Septimus Oakley watched a fly buzz lazily through the air. It hovered over the heads of the pupils of his class who were busy writing an essay. The fly landed on a desk and began to rub its legs together.
“Only another ten minutes,” said Septimus loudly, looking at his watch.
Ten minutes, he thought, until the weekend begins. Oh joy! Yet another two days of absolute boredom.
Septimus Oakley was a bachelor who lived alone in a little white painted cottage. He was fast approaching the retirement age and considered the prospect of endless days of unemployment as terrifying. Teaching wasn’t exactly an exciting vocation but it gave him some interest, but the thought of an approaching evening or weekend filled him with a feeling of disdain. He didn’t read anything except for pupil’s essays, the required novels for the following day’s lesson and junk mail delivered to him by the postman. Television was just a mass of game shows, adverts and reality programmes. More than often the box stayed switched off.
“Right, put down your pens please,” Septimus called across the room.” The bell will be going in a minute ….”
Like an obedient dog the bell began to clatter loudly. Desk tops were banged and cases and satchels reached for.
“Quiet now! Move to the door in an orderly manner………please!”
The noise level in the room suddenly became unbearable and Septimus clamped his hands over his ears.
As quickly as the melee started, it ended and silence rushed in to fill the room. The vibration set up by the demise felt like a herd of bulls had left the area and not fourteen young people.
Septimus went round the desks picking up the papers and giving the odd one a glance.
“Brown, i before e except after c! And what writing, looks like a drunken spider had danced over the sheet!” he muttered to himself.
Sitting down at his desk the teacher sorted all the essays into a neat pile. He reached for his case and carefully placed them inside.
“That’ll keep me busy for a few hours this evening,” he said aloud. “Or I could keep that unenviable pleasure till tomorrow.” Septimus chortled at the prospect.
As he made his way out of the school Septimus raised his hat to two of the ladies who taught the primary classes. They looked so young, he thought to himself. Indeed it seemed to him that children were now teaching children.
“Good night ladies,” said Septimus. “Have a nice weekend.”
His car sat in the car park at the school gate. A trusty old Ford Consul, coloured a dirty grey, mottled with the inevitable spots of rust. Ah well, thought Septimus. It will see me out.
He turned the key and the engine caught first time. Revving it a little bit Septimus pulled out of the car park onto the road. He drove off towards the set of traffic lights which were sited at the end of the road. They were on red and he dutifully came to a stop, dropping out of gear and putting on the hand brake. The engine purred like a lazy cat lying in the sun.
Suddenly Septimus heard the screeching of tyres and a blue saloon car careered through the lights and raced off up Hampton Street
The passenger door of Septimus’s car was abruptly pulled open and a young man jumped in.
“Quick!” he shouted. “Follow that car!”
Septimus was taken aback but spluttered.” And who are you?”
The young man pulled a battered wallet out of his pocket and displayed a warrant card.
“I am Detective Sergeant Wilson of Tadworth Police and I want you to pursue that car!”
“Right,” said Septimus obediently, putting the car into gear and disengaging the hand brake. “Let’s go!”
The Consul took off with a lurch leaving long black rubber streaks on the road. The Police car was just visible at the far end of the street. Its light was still flashing as it gave chase.
“Come on sir,” pleaded the policeman. “We will have to go faster than forty miles an hour!”
“But,” wailed Septimus. “We’re in a built up area!”
“I am a policeman, sir and I am officially allowing you to exceed the speed limit!”
Septimus gritted his teeth and pressed down hard on the accelerator. The Consul raced ahead the engine shrieking.
“Change to top gear, man!” shouted Sergeant Wilson. “Or you’ll bugger the engine!”
The shops and houses began to blur as the car whistled down the road. People stopped and looked on in amazement as the procession of three cars sped down the road.
“Oh dear, I think there is a zebra crossing at the end of this road,” groaned Septimus. “I hope the children are not crossing!”
The criminal’s car did not lessen speed as it approached the end of the road and Septimus put up a silent prayer that the lollipop lady was watching out. As he got nearer he saw to his relief that the lady in question was holding back a crowd of children as the lead vehicle hurtled by. Following the police car Septimus charged through and the chase continued.
The streets into Tadworth were getting busier as the car chase continued. The villain’s car weaved from lane to lane in an effort to throw off the pursuit. Car horns blared angrily as the car forced them to brake to avoid a pile up. The police car had obviously radioed ahead as when Septimus and Sergeant flew by a road end they could see a police car holding back the traffic.
On and on they drove, sometimes close to the police car’s boot then separated by several cars.
“Blow your horn!” shouted the sergeant. “We have to get back behind the two cars!”
Septimus leant on his horn and as if by magic the cars in front pulled to the right. A couple of them stopped and the drivers shook their fists at the disappearing Consul.
All of a sudden everything changed for Septimus. His blood was pumping and sweat ran down his brow, but he felt ALIVE! For the very first time in his miserable, predictable, boring life SOMETHING was happening. He was in danger and he was driving like a total maniac, but a thrill ran through his body. He had never felt this way before!
Septimus dropped gear and with the engine screaming overtook the police car and found himself right behind the criminal’s car. There were two men in the front and as the car wove through the traffic they were thrown this way and that.
“Not too close! hissed Sergeant Wilson. “You’ll ram them! Pull back!”
The houses and shops were thinning out on each side of the road. They were leaving Tadworth. Now they were charging down the country lanes, dust and stones flying into the air behind them. A pebble shot up and cracked Septimus’s windscreen but he didn’t slow down. He was going to catch them or bust!
Then it was all over. Two police cars had formed a road block across the road and the pursued car smashed into them and their engine stalled. Septimus jumped on the brakes and slewed to the side of the road where his car rolled to a stop. Sergeant Wilson jumped out and ran across to crashed car.
“Right you men,” he shouted. “Throw any weapons out of the car. My men are armed.”
Two hands holding revolvers emerged from opposite windows of the car. They fell to the ground with a satisfying clunk. Both men then emerged from the car with their hands held high and proceeded to walk over to the awaiting policemen. They were grabbed and forced to the ground where they were handcuffed.
Septimus was in a dazed state. It was all over. The chase, the excitement, the danger.
He was back to the prospect of a dismal, uninteresting evening and weekend where the high spot was fourteen badly spelt and poorly written essays to mark. Septimus could still feel his heart racing, in his imagination he still hurtled through Tadworth scattering the pedestrians and he knew that he would never feel so ALIVE again as he had today. He sidled across to where the handcuffed men lay. Sergeant Wilson turned and smiled at him.
“Now here is the real hero of the moment, but for his formidable driving, the outcome of today’s chase could have been very different.”
Septimus felt himself blush and he heard himself start to deny his importance in the pursuit, when something behind the group of policemen and their captives caught his eye. Another man was emerging from the villain’s car. He had been hiding in the back seat and now he was coming out holding a gun. He was pointing it at Detective Sergeant Wilson’s back and Septimus knew with a frightening certainty that he intended to fire it!
Grabbing hold of the sergeant’s arm he pushed him out of the way of the bullet and himself into its deadly path. It struck Septimus in the chest and he was thrown to the ground by its impact. A quick witted policeman knocked the gun out of the shooter’s hand and wrestled him to the ground. Soon he too was handcuffed.
“I’m so sorry to have involved you in this. You saved my life.” said Sergeant Wilson to Septimus as he lay bleeding. The policeman knew the wound was a fatal one and the policeman knew that Septimus knew.
“Not at all young man, you were only doing your duty and I am pleased that you are well,” said Septimus feeling the dark closing in. “It was a privilege working with you.”
Detective Sergeant Wilson stood over the body of the dead man whose name he didn’t even know.
“Sir,” he said raising his hand in salute. “The privilege was all mine.”
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