An Encounter with Death by the Riverside
A childhood (mis)adventure in the suburban jungle
“I hate this stupid bike.”
“Stupid thing – why won’t it turn?”
“This spanner’s so annoying.”
“I hate this stupid bike, why won’t it turn?!”
I was trying to make some pointless adjustments to my bike when Martin let himself in through our garden gate. The bike wasn’t stupid at all – it was a shiny red racer that I’d received for my birthday and was, in fact, proof of a real-life miracle.
On a Sunday not long before my birthday I had been peering into the window of Pitfields Cycles, straining to see through the sunlit glare into the gloom within, hands cupped around the sides of my eyes.
“That’s the one.” I’d said to Martin, pointing one finger to the glass. A few cars rolled slowly along Kingston Road and a train came through the level crossing on Elm Road.
“That’s the one my mum and dad are getting me.”
I’d spotted a sleek-looking racer in the murk. It was the shiniest thing in the place and it caught my eye and I declared with absolute confidence, despite never having actually mentioned it to my parents, that that was the one I’d get for my birthday.
I was completely bluffing in an attempt to show off in front of Martin but my birthday finally arrived and there it was. I could not believe my eyes and from that moment on I knew with certainty that magic and miracles actually do exist.
It was by no means a stupid bike – I was just in one of those moods spoiled brats get into when they expect everything to go their way and it doesn’t.
“Do you want to see a dead rodent?”
My ears pricked up at “dead” but I had no idea what a rodent was.
“It’s a type of animal and there’s a dead one by the Hogsmill just over the bridge from Green Lane Park. Kevin told me.”
Oh Kevin told you, did he? I thought. Well that didn’t mean anything, Kevin was always just saying stuff. I still needed convincing.
“Mum, what’s a rodent?” I yelled impatiently. “Rabbits, rats, and squirrels are rodents” From inside the house. “Anything with those sharp front teeth that nibble things”
That was all I needed to hear. The spanner slipped from my grasp and rang on the ground as the bike clattered where it fell. Of course I didn’t put them back in the shed, mum or dad would sort it out, and without another thought we made for the gate and out onto Windsor Avenue.
You may be wondering why I didn’t take my bike with me but I’d noticed that Martin didn’t have his bike with him and that meant one thing: we were going the Green Lane Parkway. Martin was very wise not to take his bike and I was not willing to sacrifice mine no matter how stupid it was.
See, Green Lane Park was where the Potters Grove Lot hung around. And everyone knew the Potters Grove Lot actually killed people. They would take your bike and then kill you. Everyone knew it.
This one time, they D-Locked a kid to a lamp post by his neck on South Lane and he was there for three days. His parents had found him and he was never the same again. They moved away after that, Kevin said.
As we made our way along Windsor Avenue we had a quick look over the wall at the willow house. There was always something weird in their front garden. They had a huge weeping willow tree that hung right over the fence and you could go under there and it felt like you were inside.
In the front garden were some boxes and old equipment and there was a cat curled up asleep under a glass bell with a brick on top of it. I don't know if that’s what you call them but it was a glass dome with a bit to hold onto on top, the kind of thing they put over cakes at cafes.
But there was a cat under it and it was a hot day. We tried to throw things near it to see if the cat was alive and would move but it didn’t we daredn’t go into the garden because we knew they were weird people anyway and that if they’d put a poor cat under a glass dome in the sun, what would they do to us.
We looked expectantly at the lace-curtained windows and paced about a bit hoping someone would come out and free the cat or at least let us know it was a stuffed cat but they didn’t. There was no movement from within and we looked from the windows to the cat and back for some time the sun felt hot on our necks and there was only the slightest wind.
To this day I think about that cat. I tell myself it was a stuffed cat but then if it was a stuffed cat why would they have put a brick on top of the dome? The willow tree’s gone now so I expect those people must’ve moved out.
We walked on and before long we were laughing and telling lies again and the thought of the cat quickly faded. This was a long road and I’m pretty certain it had the longest fence in the world running along it. It was a feather edge fence separating the sports ground from the road and I swear it went on longer than any fence I’d ever seen.
There were occasional oak trees along it, gnarled trunks and stunted limbs from when this was all fields, but apart from that just fence, pavement, and a thin strip of grass for miles and miles. If you got caught along that road at the wrong time on a hot day you were in serious trouble. I once tried to count the boards of the fence but never could. It was impossible.
As the corner of Green Lane came into view a slight tension started to grow and talk between us all but ceased. It was almost a crossroad — the footpath to the river to the left, Green Lane to the right, and the dreaded path into the park almost straight on, just slightly concealed to the left from our perspective.
The Potters Grove lot were psychos and they always waited at the gate to the park for kids like us and they were always hidden by the bushes until the very last minute so you had no chance to escape. They burned one kid’s eyes out with a cigarette Martin said. To just walk past the gate was deadly and we would never, ever actually go into the park.
If you could get past the gate without being seen the danger was almost over. We clung to the fence as we turned left into the tree-tunneled footpath and, keeping a close eye on the gate to our right, we flat-out ran a good ten meters until we felt safer. Dappled light through the canopy of elder, hawthorn, and goat willow brought a welcome cool but the bright circle at the far end of the path seemed a long way off.
This was better but there was still a threat. We could see the full length of the footpath so we would have good warning if the Potters Grove lot started to approach but the thing is they had bikes, new bikes that they’d recently killed people for so you were pretty much dead if they happened to be patrolling at the time you were walking down there.
My mouth was dry and dread filled my stomach. The home was a long way away and I cursed Martin for luring me out here into this deathtrap of a place and I wished I was still back in the safety of home. I could be riding my bike up and down Woodies Lane right now if it wasn’t for Martin and his stupid rodent. How could I have let him talk me into this?
We all but side-stepped along, heads whipping forwards and back, eyes straining for any sign of movement but the footpath was deserted. I was starting to breathe a bit more steadily now. Almost there, just passing the halfway mark.
“Shit, it’s them…” a choke in Martin’s voice. I felt suddenly cold, my hands tingled and sweat dripping down my spine. I’d never heard Martin swear before so I knew this was serious. The back of my scalp tightened as three figures flared in the last light at the mouth of the tunnel and then blackened to hard silhouettes moving fast, impossibly fast, toward us. We froze, then I turned to run but didn’t. Where would we go? We couldn’t outrun them on those machines. It was no use. This was it.
The figures grew and grew so fast as we shrank and the scream of the bike chains grew to a roar in my throbbing skull. I caught sight of Martin literally gritting his teeth just as I squeezed my eyes shut turning back towards the oncoming, overwhelming threat and braced.
With a rush that ruffled our hair and the sound a sail makes as it finally catches the wind we stood alone. I was aware of birds singing and the sound of a train. I opened my eyes to see Martin gazing in disbelief at the backs of the figures as they receded into the light from which we’d come and then disappeared completely.
“It’s alright, they were football kids. That was close though, we were lucky” We walked on relieved and a bit embarrassed and the laughter and lies soon began again. Our joviality, however, didn’t hide the fact that we were shaken badly.
As we emerged into the light from the murk of the tree tunnel I had vague recollections of an old film I’d seen about a man called Odysseus visiting and escaping from the house of Hades but my reverie was immediately arrested by a rap on the arm from Martin and the sound of deep and vigorous nasal inhalations followed by a forceful spit into the air that he tried to catch in his mouth but failed. He said his brother was teaching the technique to him but he was making slow progress. “I was trying to lighten the mood” He explained.
The tree tunnel leads to a bridge over the Hogsmill River. A plain concrete and metal construction with those metal bars at each end positioned frustratingly to prevent cyclists from speeding through. Their only real use as far as we could see was as an apparatus upon which you hoist yourself to the waist and do a roly-poly over, which we felt obliged to do several times each.
We crossed the bridge and on the other side felt the very strong sensation of being somewhere else. Like a transition had been made somehow. This was now Berrylands, no longer our own neighborhood. It was exotic and tantalising and there was no telling what risks and wonders could be found in such a place.
“Kevin said it’s along here” We turned left onto the grass of the narrow strip of relatively unspoilt land that is now the Elmbridge Meadows Open Space but we then just called The Hogsmill. Capped at each end by the A3 to the south and the railway line to the north there were thick areas of mainly oak, ash, and willow with one enclosed clearing that we later called Camp Chikowah. We would have fires and drink alcohol there in a few years time but for now, we were innocent.
As we ambled and peered and prodded in the riverside reeds we came to an area that had been flattened by recent flooding. In the center of this area was a dead animal.
Bloated, and hairless in places, it was about two feet long. We couldn’t smell it but looking at it made the air around our noses and mouths feel dirty.
“That’s it” rasped Martin. “Just like Kevin said”
We stood absolutely still and it felt like the sun was covered by clouds and small winds flipped our fringes and probed up the sleeves of our t-shirts and the backs of our arms and necks. If anyone passed behind us or if any cars or a train went past we weren’t aware.
Its eyes were half closed and its mouth was stretched back into a smile and we could see it’s teeth. It’s canine teeth. “That’s not a rodent, Martin”
We bent forward hands on our knees. “I’m pretty sure it is. Kevin said” Martin didn’t sound at all sure.
Its feet had stumpy claws and tough rounded pads. Its tail was fairly short and thick. It had a collar around its neck.
“That looks more like a dog. A Jack Russell or something” I swallowed dryly and felt heat in my forehead.
The collar had a name tag on it but I turned away and would not look at it. The image of a poor old lady walking somewhere upstream a few days previous calling hopefully for their beloved pet was burning all too vividly in my brain and to actually put a name to the thing that was being so keenly sought and would never be found alive was just too much for my young mind to bear.
I stood facing away from the animal with my hands on my hips. I’d heard it made you feel stronger to stand like that.
“Kevin is such an idiot” Martin sounded lost.
We walked away, along the grass this time. There was no way we were going back through Potters Grove Lot territory and not feeling like this. “I love dogs,” said Martin, and he didn’t need an answer.
I don’t think we talked anymore on the way back. At least I don’t remember if we did. But I remember our heads were low and our pace was slow.
