Tom Sharpe - Blott on the Landscape

When Sir Giles wasn’t on the telephone, Lady Maud was, issuing orders, drumming up support or hurling defiance at the authorities with a self-assurance that amazed and delighted Blott. You knew where you were with her and Blott, who prized certainty above all else, emerged from the greenhouse after listening to her with the feeling that all was well with the world and would remain so. Handyman Hall, the Park, the Lodge, a great triumphal arch at the bottom of the drive where Blott lived, the kitchen garden, all those things to which he had grafted his own anonymity in a hostile world, would remain safe and secure if Lady Maud had anything to do with it. Sir Giles’ calls left a different impression. His protests were muted, too polite and too equivocal to satisfy Blott, so that he came away with the feeling that something was wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but whenever he took the earphones off after listening to Sir Giles he felt uneasy. There was too much talk about money for Blott’s liking, and in particular about ample compensation for the Hall. The sum most frequently mentioned was a quarter of a million pounds. As he went down the rows of lettuces with his hoe, Blott shook his head. “Money talks,” Sir Giles had told his caller but it had said nothing to Blott. There were more important words in his vocabulary. On the other hand his hours of listening to Sir Giles had done wonders for his accent. With the headphones on Blott had sat practising Sir Giles’ pronunciation. In his study Sir Giles said, “Of course, my dear fellow, I absolutely agree with you…” In the greenhouse Blott repeated the words. By the end of a week his imitation was so exact that Lady Maud, coming into the kitchen garden to collect some radishes and spring onions for lunch one day, had been astonished to hear Sir Giles’ voice issuing from among the geraniums. “I look upon the whole thing as an infringement of the rules of conservation,” he was saying. “My dear General, I shall do my damnedest to see that the matter is raised in the House.” Lady Maud stood and gazed into the greenhouse and was just considering the possibility that Blott had rigged up a loudspeaker there when he emerged, beaming triumphantly.

“You like it, my pronunciation?” he asked.

“Good heavens, was that you? You gave me quite a start.” Lady Maud said.

Blott smirked proudly. “I have been practising correct Eng lish,” he said.

“But you speak English perfectly.”

“I don’t. Not like an Englishman.”

“Well I’d be glad if you didn’t go round speaking like my husband,” said Lady Maud. “It’s bad enough having one of him about the place.”

Blott smiled happily. These were his sentiments exactly.

“Which reminds me,” she continued, “I must see that the TV people cover the Enquiry. We must get the maximum publicity.”

Blott collected his hoe and went back to his lettuces while Lady Maud, having collected her radishes, returned to the kitchen. He was rather pleased with himself. It wasn’t often he got a chance to demonstrate his ability to mimic people. It was a skill that had developed from his earliest days at the orphanage. Not knowing who he was, Blott had tried out other people’s personalities. It had come in handy poaching, too. More than one gamekeeper had been startled to hear his employer’s voice issuing from the darkness to tell him to stop making an ass of himself while Blott made good his escape. Now as he worked away at the weeds he tried out Sir Giles again. “I demand that there be an Enquiry into this whole business,” he said. Blott smiled to himself. It sounded quite authentic. And there was going to be an Enquiry too. Lady Maud had said so.

The Enquiry was held in the Old Courthouse in Worford. Everyone was there – everyone, that is, whose property stood on the proposed route through the Cleene Gorge. General Burnett, Mr and Mrs Bullett-Finch, Colonel and Mrs Chapman, Miss Percival, Mrs Thomas, the Dickinsons, all seven of them, and the Fullbrooks who rented a farm from the General. There were also a few other influential families who were quite unaffected by the motorway but who came to support Lady Maud. She sat in front with Sir Giles and Mr Turnbull and behind them the seats were all filled. Blott stood at the back. On the other side of the aisle the seats were empty except for a solicitor representing the Ottertown Town Council. It was quite clear that nobody seriously supposed that Lord Leakham would decide in favour of Ottertown. The thing was a foregone conclusion – or would have been but for the intervention of Lady Maud and the intransigence of Lord Leakham, whose previous career as a judge had been confined to criminal cases in the High Court. The choice of venue was unfortunate, too. The Old Courthouse resembled too closely the courtrooms of Lord Leakham’s youth for the old man to deal at all moderately with Lady Maud’s frequent interruption of the evidence.

“Madam, you are trying the court’s patience,” he told her when she rose to her feet for the tenth time to protest that the scheme as outlined by Mr Hoskins for the Planning Board was an invasion of individual liberty and the rights of property. Lady Maud bristled in tweeds.

“My family has held land in the Cleene Gorge since 1472,” she shouted. “It was entrusted to us by Edward the Fourth who designated the Handyman family custodians of the Gorge -”

“Whatever His Majesty Edward the Fourth may have done,” said Lord Leakham, “in 1472 has no relevance to the evidence being presented by Mr Hoskins. Be so good as to sit down.”

Lady Maud sat down. “Why don’t you two men do something?” she demanded loudly. Sir Giles and Mr Turnbull shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“You may continue, Mr Hoskins,” said the judge.

Mr Hoskins turned to a large relief model of the county which stood on a table. “As you can see from this model South Worfordshire is a particularly beautiful county,” he began.

“Any fool with eyes in his head can see that,” Lady Maud commented loudly. “It doesn’t require a damnfool model.”

“Continue, Mr Hoskins, continue,” Lord Leakham said with a restraint that suggested he had in mind giving Lady Maud rope to hang herself with.

“Bearing this in mind the Ministry has attempted to preserve the natural amenities of the area to the greatest possible extent -”

“My foot,” said Lady Maud.

“We have here,” Mr Hoskins went on, pointing to a ridge of hills that ran north and south of the Gorge, “the Cleene Forest, an area of designated natural beauty noted for its wildlife…”

“Why is it,” Lady Maud enquired of Mr Turnbull, “that the only species that doesn’t seem to be protected is the human?”

By the time the Enquiry adjourned for lunch Mr Hoskins had presented the case for the Ministry. As they went downstairs Mr Turnbull had to admit that he was not optimistic.

“The snag as I see it lies in those seventy-five council houses in Ottertown. If it weren’t for them I think we would stand a good chance, but quite frankly I can’t see the Enquiry deciding in favour of demolishing them. The cost would be enormous and in any case there is the additional ten miles to be taken into account. Frankly, I am not hopeful.”

It was market day in Worford and the town was full. Outside the courtroom two TV cameras had been set up.

“I have no intention of being evicted from my home,” Lady Maud told the interviewer from the BBC. “My family have lived in the Cleene Gorge for five hundred years and…”

Mr Turnbull turned away sadly. It was no good. Lady Maud might say what she liked, it would make no difference. The motorway would still come through the Gorge. In any case Lady Maud had made a bad impression on Lord Leakham. He waited for her to finish and then they made their way through the market stalls to the Handyman Arms.