account.
As Martin’s Dad, Martin and Jane are well protected by the police, the gang unfairly abduct young David and his pal Lennie (both year 7) on their way to school. Headstrong and maybe foolhardy, Martin ignores instructions and goes off by himself to try and trace the boys.
Mark (year 11) who has previously shown interest in Jane comes to console her and offer help. Jane admits to having a strong interest in him as well as in Martin, a typical teenage problem. There is less time for the musical aspects now, but more time for considering the bigger issues of life.
Action develops close to home and then overseas. Both Martin and Jane give us the inside story of all that happens as the pace quickens to a surprising climax.
Acknowledgments and dedication
I would thank my wife as always for her kindly advice and toleration during the creation of this novel, as well as the previous five. I am also grateful to my piano students, including Vindhya and Narendra Mampitiya for their enthusiasm for Martin Ashworth Fourteen and the sequel herewith. I have also had help from my family on medical procedures and correct French phrases where spoken by natives but of course, not where ‘schoolboy French’ has been deliberately used.
The novel is dedicated to my wife..
John G ActonChapter
Sample Chapters :-
1 - Prelude (Martin)
“Ouch!” I couldn’t stop myself grunting, as the whine of the electric saw went up and down in tone, as it bit deeper into the now dirty white plaster cast on my left leg, It reminded me a little of Rimsky’s Flight of the Bumble Bee.
“Steady on Martin,” said Nurse Sparrow who was wielding the vicious instrument. “It really won’t hurt - but you must keep your leg steady.”
“Right, I’ll try. I am dying to get the wretched thing off and have a good scratch,” I said.
Nurse Sparrow gave me a look that suggested I might be making a fuss, but then smiled and switched off the saw, saying “I’ll see if I can get Bill to come and help.”
This pleased me no end for Bill was the trainee nurse who, along with Nurse Sparrow, had been a great help to me when I was first taken to the hospital after the car accident. Then I had a broken leg and eye injuries while my Dad had even more serious head injuries.
I now saw Bill racing down the ward. “Hi Martin. Great to see you,” he said. And then to Nurse Sparrow, “Is it amputation above or below the knee?”
I appreciated his grim humour but Nurse Sparrow was cross and told him off, although I suspected there was a forgiving twinkle in her eye. However, with Bill holding my leg firmly still in the different positions required, Nurse Sparrow soon finished the job. The incisions were cracked open and the plaster removed. Yippee - BUT - I found the leg terribly stiff after eight weeks of plaster.
Nurse Sparrow carefully felt my leg and she and Bill both gently helped me bend at the knee. Then Bill was given the job of assisting me to walk, or rather stagger round the ward for a little while. I was promised some proper physiotherapy later on.
Meanwhile I was keen to visit my Mum and Dad who were still in separate wards in the hospital. My Dad was improving now but Mum was not so good lately and had me worried. Bill had just agreed to take me round to see them, when there was an unexpected interruption.
The ward Sister came in with a personable young man in a grey suit. He approached me directly and flashed an identity card showing him to be Detective Constable Eric Jones.
“You are Martin Ashworth son of Mr Alfred Ashworth of Customs and Excise,” he said in an enquiring tone.
“Yes, but what’s happened?” I asked.
“Nothing to get alarmed about, but….,” DC Jones paused, glanced quickly round the room, then continued, “ there are certain private matters I must discuss with you and your Dad. If you are now fit enough to go with me up to your Dad’s room (he was still in a private room off the main men’s ward), that would be best.”
“Hold on young man, Martin has only just had his leg plaster removed,” said the ward Sister giving DC Jones a severe look. DC Jones immediately apologised and explained that he was only following orders. Sister then relented and agreed to my going provided Bill went with me.
So I thanked Nurse Sparrow for setting my leg free from its plaster prison, let Bill take my arm and walked cautiously down the ward past the hurdle of swing doors to the lift. In a few minutes we arrived at the door of my Dad’s room to be greeted by a police officer in full uniform! I stopped in alarm.
“It’s all right. It’s only a precautionary measure,” said DC Jones, “Go in and see your Dad. He’s expecting you.” Turning to Bill he said, “I am sorry but I must ask you to stop outside. My Chief Inspector is in there and he will use me for stun gun practice if I let you into the room.”
Bill grimaced but released my arm. DC Jones offered his, but I declined it. I wanted to walk or at least limp in to show my Dad I was making progress. As I entered, I could see him sitting up in bed talking to a grey haired man with a very lined face. I greeted my Dad pointing triumphantly to my leg. He then introduced me to Chief Inspector Griffiths, who thanked me very warmly for my efforts way back which helped capture the smuggling gang. My Dad looked so proudly at me - I could feel myself colouring up. Mr Griffiths wished me rapid recovery with my leg, now that the plaster was off. Then he surprised me by asking after Jane (who was also kidnapped with me by the gang).
“You both displayed great courage in a difficult situation,” said Mr Griffiths, “Please give my good wishes and special thanks to Jane and also to her young brother, David.” This raised all manner of conflicting emotions within me. Ever since our triumphal return home and to school after the kidnapping, Jane and I had been subjected to merciless attention from national dailies as well as the local press and radio. This had caused both of us to be unduly shy of one another. The ribbing from school chums and enemies was only just dying down. Jane resorted to (or maybe she really preferred) letting Mark Cardew (year 11) resume his friendship with her. I gathered she was trying to scupper the idea that she and I were teenage sweethearts. I tried to treat Jane as a sister but was unsure of my feelings which were chaotic, like one of those modern compositions full of strange discords, with no key signature, no memorable themes and no structure.
I was lost in my thoughts when I heard the Chief Inspector say, “ It hurts me to tell you this, but our efforts to stop this Gang’s activities may not yet be over.”
Then the bad news came out.
Chapter 7 - Jane’s reaction
(Jane)
I went early to bed hugging the big brown envelope and started to read. I thought the opening description of the storm in Martin’s journal was quite dramatic. But I was annoyed by his reference to me as ‘plain Jane,’ a school nick-name used by the brainless pretending to be smart. Worse was to come. In Chapter 3 where Martin’s mother tells him about my Mum’s offer to look after him, my mild annoyance turned to blazing anger. He actually described it as an awful suggestion. He wondered what the other boys would think about him staying in the same house as ‘plain Jane’ Sweeting. Worse still as if he thought that was not sufficiently insulting, he then wrote, “With her straight mousy brown hair, freckles and glasses, Jane compared unfavourably with most of the girls around!” I couldn’t believe my eyes so I read it carefully once more. What a horrible, vulgar and deceitful wretch! I skipped hastily to the end, where he had added a pretentious appendix listing the various musical forms he had attempted to follow in different chapters. Going a few pages back there was, as I suspected , the usual lovey-dovey ending - UGH….. I felt sick, angry and disillusioned. I was also near to tears. How could he write like that after all we had been through together?
What should I do? Throw the journal into a rubbish tip? But suppose someone found it and read it? Should I burn it but that would not be easy? We have no open fires. I’ll hide it. Put it somewhere hidden in my room.
In the morning at breakfast, I ignored him completely. I could see he was dead worried, like a worm who pops up only to see the waiting bird with the mousy brown feathers. Yes, you’ve guessed that reference to ‘mousy brown hair’ was hurtful: brown hair, freckles and glasses cannot very well be avoided, but ‘mousy’ cannot be anything but a deliberate insult.
He tried asking me if I had had a good night’s sleep. But I pretended not to hear him and turned my head to ask Eric whether he had any more news about the search for Lacoste or Mr Big.
My Dad had left early for work but my Mum, who knows practically every thought I have, asked me outright, “What’s wrong Jane? You missed your practice and look pale. Did you sleep badly/”
Bless her. She knows I’m in trouble and is giving me a way out from telling everybody what the real trouble is. So I replied, “Sorry, Mum. For some reason I slept badly and got up late.”
“Do you want to go sick?” She asked.
“No thank you, I am not that bad and I want to keep up with the work,” I replied.
Mum gave me an enquiring look as she said, “Very well then.” David, who also has sensitive antennae, looked sympathetic and kept sensibly quiet for once.
Shortly after these exchanges Martin and I were alone in the back seat with Eric driving us to school. Martin immediately began an apology to me, saying in a quiet voice so that Eric wouldn‘t hear, “I’m really sorry about the stupid things I said about you in the beginning of my journal….”
I cut him off before I heard any more by just saying, “How could you?”
He started his pathetic waffle again. I put my hands to my ears and said, “I’m not listening - I despise you.”
He went red and shut up. When we got to the school, we took leave of Eric and went our separate ways to our separate group of friends.
At first break, I was surprised and alarmed to see DC Eric Jones making his way to me, accompanied by no less than the Head Teacher, Mr Ainswell, who asked me, “Did your brother David start to go to school this morning?”
“Why yes. He left before me as usual to call on Lennie and walk on to school. What’s happened?” I said desperately.
“Neither David nor his friend Leonard Boulton arrived at school this morning. No one is answering the phone at their homes although I left a message. So I have had to alert the police,” said the Head.
“Can you think of any reason for their absence, Jane ?” DC Eric Jones asked.
I was really worried now. “David has never played truant, so far as I know. His friend Lennie is also sensible,” I shakily replied. A dreadful thought was crossing my mind and I added, “You don’t think it’s foul play - that dreadful gang?”
Eric looked grim and said, “Can you give me your Dad’s and Mum’s work phone numbers please?”
I got out my pocket diary and gave him the emergency numbers. I also mentioned that Ron Jones and Themba Gonu also normally walked to school with David and Lennie and might know something. The Head noted this and went off to find them.
Then PLJ (our form teacher) came across to us with Martin, who was unable to give any more information, but feared the worst and was very upset. Martin wanted to be allowed to go off in immediate search for the missing boys. I forgot my grudge and wanted to go with him. DC Jones vetoed the idea as dangerous for us if it was a gang activity. Also it was not very practicable. He would get straight on to Chief Inspector Griffiths with a view to authorisation of a general alert and search. Everything possible would be done. For now, we were told to go back to our class-room.
“Oh, Martin. What can we do? My parents will be devastated,” I said forgetting everything else in my anguish.
“I am terribly sorry. It’s my fault getting you and your family entangled in this mess,” he said.
Chapter 9 - Martin goes solo
(Martin)
I was so pleased that Jane had forgiven me and thrilled to be starting my venture. There were no strangers or cars or police in sight as I walked down to number 46, the Boultwood home.
I rang and used the knocker but there was no response apart from a faint sound of a dog barking. I remembered Lennie had a perky little fox- terrier called Dash. I went round the side of the house where the barks were more distinct. They sounded as if they were coming from a garden shed. As I walked up to the shed door the barks got more frantic.
“Quiet Dash, quiet,” I commanded in a low voice, “You must remember me, I’m Martin, a friend of Lennie.” I opened the door a crack and let the dog see me and sniff my hand. He stopped barking and began some furious tail-wagging. He was tied up on a lead but had a food bowl and water within reach.
I spent a little time stroking him and telling him what a good ‘boy’ he was. Then I said, “We want to find Lennie.” I took him out of the shed and let him guide me wherever he would.
He went straight away to the back door, stopped, circled around sniffing close to the ground. He suddenly got very excited and started pulling me down to the bottom of the Boultwood’s very large garden, which ended in an old ivy-covered wooden fence. Behind the fence and rising above it appeared a forest of ancient oak trees, mixed in with chestnuts, sycamores and others I couldn’t name. Jane reckoned this was part of the original Oak Wood after which the town was named. Apparently there had been a seventeenth century mansion called Oakwood Hall before it fell into ruins and was demolished in the Nineteen Twenties. A sizeable Lodge remained in the extensive grounds and was believed to be owned by a reclusive millionaire according to Jane.
Dash sniffed along the back of the fence and then stopped outside what seemed an ancient door. I asked Dash if we had to go through the door. He looked at me as if I were a simpleton, but gave a few extra wags of encouragement. I tried the door knob but it seemed rusted in and wouldn’t move. Then I pushed hard but nothing gave. Then I tried pulling the door which yielded just about one inch. Dash was getting more and more excited and barked. I immediately stopped and gave him a severe warning plus a slap on his hindquarters. Dash hung his head and his tail drooped. I told him then that he was a good boy but must NOT BARK. He licked my hand. I think he understood.
I noticed an old spade lying at the end of a nearby vegetable plot. I ran and got this under the door as a lever. Then using all my strength while standing on the spade handle to lift up the door a little, I managed to pull it open. On the other side there was a faint trace of a path and footprints leading on through the forest.
Before going on I pulled out Jane’s mobile and gave her a ring to report progress. She said her mother had arrived and was very worried about David, Lennie and me. She was getting on to the police and thought I should wait before going further.
But the open door was too tempting. I allowed the straining dog to venture in and I followed. However, once in the forest, Dash discovered a rich variety of exotic scents which enthralled him. I could only guess at the wild life he could sniff. He followed the faint track but made numerous diversions on either side as we slowly progressed through the trees.
After about ten minutes, Dash suddenly stopped. His body stiffened and his ears pricked up sharply. I felt his tension give my spine a curious tremor. Then even I heard something. Someone else was in the forest and coming closer. Could it be a keeper or worse still a member of the gang?
There was not much ground cover amid the tall trees, but I spotted some lower bushes over to the right. I pulled Dash hastily over to them and crouched down as best I could, whispering to Dash while holding his muzzle to try and stop any barking. As we waited this time the rapid theme of the last movement of Chopin’s Third Sonata was buzzing in my subconscious.
In a few minutes I saw a darkly dressed man walking quickly along the path we had recently left. Dash began to wag his tail. I looked more closely and breathed a sigh of relief. It was Eric, DC Eric Jones himself.
Dash and I emerged from our hiding place as I waved and softly called, “Eric”. He twisted round sharply and gave me a severe look, at the same time putting his hand to his lips. I bowed my head in shame, but Dash, true to his name, darted over to him in tail-wagging enthusiasm.
“I’m very glad I’ve found you,” said Eric, “but I’d much rather you’d stayed safely at home as instructed.”
“I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t sit still with Dash on the trail of David and Lennie,” I said.
“ - and also the gang maybe,” snapped Eric.
The same thought was, of course, very much in my mind. I realised that Eric might try and stop me going any further, which would be a pity while the trail was ’hot’.
Eric was speaking now into his mobile phone, telling his superior that he had found me, and that there was a possibility that David and Lennie had been abducted to Oakwood Lodge. He suggested an early visit and search of the Lodge and grounds was well merited. His report explained the leading given by Lennie’s pet dog and praised my efforts, although foolhardy and against instructions. I could not hear the replies or instructions given.
When Eric had given his final “Yes Sir”, he turned to me and said, “Martin, I know you won’t like this, but I have explicit orders to take you and the dog back to your home in Oakwood Drive.”
I drew back rebelliously drawing Dash to me as Eric stretched out his hand for the lead. Dash sensed my dismay and gave a low warning growl. “Please help me Lord to do the right thing here,” I silently prayed. I felt I needed to get out to where the boys might be.
“Martin, you have done well. You heard me give my report in. It needs maybe armed police to investigate Oakwood Lodge, if your and my suspicions are correct. Anyway you must give me the dog and come back with me, or else I’ll have to arrest you for interfering in a police operation.”
“Very well, Eric,” I said, surrendering the dog’s lead to him, and patting Dash’s head to show it was all right by me.
“STOP WHERE YOU ARE !” shouts suddenly blasted our ears. Two burly men emerged from the forest. One had a shotgun aimed in our direction.
We turned quickly round and Eric shouted, “HOLD IT, I’m a police officer.” He felt in a pocket, produced his identification warrant and waved it aloft. Dash gave a warning bark.
The men were now close by and looked like forest keepers. One of them said, “An unlikely story. No uniform plus a boy and a dog. How do we know that’s not a fake card?” The other man said, “What are you doing here anyway?”
Eric said, “Two young boys have gone missing and we think they may have got lost in the forest. Their pet dog is helping us follow a trail.”
“Very well,” said the first man, “Come with us. Our master, Sir Oliver Smythe-Bennet, must give you his permission before you do any more of this nonsense.”
Eric looked furious but nodded his agreement so we moved off in the direction of the Lodge. Meanwhile Eric secretly took out his mobile and began dialling, and then whispering to his HQ what was happening. The man with the shotgun heard. Suddenly he turned round and bashed Eric’s head hard with the wooden stock of his shotgun. The other man swore and immediately grabbed me. Dash was barking and frantically dancing about.
“GO HOME, Dash,” I shouted two or three times.
The man who was holding me tightly said, “Stop it you x****x devil, or I’ll give you the same as that zxx****zz fake copper.” Poor Eric was lying unconscious on the ground, blood streaming across his face from his head. But Dash, bless his loyal little heart, was following my urgent command and racing away back in the direction of the Boultwood’s home.
(Martin)
As we were tired after our long journey through the night across the sea, we made up our beds as best we could and went to sleep. I prayed briefly but was soon soundly off. My next memory was being roused up by the keepers. As we were still in the clothes in which we were captured we were stinking horribly. It must have been revolting to the guards. I was handcuffed but David and Lennie were let off this indignity on a promise of good behaviour.
We were led in single file down the circular staircase for about two floors until we reached a large white-tiled room. One of the guards locked the door and removed my handcuffs. Then we were ordered to take off all our clothes, leaving the outer clothes in separate piles on the floor, but discarding our underwear into one heap. David and Lennie looked nervously at me but I smiled encouragement. The friendly keeper pointed to the far wall where we could see shower cubicles.
“Come on boys,” I said, “Look - showers!”
This prompted a flurry of jackets, trousers, shirts, shorts and socks being joyfully abandoned and flung into untidy piles, until we were stark naked and dashing across to the showers. We found soap in the cubicles but no water.
A keeper went across to a control valve on the side which he opened. Lennie squeaked as the initial flow of cold water reached his head, but it quickly grew warm and then really comfortably hot. After five minutes of bliss the hot water was cut off. Outside on a wooden bench we each found a towel. After drying off our friendly keeper provided us each with some rough over-large underwear. One pair of the large boxer shorts could easily have taken in David and Lennie at one go. Fortunately the keeper had brought safety pins to protect David’s and Lennie’s modesty. I also begged one to tighten up my pair. We were also given large vests and socks. I was so glad to get some socks again whatever the size. Then we resumed our outer clothing, I was handcuffed again and we were led downstairs.
When we reached the ground floor we were led across the open green to a pillared entrance to the main part of the castle. We had to wait for about an hour in the lobby before being taken up a flight of stairs to a large room. It was lit by ornamental chandeliers and there were large paintings, portraits and landscapes on the walls. At the far end was a sort of raised dais with a large ornamental chair, occupied by an old sharp featured lady with piercing eyes and dressed in black. But the first thing you noticed was a large cheetah, apparently unchained, lying on the ground at her feet. Next to the old lady was Sir Oliver Smythe-Paunch sitting or rather sprawling his enormous bottom over a smallish plain chair.
The guards propelled us into a line standing only about four metres from the lady, Sir Oliver and the sleeping cheetah. As we got near the big cat opened its eyes and hissed softly.
“Tais-toi, Bula,” said the old lady. The cheetah turned its head towards her and then slumped down again.
Then the old lady asked one of the guards to uncuff me and spoke directly to us, “Welcome to my castle. I am the Comtesse Coste but you may address me as Ma’am. I trust you will agree that you have been well-treated while you have been under my roof.”
She looked expectantly at us so I said, “Yes, except for being denied any food to-day by orders of Sir Oliver and of course losing our freedom.”
“What’s this, Oliver?” she demanded.
“They were disrespectful and giggled when I was forced to take refuge with them in the chain locker, before an inspection by French Customs,” he said.
“You can’t blame them for that,” she said smiling, “I find it funny also.” I could see Sir Ollie Smithers scowling and had a job to keep my face straight. David and Lennie were having similar difficulties.
“I would remind you Oliver that I make the rules here, not you. When I have finished talking to these young boys, they are to be given a decent meal back in their room, provided they behave themselves,” she said.
“Now give me your names, boys,” she demanded.
We did this in turn. When it was my turn, I suggested it was really me she wanted, because of the connection with my father and evidence wanted from me in the forthcoming trial of Colette and other members of the gang; the gang who kidnapped me and Jane aboard a French trawler some four or five months ago. I pleaded for her to release David and Lennie but hold me as security for the time being. I pointed out that I had virtually allowed myself to be captured with this in mind.
“Very brave but foolhardy, I fear,” she said, “How did you come to discover Sir Oliver’s Oakwood Lodge as a hiding place for the boys?”
“I asked Lennie’s pet dog Dash to show me where Lennie and presumably David went on leaving Lennie’s home. The trail was leading through the forest towards the Lodge, when I and the policeman with me were stopped by two keepers, who said we had to go and see Sir Oliver er Somebody,” I answered.
“Ecoute, Bula. Quel chien intelligent!” said the Comtesse. The cheetah raised its beautiful head to be stroked.
“But what gross incompetence on your part,” she hissed to Sir Oliver who was cringing.
“I don’t understand it,” he said, “After the keepers brought in Martin, I successfully erased the boys’ scent trail and put a new one in leading away from the Lodge. I know that worked because we listened in to the police radio, the mobile we confiscated from the policeman our keepers felled in the forest. When they came investigating at the Lodge the police found nothing. I made a stink about it and received an apology.
“So that was fine then,” she said sarcastically, “You made a stink - I can believe that.” (She wrinkled her face in comic disgust and we boys were having fits trying to keep straight faces.) “Yet in a couple of days your cover gets blown. You only just manage to escape, leaving Zita’s HQ to be possessed by the Drugs Squad.”
“Do you know what happened, Martin?” she asked me.
“No,” I replied, “I guess Dash, whom I sent back to his home, was available to lead a search party round the back of the old Hall, which I think is where we came out.”
“Ecoute encore, Bula! Quel chien et quel garcon intelligents et tellement courageux!”
Turning to me she said, “You have earned my respect. Come up here and I will introduce you to Bula. Now don’t dare touch him until I give the word.”
This was mind-boggling. The old lady must be the dreaded La Coste (not one word Lacoste as we thought), apparently the Mr Big of the massive drug ring and she was smiling at me. She was fondling the cheetah and talking rapidly in French to it. Pointing at me now she was saying. “Bon ami, oui. Bon ami.”
“Come nearer now. Let Bula sniff your hand first. That’s right. Now stroke his head gently. Bula likes you,” she said.
It seemed a small head for the large body with the long muscular legs, that could send it racing at 60-70 miles an hour in pursuit of a prey, so I had read. The fur was short and silky to the touch. The head caressed my hand and suddenly I heard a loud purring from this enormous and fearsome pussy. I could sense David and Lennie looking on enviously.
“Ma’am, Could I ask a favour that you would also allow David and Lennie to stroke your wonderful, pet, please? I asked.
“Very well. Let them come gently forward while I explain things to Bula. But don’t get any ideas about asking any more favours. I regret it but I just can’t release you,” she said.
I nodded and made way for David and Lennie to come near the big cat, to be sniffed and then allowed to stroke it. To their delight the purring increased in intensity as the animal seemed genuinely pleased to meet us. At the back of my mind was the thought that this friendly encounter with Bula might come in useful some time.
Then we were ushered back up the stone staircase to our room. We were agreeably excited and looking forward to the promised meal. It turned out to be soup and bread again, but this time we were also each given a banana. In the afternoon we were given a surprise haircut. It was cut very short using electric clippers. We were told it was a health precaution.
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