Michael Larrabeiti - The Borribles

Knocker sat up and shoved his companion. "Come on, breakfast." They had both been out so late the night before that when they came back it had been bright morning. Some of the costers had been putting out their barrows and loading them up, so the two Borribles had had no trouble in getting provisions. Breakfast was there beside them: one grapefruit, two oranges and two large doughnuts with jam.

Lightfinger rubbed his eyes and the sacks and blankets dropped from him. He reached for an orange, bit it open and sucked hard, making a lot of noise. The orange was wonderful, it had been chilled to ice crystals by the lorry journeys to and from Covent Garden. "Ooaagh," he groaned with pleasure, "that's lovely"

"We'd better hurry up," said Knocker, "we don't want to miss the meeting."

Halfway down the High Street was an old and disused brickbuilt hall. It had last been occupied by photographers called "Scots of London," but they had gone long since and now the shop fell within the province of the Borribles. It was here that Spiff had asked the other stewards of the High Street to meet him, and as it was a special meeting any other Borrible who wanted could come and listen and eventually make comments, if he wished.

Inside the hall Spiff stood on the stage talking away as fast as he could go. He was listened to, very seriously, by about a score of his colleagues. Other Borribles, ragged, dirty and inquisitive, slipped in through the side entrances and stood about, wondering what was going on. They did not have long to wait.

Spiff stepped to the front of the stage and held up both his arms like a politician. He shouted several times and gradually the noise in the hall became less and less until eventually there was a kind of excited silence. The stewards behind Spiff took their seats and leaned forward attentively. Spiff looked all round and then began to speak, relishing the occasion, for if he had a weakness at all, it was a delight in speechifying.

"Brother and sister Borribles, I am pleased to see so many of you here, for today is a day of decision. Our way of life is threatened and we must either act together or perish."

The hall went quieter and the tension rose.

"Not to beat about the bush, I'll give you the facts, then I'll tell you what me, and the rest of your elected representatives, have decided, and then, in due order, we shall put it to the general vote. Right, the facts. Last night, our chief lookout and his assistant . . ."

All heads turned to Knocker and Lightfinger.

". . . while on a routine inspection of the Battersea area discovered that we had been invaded by the Rumbles."

The crowd drew in a deep breath and then let it out again in a long explosion and Spiff looked round for effect and more silence.

"It seems that a large force came down here, all the way from Rumbledom, and occupied the Park for several hours. They were digging! Now, in my opinion, this can only be a preparation for a take-over of Battersea, an erosion of our freedom, a new and subtle kind of slavery and a clipping of ears. Things have been bearable as long as the Rumbles have stayed in Rumbledom, where they belong, but this is something else."

Murmurs of assent came from the assembly but Spiff held up his hand and went on.

"There is only one answer, my friends, pre-emptive defence. We must attack before we are attacked. We, my brother stewards and I, have evolved a plan to destroy the Rumbles at the heart of their organisation. However . . ."

Spiff broke off for a second and admonished the ceiling with a grubby finger.

". . . to carry out this plan we shall need to search carefully among the ranks of the nameless. From those who have not yet had their first adventure we must select the bravest, the slyest, the craftiest and the most resourceful. It is not only the enemy we have to fear, but the enormous distance between us and him, dangerous terrain. The Rumble is confident in his stronghold, blinded by his own conceit, safe, so he thinks, in the security of his own riches and comfort, but that is where we shall strike, with a handful of chosen Borribles. We shall need dedicated volunteers but remember, those who go may never return. Blood will be spilt."

At this there was a terrific hush in the hall and the Borribles looked at each other with trepidation. An adventure was one thing, death another.

"We feel," went on Spiff, "that Battersea should not bear this brunt alone. All London Borribles are involved. To this end messages will be sent out over the city and certain tribes will be asked to send their likeliest un-named champions to us for training and instruction. Likewise, from among the ranks of the Battersea nameless, we shall choose one who shows the greatest promise. We intend to approach the following groups: the Totters of Tooting, the Wendles of Wandsworth, the Stumpers of Stepney, the Whitechapel Wallopers, the Peckham Punch-uppers, the Neasden Nudgers and the Hoxton Humpers. Details of the raid will be worked out when all the candidates have arrived."

Spiff stopped for breath and the hall became alive and buzzed with conversation. Who, people wondered, would be chosen as the Battersea representative on the expedition? An honour, yes, but what a danger too.

Knocker swore to himself; "Wish I didn't have my name already, that's a real adventure that is, wish I could go."

Spiff called for quiet again, and got it, after a while. Now he prepared for his moment of high drama. He made a sign to the side of the stage and the prisoner was brought on for all to see. There was a stunned silence. The Rumble was still taped round the snout but its beady eyes glowed a fearful red and it stood upright and unmoved.

"This," shouted Spiff, "is the enemy, no braver than us, no more dangerous, but he is difficult of access, well-protected in his burrows, he is rich and he is powerful, thinks himself superior to all Borribles by divine right. This is the enemy who wants to take Battersea into his grasp. Even now they may be digging under the streets to emerge in your very back-yard, even now they may be undermining your way of life, silently, like dirty moles."

Spiff took a deep breath and shook his arms in front of his body as if he was emptying a sack of cement and the crowd stirred with emotion. Spiff raised his voice a further notch. "This is the enemy, brothers, and we all know that he must be stopped at all costs, yes, but more than that, he must be eliminated, and who are the Borribles to do it? Why we are!"

An enormous cheer gushed from the audience. "Throw it in the river," came a voice from the back of the hall, "with a bicycle round its neck."

This suggestion was so popular that it was taken up on all sides.

"Yeah," came the shout, "in the river, steal a bike someone."

Spiff smiled indulgently."I understand your feelings, brothers," he looked at the Rumble, "but I have a better plan. Let me explain. The one thing that these objects fear above all others," he touched the Rumble lightly with a disdainful finger, "is discovery! They would hate to be unmasked and shown for what they really are. In their mythology the greatest possible disaster is what they call the Great Rumble Hunt. Their whole world is built on a false confidence, friends; the Great Rumble Hunt will destroy that confidence, and we, the Borribles of Battersea, will start that Rumble Hunt. But," Spiff had to shout across the cheering, "this is to be a war of nerves, we want them to know that something really nasty is on the way . . . us! And that is where this little rodent comes in. We propose to stick a notice onto the fur of this—carpet bag, and send it back along the chain of Borribles, right back to Rumbledom, where it will be discovered in an exhausted and dishevelled state as proof that we mean business. The message will say, 'The Great Rumble Hunt is on. Beware the Borribles!' All those in favour say 'Aye'."