Blair Park (standard:Satire, 2132 words)
Author: red1hols	Added: Sep 25 2003	Views/Reads: 3978/2524	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
I'm trying my hand at a touch of satire. What other way have I to bring attention to a subject that I feel strongly about.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

A security shuttle turned into the road and slowed to a snails pace. The
two guards inside observed us through tinted visors. The shuttle 
shadowed us as we walked in silence back down the road and didn't drive 
off until we went into the “Spirit of Enterprise” public house. 

After getting Grandpa seated at a table out of earshot of the other
customers, I fetched two decaf-diets. 

“What's it like?” I asked in an excited whisper. 

“What's what like?” Grandpa made a face, as he tasted his drink. 

“Beer and the inside of the Wellness Centre.” 

“Beer tastes slightly bitter. It makes you happy and depressed at the
same time. Of course you also wee a lot and do things that you'll enjoy 
and later regret - especially if there's women involved. Don't they 
teach you anything at school nowadays?” 

“They only told us what's bad about it, not what was good.” I smiled.
“And the Wellness Centre?” 

“I can't afford to be a member there!” Grandpa waved a dismissive hand
in its general direction. “I told you, I was a member of the Borton 
Sports and Social Club. I was there when Tony Blair was elected 
chairman.” 

“The man they named the park after.” 

”That's right young ‘un. The guy they named the park after.” Grandpa
looked pleased that I had been listening. “He was elected chairman 
shortly after I started going up there.” 

“How could you afford it?” It costs a fortune to be a member.” 

”When it was the Borton Sports and Social Club it didn't cost a bean to
be a member. Not a bean.” Grandpa shook his head and took a gulp from 
his drink. “Every citizen of Borton was automatically a member. Any 
time you liked you could go up there and play sports or just have a 
drink or a chat.” 

A change came over Grandpa. There was a sudden light in his eyes and
years dropped away from his jaw. 

“It was the best damned Sports Club in the world.” His voice sounded
younger too. “The oldest and most respected in the world. Members 
covered themselves and the club in glory wherever they competed. People 
came from all over to see how we did it and then went back and set up 
their own. And it was rich. Perhaps that was the problem. Riches buy 
power and power corrupts.” 

Grandpa slammed a fist onto the table. Other customers turned and
observed us. Not wanting to risk attention I ushered Grandpa outside 
and we headed back to the park. 

“You mean that there was a time when I would have automatically been a
member of the Sports and Social Club?” 

“As long as you paid for your beer and your playing fees - you were a
member.” Grandpa checked around before continuing. “They didn't have 
that in any school book I bet. I bet that the didn't tell you that 
every member had a vote to elect the management committee either.” 

I shook my head. 

“Thought not.” Grandpa puffed out his chest and picked up his pace. “The
management committee ran things and made all the decisions about the 
rules and things. Then there were the trustees who would have to sign 
off anything the management committee decided.” 

“Oh I see.” The tale seemed to be making more sense. “The committee
might have been chosen by the members, but they could only do what the 
trustees wanted them to do. That sounds a bit cynical.” 

“It weren't like that at all!” Grandpa shouted and stopped dead in his
tracks. “The trustees could only block a decision a couple of times and 
then they had to accept it. Whether they wanted to or not. Normally 
though, they would find a way to make both the committee and the 
trustees happy.  The trustees kind of stopped the committee from making 
fools of themselves.” 

“So, where does Tony Blair come into all of this?” I hoped that this
would help me understand the tale. 

“He wanted to ban boxing at the club and the trustees said no.” Grandpa
lowered his voice to avoid being overheard by a passing security 
monitor. 

I had heard of boxing. This was a sport akin to bear baiting and cock
fighting. Long since banned, it involved two men fighting until one 
collapsed to the floor and was unable to get up. 

“I thought you said that the committee could force the trustees to
agree?” It was all getting very confusing for me. 

“So they could, but Tony didn't want to do that.” Grandpa stroked his
chin. “Can't fathom why. Maybe it was because most members couldn't 
care if there were boxing or no as long as the pitches were well 
maintained and there was hot water in the showers when they needed it.” 


“Why didn't the members vote him out and get someone new?” 

Grandpa laughed. “Well Tony's rivals had run the club for eighteen year
or so. Made a right pigs ear of it. The pitches were a mess. You were 
never quite sure what would happen when you turned the tap on the 
shower. Tony might have had some strange ideas, but he was generally 
doing what the members wanted. You're right though. We should have done 
something. We should have bloody done something.” 

Grandpa went quiet and stood looking at the housing estate. After a few
minutes, he shook his head and went and sat on a nearby bench. 

“So Tony Blair shut down the club and built this park?” I asked as I sat
down beside him. 

“No lad!” Grandpa smiled and ruffled my hair. “Tony decided to do
something about the trustees. Nearly all of us agreed that something 
needed doing. The job of trustee was being handed down from father to 
son. In fact when he said that things needed to change even a lot of 
the trustees agreed.” 

The whole thing seemed totally confusing. Borton had been my home all my
life. Never had I been invited to vote nor had I ever been inside the 
Wellness Centre. Grandpa sat patiently watching me as I struggled to 
make sense of his tale. 

“If he didn't close the club, why isn't it still here?” I almost pleaded
in the hope that Grandpa would explain. 

“He decided that the committee should appoint the trustees. So he threw
out the old lot and put his own people in.” Grandpa grinned and waited 
for another question. 

“And they closed the Club?” I was getting desperate. 

“Nay. They ran the club quite well for quite a while. That's why they
built this park.” Grandpa seemed to be enjoying my frustration and be 
determined to let it build. 

“Please Grandpa.” Now I was pleading. 

Grandpa wrinkled his nose and considered the request. 

“The members got bored with Tony in the end. They brought in a new guy.
He seemed nice enough, had a good way of speaking, dressed well and 
said that he would reduce the playing fees. First thing he did was 
bring in his own trustees. Only they didn't give a cuss about the Club. 
They changed all the rules so that the trustees and the committee 
became the owners. Then they called it the Wellness Centre. Next thing 
we know, they had banned all the team sports, sold the pitches and put 
the money in their own pockets.” 

It seemed amazing, but Grandpa swore it was true. As we reached the exit
of the park, Grandpa turned and looked back at the park. It was then he 
told me that was where he wanted his ashes scattered. 

Even though I had no reason not to, I didn't believe Grandpa's story. I
should have. Shortly afterwards I was drafted into the UN Peace Corps. 
While I was fighting a peacekeeping action against white imperialists 
in New Zealand, I came across an old and battered copy of Simon 
Schama's ‘History of Borton'. I hid it in my pack and read it whenever 
I could. It confirmed Grandpa's tale and filled in the gaps. 

Travelling home on leave, determined to apologise to Grandpa, my company
commander broke the news of his death. I cried the rest of the way 
home. 

At least I made it to his funeral and for this one last duty. Slowly I
unscrew the lid and look at the grey ash that is all that remains of my 
link to the days of the Borton Sports and Social Club. With a heavy 
heart and a final farewell, I spread the ashes among the shrubs. 

As I turn to leave, I hear Grandpa's voice one last time. “You know lad,
someone should have done something. They really should have at least 
bloody said something.” 


Tweet