Cherries in Summer

Back in the bad old days of sweet coupons, not to mention rations for shoes, clothing, sugar and a hundred and one other items of life's essentials (post WWII-approx 1950), a very lean James and one other decided that a visit to one of the local orchards would provide a wonderful supplement to school 'fodder'. School meals were a no-nonsense round of very basic non fattening school foods, supervised by a red headed disciplinarian in the form of a dietician.

The word dietician used here is in actual fact a euphemism for something akin to a destroyer of all foods that would normally be described as edible. To give you some idea, I found that one of the best foods was boiled cabbage, though copious quantities of salt were required to make it palatable!

Enough said - more flavoursome nourishment was required! Thus it transpired that two wing-collared rogues bicycled the environs of Canterbury and presently espied an orchard which carried more than its fair share of very dark red-blood cherries of enormous size. Unfortunately, there appeared to be too many humans' to-ing and fro-ing to carry out a daylight heist... So we returned to Meister Omers and pondered a solution.

A couple of days later a plan was hatched. Why not use nature's cloak of darkness to gain advantage? Soon it was agreed... we'd slip out under cover of night and assail the orchard.

Now this might sound a bit risqué, but then young minds of near starvation envisaged a more interesting intake than two ladles of boiled cabbage sidling up to a thin greasy sausage for tea. Yes, the idea had to be given more secretive exposition.

Soon a loose fitting plan was hatched at the eastern wall behind Meister Omers. That night, with evening prep studies completed and all ablutions performed, two young scoundrels slipped into their beds as Housemaster Pryor sounded the 10 o'clock knell of parting day.

''Ten fifteen, fine night, all's well'', echoed across Grace Dorm, as the night watchman made his rounds below, It amazed me how punctual he was... and that it didn't matter whether it was summer or winter, snow, fog, drizzle or a crisp clear night, the refrain was exactly the same - and on cue. It was really quite comforting.

Another hour or so, and we'd be on our way. Unfortunately this was not to be. We hadn't factored in the possibility of that strange phenomenon called sleep! Yes, you guessed in...zzzzzzzzzzz.

With a jolt I sat up, leaned across and tugged at my comrade's bed sheets. A few minutes later with both clock hands nestling around the three, we crept out of the downstairs changing room, armed with an enormous cricket bag devoid of bats, stumps and other cricket paraphernalia. Passing through the toilet block and the bicycle yard saw us sprinting past the front of St Augustine's Abbey ruins; through the Green Gates (where the H.M's residence now stands) and across the bomb ruins gracing one of the side streets surrounding the old fortification walls of Canterbury.

A short time later, we were well on our way and crossing the railway lines at the ABC bridge (so called I believe because there were 26 steps up and 26 steps down the other side). A few minutes later the four strand barbed wire fencing surrounding the orchard was reached. Carefully I negotiated this obstacle and pulled the cricket bag through.

My partner in crime had but placed one foot on the wire when the silence of death was shattered by a loud phlegmatic cough followed by a gargling wheezy sound. I froze! Freddy was surely going to stripe my tail if I didn't extricate myself with care. Frog marching expulsion scenes seared my inner brain as my mind's eye enacted summary dismissal modes too frightening to behold in real life.

I was still unsure of where the orchard-keeper was stationed and I was on the wrong side of happiness with four strands of ex-army barbed wire between me and freedom. I cowered. A few moments later another rattle and gasping sound punctuated by a brilliant red cigarette glow pin-pointed the problem source. He was stationed only about ten paces to my right, cloaked in an old rug, and sitting astride a small stool. I may have been outwardly frozen, but inwardly I was literally a soggy quagmire of melted muddy emotions. Fear was spelt in very large capital letters enveloping the brain and blocking out every other thought process. Paralysis of body and mind was manifested by a desert dry mouth and a sweaty oozy body encapsulating that fractured thinking receptacle. I was surprised at the difficulty I was experiencing escaping, compare dto my easy stage entrance only moments before.

Every spike held me in its embracing clasp. Unpicking one only seemed to encourage others to take up the cause, and soon my school clobber looked more than a little holey - and very bedraggled.

After quite a few anxious moments, with thoughts of what might happen spurring me on, I was gently eased through the course by another pair of steadier hands - my brother in arms! Free!!

With very little fuss and an enormous feeling of relief two not so brave desperados hot-footed it back to the inner sanctum of Grace dorm, without further ado.

As dawn broke at about 4.20 am, it doesn't take much imagination to realise that we had made the safety of our beds by the slimmest of margins. I often wondered in moments of reflection whether or not we'd have made the grade had we picked a goodly swag of cherries!

Not withstanding, and important lesson had been learned - in future do not attempt missions that have not been fully researched. Enshrined now in the building blocks of a young boy's brain was a new commandment - the eleventh commandment - ''Thou shalt not get caught.''.