‘What do we do if they claim your carpet is worth a lot more than ten thousand pounds?’ asked Margaret anxiously, standing by her husband’s side.
‘Pay the difference and I’ll refund you immediately. But I assure you it’s most unlikely to arise.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Margaret.
‘Of course I’m right,’ said Kendall-Hume. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve done this sort of thing before. And I won’t forget your help when it comes to the next school appeal,’ he added, leaving them with the huge parcel.
Once Christopher and Margaret had located their own bags, they collected the second trolley and took their place in the red ‘Something to Declare’ queue.
‘Are you in possession of any items over five hundred pounds in value?’ asked the young customs official politely.
‘Yes,’ said Christopher. ‘We purchased two carpets when we were on holiday in Turkey.’ He handed over the two bills.
The customs official studied the receipts carefully, then asked if he might be allowed to see the carpets for himself.
‘Certainly,’ said Christopher, and began the task of undoing the large package while Margaret worked on the smaller one.
‘I shall need to have these looked at by an expert,’ said the official once the parcels were unwrapped. ‘It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.’ The carpets were duly taken away.
The ‘few minutes’ turned out to be over fifteen and Christopher and Margaret were soon regretting their decision to assist the Kendall-Humes, whatever the needs of the school appeal. They began to fidget and indulge in irrelevant small talk that wouldn’t have fooled the most amateur of sleuths.
At last the customs official returned.
‘I wonder if you would be kind enough to have a word with my colleague in private?’ he asked.
‘Is that really necessary?’ asked Christopher, reddening.
‘I’m afraid so, sir.’
‘We shouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place,’ whispered Margaret. ‘We’ve never been in any trouble with the authorities before.’
‘Don’t fret, my dear. It will be all over in a few minutes, you’ll see,’ said Christopher, not sure that he believed his own words. They followed the young man out through the back and into a small room.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said a white-haired man with several gold rings around the cuff of his sleeve. ‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting but we have had your carpets looked at by our expert and he feels sure a mistake must have been made.’
Christopher wanted to protest but he couldn’t get a word out.
‘A mistake?’ managed Margaret.
‘Yes, madam. The bills you presented don’t make any sense to him.’
‘Don’t make any sense?’
‘No, madam,’ said the senior customs officer. ‘I repeat, we feel certain a mistake has been made.’
‘What kind of mistake?’ asked Christopher, at last finding his voice.
‘Well, you have come forward and declared two carpets, one at a price of ten thousand pounds and one at a price of five hundred pounds, according to these receipts.’
‘Yes?’
‘Every year hundreds of people return to England with Turkish carpets, so we have some experience in these matters. Our adviser feels certain that the bills have been incorrectly made out.’
‘I don’t begin to understand...’ said Christopher.
‘Well,’ explained the senior officer, ‘the large carpet, we are assured, has been spun with a crude distaff and has only two hundred ghiordes, or knots, per square inch. Despite its size we estimate it to be valued around five thousand pounds. The small carpet, on the other hand, we estimate to have nine hundred knots per square inch and is a fine example of a silk hand-woven traditional Hereke and undoubtedly would have been a bargain at five thousand pounds. As both carpets come from the same shop, we assume it must be a clerical error.’
The Robertses remained speechless.
‘It doesn’t make any difference to the duty you will have to pay, but we felt sure you would want to know, for insurance purposes.’
Still the Robertses said nothing.
‘As you’re allowed five hundred pounds before paying any duty, the excise will still be two thousand pounds.’
Christopher quickly handed over the Kendall-Humes’ wad of notes. The senior officer counted them while his junior carefully rewrapped the two carpets.
‘Thank you,’ said Christopher, as they handed back the parcels and a receipt for the two thousand pounds.
The Robertses quickly bundled the large package onto its trolley before wheeling it through the concourse and onto the pavement outside where the Kendall-Humes impatiently awaited them.
‘You were a long time in there,’ said Kendall-Hume. ‘Any problems?’
‘No, they were just assessing the value of the carpets.’
‘Any extra charge?’ Kendall-Hume asked apprehensively.
‘No, your two thousand pounds covered everything,’ said Christopher, passing over the receipt.
‘Then we got away with it, old fellow. Well done. One hell of a bargain to add to my collection.’ Kendall-Hume turned to bundle the large package into the boot of his Mercedes before locking it and taking his place behind the steering wheel. ‘Well done,’ he repeated through the open window, as the car drove off. ‘I won’t forget the school appeal.’
The Robertses stood and watched as the silver gray car joined a line of traffic leaving the airport.
‘Why didn’t you tell Mr. Kendall-Hume the real value of his carpet?’ asked Margaret once they were seated in the bus.
‘I did give it some considerable thought, and I came to the conclusion that the truth was the last thing Kendall-Hume wanted to be told.’
‘But don’t you feel any guilt? After all, we’ve stolen—’
‘Not at all, my dear. We haven’t stolen anything. But we did get one hell of a “steal.”’
Colonel Bullfrog
There is one cathedral in England that has never found it necessary to launch a national appeal.
When the Colonel woke he found himself tied to a stake where the ambush had taken place. He could feel a numb sensation in his leg. The last thing he could recall was the bayonet entering his thigh. All he was aware of now were ants crawling up his leg on an endless march toward the wound.
It would have been better to have remained unconscious, he decided.
Then someone undid the knots and he collapsed head first into the mud. It would be better still to be dead, he concluded. The Colonel somehow got to his knees and crawled over to the stake next to him. Tied to it was a corporal who must have been dead for several hours. Ants were crawling in and out of his mouth. The Colonel tore off a strip from the man’s shirt, washed it in a large puddle nearby and cleaned the wound in his leg as best he could before binding it tightly.
That was February 17, 1943, a date that would be etched on the Colonel’s memory for the rest of his life.
That same morning the Japanese received orders that the newly captured Allied prisoners were to be moved at dawn. Many were to die on the march but Colonel Richard Moore was determined not to be counted among them.
Twenty-nine days later, one hundred and seventeen of the original seven hundred and thirty-two Allied troops reached Tonchan. Any man whose travels had previously not taken him beyond the playgrounds of southern Europe could hardly have been prepared for such an experience as Tonchan. This heavily guarded prisoner-of-war camp, some three hundred miles north of Singapore and hidden in the deepest equatorial jungle, offered no possibility of freedom. Anyone who contemplated escape could not hope to survive in the jungle for more than a few days, while those who remained discovered the odds were not a lot shorter.