Peter - Chapter Sixteen - Part 3. Bury Ditches Hil

Peter - Chapter Sixteen - Part 3. Bury Ditches Hill Fort Party
The second night of the party had a far softer feel. The number of people now on the hill had doubled. Police helicopters flew overhead to report back to the Craven Arms Sports Centre which had been taken over by the police as a base of operations. A rudimentary rural squad had been unable to stop the flow of people arriving from all directions. The roads leading to the hill fort car park were lined with cars and any driver parked at the parties earliest hours were blocked in. The vast beacon bonfire continued to burn. This glow of flame was visible from all directions. The central tent continued to be the focal point of the party and from above the paths leading down to the lower tent appeared to see many walking from one to the other. The lowest of the three tents had no apparent vehicular access though attracted many ravers down out of curiosity. Added to these key areas from the first night was another large set up that had sprung up to the rear or Welsh side of the hill and looked to mirror the secondary big top. The lines of parked cars showed the prime access point. A forestry track led down to an encampment of travellers that had spread across to form a block across the main access route. Overnight a secondary traveller group had formed a similar mass of vehicles across the secondary access road. A couple of forestry tracks appeared to be being used as supply lines for those running the party, much like the back stage access at a festival. In all but word festival is what this has become.
Around a cluster of ping pong tables twenty heads of police were discussing tactics. Mapped out before them was a hastily constructed depiction based on the aerial photography of the helicopter specialist passengers, that they studied like military generals. Initial hopes that the hill fort gathering would play itself to a natural dispersal of party goers, without intervention had fallen through. In the past this was usually the case hence, with the savagely cut budgets the police faced, each and every detail was under scrutiny. Hindsight could have hindered last nights arrivals that had doubled the scale of the problem. Hindsight is a great thing. Had Shropshire Police requested support from neighbouring forces only to find the party naturally disperse a vast amount of money wasted on overtime would have had to be explained by someone. However with the arrival of the two traveller groups and their strategic positioning that suggested a longer period of occupation, it was clear they had missed a trick. Shifting this lot would take manpower and a decent game plan. The memory of Castle Morton 1992 still lingered in older coppers minds. That had grown to unstoppable size. This spontaneous festival holds legendary status in police, raver and traveller histories. Free Festival culture of New Age travellers combined organically and unplanned with the illegal rave scene that was at its peak following Avon and Somerset police closure of Avon Free Festival. 20-40000 gathered at Castlemorton Common in the Malvern Hills having been shunted from place to place by police. Since Stonehenge festivals of the early 1980s this was by far the biggest free festival. The media put all police Chiefs through the ringer for weeks, forcing more than a few retirements. Further still, new legislation to prevent the rave phenomena had a hugely damaging effect on New Age travellers that were barely recovered from the mid eighties attacks at Stonehenge, Nostel Priory and Stony Cross. The Criminal Justice and Public Order act of 1994 made any gathering illegal. Many moved to Ireland, Spain and Portugal. What remained were very different to the original utopian New Age travellers that had begun as an ethical response to consumerist mainstream society, seeking a greener more spiritual, less materialist way of life. Instead, by eliminating the gentle types, a harder, more cynical even nihilistic hard core traveller scene developed. More paranoid of outsiders. Victims of abuse. Punished far beyond any minor infringement they may have committed, many were psychologically damaged. Harder drugs replaced the hashish and acid. Seeing themselves as a people deserving of the same human rights as gypsies, disillusionment set in. The attacks on their way of life was indeed brutal beyond reason. Government tried to stamp them out. Only the hardiest hung on.
At Castle Morton, DI Briggs had been a young rooky and seemingly was the only copper here with any first hand experience of these type of gatherings. A couple of ex Wiltshire lads had driven over from West Mercia where they were now relocated. They had similarly cut their teeth at the Stonehenge debacles of '84 and '85. Atkins and Sharpe quickly became his lieutenants, their comments being the only additional voices of sense. Most had seen service at inner city riots and football violence. Short periods of anarchy seldom lasting more than a few hours. Castlemorton had continued for ten days.
Together they began a plan of action. First they needed to stop further arrivals by blocking specific types of vehicles on certain roads. This alone took a smart eye as closing off major roads to all traffic was out of the question. From here containment. Assessment of points of approach. Which sites to target and enclose. Sound systems must be overtaken to close off music. The inevitable mob rage must be subdued. After this crowd dispersal would take time. Estimates of 5000 to 8000 people were on or around the hill. They began to work out how many police this would take. There was also the issue of which forces to ask. Rivalries existed between the different regional forces. Plans began to take shape of a three or four pronged assault. Here Birmingham coppers could work together without having to compete with others from Wolverhampton. Worcester could work separately from Hereford. Calls were made. West Mercia agreed to 200 officers as did the Walsall, West Bromwich area. Wolverhampton offered 100 which was matched by Hereford and Worcester. Shropshire had 100 themselves and under Briggs would take command.
As the police gathered together, their spirits were high. The common goal indeed delivered the predicted rivalries though the command felt, if this was channelled into healthy competition it could work in their favour. All agreed by this third night complacency must be setting in. Towny ravers whose vehicles were blocked in could be relied on to seek an exit anyway. Hearts and minds was a phrase that began to be repeated. Weekenders sleeping in their cars would be knackered by now, travellers were equipped for this life. Divide and conquer. Get the posh kids on side and the rest would tumble. Two hardy teams were assembled to approach and break the traveller lines, or at least focalise their attention. These were to attack without restraint, stripped of numbers knowing the travellers were unlikely to press charges should any of these coppers go over the line. Secondary teams would then break on through. One Wolverhampton squad were to extinguish the fire before taking the main Splat tent. Simultaneously West Mercia in two divisions would close down the secondary stages and their sound systems. Seeing no exit for the lower tent this was considered a lesser priority. Once this was underway the more local police were to work away at the younger towny ravers, encouraging them to move their vehicles, hopefully by now, stuck on the hill, they would be grassing up the prime movers. Pooling information as they went the police felt confident they'd clear the bulk of the people easily.
Stripping off numbers the police boasted of the battles they'd had with hooligans. Some older coppers stood proud telling tales of how they had battered miners at Orgreave. Others claimed to be veterans of traveller evictions. All unified in commitment against the unusual, the weirdo, the ethnic or sexual minority, the druggy. Britain belonged to the ruling class. To fight for queen and country, to uphold the status quo, to serve their betters was their code. The impudence of these ruffians in hoping to have fun, unauthorised whilst they worked each day, enjoying a bar b que with family, or Christmas with the inlaws, that was the goal of life. A big car. A big TV. A big watch. Rejection of these aspirations revealed deviance of mind. They were the biggest gang. These bastards would find out who was boss tonight.

The helicopter surveillance above sent word throughout all on the hill fort that a major police manoeuvre was in the planning. Anthone immediately contacted key figures at the lower tents. Alerting them to the threat and calling representatives to meet up at the beacon that still burned strong. Peter and Lipton brought up travellers from either side. Representatives from the tribes blocking either entrance to the hill fort. Jesus alerted the Clun Druid lads who knew the area best. Figures from the ice tent came to hear this discussion. The twenty odd faces round the large bonfire formed a loose union. All recognised that within this apparent anarchy, these few were of pivotal significance to any unity of action.
Peter:"Let's get this fire well stocked up before dark. Any spare hands, rave kids or anyone bored, drag up as much timber as possible! As long as this fire burns we are not done. By the same token, if the fire dies out, feel no responsibility. I'll supervise the blaze. If the filth are winning, we will smother the flames. Let this be the final point of union. Trust us! If it's burning, fight on. If it dies out, get away as you can. Once the flames die out for ten minutes we will be relighting everything we have to draw them on up. So don't think the new blaze means continue. It's a copper trap only. We've had three belting nights. It's win win! If they're up to stopping us I won't let anyone fight on without my guarantee of victory! Ok? Trust this fire!"
That established, finer details could be discussed. Lipton took over.
Lipton:"If we play this right I can't see them breaking us tonight. We've got both access routes covered. Let the party sound systems continue. The party in these upper areas should be safe. Doubtful any punter will even know the filth are attacking the lower slopes. The traveller sites should hold them there, long enough to ensure all sound equipment can be dismantled and removed. If the police want to break through they'll phone straightway. Should I be wrong I hand you over to Andy. His knowledge of the hill is beyond anyone's. Andy?"
Andy Brock:" Right! We've got four tractors with trailers. That's one for each tent and sound system. We hope it won't come to this however, listen close. Anthone has kindly agreed to keep belting out sounds as Splat is the highest point. Should word come through, dismantle and our lads will help you with your kit on to the tractors. No other vehicle can cope with the forestry tracks we aim to use. See Jimmy!" and he held up his mates hand, "And Ben!" these two will direct you to a couple of clearings under forestry cover. Get your vehicles ready where they tell you. We will get the systems down the hill fort tracks to your vehicles. From here I can point directions. But head Wales side. If Anthones crew keep playing you should be out by the time anyone can stop you. As for Anthone? Well, let him speak!"
Anthone:" This has been a blinder. We are in the process of changing our best kit over to our older tackle. You will notice a slight lowering of the sound quality. I don't want to lose this. However, we'd appreciate any help in dismantling this last sound system. We will play on to the death. So, once the flames die out, get the fuck away! We will keep on playing."
Peter:" I'd like to add. We will stop the fire for ten minutes only. After that we are throwing everything on, ok! So first gap is your last message. You must act on that ten minute gap in the flames. After the flames restart we will be making the fire as strong as possible! We have made a little history here. This is a Hill Fort. It's built for this sort of defence. Get out alive. And to all the new freinds made up here, we will meet again!"
Anthone:" As for the raver kids. They will do as they will. Whatever they do will cause chaos. If it starts kicking off I can see them flooding away. Let them. They will cause police problems."
Peter:" To the Welsh Aberystwyth crew. Take it as you will. Slip away as you need to. You'll need to let the outflow through anyway, that should stop any coppers. I can't see arrest being of priority. The Travellers from The Cross, you've got the hardest job as I'm certain they'll try get through you. If they do, don't die for this. Just trust your judgement. What I would say to you all is there are some 5000 rave kiddies up here. Make your money. There's plenty need pills and smoke. Worst case scenario we get a mental night. If we're not still here by the morning I'll be surprised."
Lipton:"On the positive side. Should we hold out tonight, and I believe we will. We return this time tomorrow to discuss the next step! Skree can be a pessimistic cunt. Let's keep the bastards out! Any last comments?"
Jesus:" God is on our side. Let's go fucking mental!"
This saw the twenty gathered brothers cheer in solidarity. Above the sky was clear of clouds. Any animosity or stranger rivalries disappeared as the common enemy unified the disparate groups. From this point on, anyone on that hill fort was a freind. Everyone would now look out for everyone else. This solidarity lifted the communal spirit. Safety for all settled as the third evening began.


In body armour, shields and batons, the police army felt adrenaline as their vehicles moved toward Bury Ditches hill fort. Not a man their felt anything but certainty that they would succeed. Some began to drum out a rhythm of baton on shield, readying their approach. Soon they found the vehicles were pulling over, as the other half drove on through smaller connecting lanes for their assault on the far side. The Welsh side. Arguably the short straw as police vans could get within a mile of the summit but a far steeper face to march upon. Stood watching their colleagues drive off, the reality of the task developed in the police minds. The lines of partiers cars stretched two miles from the target. Stepping out into the dusk, all coppers felt the cold wind on their cheeks. Some of the more sensitive felt the weather itself was warning them off. Struggling to find anywhere to group in any formation they now stood in lines or huddles. DI Briggs tried to deliver an inspirational speech but the wind clasped each word and hurled it off in dismissal. They began the two mile March upward to stop this party. The target was clear as a massive bonfire whipped vast flame forms like some demon unleashed on earth. Two miles above it danced in mockery at their lines. Training kicked in for some but most fell silent as the night felt very cold. The bold city boys slowly watched their rural counterparts dictate the pace. Familiar with the elements. Taking control without word. The country lane saw the police drop into lines of four. Talk dwindled after the first mile as the site came in to view. The lashing wind took on a personal spite, a pagan God beyond their understanding. The boom boom boom of music grew more audible silencing the last brave brutal promises of the plod.
Briggs brought his men to a halt a hundred yards below the trucks, vans and buses that the travellers could now be seen, looking down, assessing what the men in black had in mind. Batons and shields, riot helmets and knee high boots revealed their intent. They weren't here to negotiate, they had chosen the nature of the interaction. Cross Crew Travellers sighed at the predictable police tactics and began to prepare. First by shifting vehicles to create two walls with a single six foot wide opening. By positioning their homes into a barrier they could easily hold the police off, perhaps indefinitely. The police would then damage and destroy as many of the travellers homes as possible, smashing in windows, showering women, some with young babies in glass. In these frenzied situations there were invariably coppers that attacked women and children with truncheons. Instead, by providing a target they could allow the police through thus invigorating their spirits, then, if needs be, close off their exit. Most had enjoyed their party, made some cash dealing to the rave kids, tonight's final police excitement wasn't worth getting injured for or incurring any damage to the vehicles.
The younger kids gathered piles of flattish slates whilst the older crew put any gear away and readied their trucks for the drive home. In mobile contact with the Aberystwyth Crew over the other side they agreed to funnel the police through this narrow channel. Laugh at the fat sweaty peelers charging uphill out of breathe. Then both would slip away in to the night. Back on home sites by the ear,y hours.
Briggs delivered his speech. "Today we will end this occupation of one of our great nations historic sites. There maybe few locals affected by that racket but we must stand together against young people having fun. Indeed, MDMA, the drug that they all enjoy dancing on maybe pretty much harmless. Yet the joy, freedom, lack of inhibition and empathy on these druggies faces points only one way. Heroin! Tonight once we have cleared the hill we can enjoy a whisky, smoke a cigarette, true, these drugs may kill more than all other drugs put together, but they are legal. Remember Braveheart? These people are like William Wallace who caused an uprising against our betters. The class we protect. But by force of numbers Wallace was killed. Together we can be like those brave men who waited till they outnumbered the scot, then charged in to capture him. This is our way. These anarchists may think they are brave one on one, one on four even, but when twelve of us get him in the back of our vans or in a cell, together a dozen of us are every bit the match of one of these vandals. So stick in groups. Avoid anything close to even odds. They may have enjoyable lives at these parties, but we get paid. Think of your flat screen TV, think of your car, think of your watch! Come on men! Charge!"
Most fit men and women would be out of breathe after a hundred yard uphill run. At least a dozen alongside Briggs reached the Travellers still running but most had reverted to walking. Many stood doubled over with stitches. Red faces revealed the canteen culture of the snout trough. For three or four minutes Briggs couldn't speak as his lungs caught up with his delusions of athleticism. Seven dirty looking figures, dreaded hair, close cropped, tattooed and pierced faces, all, however were overwhelmed by uncontrolled laughter. Briggs saw poor dental hygiene in these smiles though this barely scratched the humiliation he felt at his men's charge. By the time Briggs was able to speak he had nearly thirty of his men at his side. Batons, body armour, riot helmets and shields now were clearly a schoolboy error. These scruffy men looked neither interested in fighting nor impressed. Readying himself to demand they stand aside the sound of heavy Diesel engines began to start up. Soon the outer vehicles began to pull away. Adge, an older face on the Traveller scene. A veteran of the BeanField, Nostel priory days felt pity for the police chief whose cheeks had softened to a red flush now, leaving the purple of a few minutes earlier.
Adge: "Sir? Are you ok? We can offer comprehensive first aid to any of your .....men. Is it the Hill Fort party that you are looking for?"
Briggs abandoned his script on legality and demands of entry as clearly access was no issue. The real concern now was getting his unfit body of men up the remaining two or three hundred yards to the summit. Breathe still a struggle, Briggs nodded in answer.
Turning to look upwards Adge put a protective arm round the police chiefs shoulder. "See the fire? This route takes a gentle curl around the hill leading to the car park entrance. It's packed with cars but that's your best route. You could half the yardage by a linear ascent but undergrowth may spread out your men. I'd give them ten minutes to gather themselves, form lines of four and take my first suggestion. Great view up there. Some of those youngsters might be upset with you so I'd seriously consider my advice."
The crackle of his radio alerted Briggs. On the far side of the hill the situation sounded similar. Sharpe informed him that his men were taking twenty minutes after their hill charge. The Aberystwyth travellers had provided the men with hot tea and the odd blanket for the less hardy of the men. Sharpe explained the Aberystwyth Crew were pealing away now and collecting their cups and blankets. Should they aim to head for the beacon? Meet up there?
Peter and Lipton unravelled a vast tarpaulin and aided by several young lads they covered the fire. Briggs became confused. Adge slapped his back and bid goodbye as his truck was leaving. Only six trucks remained and these were ready to follow.
Briggs: "The fire appears to have gone out, however, roger. Set off now and join forces."
Traveller kids saw the police shields when pulled up to chin height, exposed the shins. As their parents vehicles growled in to life they began the sport of spinning slates at police shins. An attempted Roman tank found a plethora of shin bruising. Briggs began to shout but the kids were leaping on to the leaving vehicles. Laughing. Comparing film footage on their smart phones of the slate shin assault. Posting the best to You Tube.
Briggs took Adges advice. Reformation into at least a semblance of order true end a little dignity to his dispirited men who paced themselves for this final drive. Lessons learnt.
After a few yards the fire magically returned, Lipton having argali see the tarpaulin removal as Peters group assembled the heap of dry logs. This was the last blast so all were hurled on. The bonfire becoming the size of a semi detached house, sending sparks of burning charcoal a hundred feet in to the sky, twice that in odd orange specks propelled within the thermal heat.


Seeing the beacons ten minute break all hands set to work. Ice were loaded up in half an hour. All technology boxed away as everyone collaborated in dismantling their tent. Ben drove his tractor with expert speed down forestry tracks. Transferring all to their lorry in this hidden forestry clearing well out of police sight was more relaxed. Many new freinds swapped numbers, hugged and celebrated their collective achievement. Remaining pills were now being given freely to fuel these last hours of mayhem. The Ice lorry slid away into the dark of night, soon mingling with other haulage traffic on the A49.
Ben now drove up to the EBF big top that was already half way taken down. Many hands helped stack the speakers, lighting rigs and other boxed equipment onto the trailer. These guys knew their tent and soon had it all loaded. With the folded big top over the cases the EBF crew slumped on top, laying flat so as to not be thrown aside by Bens driving.
At the clearing where the lorrys stood parallel, Jimmys tractor and trailer arrived with the marquee and sound system crew from the other side of the fort. Old faces from Bedlam bumped in to ex Spiral Tribe, many who had not met up in years. For a time it looked
Like this surprise re amassing of old school sound system crews may start up again, hidden down here. Yet this was the sole secret exit route. Lorries soon full were away. All equipment unharmed. Ready to fight another day.
Two lorries remained. Andy brought the Splat prime set up that had blasted out loudest all previous nights. Anthones generosity in offering to be the last crew standing was respected throughout the ad hoc assembly of technicians, roadies and labourers. Their gear safely away. Just the last lorry and a skeleton crew remained here ensuring the position was secure.
With these losses the Hill Fort party had lost the festival diversity yet the police intervention had ushered in a solidarity the previous nights lacked. All were on the same side now. 5000 people remained inflamed by the passion of a singular goal. To party on.
The thousand or more cars parked up in the lanes leading to either side of the hill and crammed the car park. The vast blaze now had grown immense. It's heat could be felt fifty yards away, a physical manifestation of the collective mindset of all still on site. The two traveller crews had left but Peter and Liptons base camp remained numbering thirty odd vehicles and other assorted tents, teepee and benders. Access from this lower sanctuary to the summit was now possible via three footworn paths. Set some eighty yards behind the beacon the Splat marquee continued to play dirty house as people re coalesced to the new dual focus of marque and blaze. All sides of the marquee were now open as the sheer volume of people covered an area three times the tents footprint in dance.

Elijah lay back in the grass looking skywards breathing deeply of the cool night air. Cathy, Sue and Esau slept beside his brother as Elmer scanned the shifting sea of people. So high above the lower land, a reversal of his regular life. Picturing the Hill Fort mirrored as a subterranean cavern, it's equal opposite underworld. He watched Elijah savouring the oxygen as one might a fine wine. He'd never thought of his life as confined or even abnormal. A mans mind explores as far as any others. Some travelled the whole earth over, giving country's a cursory glance and moments reflection. Others studied in microscopic detail a few square yards. Still, these last days had been good for all three who'd journeyed here together. Not the gift. That was of equal weight as it was enlightening. But sharing time with other folk. Talking nonsense into the night. Dancing with strangers that drifted into freinds. If there was any secret to life it was this. To play. To see. To share. He thought of his father, now old and tired. How his persecution had led to the lives they knew. His gift hadn't been asked for. Why, he was buried as a baby boy. He knew why Jesus had that soft spot for him. They shared something neither asked for yet something that made men do terrible things. Jealous things. He lay back just as Elijah lay. Studied the stars. Deep space. So distant it made a man a grain of sand. He would seek out Christ. Ask him advice. For reasons he couldn't yet grasp, Jesus had only given his revolution a single shot. A favour to his old fella, maybe. Or fear of similar outcome. It struck him as irresponsible in a way. To have such a chance to change things. What he'd seen the other night. What he'd created. No one could offer any more than opinion. But Jesus he felt may be a voice he should listen to, whilst he had chance. This council they'd discussed. Maybe they could talk there. The stars grew too many, tiring his eyes, pulling him into a gentle slumber, safe amongst freinds.

Rachel had wandered the hill fort for blissful hours hand in hand with Mike. The crowds grew too much and they sought somewhere private. One of the white skinned boys with black quiffs, maybe even the one who shook his hips in subtle grace that brought her to such deep orgasm she had fallen to her knees, moaning loudly as Mike smiled at her in confusion. She recalled Elmers thick black quiff of greased hair, his gentlemanly southern drawl, how he graciously raised her to her feet, apologising despite her eternal gratitude. To have felt such animal ecstasy so soon after meeting this man with whom she'd fallen in love seemed disrespectful now but she'd not felt anything close to that before. Though it's power had left her weak. The boys aware the climax had left her rubber legged, suggested some vans and a camp lower down a track their friends were based. Lipton and Peter they were called, they'd met earlier whilst with Sue and Cathy but lost them at some point, all three greasers of the underworld insisted they'd not mind if she took Mike there for a few hours. Though walking on an unknown hill, miles from her home, down a track so dark she could barely see, Rachel had never felt more safe. Being next to Mike she felt as though the personal radar of fear all young girls carry could be put aside. This man would care for her. The barking of the dogs preceded tiny candle points, and soon they were at the cosy camp. They stoked the embers of the fire into life then chose the larger van to enter. Mike sat silently for a while as she heated water. Finding towels she bathed his fragile body, cleaning away all dirt and shit before rubbing him dry. Rummaging through piled clothes she selected a pair of black jeans, a t shirt and hoody. Clean socks and boxers surely wouldn't be missed. As she dressed him he began to hum a tune that grew into a sweet song. First washing his hair then brushing it clear of knots, his beard too smooth and unmatted. Scissors were up on a shelf so she asked him if he would like a cut. Nodding peacefully he accepted her care. Gently she sat him down and carefully cut back his beard revealing a crisp jawline. Then gently working on his hair she cleared his fringe so his eyes of crystal blue sparkled into hers. She had not seen a man so handsome. Both now exhausted they snuggled into Peters bed where his dog welcomed them. Mike was relaxed now. All the fear had dispersed. What sort of monster was that Rupert Bunsen who'd arrived here with Mike shackled like an animal? She felt it the instant his grinning beard and upper class voice had joined their group. If she were to ever meet him again she may be unable to contain herself. Yet he had brought Mike. She snuggled closer to this man twice her age yet fragile as a child. And here they drifted into peaceful sleep, holding each other tightly.

Jesus Christ had blagged ten lilacs off Peter who had made his profit by now and seemed more focused on seeing this thing go out in style. He'd nodded at Harry who he still had in tow though had failed in any sexual advances he'd made. To be honest he'd always preferred prostitutes than the tedious pretence of interest. Faking interest in stupid comments. He'd rather pay down cash and get straight to business.
Peter: "Posh birds, eh? Used to love them in my teens. Clean bedrooms, full pantries. Find them grating on the ear after a while, though "
Jesus mumbled some obscenity over the impossibility of her talking once he had his way. Peter hoped the pills might help his salacious friend, or at least place sex out of the relationship. Christ was a mans man. He liked whores but mostly liked getting wasted with his mates. Peter was quite different. He loved talking to girls. Maybe he'd offer the gab his freind found such a chore.
Peter: "Harry? Isn't it? What do you reckon to the party? Were you around when Mikron lost the plot on the decks and some genius dropped that drum and bass version of that old Tuberous Bellends album from the seventies? It went mental!"
Harry: "Indeed I was. I came up with my freinds from Bristol. We partied in Gloucester then heard of this do. I lost my crew soon after we got here and I fell asleep. Next thing I remember was hearing Bellends. The floor were going crazy. Naked, mostly too!" Harry laughed at the memory. Group chemistry delivered such gems on rare occasions when the recipe arose by chance. Or the work of higher powers.
Harry: "I've a little secret. I don't mean to name drop but I knew Mike Oldpastures back in the day."
Peter: "Serious! Amazing! He's here, you know. Some twat in a suit brought him. Naked and chained up. No shit! Some freinds of mine took him off to clean him up."
Harry's face shifted through a spectrum of emotions. Bunsen! But she'd love to see Mike again.
Peter: "I'm sorry, did I say something to upset you?"
Harry: "Oh nothing you need worry over. That suited man you mention. Well, I'd rather never see him again. It's a long story. But Mike? Could we find him?"
Peter: "We can, I think. Olpastures gave that twat the slip, I think."
Jesus was looking a bit pissed off at Peters building rapport with the girl he'd been hoping to shag. Still, he'd got the pills. Scanning around the lamb of god saw what looked like a right bunch of slappers. Weighing things up he had a quiet word in peters ear.
Jesus: "Look, mate. She's not going to put out and it's maybe dawns light but she's fifty odd! See these birds here, mini skirts, crop tops, makeup? I'm going to give them a try. Don't forget the conference. Tomorrow! Right? Clun Castle. We can meet there and move somewhere private. But it's imperative we get this thing with the Clun coven sorted. Ok?"
Peter: "No probs, mate. Good luck on the slapper front!"
And the messiah slipped away in pursuit of the gaggle of slags, half.......1/4000 his age.
Peter: "Harry, let's go find Mike Oldpastures!"

Hetty Bowles Clarrington had been unable to get away from stable management duties until this morning. She'd located the hill ok and swiftly found a policeman for directions. In fact she'd found a large group who accompanied her towards a vast fire atop the hill. If she'd known the nature of this party she'd never have dreamed of letting her boys attend. Rupert had implored her. Lady Harrington had been at Marlborough Ladies College at her year. They'd not been close but Rupert explained she'd gone awol. Left her estate, family to join some cult or other. His insistence that she had become so brainwashed she'd only speak to other women obligated her attendance. Find them both then get away from these animals. It was reassuring to be surrounded by these policemen. They'd stand for no nonsense.

Mikron had pocketed the Bellends disc in the mayhem. His mission now was to locate Rupert Bunsen. The business legend had all but promised to discuss his ideas. A central London venue the scale of the Ministry. Yet, and here was his idea, draw in all the grime artists he knew struggling under the radar. London was begging for somewhere like this. The white kids with money loved the music but few braved travelling to the dodgy estates where it's hottest spots were. And the disc may just be his key. It's value must have multiplied beyond measure after he'd played it. Let no one forget that either. Who dropped the bomb! Mikron!

Stood by the fire at the summit of this Hill Fort Lipton felt his journey since Peter found him just about to end it all, had been a pivotal reaffirmation of his shamanic destiny. They hadn't planned this party but what they had brought to it had taken an ember and created a blaze. Andy, Jimmy and Ben had stuck with him since getting all the kit away on to the lorries. Their work pretty much done. From this position they could see the two groups of police moving in from either side. Ten more minutes and they'd be linked up. By the look of things from here they'd cross the car park, try take the fire then close down the Splat marquee. All around partyers were readying themselves for battle. Should be a good one too. Turning to Andy he spoke
Lipton: "What do you reckon? I'm thinking it'll take the filth a good half hour to reform at the entrance. The carpark crew look well up for it. If the police do well we've still got two hours till the main battle. I'm thinking, if you're up for it, go back to our camp. Get some food and beer down us. Then we return to see out the main battle?"
Andy: "Aye! Could be longer than that. We should eat if we are in for a long one! If you're inviting us down , we're honoured."

Anthone spotted the suit of the bearded twat who'd brought out that disc accompanied by his ginger haired freind. The suit had taken some stick since he'd last seen the man yet he still beamed, smiling only from the mouth. The eyes spoke anger. Shifting path whilst pulling his hood over Anthone hoped to swerve these cunts.
Bunsen: "Anthone, I believe! Just the fellow. have you seen my client? We lost each other after Mikron played our disc. The disc has gone walkies too!"
Anthone :" Awright mate! How'd you enjoy you're night?"
Rupert: "Banging! Largely down to my timely arrival with the tunes of the night! Tell me, no DJ came close, did they? In the chaos I searched for Mikron who has my disc! As an employee of yours I hold you accountable. I need that. I need Oldpastures also!"
Anthone hadn't a clue where either were now. "Mikron was hired for three hours. He isn't my employee. Not even a mate, to be honest."
Since the other stages, tents and sound systems had escaped Anthone had felt a tad miffed. They'd done well. Even removed their prime kit but still they stood to lose both the marquee and the secondary sound system. These were affordable losses but it still grates on him. Looking to the bonfire where groups amassed. Looking further across the carpark he could see the police were preparing to move in. Suddenly an idea struck. Genius.
Anthone: "Rupert, is it ok to call you that? I sincerely feel that you have lost out. Having brought about the pinnacle moment of the entire event I can see how unfair things must appear. But in all honesty, I don't know where you could find either man nor disc. Yet I have an idea that could help you. I'm loathe to lose these key components of my business, are you open to negotiation? I may just have an answer for you."
Bunsen : "If you've lost my disc and can't find Oldpastures I fail to see anything you can offer me."
Anthone: "Look. The computer below the decks, beside the CD player. That is a costly piece of kit. I paid £5700 for that set up. Now, the computer digitally records every disc, compact or vinyl, that gets played. These recordings are top quality. Far above most digital quality. There's around four times the data of what you'd hear on spotify. The entire set of music played here since we set up is recorded there at a standard beyond most ears. So, in there will be the Tuberous Bellends drum and bass mix you gave Mikron. So, I might just be the only person able to help you out."
Rupert Bunsen considered the good fortune. Mikron could easily have left hours ago, could well be long gone. Oldpastures may be stalking the hills. Gone feral. Feeding on carrion. Considering all options Bunsen saw none with the mentalist surviving more than a few days. His mother might moan a little but when they'd driven him away in the horse box she'd looked relieved to be free of her disturbed distortion of a son. With Oldpastures rotting away in some woodland ditch, Creative ownership would revert to Rupert. G Man looked extremely excited.
Bunsen :" Could my associate consultant here take a look at the equipment?"
Anthone :" Follow me. This is a singular opportunity, you understand." Walking toward the technical enclosure behind the decks where a DJ worked away, head bowed in concentration. Anthone took note of the police three hundred yards away. They were now in formations. The police chiefs huddled discussing their approach. He must conclude the deal quickly.
Ginger was in his element. The main decks were a year or two outdated as were the speakers. All told it was a good sound system. But it was the computer and its content that was the jewel.
Anthone: "What dyou reckon, G Man? Look, slip these free and we can remove the computer!"
G Man :"No, no! Keep recording."
Turning to Rupert he took him out of earshot. Bunsen saw the gleem in Gingers eyes.
G Man:"Rupert. Have you checked your phone today? The media are all over this. Front page on all main newspapers. Hourly updates on rolling news. This party will be remembered for years to come. Stonehenge had no decent recording. Castlemorton in 1992 was the last event to compare to this. Again, no decent recordings. On that laptop you have three to four days of sets that will become legendary. The other kit is of no great value, a few grands worth. Those recordings are as good as it gets. Say we get them sorted out. In illegal downloads if we can get it out online this week while the party is still news, well, you're talking seven figures. Easy. Seperate DJ sets. Each night as a unit. Division of the product is up to us. It's a must!"
Ginger was nearly in tears. The whole party plus the Tuberous Bellends mix. It was a fucking goldmine. Bunsen knew G Man knew this stuff. His decision had been taken. All remaining was price.
Anthone:" Look! This marquee. This sound system. This is my entire business. My one stipulation is you buy the lot or nothing. You can do want you want with the marquee but without the rest, it's of no use to me. I'm not happy to see it go. I'm thinking eight. Are we in the same ballpark."
Rupert realised the tent and decks, cabling, speakers, scaffolding structure etc was of some value but it was the computer and the recorded data he wanted.
Anthone: "I can give you my foremans mobile number if you're concerned with disassembly and transportation. But you'll have to talk prices with him."
Rupert enjoyed a barter. It was about power. Watching a fellow bend. "I believe we could find common ground. Eight you say?"
Anthone nodded trying to appear relaxed. An hour ago he was prepared to abandon the lot for nothing. Eight thousand. Perhaps he'd been cheeky. He kept eye contact as the business man thought.
Rupert :"Ok! I'm afraid eight is a little beyond current funds. Would you consider £60,000.?"
Anthone kept his features fixed as he kept down the vomit. Sixty thousand!! Six would have had him smiling all week.
Anthone: "Ok! Considering your position I accept."
Rupert Bunsen knew legal documents required qualified accountants, signatures. He'd have to bluff. " Mr Fortescue, or G Man as we freinds call him, is a qualified accountant. If we have some blank paper he can draw up a legal document. We can deliver a fuller account at a later date. As for payment? Do you have an I phone? Internet banking?"
Within minutes draughts were hand written detailing all items with a rudimentary breakdown of costs. Bunsen hid his pride in having made a fool of this chap. Indeed, these papers confirmed transfer of ownership.
Anthone feeling dizzy studied his Nationwide account balance leap from £1270 to £61270.00. Both parties signed and shook. Rupert contained his desire to laugh at such a deal. But the man appeared happy. Turning to the sound engineers, other techs and DJs that huddled in the area.
Anthone: "Boys! In respect to what this great man brought to the party I've just sold this marquee, and all the kit. Lighting included. This is Rupert Bunsen and his assistant G Man Fortescue. Famous in the Home Counties illegal party scene. For the rest of the evening they are now in charge. They own the whole caboodle. Please, if they need your help in anything at all, I would be personally grateful if you treated them just as you did myself these last few nights. Thank you all, and goodnight!"
Anthone had never had this much money. He felt as though he were without weight as he walked out of the marque and across to the carpark. Pausing to light a cigarette he studied his path. The police were focused on the fire and marque. Walking past them he bid them a pleasant evening and hoped all went smoothly. After forty yards down the lane he selected a VW golf that had a front window half open. Slipping inside he sat and took a few deep breaths. Stripping the plastic cover away he swiftly selected the wires, cut clean ends, and sparked her up. Full tank nearly. Excellent.
Three hours later he sat round TCs flat in St Paul's, Bristol. A rock the size of a marble sat before him. Breaking off a crumb onto the mesh pipe, he lit up and inhailed deeply. As the cool silence of crack spread across his brain he considered travel. Caribbean perhaps.

Elmer felt his mobile buzz twice deep in his pocket drawing him back to the present. Withdrawing the intrusive lump of technology he'd brought to keep in touch with friends here he saw a text message.
'We are cooking a meal down at our camp. All you subterranian lads are welcome if you fancy a feed before a final blast up top, Lipton-Peter.'
Elmer: "Fancy something to eat, boys? We'll need full bellies for rock and rolling tonight."
All nodded and together the trio woke the sleeping girls. Sue and Cathy looked keen. No one had eaten anything in hours so the offer saw all up and heading off to feed.
Cathy: "Did Lipton say if he'd seen Rachel?"
Elmer: "He didn't say if she was there, but I have a feeling she may well be there." He thought of those early gyrations he'd slipped into, unaware of their power. He recalled Rachel's face as she struggled to stand. Indeed, he'd suggested she try Peter and Lipton s camp as a place to recover. It pleased him that Mike had taken no offence at his accidental clitoral stimulating his new love. Couldn't help feeling a little proud, mind. He'd keep such thoughts private in future. Smiling he led the group.

Rachel woke to the dogs warnings first. Brushing hair from her eyes she smiled. It was real. Mike slept on as the chatter of approaching voices saw her jeans and top quickly covering her modesty. From the sprinters side window she saw Lipton and others returning. Mike felt the tickle of hair and kisses bringing him awake. He felt clean. Clear headed.
The dogs were going mental as their men returned. Food would follow. Peter soon had the fire blazing away, dividing away a patch with a line of bricks. This he capped with a wire frame shelf from an old oven. Harry stuck close to his side watching his efficient preparation to cook. She saw a useful part she could play as he produced a few pans from under his vehicle. Climbing the ladder to his roof rack he dropped down a few carrier bags. Looking inside Harry saw a variety of vegetables. Peter found her a knife and she began peeling onions.
Lipton dug out the dog bowls and poured in kibble from a sack before splitting a tin of meat three ways. Placing each a few feet apart to avoid any dog food squabbles.
Andy Brock carrying a rucksack stumbled out of the trees followed by Ben, Jimmy and Bill Gable. The Clun lads had softened over these last days. Their edge now gone as Peter and Lipton had welcomed all the young Druid lads, introducing each to any mates they'd bumped into. From his bag Andy plucked beers, chucking one to any thirsty face. Jimmy and Bill restructured the tree slices and plank seating, forming a bench around the campfire, leaving a gap that the smoke favoured.
The greased black quiffs emerged from the dark path. Esau held Sues hand as Cathy looked for a Rachel. "Ho, yo, bros!" Elmer greeted the developing group. Rachel ran from Peters van to hug Cathy, chatting in girlish explanatory giggles. Looking up Peter wondered who else had been squatting his van.
Jesus Christ staggered into the centre, closely avoiding the fire. Two girls with little clothing but eyes that looked pools of black, inane smiles that followed the proceedings as though watching strange tribal people. Christ split them, an arm round each and a blanket plucked from Liptons bed.
Peters answer surprised everyone. A handsome man of fifty or sixty, neat beard, shoulder length hair and crystal blue eyes. Wearing Peters clothes he noticed but said nothing. Rachel looked to him. Mike Oldpastures. That seventies fella made that tuberous bellend prog record.
Rachel: 'Peter? Look, I took the liberty of giving Mike a few clothes. I hope...."
Peter: "Nothing needs saying love! Mike, they're yours. How are you feeling?"
Mike: "Safe.....Welcome......Happy!"
Few had heard him speak but all laughed out loud. Not at him, but with him. They'd grown fond of the old nutter and seeing him look normalish cheered them all. In three words he had articulated the feeling they all shared. Mike smiled shyly. No one stared but all stole a hidden glance. The change in the man was profound. More than being clothed, clean or trimmed. Something far deeper. The scared beast they'd met had been a broken animal. He still radiated a tenderness. A vulnerable vibe. Yet he was now a man again.
Rachel led him to a space by Sue and Cathy. Here, amongst these people, he would find no probing questions. Quiet acceptance. Lipton thought to himself, sensitive cunt like that, He must have struggled with celebrity. Surrounded by shaman archangels, Druids, subterranean teddy boys and the son of God, any peculiarity was lost amongst the spread of idiosyncrasies. Peter turned to him and smiled warmly.
Peter: "Good to have you back. Hungry?"
Harry had taken over cooking, moving expertly, asking for the odd utensil or seasoning. Two pots boiled. One a vegetarian stew, the other similar but enlivened by a couple of rabbits Lipton had snared. The Clun lads ensured no one went without a beer.
Peter stood back looking on their little gang. Not a bad bunch. Odd how people shuffle into matching sets. Harry was laughing as Andy took gentle Micky out of her dreads. If those two got on ok, all here would. The sound system blasted out above still but Peter, sick of artificial noises grabbed his guitar from his van. His humble repertoire of pistols riffs soon saw Lipton take the instrument from him, equally crap he strummed once then saw Mike reaching over. The shamans we're glad someone able to play took over. His subtle skills were a perfect accompaniment to their crude but filling meal. A beer or two followed and all could have happily continued there. Christ nodded, "Fucking well holy!"
Lipton: "I guess we'd best get going up there if we're bothering. Can I just say to any who haven't clicked. You can't see this oasis from up there, and these vans are our homes! So, whilst you're welcome to come back here, please don't bring anyone else. Most of all, no coppers!"
Two groups formed, Sue, Cathy, Rachel, Harry, Mike, Esau, Elijah, the two slappers and Jesus, United in a final nights dancing. Elmer, Lipton, Peter, Andy, Jimmy, Ben, Bill all more curious to see what had developed at the fire and car park.

The curving forestry track led to the rear of the marquee that continued its boom of aggressive house. Jesus and his slappers led their posse straight into the mass of bodies. Andy and Peter skirting the tents edge stalked ahead toward the fire, drifting off at a tangent into a darkened position from where to assess the scene. At a guess about a quarter of the softer kids had left. The mere sight of police can have this effect on some folk. In reflected intent a quarter of the police were engaged in helping these lightweights to their cars, dressed in uniforms, courteously displaying identity numbers, organising the passage of a tease flow of tail lights making for home.
The larger body of police had gathered into formations. Riot gear revealing their intent. Having succeeded in clearing the car park sufficiently for vehicular movement they now looked set to put out the fire that blocked their path to the marquee. Their ultimate objective to stop the music. The Druid lads studied the police progress. By any standards it looked slow. In and around the marque three thousand continued to party, uncaring of the police operation. A thousand were now grouped in a defensive mob. They hurled the odd rock or bottle, jeering at the lines of shields and helmets, beckoning them forth, calling out the more aggressive in hope of provoking them to break lines. Lipton picked out who must be the commanding officer, watching him walk along the line, ordering his men to retain discipline. This face off served the party crew. At some point the police would have to make their move.
Similar confrontations occur outside football grounds. It took leaders. Terrace legends to make the difference. The gang huddled together, taking pills and finishing of cans.
Andy: "The police will crush them if they don't dictate things. They're waiting to be taken. We ought to sort these filth out for them. Who's up for this?"
All nodded. "Right. Let's work our way in to the front of the mob, scarf lower faces and hoods. We spread out. Keep an eye on each other and don't let's lose anyone. I'll signal then in pairs, threes if we can gather a few braver lads, there must be a few in there, together we run at the filth line and focus on one copper. They'll try grab us off singular and pull us into their mass. If they get you in there, god help you. It's their common tactic. Any sense that they're getting hold of you, retreat quick. But we can do it to them. Three of us together get a copper and drag the fucker back into our mob. Target the scared looking ones. Only half at most want to be here. Once we get a few they'll have to break formation. They'll not let one of their own get a kicking. Once their formation breaks, its chaos. Their advantage is organisation. We can equalise the odds. Obviously their batons are cheating and I'd rather not tool up. But if I get one of theirs, surely they can't complain."
Peter: "Sure you're all up for this? No shame in joining the girls. But you must be certain. First time I went to Stonehenge festival. 15 years old. Hitched down. Coppers pulled me. Back at amesbury police station once they had me alone they stripped me. Stuck their fingers up my arse. 15 I was. Same year, maybe still 14 I went to see Rory Gallagher. Tripping on mushrooms. Rolled a spliff for a mate who was unable. Took me back to Millgarth police station. Same thing. Strip search. Lift your testicles. Spread your cheeks. Paedophiles. Sexual assault. That was my first two meetings with the police. Since then I've hated coppers. Should I need sustenance in battle, I will think of that tonight."
Scarves and hooded, all loose clothing tucked in tight, the team moved in to the mob. Mostly they saw show bravery, displays for their mates benefit, but the odd lad looked fired up. Andy paired with Jimmy, Peter with Lipton, Ben, Elmer and Bill formed Trio. They watched the odd show off stray into no mans land, doing the old finger calling over, no good. Once at the front the three units studied the faces till each agreed on the most feared looking police targets. Simultaneously they charged hard in. Elmers trio soon retracted. Peter had seen his targets eyes and with Lipton got him by the helmet and dragged him out as batons caught their shoulders. They got him half way before he wriggled free. Andy and Jim looked focussed. Second charge peter and Lipton got the same guy. This time he wasn't slipping free. From his right he caught sight of Andy and Jimmy with a leg each dragging one of the enemy behind home lines. Passing their prey back for others to work on the three units checked each other, checked a fresh target and again steamed in. The coppers were now boiling knowing their mates were getting a kicking. Elmer took his foe by the helmet as Ben stripped his baton and Bill took an arm and dragged their man back home. Lipton took his target by the neck, Peter round his waist then charged away from the batons that struck viciously at their backs. Andy took out his man single handed but in the process Jimmy was taken under by the filth.
From here on all hell broke loose. The coppers they'd dragged into the mob were taking a stomping. Trophy hunters stripped body armour, helmets etc. the first copper the shamans had captured looked unconscious. Andy saw red. Jimmy could be seen below baton and boot. Peter, Lipton, Bill too couldn't stand watching. All charged to reclaim Jimmy. The filth struck out with weapons yet between them they collected Jimmys limp form. Reflective police assaults tried reclaim their fallen with similar passion. Their plan had succeeded. The police discipline crumbled as the mass descended into medieval madness. Here the party people had the advantage. Retreat at will. Half a dozen hill defenders lay unconscious but twice or more coppers were down. D I Briggs called his officers back. Abandoning their assault to gather their wounded. Then all retreated to the car park entrance. Their line of two hours earlier. Ordering ten minutes rest for medical treatment of his wounded Briggs saw despondency in the faces of the men. Few talked. Most sat studying the floor before them. One stood shaking his head in disbelief. The man he caught crying angered him most. Pulling him to his feet Briggs slapped his cheeks with such force he drew blood. Then he ordered him to leave. If other officers saw this weakness self belief could swiftly spread.
Celebrations saw the party defenders chanting abuse. They'd opened the scoring but were far from ready to celebrate. Lipton frowned at Andy, both knew from boxing that a disorienting contact should not be stood back from to admire, but follow with further punches. Build on the opening. Calling their army onward to drive the weakened enemy away. Several hundred stormed forth on the resting police. Unprepared and no longer inspired by their leaders those able decided their personal safety wasn't worth risking in attacking unarmed people who had only come to dance, they reverted to scared individuals. Each running away. Colleagues that fell were abandoned to their fate. Scattered and bruised figures ran, walked or crawled in any direction away from the hill fort. The lower rank of policeman is typified by the wimpish character, perhaps bullied when young, the job enables them to group up six on one to redress their wimpish existences. Screws often have similar psychology.
Drunk on victory the boys regrouped. Jimmy had come round but an arm and ribs were broken. Ben hot wired a mini to drive him up to Shrewsbury hospital. The others described individual battle tales their freinds had missed. Arm in arm they walked past the fire to join the others in dance.
Victories like these over the police were rare. Peter alone had endured sexual assault and numerous beatings by police in groups. The team all likely had similar life experiences. The number of innocent men killed whilst in police custody each year hovers around 1000. They had won a final night of partying but all knew they must disappear by dawn. Police will always win in the end. They would return in greater numbers to take savage revenge on anyone they could find.

As returning heroes the cheering of thousands announced their entry to the Splat marquee. Strangers embraced them, girls followed as drinks, drugs and other gifts were forced upon them. Close to the decks they found their tribe. Two hours dancing had left their group slumped on a cluster of sofas. Elijah and Esau sat their brother on their shoulders, proud they had been represented in tonight's historic battle. Jesus welcomed them back, embracing each in turn, his slapper harem now numbered seven or more. All looked saucer eyed, most now topless, one naked danced vigorously in the centre. Christ was off his face and spouting prophecy to any who'd listen. Calling this endless stream of consciousness his Sermon on the Mount yet few could follow his amphetamine ramblings. Finally one selfless slapper knelt before the son of God, her oral skills were thanked by all as they brought to an end Christs sermon.
The Druid lads thanked all, shaking hands as they said goodnight. They needed to return the tractors to Clun. Farmers rose early and would need them soon. All agreed to meet up mid day after tomorrow at Clun Castle. From here the Druids promised to take them to meet their sisters regarding the advanced demonology work both shamans and Jesus were concerned about. Christ briefly appeared utterly sober. He spoke in somber tones of the significance of the discussion. It appeared the young slappers work had reached a conclusion.
Mike and Rachel slipped back to camp first. Peter had his van awning set out and would sleep here, allowing the couple his bed. Soon the rest followed, exhausted and aware they had an early start. Jesses boys slept in a heap with Cathy and Sue by the fire. A peaceful sight.

Two still were awake so Harry and Peter took a stroll across the hill fort. Reminiscing over the previous few day's events. Reaching the fire place Peter was surprised that a cluster of police were near their original position where the lanes junction to the Hill Forts car park entrance. The battle had been decisive. Whether these officers had positioned themselves to the Welsh side, hidden away in some dip in the land as the mob drove off the others. Maybe they'd arrived from elsewhere. Having cleansed the hill fort Peter felt a sadness. Life could be like this. Glory filling the spirit only to meet another knobhead round the next bend. What was clear was the confidence they exuded. These were filth of conviction. The party had grown sloppy yet continued. The mob that had fought were sleeping now. Others had driven off. The black clad newcomers were Only a hundred in number yet drilled to a discipline way beyond the earlier bunch. What partiers danced on had no cohesion. The square of black marched without resistance toward the marque.
Peter, now arm in arm with Harry, though in platonic nature, became curious why these bastards were up here. Peace had been hard fought yet the tranquility was now marred by agents of the grey. The police met no resistance from the stragglers. They may have seen colleagues take a beating yet they would have the final word. Arguably the party had run its course in a bold refusal to bend to authority. That truth looked about to be besmirched in a cowardly act. Yet records would show that the police closed Bury Ditches Hill Fort Party down.
Together jogging toward a vantage point of safety and clarity Harry and Peter returned to the sofas they'd occupied following their return from victory. Posing as a self involved couple they were able to witness this thing end.

Harry felt a chill of revulsion. It couldn't be! Fucking hell! Rupert Bunsen, disheveled yet exactly as he had been two years ago as he refused her the ticket on that Noah space craft. She waited for it but it never came. Rage. She assumed anger would overwhelm her if she saw that toad of a man again. Sadness for her sister floated down but she had no room for hate. In some very real sense he had given her life. Freed her from assumptions of who she was, from what was important in life. Tonight amongst strangers, eating from a pot on a campfire on a hill of such beauty, dancing with people who neither knew nor cared about her birth. She hadn't yet spoken with Mike, but she would. Peter had explained to her how Rachel had found him naked, chained at the neck by some rich dude. Rupert had taken Mike as a young fragile boy, used him, taken art so pure and reduced it to money, broken him to little more than an animal. But the love of the girl had returned his mind. Speaking to him tonight would have been wrong. Tonight was hard enough for him. Both Mike and herself were liberated from Bunsen and his type. And the chap with him. Fortescue. Ginger Fortescue. The victim of such bullying yet ever loyal, still following the smug toad around. If anything she felt a mild nostalgic pity that they remained chained by their outlook.
The group of officers marched directly to the focal area. Fortescue smoked a joint whilst chatting to a West Indian youngster. Rupert had that smile that spoke of a mind free of any worry. How much this hid. With pomp and authority he ordered technicians around. Supervising the parties dying embers.
Close to the leading officer walked an upper class lady. Unbelievable! Bowles Clarrington. What on earth could have brought her hear? She'd been acquainted at school but she'd never liked the snob. Only now the police stood ten feet away from him did Bunsen turn and see them. More confused than worried. An intrusion of servant classes.
DI Briggs: "Excuse me sir, are you involved with this event?"
Rupert: "Indeed. Are you lost, there. Not the sort of event I'd imagine your sort enjoying,"
Briggs :"Who is in charge here? First I'll need the music off immediately."
Rupert: "Look, man, I am in charge and I find your tone offensive. Your purpose is to serve and protect. Now, on your way!"
Bloody hell! Rupert found such social service chaps tedious. Like a bus conductor above his station. Impudence in the service industry cursed Britain.
Rupert felt his upper arms grabbed by two of this service fellows assistants.
Briggs:"Rupert Bunsen. You are under arrest for causing a public disturbance and the sale of illegal drugs. Also for trespass and occupation of private land. You are not required to say anything but if you choose to do so it may be taken down in used in a court of law against you. Do you understand, sir?" Bunsen did not understand. He would buy out the problem. Besides, he'd soon be leaving all these lesser types way behind. The Bunsen smile returned.
Clarrington: "Rupert! Why you brought me here under the pretext of locating Lady Harrington is beyond all reason. She'd no more be seen here then in a gentle mans lavatory! Furthermore, organising a drug fuelled event that my boys attended!"
Leading him away Briggs felt a sense of satisfaction after such a long and distressing period working to the best of his ability whilst under equipped with idiots. Still, this pompous bastard was just the type of cunt he enjoyed a quiet half hour alone in the cells with.
Behind him a ginger haired chap looked longingly, as though he would have enjoyed arrest.

Harry and Peter strolled slowly home as police worked deconstructing equipment. Straggling ravers stumbled about. Leaving the hill top behind felt a relief. He looked at Harry and she smiled back. She must know that guy. He'd assumed Anthone had organised it all. But, fair dos. That upper class twat had put on one motherfucking party.

No. Anthone had organised it, and he'd put on one motherfucking party.


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