The Panthers of Rannoch Moor
by Paul Bruce
Genre: Crime/Mystery
Swearwords: Some strong ones.
Description: A famous singer takes an ill-fated journey with some exotic pets to the wilds of Rannoch Moor.
Swearwords: Some strong ones.
Description: A famous singer takes an ill-fated journey with some exotic pets to the wilds of Rannoch Moor.
Reuters : Dateline 8 January 1983.
The Wild Animal Registration Act (1983) comes into force from April, requiring owners of large, non-native, predatory animals kept as pets to register these animals with the Home Office. The Act also provides for the collection of Registration Fees and the inspection of these animals by the RSPCA, who will have powers to ensure that the animals’ owners comply with the Act’s minimum requirements in terms of provision for adequate accommodation and feeding.
POTTER’S ROW, ENFIELD 18:25 7th January
Martha Kipp sucked in her breath sharply. She flung out her finely-sculpted mahogany arm, languidly tossing her copy of ‘The Daily Express’ onto the onyx coffee table (a gift from the Emir of Bhatan, an admirer for whom she had once sung The Theme from ‘Fame’ - wearing only a fur coat and gold lame¢ trainers). Stretching her arm further over her head, she snapped her fingers, and without raising her head, crooked a thin delicate finger.
‘Matti! Matti!’ she called, her voice bouncing off the high ceiling, and echoing down her baroquely-patterned hallway, out of her IKEA doorway and patio, to her four-car garage port, where Matti, her hulking Finnish manservant was washing down the Maserati with dutiful attention.
Matti’s head jerked back as the call drifted faintly across to where he was crouched by the gleaming hub of the red sports car, dabbing at the wheel nuts with practiced care. He rose slowly.
Matti strode into the lounge, wiping his hands on a rag. Martha’s finger was still in the crooked position, rising above the back of the leather armchair, waving around like a blade of grass in the wind.
‘Matti here,’ he rumbled, like a rusting steam engine grinding down a gear.
Martha’s finger gestured at the newspaper on the coffee table.
‘Have you read the news today, Matti?’
‘Matti not like to read.’
Martha sighed.
‘Of course. Very wise of you, Matti. They’re going to take my cats away from me. Either that or make us pay large sums of money for the privilege of keeping them.’
‘You want Matti hurt someone?’ Matti asked hopefully.
Martha purred excitedly, her eyes gleamed.
‘How wonderful! That would be so thrilling!’ Briefly, a vision of Matti pounding his meaty fists into the Home Office Minister’s face and turning over his secretaries’ desks flashed before her.
‘Purrrr..yes!..but no Matti, sadly, on this occasion I think the use of physical violence is quite the wrong thing to do. Unfortunately.’
She tapped her front teeth with her platinum crossword pencil (a gift from Bruce Forsyth on the occasion of her Royal Variety Performance in 1978. The pencil was also engraved with a line drawing of Mr Forsyth’s own features and the phrase ‘Nice to see you’).
She reached out to him.
‘Take me to my cats.’
Matti lifted her effortlessly from the chair as she draped her arms around his neck.
‘I can’t be arsed to walk.’
The cellar door struck a false note amidst the banal furore of chinoiserie, with its steel reinforcement and sinister heavy bolt. With one muscular arm still bearing Martha’s weight, Matti slid back the bolt, which jerked back reluctantly, sounding a metallic screech before swinging open.
Stooping, Matti passed across the threshold, and paused, letting his eyes become accustomed to the darkness.
Hovering inside the pitch-dark room were five pairs of glittering eyes, like a string of glow-worms or a chain of emerald and amber jewels lying on a black velvet cushion. The eyes swivelled, following Matti as he walked down the five stone steps into the vault. He reached out with his free hand and pressed the light switch. A strip light in the ceiling flickered reluctantly into life, revealing the cage and it’s five idling occupants, four black panthers and a chubby brown puma.
Martha sighed and stretched out her little hand, stroking the wire grill affectionately.
‘Closer,’ she snapped, and Matti took a step nearer the mesh cage.
‘My loves, how much I wanted to keep you here, where you would be safe and protected, you know that I would prefer that, don’t you my darlings?’ she cooed.
‘But I can’t keep you any more. The bastards will make me kill you all. Ssssshhh, don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you, you know that, of course not! No, I’m going to set you free! Isn’t that wonderful?’
The puma snorted moodily.
‘Yes, Lionel Blair, soon you will be roaming free across the moors, as God intended! And you, David Attenborough, all of you, will be wild and free once more! It is my last gift to you, my beauties!’
She snapped her fingers, and Matti, sensing her need, fished out a packet of cigarettes, pulled one out with his teeth, stuck the packet away, produced a lighter, lit a cigarette and passed it to her, all in one fluid, swift and easy movement.
Martha drew heavily on the cigarette, and eyed her children with a tender curiosity.
‘Does not every mother have to set free the child she loves the most?’
Matti grunted indecisively.
It would be a few weeks before Martha could set ‘Operation Liberate’ into motion. First of all, there was the matter of three weeks as ‘Dick Whittington’ in the Blackpool panto.
It was while sharing a make-up mirror with Cannon and Ball that she discovered from Cannon, who was an enthusiastic rambler, that the largest moor in Britain was in Scotland, and it was called Rannoch Moor. After the show had run its course and while Matti was driving her home, she flicked idly through her Motoring Atlas of Great Britain.
‘Order me a hired van for next week, Matti. And some heavy chains. I think the time has come.’
STEVENAGE 09:10 20th February
Shortly before joining the M1 near Stevenage, the liberators had a close call.
The van had pulled up at some lights and a small hatchback drew up alongside, the driver wound down his window.
‘Hey there! There’s a funny noise coming from the back of your van!’
Matti looked over impassively.
‘Yes, I know, thank you. It is the tigers.’
‘Sssh!’ hissed Martha, tugging his arm.
Fortunately, the lights changed and the car roared away.
‘The poor darlings must be hungry,’ Martha fussed.
The butcher shop in the High Street was busy, but the counter assistant had no difficulty in noticing the six and a half foot blonde giant who stood patiently in line, a blue plastic bucket on his arm, a thin, self-conscious smile on his face.
‘Next!’
‘Good day to you. I am requiring fifteen raw steaks,’ Matti spoke quietly but with intensity.
The assistant raised her eyebrows.
‘Fifteen? My goodness, that’s a lot of steak!’
‘Yes,’ Matti pursed his lips, ‘I am having steak party.’
‘Oh! Well, we’ve only got about a dozen. Would that be enough for you?’
Matti bit his lower lip and sucked.
‘Okay. I take.’ He dropped the bucket on the counter.
‘And fill this with mince.’
For some time afterwards the cats were quiet, and the journey continued in silence. Early in the afternoon, they crossed the border. ‘Soon, my children..’ sighed Martha dreamily. She thought back to her own childhood, abandoned by her mother, a foundling who’d been discovered in a shoebox behind Debenham’s. How ironic, she thought, that only now could she feel an understanding with her own mother and could only wonder at the unknown disaster that had impelled her to discard her child like some
unwanted charity shop donation.
‘Matti hungry,’ intoned Matti.
Martha hissed with irritation. ‘Very well, we’ll stop at the next garage.’
BP Snack and Shop, EYEMOUTH 15:50 20th February 1983
Andy watched the odd couple roam around the deserted aisles, the tall blonde fellow was loading his basket with pizza slices and sandwiches, while the short, dark woman followed him around, gazing disinterestedly about her, idly flicking through the CD rack. Suddenly, he recognised her.
‘Hey! Are you no’ Martha Kipp?’ he shouted over.
Martha glanced up, a slight smile of satisfaction playing over her lips.
‘Yes I am, young man.’
‘Oh, my mum is a big fan o’ yours…ever since you done that Bond theme..’
Her smile vanished.
‘I never did any Bond theme,’ she snapped. ‘You’re obviously confusing me with someone else.’
The doors hissed open and a policeman walked in. Matti and Martha froze, staring open jawed at the Officer, who, ignorant of their attention, approached the counter.
‘Hello, Andy, are ye busy the day?’ he asked.
‘Naw, jist the usual. Are ye after yer snacks? Ah’ve kept them tae one side again.’
He pulled up a carrier bag, stuffed with crisps and tuna sandwiches.
‘Yer a guid laddie.’ Officer Baxter pulled out his wallet and handed over a note. Andy returned his change and, in doing so, leaned over the counter and whispered in his ear. The Officer turned and looked over at the couple, who immediately turned away and began browsing furiously among the motoring magazines. But it was too late. Martha flinched as she heard the heavy footsteps cross the shop floor in her direction.
‘Excuse me…Miss Kipp, is it no’?’
Martha turned around, clutching an unwanted copy of ‘Volvo Owner Monthly’ and smiled graciously.
‘Why..officer..you are correct.’ She fixed a smile, while Matti slipped around behind the policeman’s back clutching a roll of coins in his coat pocket.
‘My mum is a big fan of yours,’ he said removing his cap. ‘It’s a rare honour, so it is.’
‘Well, thank you, officer.’
‘Have ye got some show on?’
‘No show. Madame Kipp go to Rannoch Moor,’ Matti muttered.
Baxter turned around and looked up at the Giant Finn, who loomed a good few inches taller than the officer. His cold blue eyes gleamed with menace.
‘Rannoch Moor?’ Officer Baxter started in surprise.
‘Yes, officer. I’ve heard it’s very nice this time of year,’ she growled, firing an icy look at Matti.
‘Rannoch Moor in February?’ Baxter frowned. ‘Ah think someone’s been havin’ a wee joke on ye. As a policeman, ah wouldnae recommend it.’
He looked over at Andy. ‘Here, Andy, they’re goin’ tae Rannoch Moor!’
Andy laughed.
‘Ye shouldnae be drivin’ around up there at this time of year. It’s wild.’
‘Yes, officer..’ Martha hesitated, ‘..but I love the wild and..untamed wildernesses.. they revitalise my soul.’
‘It’s dangerous,’ Baxter repeated. ‘If ye get intae trouble, there’ll be naebody tae help ye.’
‘Oh, we’re only going to look at it from the windscreen.’
Suddenly, a sharp banging sound interrupted them. They turned and looked out onto the forecourt where the van was parked. It was rocking gently as some unseen force threw itself against the sides.
‘Hello, what’s going on there? Is that your vehicle?’
Martha sucked her breath in sharply.
‘Er..’ she paused, a pained look crossed her face, ‘..yes,’ she said, finally.
‘What’s going on in there then?’ Baxter asked, replacing his cap.
Matti stepped around to stand beside Martha.
‘Two hippies fucking,’ he said.
‘What?’ Baxter started.
‘Two hippies in back of van. They fuck.’
Andy’s eyes bulged.
‘Why, yes, Officer..really, they’ve been a bit of a nuisance. We picked them up a while ago, and..er.. they’ve obviously got a bit bored.’
A muffled roar drifted across the tarmac.
‘I see. Dae ye want me tae nick them for ye?’ Baxter asked, staring in puzzlement at the van.
‘Oh no..I find it quite romantic. Don’t you?’ She smiled patronisingly across as the vehicle settled into silence.
‘Frankly, no I don’t,’ Officer Baxter frowned disapprovingly.
‘Look, would you like me to sign something for you, I mean your mum?’ she grinned and pulled out a CD from the rack. It was ‘Martha Kipp: Solid Gold Mamma’, the cover of which depicted Martha, clad in her trademark fur, descending a wide staircase with two panthers on a long chain.
‘Here, add this to the bill, young man!’ she shouted over to Andy, before ripping open the cover. She snapped a finger impatiently at Matti, who produced a gold fountain pen. Hastily she scrawled, ‘To a very kind Officer, Number 1465, from his bestest friend, Martha Kipp.’
‘Here.’ She thrust it at him, hopefully.
‘Oh, that’s awfy guid o’ ye, Miss Kipp.’ He paused, before glancing over at the van. ‘You be careful on they roads now.’
KIRRIEMUIR 18:25 20th February
‘Matti lost.’
Martha cursed and peered through the inky darkness at the road ahead, while Matti scrutinised the map, tracing the journey with his thick, bulging finger.
‘Hurry up!’ she hissed ‘We don’t want to attract any attention!’
Matti rubbed his temples. He was tired and hungry and feeling a mild frustration.
‘Matti not know of this land. Maybe we go speak with a person.’
Martha shrugged. ‘All right. Drive on, we’ll stop the first one we see.’
BLAIRGOWRIE 19:14 20th February
Albert ‘Pud’ Reilly was waiting disconsolately by the roadside, his thumb had chilled thoroughly and he was warming it over a roll-up cigarette. He thought about trudging back home, but it was still only seven o’clock. One good lift could see him to Pitlochry. He let his mind drift back to the first time he’d met Eileen. She’d been halfway through a ‘Boots across Scotland’ charity walk, and, along with her fellow volunteers, was resting in the snug of the ‘Royal Inn’ enjoying a refreshing pint of real ale, when Pud had spotted her from the far side of the bar.
Incredibly, she had succumbed to his oily variety of charm, and despite serious misgivings had accompanied him back to his flat above the Ironmongers. The next morning, he saw her off on the Old Mearns Road, promising to visit her in Pitlochry. A promise he had easily made and felt he could just as easily break. Still, here he was, and the weekend was still young. He gave serious consideration to the possibility that Eileen might have some younger, and more attractive, sisters. Could it be that he could convince them of the superiority of group sex over conventional intercourse?
A low rumble alerted him to the approach of the van, which lumbered round the bend behind him. Quickly he stuck out his thumb and grinned hopefully, surprised when it juddered to an uneasy halt slightly ahead of him. Pud loped towards it as an over-sized man’s head popped through the driver side window.
‘Hey, boy!’ Matti intoned. ‘You local boy? I go Rannoch Moor, which is good way?’
Pud’s eyes narrowed lizard-like as he grasped an opportunity to turn the situation to his advantage.
‘Ah’m goin that way masel’ likes.’ He paused to suck noisily on his pin-like rollie-up. ‘If ye gie me a wee lift, ah’ll show ye the way.’ He winked cheekily.
Martha glared at him from behind Matti’s meaty arms, which still gripped the steering wheel.
‘Your suggestion is absolutely unacceptable to usss,’ she hissed.
‘How no’?’ Pud frowned. ‘Ye’ve got a spare seat in the front.’ He pointed at the space next to Martha with his smoking cigarette butt.
‘It’s completely out of the question,’ Martha spat.
Pud’s teeth gleamed yellow in the darkness, in a ghastly parody of a smile.
‘Aye, well. Mebbe I dinnae ken the best way tae Rannoch Moor, then.’
Martha grimaced as though swallowing an unpleasant cough mixture.
‘Ah’m goin’ the same way.’ Pud raised an eyebrow suggestively.
‘Oh, very well. Get in.’
Pud rubbed his hands with satisfaction and passed round the front of the van, it’s lights briefly highlighting his tatty leather jacket and paint-marked jeans. Martha shuffled along in her seat, trying to leave as wide a gap between her and Pud as possible.
Pud snapped open the door and slid inside. He pointed at the road ahead.
‘Yer going the right way. Just keep straight on.’ He gazed at Martha briefly, as a vague recognition crossed his mind.
‘Here! Are you no’…?’
‘Yes,’ interrupted Martha coldly. ‘Now shut up.’
Matti tugged the keys and the van jerked forward and away. They slunk into a deep, wintry silence.
A loud yawn coming from the back of the van broke the silence.
Pud’s ears pricked up. ‘Whit’s that noise? Have ye got somebody in the back?’
‘Sounds like David Attenborough,’ Matti intoned emotionlessly.
Pud’s eyebrows lifted. He was really mixing it with the stars now.
‘Purrr..’ cooed Martha, turning to Matti, ‘he is restless again. Pull over.’
‘Oh aye! Have ye got David Attenborough in the back then?’
Martha ignored him. Matti pulled the van over onto a passing place and stilled the engine. They sat there in silence, listening.
‘Are the two o’ youse doin’ a show the gither?’ Pud asked.
The silence was suddenly broken by a muffled groan and a heavy thud.
‘He’s maybe a wee bit car sick, like.’
Martha turned to Matti, ‘That was Lionel Blair.’
‘Him as well?’ Pud was impressed, despite himself.
A loud moan rattled the partition behind them.
‘Sound like they getting angry,’ Matti monotoned.
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake! Wait here. I’ll go and calm them down.’ Martha snapped open the car and a wreath of airless cold wrapped itself immediately about them.
Outside, she paused, checking the road for traffic, before pulling open the rear doors.
‘What’s all that noise for?’ Pud queried, curiously.
‘They been fucking all day. Now they tired and get angry.’
Pud raised his eyebrows.
‘Aye, they TV stars are well-kent fir bein’ clarty.’
‘They always having sex together. They have nothing else to do.’
The passenger door suddenly jerked open and Martha jumped inside, slamming it behind her.
‘They’re hungry,’ she sighed, rolling her eyes.
‘They should’ve brought a packed lunch wi’ them,’ Pud suggested.
‘Prrr..’ Martha purred with frustration, ‘we’ll need to get to a butchersss.’
‘Butchers?’ Pud snorted, ‘there’s nae butchers open noo. It’s half past nine.’ He paused to lick down a fresh rollie-up. ‘Ye’ll maybe get a fish supper in Blairgowrie.’
‘No!’ screamed Martha. ‘We need raw meat!
Pud shrugged, ‘Aye, well there’s nae shops open this time o’night.’
Martha slipped Matti a sly look.
‘Perhaps you would like to meet them?’ smiled Martha, innocently, as another trembling moan rattled the partition wall.
‘Ach naw,’ Pud shrugged his shoulders, ‘they’re busy shagging. Ah dinnae want tae get in the way.’
‘Oh, it will be no trouble, I assure you..’ Martha gestured impatiently at Matti to pull over once more. ‘They like nothing better than meeting their fansss.’
‘Dinnae bother. Ah’m no’ too keen on the idea.’
Martha flashed him an ugly look. ‘But your smoking bothers uss. If you want to smoke, you’ll have to get in the back.’
Martha thought about how exquisitely callous it would be to feed this peasant to her lions, like a Cleopatra or a Catherine the Great. How little she cared for human beings, how insignificant and stupid they were, how she despised them all.
Pud paused. This all sounded a bit out of his league. Still, it was a long way to Pitlochry.
‘Better warn them then. Maybe they’ll need time tae get dressed.’
Matti slapped the carpeted partition wall.
‘Hey! Get ready, boys! Asshole coming on board!’
Pud frowned, ‘You’re no’ makin’ any pals here, big man.’
The van swung into a layby and halted. After a short pause, the three travellers jumped out of the front and walked round to the back of the van.
Martha pulled open one of the double doors, winking at Matti.
‘Go on! Say hello to the naughty boys!’
‘Hiya! Ah hope ye’ve got yer breeks on,’ Pud called out, then he peered round the corner of the doors into the van interior. As he did so, Matti swung a stone at the back of his head, Pud gasped and dropped like a brick.
Martha bent down and lifted his head. ‘Good. He’s out like a light. Throw him inside!’
Matti leaned over and lifted Pud’s inert body up with one arm, using the other to heave him into the back, where he landed with a dull bang. Swiftly, Martha closed and locked the door.
‘Who needs the butchers now, eh Matti?’
Matti laughed.
RANNOCH MOOR 21:42 20th February
Ahead, the road vanished into the black, glimmering wilderness, flanked by low-slung hills that lurked like monstrous, slouching fiends, dark immutable giants, waiting to feed. The ground around them was broken, shattered into fragments, like the bare bones and viscera of some vast, slaughtered beast, rendered and dismembered in some unfathomable feeding frenzy. Among these bones lay scattered black pools, like oil slicks, of heavy, thick blood.
‘Over there. We’ll go beyond the first hill and let them free there.’
Matti gathered three chains in his massive right hand, each chain led to a leather collar attached to one of the three panthers. He tugged sharply and the three cats roused themselves, jumped over Pud’s limp, unconscious body, out of the van, and padded slowly ahead, crossing the road and slipping into the damp, black undergrowth.
Martha followed with Cicero and Lionel, straining at the chains as they forged into the brush. With her first cautious step into the blackness, her foot disappeared into a boggy clump of long grass, re-emerging shoeless and covered in thick, black ooze. She screamed, her foot dripping, freezing into a small block of iced meat.
Matti turned round and wrenching back the chains, pulled off his boots and tossed them over to her. An hour later, they were still struggling up the low incline, smeared all over with mud and filth, that clung like a coat of paint, Martha’s fur coat already clotted and sodden with the murky slime. Tripping over some clumps of heather, she fell, sobbing, on all fours, up to her elbows in gunge. Raising her head, she squealed like some farmyard animal being dragged from a filthy sty to its final, merciful slaughter.
Overhead, a vast, dark cloud gathered, blotting out the wan moonlight, like some gigantic maw, waiting to roll over and engulf them, or a whale feeding on insignificant plankton.
‘The bassstards!’ screamed Martha as the moon vanished into the jaws of Darkness. ‘Let me free them!’
The first drops of rain began to fall.
Martha fell to her knees and sobbed, bowing her head, still clutching the chains as Cicero and Lionel waited patiently ahead of her, snorting and sniffing the air.
‘I’ll be back!’ yelled Matti, as the wind began to rise. He stumbled ahead, his torchlight wobbling wildly around, like some Will O’ the Wisp, as he inched his way to the summit, while the wind froze Martha to the spot, the intensity of the cold so shocking she could barely breathe.
Eventually, Matti returned. He took the chains and turned to trudge back up the hill, but Martha shook her head, and wiped away the rain and mud from her face.
‘No, release them here! We’ve got to get back, or we’ll never survive.’
She pulled the cats towards her and buried her face in their manes.
‘Goodbye, my darlings! Enjoy your freedom!’
With that, she pulled off their collars and they bounded off into the darkness, vanishing from sight instantly. The rain and wind picked up in strength, Martha cried, her tears mingling with the mud on her streaked frozen face. Matti bent down and picked her up, throwing her across his back and began the slow trudge back to the main road.
Gasping, drenched and covered from head to foot in mud and peat, they finally reached the road. Matti swung his mistress down, and she fell, spread-eagled onto the shining wet tarmac. He bent over her and raised her head, wiping away the mud from her eyes. Slowly, wordlessly, she got up and limped the few paces to the back of the van.
‘Merde!’ she screamed.
‘What is problem?’ muttered Matti.
Martha turned away from the van, her head bowed and her voice squealing in a tone so high-pitched that it was almost inaudible.
Matti crossed over and looked inside, catching his breath and cursing. There, in the back of the van, sat all five of the big cats. Cicero licking his paws, Lionel, Frederic and David sleeping, and Lulu, sitting on Pud’s face, sniffing at his chest.
A sudden dull rumble broke the silence and a bright light swept across the van interior, startling Cicero, who slunk into the shadows, and Lulu, who lifted her black snout and glared at the intrusion.
Martha turned, shielding her eyes against the dazzling headlights, and through blurred and reddened eyes, made out two dark shapes emerging from the car now drawn up beside them. As her eyes focussed, she could see that they were policemen.
‘Merde,’ she said again.
REUTERS Dateline 29th April 1983 :
‘CAGED: A WILD AND DANGEROUS BEAST’
Martha Kipp was today sentenced to 10 years imprisonment in a Scottish Court for attempted murder and trafficking in endangered species. The singer and entertainer was discovered with up to five big cats secreted in a white Transit van, along with a kidnapped man who was found unconscious in the rear of the van. The prosecution have claimed that the victim was intended as feed for the cats (four panthers and a mountain puma). Lawyers for Ms Kipp and her Scandinavian butler, who was charged as an accessory, have stated their intention to appeal the sentence.
The Wild Animal Registration Act (1983) comes into force from April, requiring owners of large, non-native, predatory animals kept as pets to register these animals with the Home Office. The Act also provides for the collection of Registration Fees and the inspection of these animals by the RSPCA, who will have powers to ensure that the animals’ owners comply with the Act’s minimum requirements in terms of provision for adequate accommodation and feeding.
POTTER’S ROW, ENFIELD 18:25 7th January
Martha Kipp sucked in her breath sharply. She flung out her finely-sculpted mahogany arm, languidly tossing her copy of ‘The Daily Express’ onto the onyx coffee table (a gift from the Emir of Bhatan, an admirer for whom she had once sung The Theme from ‘Fame’ - wearing only a fur coat and gold lame¢ trainers). Stretching her arm further over her head, she snapped her fingers, and without raising her head, crooked a thin delicate finger.
‘Matti! Matti!’ she called, her voice bouncing off the high ceiling, and echoing down her baroquely-patterned hallway, out of her IKEA doorway and patio, to her four-car garage port, where Matti, her hulking Finnish manservant was washing down the Maserati with dutiful attention.
Matti’s head jerked back as the call drifted faintly across to where he was crouched by the gleaming hub of the red sports car, dabbing at the wheel nuts with practiced care. He rose slowly.
Matti strode into the lounge, wiping his hands on a rag. Martha’s finger was still in the crooked position, rising above the back of the leather armchair, waving around like a blade of grass in the wind.
‘Matti here,’ he rumbled, like a rusting steam engine grinding down a gear.
Martha’s finger gestured at the newspaper on the coffee table.
‘Have you read the news today, Matti?’
‘Matti not like to read.’
Martha sighed.
‘Of course. Very wise of you, Matti. They’re going to take my cats away from me. Either that or make us pay large sums of money for the privilege of keeping them.’
‘You want Matti hurt someone?’ Matti asked hopefully.
Martha purred excitedly, her eyes gleamed.
‘How wonderful! That would be so thrilling!’ Briefly, a vision of Matti pounding his meaty fists into the Home Office Minister’s face and turning over his secretaries’ desks flashed before her.
‘Purrrr..yes!..but no Matti, sadly, on this occasion I think the use of physical violence is quite the wrong thing to do. Unfortunately.’
She tapped her front teeth with her platinum crossword pencil (a gift from Bruce Forsyth on the occasion of her Royal Variety Performance in 1978. The pencil was also engraved with a line drawing of Mr Forsyth’s own features and the phrase ‘Nice to see you’).
She reached out to him.
‘Take me to my cats.’
Matti lifted her effortlessly from the chair as she draped her arms around his neck.
‘I can’t be arsed to walk.’
The cellar door struck a false note amidst the banal furore of chinoiserie, with its steel reinforcement and sinister heavy bolt. With one muscular arm still bearing Martha’s weight, Matti slid back the bolt, which jerked back reluctantly, sounding a metallic screech before swinging open.
Stooping, Matti passed across the threshold, and paused, letting his eyes become accustomed to the darkness.
Hovering inside the pitch-dark room were five pairs of glittering eyes, like a string of glow-worms or a chain of emerald and amber jewels lying on a black velvet cushion. The eyes swivelled, following Matti as he walked down the five stone steps into the vault. He reached out with his free hand and pressed the light switch. A strip light in the ceiling flickered reluctantly into life, revealing the cage and it’s five idling occupants, four black panthers and a chubby brown puma.
Martha sighed and stretched out her little hand, stroking the wire grill affectionately.
‘Closer,’ she snapped, and Matti took a step nearer the mesh cage.
‘My loves, how much I wanted to keep you here, where you would be safe and protected, you know that I would prefer that, don’t you my darlings?’ she cooed.
‘But I can’t keep you any more. The bastards will make me kill you all. Ssssshhh, don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you, you know that, of course not! No, I’m going to set you free! Isn’t that wonderful?’
The puma snorted moodily.
‘Yes, Lionel Blair, soon you will be roaming free across the moors, as God intended! And you, David Attenborough, all of you, will be wild and free once more! It is my last gift to you, my beauties!’
She snapped her fingers, and Matti, sensing her need, fished out a packet of cigarettes, pulled one out with his teeth, stuck the packet away, produced a lighter, lit a cigarette and passed it to her, all in one fluid, swift and easy movement.
Martha drew heavily on the cigarette, and eyed her children with a tender curiosity.
‘Does not every mother have to set free the child she loves the most?’
Matti grunted indecisively.
It would be a few weeks before Martha could set ‘Operation Liberate’ into motion. First of all, there was the matter of three weeks as ‘Dick Whittington’ in the Blackpool panto.
It was while sharing a make-up mirror with Cannon and Ball that she discovered from Cannon, who was an enthusiastic rambler, that the largest moor in Britain was in Scotland, and it was called Rannoch Moor. After the show had run its course and while Matti was driving her home, she flicked idly through her Motoring Atlas of Great Britain.
‘Order me a hired van for next week, Matti. And some heavy chains. I think the time has come.’
STEVENAGE 09:10 20th February
Shortly before joining the M1 near Stevenage, the liberators had a close call.
The van had pulled up at some lights and a small hatchback drew up alongside, the driver wound down his window.
‘Hey there! There’s a funny noise coming from the back of your van!’
Matti looked over impassively.
‘Yes, I know, thank you. It is the tigers.’
‘Sssh!’ hissed Martha, tugging his arm.
Fortunately, the lights changed and the car roared away.
‘The poor darlings must be hungry,’ Martha fussed.
The butcher shop in the High Street was busy, but the counter assistant had no difficulty in noticing the six and a half foot blonde giant who stood patiently in line, a blue plastic bucket on his arm, a thin, self-conscious smile on his face.
‘Next!’
‘Good day to you. I am requiring fifteen raw steaks,’ Matti spoke quietly but with intensity.
The assistant raised her eyebrows.
‘Fifteen? My goodness, that’s a lot of steak!’
‘Yes,’ Matti pursed his lips, ‘I am having steak party.’
‘Oh! Well, we’ve only got about a dozen. Would that be enough for you?’
Matti bit his lower lip and sucked.
‘Okay. I take.’ He dropped the bucket on the counter.
‘And fill this with mince.’
For some time afterwards the cats were quiet, and the journey continued in silence. Early in the afternoon, they crossed the border. ‘Soon, my children..’ sighed Martha dreamily. She thought back to her own childhood, abandoned by her mother, a foundling who’d been discovered in a shoebox behind Debenham’s. How ironic, she thought, that only now could she feel an understanding with her own mother and could only wonder at the unknown disaster that had impelled her to discard her child like some
unwanted charity shop donation.
‘Matti hungry,’ intoned Matti.
Martha hissed with irritation. ‘Very well, we’ll stop at the next garage.’
BP Snack and Shop, EYEMOUTH 15:50 20th February 1983
Andy watched the odd couple roam around the deserted aisles, the tall blonde fellow was loading his basket with pizza slices and sandwiches, while the short, dark woman followed him around, gazing disinterestedly about her, idly flicking through the CD rack. Suddenly, he recognised her.
‘Hey! Are you no’ Martha Kipp?’ he shouted over.
Martha glanced up, a slight smile of satisfaction playing over her lips.
‘Yes I am, young man.’
‘Oh, my mum is a big fan o’ yours…ever since you done that Bond theme..’
Her smile vanished.
‘I never did any Bond theme,’ she snapped. ‘You’re obviously confusing me with someone else.’
The doors hissed open and a policeman walked in. Matti and Martha froze, staring open jawed at the Officer, who, ignorant of their attention, approached the counter.
‘Hello, Andy, are ye busy the day?’ he asked.
‘Naw, jist the usual. Are ye after yer snacks? Ah’ve kept them tae one side again.’
He pulled up a carrier bag, stuffed with crisps and tuna sandwiches.
‘Yer a guid laddie.’ Officer Baxter pulled out his wallet and handed over a note. Andy returned his change and, in doing so, leaned over the counter and whispered in his ear. The Officer turned and looked over at the couple, who immediately turned away and began browsing furiously among the motoring magazines. But it was too late. Martha flinched as she heard the heavy footsteps cross the shop floor in her direction.
‘Excuse me…Miss Kipp, is it no’?’
Martha turned around, clutching an unwanted copy of ‘Volvo Owner Monthly’ and smiled graciously.
‘Why..officer..you are correct.’ She fixed a smile, while Matti slipped around behind the policeman’s back clutching a roll of coins in his coat pocket.
‘My mum is a big fan of yours,’ he said removing his cap. ‘It’s a rare honour, so it is.’
‘Well, thank you, officer.’
‘Have ye got some show on?’
‘No show. Madame Kipp go to Rannoch Moor,’ Matti muttered.
Baxter turned around and looked up at the Giant Finn, who loomed a good few inches taller than the officer. His cold blue eyes gleamed with menace.
‘Rannoch Moor?’ Officer Baxter started in surprise.
‘Yes, officer. I’ve heard it’s very nice this time of year,’ she growled, firing an icy look at Matti.
‘Rannoch Moor in February?’ Baxter frowned. ‘Ah think someone’s been havin’ a wee joke on ye. As a policeman, ah wouldnae recommend it.’
He looked over at Andy. ‘Here, Andy, they’re goin’ tae Rannoch Moor!’
Andy laughed.
‘Ye shouldnae be drivin’ around up there at this time of year. It’s wild.’
‘Yes, officer..’ Martha hesitated, ‘..but I love the wild and..untamed wildernesses.. they revitalise my soul.’
‘It’s dangerous,’ Baxter repeated. ‘If ye get intae trouble, there’ll be naebody tae help ye.’
‘Oh, we’re only going to look at it from the windscreen.’
Suddenly, a sharp banging sound interrupted them. They turned and looked out onto the forecourt where the van was parked. It was rocking gently as some unseen force threw itself against the sides.
‘Hello, what’s going on there? Is that your vehicle?’
Martha sucked her breath in sharply.
‘Er..’ she paused, a pained look crossed her face, ‘..yes,’ she said, finally.
‘What’s going on in there then?’ Baxter asked, replacing his cap.
Matti stepped around to stand beside Martha.
‘Two hippies fucking,’ he said.
‘What?’ Baxter started.
‘Two hippies in back of van. They fuck.’
Andy’s eyes bulged.
‘Why, yes, Officer..really, they’ve been a bit of a nuisance. We picked them up a while ago, and..er.. they’ve obviously got a bit bored.’
A muffled roar drifted across the tarmac.
‘I see. Dae ye want me tae nick them for ye?’ Baxter asked, staring in puzzlement at the van.
‘Oh no..I find it quite romantic. Don’t you?’ She smiled patronisingly across as the vehicle settled into silence.
‘Frankly, no I don’t,’ Officer Baxter frowned disapprovingly.
‘Look, would you like me to sign something for you, I mean your mum?’ she grinned and pulled out a CD from the rack. It was ‘Martha Kipp: Solid Gold Mamma’, the cover of which depicted Martha, clad in her trademark fur, descending a wide staircase with two panthers on a long chain.
‘Here, add this to the bill, young man!’ she shouted over to Andy, before ripping open the cover. She snapped a finger impatiently at Matti, who produced a gold fountain pen. Hastily she scrawled, ‘To a very kind Officer, Number 1465, from his bestest friend, Martha Kipp.’
‘Here.’ She thrust it at him, hopefully.
‘Oh, that’s awfy guid o’ ye, Miss Kipp.’ He paused, before glancing over at the van. ‘You be careful on they roads now.’
KIRRIEMUIR 18:25 20th February
‘Matti lost.’
Martha cursed and peered through the inky darkness at the road ahead, while Matti scrutinised the map, tracing the journey with his thick, bulging finger.
‘Hurry up!’ she hissed ‘We don’t want to attract any attention!’
Matti rubbed his temples. He was tired and hungry and feeling a mild frustration.
‘Matti not know of this land. Maybe we go speak with a person.’
Martha shrugged. ‘All right. Drive on, we’ll stop the first one we see.’
BLAIRGOWRIE 19:14 20th February
Albert ‘Pud’ Reilly was waiting disconsolately by the roadside, his thumb had chilled thoroughly and he was warming it over a roll-up cigarette. He thought about trudging back home, but it was still only seven o’clock. One good lift could see him to Pitlochry. He let his mind drift back to the first time he’d met Eileen. She’d been halfway through a ‘Boots across Scotland’ charity walk, and, along with her fellow volunteers, was resting in the snug of the ‘Royal Inn’ enjoying a refreshing pint of real ale, when Pud had spotted her from the far side of the bar.
Incredibly, she had succumbed to his oily variety of charm, and despite serious misgivings had accompanied him back to his flat above the Ironmongers. The next morning, he saw her off on the Old Mearns Road, promising to visit her in Pitlochry. A promise he had easily made and felt he could just as easily break. Still, here he was, and the weekend was still young. He gave serious consideration to the possibility that Eileen might have some younger, and more attractive, sisters. Could it be that he could convince them of the superiority of group sex over conventional intercourse?
A low rumble alerted him to the approach of the van, which lumbered round the bend behind him. Quickly he stuck out his thumb and grinned hopefully, surprised when it juddered to an uneasy halt slightly ahead of him. Pud loped towards it as an over-sized man’s head popped through the driver side window.
‘Hey, boy!’ Matti intoned. ‘You local boy? I go Rannoch Moor, which is good way?’
Pud’s eyes narrowed lizard-like as he grasped an opportunity to turn the situation to his advantage.
‘Ah’m goin that way masel’ likes.’ He paused to suck noisily on his pin-like rollie-up. ‘If ye gie me a wee lift, ah’ll show ye the way.’ He winked cheekily.
Martha glared at him from behind Matti’s meaty arms, which still gripped the steering wheel.
‘Your suggestion is absolutely unacceptable to usss,’ she hissed.
‘How no’?’ Pud frowned. ‘Ye’ve got a spare seat in the front.’ He pointed at the space next to Martha with his smoking cigarette butt.
‘It’s completely out of the question,’ Martha spat.
Pud’s teeth gleamed yellow in the darkness, in a ghastly parody of a smile.
‘Aye, well. Mebbe I dinnae ken the best way tae Rannoch Moor, then.’
Martha grimaced as though swallowing an unpleasant cough mixture.
‘Ah’m goin’ the same way.’ Pud raised an eyebrow suggestively.
‘Oh, very well. Get in.’
Pud rubbed his hands with satisfaction and passed round the front of the van, it’s lights briefly highlighting his tatty leather jacket and paint-marked jeans. Martha shuffled along in her seat, trying to leave as wide a gap between her and Pud as possible.
Pud snapped open the door and slid inside. He pointed at the road ahead.
‘Yer going the right way. Just keep straight on.’ He gazed at Martha briefly, as a vague recognition crossed his mind.
‘Here! Are you no’…?’
‘Yes,’ interrupted Martha coldly. ‘Now shut up.’
Matti tugged the keys and the van jerked forward and away. They slunk into a deep, wintry silence.
A loud yawn coming from the back of the van broke the silence.
Pud’s ears pricked up. ‘Whit’s that noise? Have ye got somebody in the back?’
‘Sounds like David Attenborough,’ Matti intoned emotionlessly.
Pud’s eyebrows lifted. He was really mixing it with the stars now.
‘Purrr..’ cooed Martha, turning to Matti, ‘he is restless again. Pull over.’
‘Oh aye! Have ye got David Attenborough in the back then?’
Martha ignored him. Matti pulled the van over onto a passing place and stilled the engine. They sat there in silence, listening.
‘Are the two o’ youse doin’ a show the gither?’ Pud asked.
The silence was suddenly broken by a muffled groan and a heavy thud.
‘He’s maybe a wee bit car sick, like.’
Martha turned to Matti, ‘That was Lionel Blair.’
‘Him as well?’ Pud was impressed, despite himself.
A loud moan rattled the partition behind them.
‘Sound like they getting angry,’ Matti monotoned.
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake! Wait here. I’ll go and calm them down.’ Martha snapped open the car and a wreath of airless cold wrapped itself immediately about them.
Outside, she paused, checking the road for traffic, before pulling open the rear doors.
‘What’s all that noise for?’ Pud queried, curiously.
‘They been fucking all day. Now they tired and get angry.’
Pud raised his eyebrows.
‘Aye, they TV stars are well-kent fir bein’ clarty.’
‘They always having sex together. They have nothing else to do.’
The passenger door suddenly jerked open and Martha jumped inside, slamming it behind her.
‘They’re hungry,’ she sighed, rolling her eyes.
‘They should’ve brought a packed lunch wi’ them,’ Pud suggested.
‘Prrr..’ Martha purred with frustration, ‘we’ll need to get to a butchersss.’
‘Butchers?’ Pud snorted, ‘there’s nae butchers open noo. It’s half past nine.’ He paused to lick down a fresh rollie-up. ‘Ye’ll maybe get a fish supper in Blairgowrie.’
‘No!’ screamed Martha. ‘We need raw meat!
Pud shrugged, ‘Aye, well there’s nae shops open this time o’night.’
Martha slipped Matti a sly look.
‘Perhaps you would like to meet them?’ smiled Martha, innocently, as another trembling moan rattled the partition wall.
‘Ach naw,’ Pud shrugged his shoulders, ‘they’re busy shagging. Ah dinnae want tae get in the way.’
‘Oh, it will be no trouble, I assure you..’ Martha gestured impatiently at Matti to pull over once more. ‘They like nothing better than meeting their fansss.’
‘Dinnae bother. Ah’m no’ too keen on the idea.’
Martha flashed him an ugly look. ‘But your smoking bothers uss. If you want to smoke, you’ll have to get in the back.’
Martha thought about how exquisitely callous it would be to feed this peasant to her lions, like a Cleopatra or a Catherine the Great. How little she cared for human beings, how insignificant and stupid they were, how she despised them all.
Pud paused. This all sounded a bit out of his league. Still, it was a long way to Pitlochry.
‘Better warn them then. Maybe they’ll need time tae get dressed.’
Matti slapped the carpeted partition wall.
‘Hey! Get ready, boys! Asshole coming on board!’
Pud frowned, ‘You’re no’ makin’ any pals here, big man.’
The van swung into a layby and halted. After a short pause, the three travellers jumped out of the front and walked round to the back of the van.
Martha pulled open one of the double doors, winking at Matti.
‘Go on! Say hello to the naughty boys!’
‘Hiya! Ah hope ye’ve got yer breeks on,’ Pud called out, then he peered round the corner of the doors into the van interior. As he did so, Matti swung a stone at the back of his head, Pud gasped and dropped like a brick.
Martha bent down and lifted his head. ‘Good. He’s out like a light. Throw him inside!’
Matti leaned over and lifted Pud’s inert body up with one arm, using the other to heave him into the back, where he landed with a dull bang. Swiftly, Martha closed and locked the door.
‘Who needs the butchers now, eh Matti?’
Matti laughed.
RANNOCH MOOR 21:42 20th February
Ahead, the road vanished into the black, glimmering wilderness, flanked by low-slung hills that lurked like monstrous, slouching fiends, dark immutable giants, waiting to feed. The ground around them was broken, shattered into fragments, like the bare bones and viscera of some vast, slaughtered beast, rendered and dismembered in some unfathomable feeding frenzy. Among these bones lay scattered black pools, like oil slicks, of heavy, thick blood.
‘Over there. We’ll go beyond the first hill and let them free there.’
Matti gathered three chains in his massive right hand, each chain led to a leather collar attached to one of the three panthers. He tugged sharply and the three cats roused themselves, jumped over Pud’s limp, unconscious body, out of the van, and padded slowly ahead, crossing the road and slipping into the damp, black undergrowth.
Martha followed with Cicero and Lionel, straining at the chains as they forged into the brush. With her first cautious step into the blackness, her foot disappeared into a boggy clump of long grass, re-emerging shoeless and covered in thick, black ooze. She screamed, her foot dripping, freezing into a small block of iced meat.
Matti turned round and wrenching back the chains, pulled off his boots and tossed them over to her. An hour later, they were still struggling up the low incline, smeared all over with mud and filth, that clung like a coat of paint, Martha’s fur coat already clotted and sodden with the murky slime. Tripping over some clumps of heather, she fell, sobbing, on all fours, up to her elbows in gunge. Raising her head, she squealed like some farmyard animal being dragged from a filthy sty to its final, merciful slaughter.
Overhead, a vast, dark cloud gathered, blotting out the wan moonlight, like some gigantic maw, waiting to roll over and engulf them, or a whale feeding on insignificant plankton.
‘The bassstards!’ screamed Martha as the moon vanished into the jaws of Darkness. ‘Let me free them!’
The first drops of rain began to fall.
Martha fell to her knees and sobbed, bowing her head, still clutching the chains as Cicero and Lionel waited patiently ahead of her, snorting and sniffing the air.
‘I’ll be back!’ yelled Matti, as the wind began to rise. He stumbled ahead, his torchlight wobbling wildly around, like some Will O’ the Wisp, as he inched his way to the summit, while the wind froze Martha to the spot, the intensity of the cold so shocking she could barely breathe.
Eventually, Matti returned. He took the chains and turned to trudge back up the hill, but Martha shook her head, and wiped away the rain and mud from her face.
‘No, release them here! We’ve got to get back, or we’ll never survive.’
She pulled the cats towards her and buried her face in their manes.
‘Goodbye, my darlings! Enjoy your freedom!’
With that, she pulled off their collars and they bounded off into the darkness, vanishing from sight instantly. The rain and wind picked up in strength, Martha cried, her tears mingling with the mud on her streaked frozen face. Matti bent down and picked her up, throwing her across his back and began the slow trudge back to the main road.
Gasping, drenched and covered from head to foot in mud and peat, they finally reached the road. Matti swung his mistress down, and she fell, spread-eagled onto the shining wet tarmac. He bent over her and raised her head, wiping away the mud from her eyes. Slowly, wordlessly, she got up and limped the few paces to the back of the van.
‘Merde!’ she screamed.
‘What is problem?’ muttered Matti.
Martha turned away from the van, her head bowed and her voice squealing in a tone so high-pitched that it was almost inaudible.
Matti crossed over and looked inside, catching his breath and cursing. There, in the back of the van, sat all five of the big cats. Cicero licking his paws, Lionel, Frederic and David sleeping, and Lulu, sitting on Pud’s face, sniffing at his chest.
A sudden dull rumble broke the silence and a bright light swept across the van interior, startling Cicero, who slunk into the shadows, and Lulu, who lifted her black snout and glared at the intrusion.
Martha turned, shielding her eyes against the dazzling headlights, and through blurred and reddened eyes, made out two dark shapes emerging from the car now drawn up beside them. As her eyes focussed, she could see that they were policemen.
‘Merde,’ she said again.
REUTERS Dateline 29th April 1983 :
‘CAGED: A WILD AND DANGEROUS BEAST’
Martha Kipp was today sentenced to 10 years imprisonment in a Scottish Court for attempted murder and trafficking in endangered species. The singer and entertainer was discovered with up to five big cats secreted in a white Transit van, along with a kidnapped man who was found unconscious in the rear of the van. The prosecution have claimed that the victim was intended as feed for the cats (four panthers and a mountain puma). Lawyers for Ms Kipp and her Scandinavian butler, who was charged as an accessory, have stated their intention to appeal the sentence.
About the Author
Kirkcaldy-born Paul Bruce is a short story writer and film-maker. He runs the short film production company, Oaty Hill Productions. He also works for the Edinburgh Short Film Festival, which has screened films made from Scottish short stories. He’s generally very fond of anything if it's short!