The Outlaw of the Broads

Bruin Fisher

bruin@fastmail.fm

Parting the reeds with stealthy, silent hand, the outlaw peered into the gathering dusk. Away, across the dark water…

From behind him came a quiet call: “Hello!” He turned, missed his footing and drove his right foot deep into the marshy reedbed. The water poured over the top of his Wellington boot and quickly filled it. He flailed, trying to regain his balance, but there was nothing to hold on to but reeds, and so he clutched at the hand that was held out to him. A firm grip, strong fingers. And considerable strength pulling him back upright and towards the owner of the hand, who turned out to be a young man about his own height and age, slim, with unruly dark curls above sparkly blue eyes and a broad smile. The young man wore a navy blue jersey and grey shorts, and his long slim legs disappeared into boots much like his own.

The outlaw took a moment to get his balance and then returned the smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem. What were you doing? I was coming to ask you to be careful. There are nests near here in the reeds.”

“Nests? Oh, yes. I know. Coots.”

“And moorhens, and grebes too. At this time of the year the birds are sitting on eggs and if they get disturbed…”

“Yes, I understand. They may leave… desert the nest. And the chicks don’t hatch. I know this.”

He spoke with quite a thick East European accent, and the other man asked, “Where are you from? You don’t sound local.”

The outlaw looked down at his waterlogged boot and began to try to remove it, which prompted the other man to grab hold of him again to steady him.

“No. Not local, I came here this year.”

“Thought so. Are you from Poland? I have friends from there.”

“No. Not Poland. Belarus.”

“Bela… where’s that? I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of it.”

“My country is between Poland and Russia. And to the north are Latvia and Lithuania, and south is Ukraine.”

“Well there, I’ve learned something new. What brings you over here?”

The outlaw went quiet, busying himself with emptying river water out of his boot. Eventually he said, “The government in my country is… not good for me.”

“Oh. You’re an asylum seeker?”

“Yes. Something like that.”

“Look, this is daft. Shall we start again? My name’s Tom. Tom Dudgeon. There have been Dudgeons in Horning for centuries. I’ve never been abroad even to France, let alone Bellerush.”

“Belarus. I am pleased to meet you, Tom Dudgeon. I am Dick.”

“Dick? Just Dick?”

“That is what they call me at work, yes. In Belarus my name is Uladzimir but English people just call me Dick.”

Tom tried it. “Vladimir?”

“That’s very good. There is a town in Russia with the same name as me. My friends called me Vlad.”

“Vlad the Impaler?”

“Sorry?”

“Vlad the… no, I’m sorry. That was in poor taste. There was a character we learned about in history called… I think he was a king of Romania or something. It doesn’t matter.”

“You can call me Vlad.”

“Thank you, Vlad. That’s not difficult even for an Englishman. Why can’t they call you that at work?”

Vlad’s cheeks flushed. “They started calling me Dick and so now I am Dick.”

“I’ll call you Vlad, I think. Where is it that you work?”

“I work in the boatyard. Over there. I am a carpenter.” He pointed across the water at Richardson’s Boatyard and the small town of Wroxham beyond it.

“Richardson’s? You’re not working on the Sir Garnet?”

Vlad smiled. “Yes. Do you know of it?”

“Do I know of it? You bet I do. My grandfather told me stories about her when she was a working freighter. In those days there weren’t the trees lining the rivers that there are now, and the wherries with their enormous sails were a magnificent sight as they made their way up and down the rivers. I can’t wait until Sir Garnet is back on the water.”

Vlad looked searchingly into Tom’s eyes to see if he was sincere, and decided he was. He smiled. “What do you do, Tom?”

“Me? I’m a student. I’m at UEA, the University of East Anglia. Second year. But right now I’m a volunteer helper at the RSPB reserve at Minsmere, a way south from here. That's the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds, you know? It's a big nature reserve, marshland. We have avocets, and curlews. I'm home for the weekend visiting my parents and to celebrate my birthday. My dad is the local GP in Horning.”

“My father is a soldier.”

“A soldier? Are you very proud of him?”

Vlad made a face. “Why would I be proud of him? He is fighting someone else’s war.”

“Oh dear. Ukraine?”

“Ukraine. He is fighting for Russia.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Vlad shrugged. “If he comes home my mother will be pleased.”

There didn’t seem to be anything more to say, so, being young men, neither of them said anything more.

Vlad scrambled up the bank away from the water’s edge and onto firmer ground. And the two men walked off along the path.

“It is your birthday, Tom? How old are you?”

“In four days’ time I’ll be twenty. One more year and I get the keys to the house.”

Seeing Vlad’s puzzled expression, Tom said, “I’m sorry. It’s just an old saying. It doesn’t mean anything really. Maybe years ago you were allowed the keys to your parents’ home when you were twenty-one. In those days twenty-one was adulthood, I think.”

“I am twenty-one already. So I am adult!”

“Congratulations. Does it feel any different?”

Vlad looked puzzled again, thought for a moment and began, “Different? I think no, but perhaps…”

“Don’t worry, I was joking.” Tom stopped, realising that some misunderstandings can’t easily be corrected.

The path joined the road into Horning, and they walked together towards the little town. Tom pointed out the locations of nests that he knew of as they walked, and they stopped a while to watch a mother moorhen sitting on a clutch of eggs in a nest in the reeds, just a couple of inches above the water. There was very little motor traffic, but a yellow and blue chequered police car came past, and Tom noticed that Vlad ducked and tried to hide behind him. Vlad saw that he had noticed. He spoke up after apparently debating with himself whether to say anything.

“I’m sorry. I… I do not have papers.”

“Papers?”

“Yes. Documents to say I can stay in England. Documents to say I am allowed to work.”

“You… you’re an illegal immigrant?”

“It is very bad, no?”

“Well, why did you come here?”

“Here I am free. Here people like me can live. In Belarus, not so much.”

Tom took a moment to take that in. “I’m sorry to hear that. Well, welcome to England!”

And Vlad rewarded that with a big beaming smile. They parted where Tom’s route home would take him left and Vlad’s took him right. Tom gave some thought to their encounter as he walked the last stretch to his father’s waterside home. He decided he liked Vlad, and that he wished him well.

Over the next few days Vlad came to mind several times for Tom, and he found himself adjusting his world view slightly. When the BBC news reported asylum seekers turned away at the border somewhere, he thought of Vlad and felt a new sympathy for these migrants. And so when, one afternoon, his father announced his plan for a barbecue at the weekend if the weather held, and asked Tom to invite his friends, Tom thought of Vlad again.

Most of Tom’s childhood friends had moved away, like Tom, to further their education, or chasing jobs. So faced with the invitation to bring his friends, he couldn’t think of anyone.

He decided he would invite Vlad, but he had no way to contact him, except that he knew he worked at Richardson’s. So he made his way to the boatyard and asked Doug Thorncroft, the foreman there, and an old family friend.

After asking after his wife, children, dogs and grumpy cat, and responding to Doug’s reciprocal questions, he asked, “Where will I find Dick? The guy from Belarus?”

Doug’s manner changed. He stepped closer to Tom, looked around, lowered his voice. “Why do you want to know?”

Tom was puzzled. “I met him recently, we got on. Dad’s having a barbecue and I wondered if he’d like to come. Why? Is there a problem?”

Still sotto voce, Doug said, “It’s a bit awkward. You see, he’s not officially on the payroll. He’s doing piecework, paid in cash. I don’t think we should really have him working here. But he’s a good worker, honest, and a fantastic craftsman and I don’t reckon we can do without him.”

“Look, Doug, believe me I’m not going to make trouble for him or for you. His status is his business, I reckon. So, where will I find him?”

Doug’s reply startled him. “Well, actually, he’s gone missing. Two days now, he hasn’t turned up to work. I’m worried about him, but we don’t have any way of getting in touch. His landlady says he hasn’t been home. I’ve no idea where he is, but we can’t ask the police to help, for obvious reasons.”

“Where does he live?”

“He has a room with Dottie Callum above the corner shop on Trent Road. You know the one?”

“Yes. I didn’t realize that shop was still there.”

“It wasn’t, for a while. When Richard Callum died, Dorothea, Dottie, closed the shop but carried on living above it. She has now let it out to a guy from Bangladesh, and he’s running it as a long opening hours place. Works all the hours, but he’s making a go of it, I think.”

“Thanks, Doug. If you hear from Dick, will you let him know I asked after him, and tell him how he can find me?”

“If I hear from him. I’m afraid he’s skedaddled, though. Maybe he’s gone back to Belarus. I won’t be surprised if we’ve seen the last of him. Pity.”

Tom thought for a moment. “The way he spoke, I got the impression that the last place he’d want to go was back to Belarus. But in that case I can’t think where he would have gone. I only met him the once. Does he have friends? Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“If I did I’d have gone and fetched him back. We really need his skills. We don’t have anyone else who can do some of the work he’s been doing on Sir Garnet.”

“Well, if I come across him, I’ll tell him that.”

“Thanks, Tom!”

And Tom made his way home, deep in thought.

When he got to the surgery, choosing to go in through the public entrance rather than walking round to the rear private door, his father’s receptionist Molly called out to him. “Hi, Tom. You have a visitor. I put him in the empty room.”

Intrigued, Tom walked down the corridor past the waiting room, past his father’s consulting room and to the last door, the room intended for a second doctor. This had been his father’s consulting room when the room his father now used had been the domain of his father’s father, the Tom Dudgeon that he was named after. When the old man had retired, the idea had been to take on a junior but that had never happened and his father ran the practice on his own.

He opened the door and was rather pleased to see Vlad sitting in the chair in front of the desk. “Vlad! I’m so pleased to see you! They told me at Richardson’s that you’d disappeared. What happened?”

Vlad stood, and impulsively Tom stepped forward and gave him a man-hug. Bang chests together, One arm around the other man’s shoulder, pat his back, step apart before it gets awkward.

“Come through to the house, Vlad, we’ll have a cup of tea.”

The two men made their way back to the corridor and through the door marked ‘Private’ which led to the section of the building that was used as the Dudgeons’ living quarters. At ground level there was just a spacious hallway with an alcove for hanging coats and depositing boots and umbrellas, and a wide staircase to the upper floor and the home that Tom had grown up in.

Tom led Vlad into the big kitchen and filled a kettle and set it to boil. Then he turned to his guest.

“So, Vlad, there must be a story to hear. Will you tell me?”

And Vlad let out a long sigh, as though he’d been holding his breath.

“After we talked, and I came near to the boatyard, I saw that police car. The one that passed us when we were walking? It was parked there, in the boatyard. I did not go there. I do not want to be sent back to my country.”

“You think the police were at the boatyard looking for you?”

“Why yes, of course. I am illegal alien. If they find me they will take me and punish me, no?”

Tom found himself at a loss. “Well, I don’t know, for sure. But there are lots of reasons why a police car might be at Richardson’s. Maybe something quite different?”

“No, I am sure. They have found where I work. Mr Thorncroft will get in trouble for hiring me, and I will be put in prison and then sent back. I cannot go back. But I do not know who to speak to. I think I trust you. Am I right?”

Tom grinned at that. “You can trust me. I’m sure Father will let you stay here, and I can ask around and see what I can find out.”

Vlad nodded, which led to a flurry of activity. Tom caught his father between patients, got permission to have Vlad stay as his guest, and he and Vlad made up a truckle bed in Tom’s bedroom for Vlad to use.

Tom’s father’s housekeeper, Mrs Thwaite, had made a casserole and they all ate together, carefully avoiding discussing Vlad’s circumstances, and then the two young men went for an evening stroll along the riverbank, listening to bitterns honking like ship’s foghorns in the distance. Vlad pointed out a grebe’s nest that Tom hadn’t been aware of and they watched the pair of birds and their peculiar courtship ritual, standing tall and dancing around each other.

When they returned, both men were happy to turn in for an early night. In Tom’s bedroom, he found a spare pair of pyjamas for Vlad to wear and was amused to find that Vlad was a little self-conscious about undressing in front of him. Tom did his best to put him at ease by being very matter-of-fact about his own nakedness. That was not difficult for Tom, who had been to boarding school and become used to seeing naked boys. Nevertheless he took note of the other man’s body and thought, ‘So that’s why the guys at Richardson’s call him Dick!’

In the morning Tom hesitantly offered Vlad clean clothes from his own wardrobe, a shirt, underwear, and socks, and was relieved that Vlad accepted the clothes without apparent awkwardness. They were of similar build and Tom’s shirt fitted Vlad very well. After one of Mrs Thwaite’s hearty breakfasts, Tom left Vlad in his bedroom and went off to discover whatever he could about the police visit to the boatyard and about Vlad’s status and safety in Britain. As he walked he couldn’t help thinking of Vlad wearing his underpants, and it gave him an odd feeling in his core.

At Richardson’s, he learned that yes, there was a police car three days previously, but it was only Alan Tucker’s brother, a local constable, delivering the lunchbox that Alan left at home by mistake. Without actually asking outright if the police were looking for an illegal immigrant working there, he couldn’t be sure but there was no indication that the police were looking for anyone at all, not even a juvenile shoplifter.

He was just arriving back home when his mobile phone rang and he took the call. It was from Anita Redman, the local RSPB warden, in a panic because a hire boat with badly behaved tourists was threatening the nesting birds, and she wanted Tom’s help to deal with the situation. He promised he would be there to help as soon as he could, ended the call and broke into a run. While in the house he poked his head into the kitchen and briefly explained to Mrs Thwaite, then went to his bedroom to do the same to Vlad, and Vlad asked if there was any way he could help. Tom gladly accepted the offer and the two of them headed out. Tom took his car and soon they were at the riverbank a little outside Horning towards Wroxham. Anita was waiting for them, and on the far side of the river was a big cabin cruiser, the kind that’s popular on the Broads with a central well and cabins fore and aft, and a sliding canopy that can enclose the well or, when slid back, open it up.

A party appeared to be in full swing on board. Loud music blared from speakers, a couple of girls were dancing on the foredeck and some couples were dancing drunkenly while making out in the well. The boat wasn’t moored, but the man at the wheel seemed to be unable to control the boat, so that it alternately drifted back with the stream and then surged forward, scraping its way along the bank as it went. The problem was immediately apparent — that stretch of bank was full of waterbird nests, and the cruiser was crushing the nests, smashing eggs as it went.

“Hey! You there!” Tom called out. The dancers continued their dance, the smoochers continued their smooches and the helmsman paid Tom’s call no attention whatever, continuing his erratic passage and destroying more nests at each contact with the riverbank.

Tom checked the name written below the gunwale on the boat’s bow. “Hey, Margoletta! Ahoy, there!” Still no response. There was a small rowing boat moored on Tom’s side of the river, and he judged that he could just get across to intercept the big cruiser before it passed ahead of their position. He jumped down to the water’s edge and began untying the little dinghy. Vlad came down and helped, and they both clambered into the boat. Tom took the oars, Vlad sat in the stern and took the little tiller to guide the boat across into the path of the bigger boat – or what passed for a path.

Tom rowed for all he was worth and in no time they were alongside the big cruiser. Vlad held onto one of the fenders hanging over the side and Tom climbed up onto the big boat, taking the dinghy’s painter with him. He made it fast to a cleat on the gunwale and then Vlad followed him up into the cruiser. They jumped down into the well and a girl in a bikini yelled “Pirates!” and the assembled partygoers collapsed into fits of laughter. Ignoring this, Tom and Vlad made their way across the boat to the wheel and the helmsman, still obliviously working the controls haphazardly. Tom clapped a hand firmly over the other man’s shoulder, yanked him back and away from the wheel and took the controls himself.

The helmsman, clearly very drunk and unsteady on his feet, nevertheless made an attempt to pull Tom away from the wheel but Vlad pulled him to the ground and knelt on him, after which he gave up and stared upwards into Vlad’s face with a vacant smile, and then turned his head and vomited over the red platform shoes of a girl who let out a piercing scream and had to be helped out of her shoes by her partner, after which she just threw them overboard and insisted he wash her feet for her.

Tom, now in charge of the boat, ignored the drama in the well and manoeuvred the boat across the river to the side from where Anita was watching the proceedings. A little way upstream on this side there was a landing jetty and Tom made for this. Anita followed on the riverside path, and as he came alongside she took the boat’s painter and made fast, while Tom ran to the boat’s stern and made fast with a second rope from the stern of the boat.

The helmsman was in no fit state to discuss the situation, and Tom could find no one on board who looked any more sober, so he rang the police station and he and Vlad stayed on board until Constable Tucker arrived with a colleague that Tom didn’t recognise.

The local police force in Norfolk are used to dealing with tourists ignoring the byelaws regarding watercraft and have become skilled at defusing potential flashpoints where the local residents come close to blows with the tourists. Tourism is the bread and butter of the businesses on the Broads but also the bane of life on and around the water.

Constable Tucker took the situation in hand. He and his colleague simply turfed the party off the boat – gave them time to collect their belongings, took the keys and explained that if they attempted to re-board the boat they would be arrested. Anita thanked him profusely and went off to survey the damage to the nests and to see if any of the damaged nests could be rescued. If the parent birds had been spooked off their nest, then even if the nest itself was undamaged, unless the parents returned within a few hours, the eggs would go cold and would not hatch. Anita and Tom both knew that the numbers of most waterbirds on the Broads had declined catastrophically in recent years, and the RSPB and various volunteer groups were trying hard to protect nests and foster the birds’ recovery. Every damaged nest would be a disaster.

It was only as Tom turned away to walk with Vlad the short distance back to his car that he noticed that Vlad was shaking violently.

He put his arm across Vlad’s shoulder. “What?”

Vlad just shook his head.

“What? You can tell me, it’s okay.”

Another shake of the head.

Tom glanced back towards the policemen. “Is it the police? Constable Tucker is a good man, you can trust him. We were at school together.”

Vlad looked up at this. “But they have seen me. They know I am with you. I am not safe now. You are not safe now.”

Tom thought the time had come to find out what Vlad’s situation really was. He turned back and at the top of his voice called, “Jimmy!”

Constable Tucker turned their way, about to get back into his car. Tom beckoned to him and he jogged towards them along the footpath.

Tom sensed Vlad about to bolt, and he grabbed him by the upper arm and held him firmly there. “Trust me, Vlad, it’s going to be alright.” ‘I hope I’m right about that’, he thought to himself.

The policeman came to a halt and Tom thanked him. “Look, Jim, there’s a matter I need your advice about. It’s a bit, er, prickly. Can we perhaps have a coffee and I’ll explain?”

“Well I’m on duty so unless it’s a police matter I can’t really take time off, so maybe this evening?”

“Well, it sort of is a police matter, actually. I could really do with your help on this and I’m sure once I’ve explained you’ll be able to square it back at the station.”

The constable gave Tom a steady look, and then turned to Vlad who visibly cowered. “Okay. Where?”

“Betty’s teashop? Shouldn’t be too busy this time of day.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

So the policeman jogged back to his patrol car and his waiting colleague, and Tom frogmarched a reluctant Vlad back to his car, and they drove back to Horning High Street, found a parking space near the cafe and parked up. “Look, Vlad, you’re really going to have to trust me on this, things are different in this country. The police aren’t the enemy and there are proper ways you can apply for permission to stay.”

Vlad was still looking very panicky and Tom decided to broach a subject he had avoided up to now.

“I, er, haven’t asked you about this yet but I think now is the right time. You have said very clearly that you can’t go back to Belarus, and I remember that you said the government there is not good for you? And you said that here people like you can be free?

Vlad nodded slightly. Tom continued, “What is people like you?”

When Vlad said nothing, Tom tried again. “What is it about you that means you could not live freely in Belarus? Is it your religion?”

“No. Not religion. Sex.”

Since Tom had suspected this, he was not surprised. “Sex? You are homosexual, perhaps?”

“Home… I am not sure I understand.”

“You are attracted to men, not to women?”

Vlad turned bright red and nodded. “You will not tell others? Please?”

Tom thought Vlad needed reassurance and turned in his car seat and pulled Vlad to him across the handbrake, chest to chest, and hugged him tight. It was uncomfortable but Vlad responded by returning the hug with something like desperation. Tom spoke into the other man’s ear. “I won’t tell anyone without your permission. But I think you need to tell Jim, the policeman. I think you can apply for asylum here if you are in danger in your home country because of sexual orientation. It means if you are gay we protect you.”

“This is true? If I am gay I am safe here?”

“Something like that, yes. That’s why you should tell Constable Tucker.”

“Okay.” And they got out of the car and walked into Betty’s cafe where they found Jim Tucker already seated, after being dropped off by his colleague.

The policeman waved at them as they entered the cafe and stood and shook their hands and waved them into seats at the table before sitting back down.

“Can you give me a lift back to the station after this? I don’t have wheels.”

“Yes, no problem. Jimmy, I’d like you to meet my new friend Vlad. Vlad, this is my old friend Jimmy. We’ve been friends since primary school. On and off.” And Tom grinned to show he meant that lightly.

“On and off? Oh, I expect he means the time I borrowed his bike and got a puncture and gave it back with a flat tyre, and he didn’t speak to me for months because I wouldn’t apologise.”

“It was your fault!”

“Well, yes, but you were so foul about it that eventually I felt I couldn’t apologise.”

“Hmm. All water under the bridge now. It was years ago.”

“We were six years old.”

Vlad responded to the banter by relaxing a little but Tom could still feel his tension. So he began the story and encouraged Vlad to tell as much of it as possible, making sure that Vlad explained the difficulties faced by the LGBT+ community in Belarus.

By the time the story was told, Jim Tucker had filled pages of his notebook and he offered to help Vlad with the paperwork he would need to work through to apply for asylum, and the process of registering as an asylum seeker. Tom offered to act as sponsor and suggested that Vlad use his address on the forms.

After they parted, Tom and Vlad made their way back to the car and Vlad stopped and touched Tom’s forearm so that he stopped too.

Vlad said, “You are not disgusted?”

Tom smiled. “There are lots of reasons why I am not disgusted. In this country gay people these days are pretty much accepted everywhere. There are no laws against gay people. Gay people don’t need to hide who they are. But I could not be disgusted because I’m gay too.”

Tom carried on walking, the last few steps to the car, and Vlad, after standing stock still long enough that he needed to run to catch up to Tom, laughed as he overtook Tom and ran past, vaulted the bonnet of Tom’s car and arrived at the passenger door slightly out of breath.

Tom broke into his own smile as he unlocked the car and they both climbed in. Vlad reached across and took Tom’s hand. “I did not know. I am very pleased. You are very beautiful.” And he lifted Tom’s hand and kissed it.

Tom thought ‘Last night I shared a bedroom but not a bed with this very attractive man who I now know is gay. What a wasted opportunity.’ He reached over and pulled Vlad to him, and they kissed.

And he decided to broach the subject of making better use of their shared accommodation together. Would Mrs Thwaite, he wondered, be scandalised if they packed the truckle bed away and just shared Tom’s big bed instead?

He would have to find a way to suggest to Vlad that they might sleep together tonight. What a way to celebrate your twentieth birthday!