Terry Minahan - The Adventures of Thadeus Burke Vol 1

A gentleman in a tweed suit was standing in the newly created gap waving his arms. The team strolled over to meet him. He introduced himself as a local councillor who had been alerted that a possible trespass was being enacted. Was some local by-law being breached – no! Was he in some way representing the local constabulary – no! Was he acting in the interest, or on behalf, of the landlord – sort of! He knew the owner of the land and knew that the owner would not be pleased by this interruption to the quiet enjoyment of his freehold.

‘Excellent,’ said Thadeus. ‘We are anxious to discuss certain matters related to this landholding with the owner.’

‘I regret that that will not be possible, he lives at some considerable distance from here,’ was the reply.

Then Thadeus played his wild-card, ‘Perhaps we could arrange a meeting with his brother?’

The councillor visibly froze, his mouth opened but nothing came out. He composed himself, saying ‘I will see what I can arrange,’ and hastily withdrew, walking quickly towards the neighbouring farm.

‘We have more than a bite chaps. We will shortly need the nets,’ triumphed Thadeus.

‘What nets?’ enquired James.

‘A good question Mister James! I think that we should retreat to the main hanger – with our vehicles!’ interposed Hilton.

It was agreed.

Within thirty minutes of their encampment the giant hanger door behind the Camel moved and a gunshot was fired into the air above the heads of the five men standing around the Bentley. As they scuttled to the other side of the large motor-car Thadeus just had time to ask James if this sort of thing was covered by his motor insurance. James‘s vocal system had completely closed down; so had Philip’s and Stanley’s. Only Hilton was able to express himself in sound, and this he did so by repeating certain well-versed obscenities in short loud bursts!

Before they had time to recover from the shock a new and more terrifying sound split the air. Machine-gun bullets spattered the back wall.

‘Good God, it’s the Lewis!’ exclaimed Philip and Hilton together recognizing the report of the Camel’s armament. They had no time to evaluate this new threat, before the firing ceased, and the expletives ‘shit, shit!’ echoed from the aircraft’s cockpit.

‘The Lewis has jammed!’ cried Hilton.

‘Is there not a saying in the east that “one animal’s excrement is another animal’s nourishment”?’ exclaimed Thadeus rhetorically.

Hilton murmured something about ‘muck and brass’ with reference to east Yorkshire, but Thadeus had stood up, assessed the position, and was running towards the Camel aircraft. He arrived underneath the front of the fuselage and was surprised to find himself facing a very rough-looking fellow at the other end apparently trying to lift up the aircraft’s tail plane. Using no words, in an instant, his mind recognized that the villain’s idea was lower the Camel’s nose in order to operate the fixed and synchronized Vickers at ground level. He contemplated swinging the propeller as a shield, but there were only two blades, and they were made of wood! As these thoughts flashed through his mind the third, and final, horror started. The Lewis on the Dolphin opened fire. Thadeus experienced one of those moments when time stands still; frozen as Rupert Brooke had ably described in a more favourable situation over a teacup.

The Dolphin’s Lewis sent a short burst sweeping across the dusty floor. The scruff at the rear of the Camel fell to the ground clutching his legs and moaning loudly. From his hand fell a handgun. Thadeus rushed down the port side of the Camel and grabbed it. Before he could stand upright the Dolphin was in action again, a well-directed burst hit the occupant of the Camel’s cockpit, just as the first rounds left the Vickers on their way towards the far end roof. All was now quiet! Thadeus paused, then ducked under the fuselage and walked with trepidation towards the other craft, gun in hand.

A voice boomed out into the large hanger from a megaphone. ‘Thadeus, please do not shoot Detective Sergeant Anderson.’ It was the unmistakeable voice of Inspector Johnny Jackson.

An hour later they were all assembled in a private room at the local hostelry. Explanations were being given. The police had arrived as the first shots were fired. The detective sergeant was familiar with the Lewis gun, but it was the first time he had used one to attack a Sopwith Camel. His last victim had been a Hanover C Type over France as a member of the RFC.

What Thadeus could not understand was why even an East End gangster would want to machine-gun five people to settle a dispute over the route of a public right of way?

Jackson explained. ‘It might have been the last straw, or more likely the last haystack. My investigation was getting close to his illegal activities, and then he suddenly discovers that Stanley and Philip, two old union adversaries, who knew his name, and knew his signature, where about to unearth his secret land ownership, bought with money stolen from union funds. He also owned the farm, beyond the scrub strip, an area of over 120 acres.’

‘How did you know that we were there?’ asked Thadeus.

‘I telephoned you at home to give you some more information about the Barber brothers. I spoke to your sister, she sounds very nice.’

‘She is invaluable,’ confessed Thadeus.

Then Jackson enquired, ‘How did you wheedle them out?’

‘When I was told that we could not meet the landowner, I asked if I could talk to his brother.’

Jackson laughed. ‘You chaps will be needed at the enquiry.’

That evening Thadeus felt an overwhelming need to bathe in the beautiful; to rid the body and mind of violence and aggressive impulses. He entertained the clientele of the public bar with parts of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No 27.

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