Oriental Road.

Oriental Road

Chapter One

The Tiger Hunter

There are many interesting houses to visit on Oriental Road but we shall only go to one at a time. Today the house we visit is number 133.

Outside the door of number 133 a Postman stands, his bike is leant against a brick wall at the beginning of the drive, where a few feet away grows the smallest tree of Oriental Road.

The small trees blossom is pink its leafs are orange, for the season is Spring, next to the small tree along a tiny tiny path, grows the tallest tree of Oriental Road, a giant of an elm. There is a bench in between the two trees where you might sit and watch cars pass you by, the small tree on your left the giant on your right, like two friends of conflicting height or people of different ages a mother and her baby child.

Ping a ding a ling. The Postman rings the cockerel bell which hangs outside the front door of number 133. Bell chimes a ding a ling a ling, and then front doors knocker is knocked by a gloved Postman’s hand knock knock knock. Not a sound from inside can the Postman hear, which means the large parcel in the Postman’s hands cannot be delivered today, the Postman writes down in a box of white upon a red card that the time was 09:45 and that a large item could not be delivered due to it being too big to fit inside the letterbox.

The Postman returns to his bike, climbs aboard to cycle onto the next house along the way.

Inside number 133.

Noises! There is somebody at home after all, thump thump thump, feet moving down the stairs a pair of eyes ignore the usual letters, plain white with black ink printed names, for inquisitive eyes spy a card of red lying on the mat by the front door,

“What’s this?”,

- Sorry you were out

“I was in”.

“Never the less” the Professor, for that’s who it was that lived at number 133 thought to himself “it seems I must have missed the Postman”

“More importantly I’ve missed a package that was too big to fit through my front door. Too big. this is very exciting”

Which of course instantly made the Professor wonder. What on earth could this surprise package be?

Stooping down and using his right hand the Professor picked up the card from off the front door mat and brought it up close to his eyes in order to read,
It read,

To: The Tiger Hunter
133 Oriental Road,

The first thoughts to rush through the Professor’s mind were fantastic. To the tiger hunter! What kind of delight this package will be, however they were soon followed by thoughts of despair,

Alas I haven’t got any I.D to prove that this tiger hunter is me.

The Professor became a little perplexed,
“I don’t even have anything with my proof of address”

Still such was the curiosity that the arrival of the mysterious package brought, the Professor decided there was only one thing to do, and that was to step out of number 133 and head up Oriental Road to the Post Office, which sat upon the top of a hill.

The front door closed behind the Professor with a click. Knock went the front door knocker.

The sunshine was beaming down and the Professor breathed in the sweet smelling air of a beautiful day, it was the afternoon, and there was nobody about on Oriental Road this fine day, only the trees and sky.

Until about halfway up the hill to the Post Office the Professor walking along Oriental Road spied a boy he knew. The boy was standing behind a wall. The wall was made from bricks and was only three feet high, behind the wall was a dusty grassless front garden. This is where the boy stood his head turning as he looked this way and that a bit like a meerkat, or a spectator at a tennis match.

“Hello” Cried out the Professor, “Are you alright, you look a bit lost”

“Hello” replied the boy, have you seen my Bengali Cat?”

“Bengali Cat?” Returned the Professor a bit confused,

“I’m looking for my Bengali cat, my Bengali cat’s gone missing” said the boy who was very anxious

“What does a Bengali cat look like” Asked the Professor who had never heard of a Bengali cat before.

“Its quite stripy. It looks a lot like a tiger” Answered the boy.

A tiger. What an interesting coincidence thought the Professor.

“Well don’t you worry, ill be sure to keep my eyes peeled – cheerio!”

Whilst continuing his walk up Oriental Road the Professor looked at the card from the Postman which read

To the Tiger Hunter
133 Oriental Road

What a co-incidence. Amazing! Meeting a boy who was looking for his missing Bengali cat on the very same day a package arrived addressed to the Tiger Hunter. The Professor thought it very peculiar.

Synchronicity was the word that sprung to the Professors mind, synchronicity and he peeled his eyes so much that he expected to see the boys missing Bengali cat appear right away. I will find the Bengali cat and return it to the boy the Professor promised to himself. As he continued on his way to the Post Office to pick up his package the Professor's firey eyes flicked this way and that.

Upon the road a gasp. Hauh. Was this the Bengali cat? No. Not a single stripe. It was not the Bengali cat. It was an orange and black tabby.
The Professor’s world had changed slightly. For now, whenever he encountered a cat, he looked first to see if it was quite stripy.

At the top of the hill the Professor went over a pelican crossing. For fun as he walked across it he let himself step only upon the white zebra stripes. Stripes which had been painted long ago upon the hot sun warmed tarmac.

Over the pelican crossing opposite the butchers, sweetshop, hairdressers and dentist, just before the train station, sat upon the top of a hill. The Post Office of Oriental Road.

The Professor now very close to his destination and the mystery package, walked up a ramp which was designed to allow easy access to the Post Office for any disabled people. The entrance to the Post Office. A bright red door was open, so the Professor continued on his way and stepped inside.

Inside the Post Office, the Professor encountered a queue. A short queue. For the queue only contained two people, a lady in a pink jumper, and a man with a green Macintosh. What caught the Professor’s eye however was the old gentleman sat in the corner. The gentleman was sat upon a low down chair beside a short wooden table.

The old gentleman was dressed very smartly in a dark pinstriped suit. He had little hair upon his head, the few strands of which were grey. And his skin! Well it was wrinkled, yet it looked healthy, glowing vibrant, still in colour. He had one of those faces that are unmistakably British. Drawn as it was in very much the same line as the face of that famous cigar smoking prime minister, Winston Churchill. A bulldog of a face. The Professor aged the man at around 78, and noticing a few beads of sweat that appeared upon the old man’s winkled brow, the Professor jumped to the conclusion that the old gentleman was enjoying taking a load off from the hot day by resting in the cool shade granted by the inside of the Post Office.

“Afternoon” offered the Professor to the old gentleman, “How are you?”

“Oh” exclaimed the old gentleman, a little bit taken aback and somewhat surprised at a stranger having the courage to say hello,

“I’m quite well thank you”

“I’m not sure if I am” splurted out the Professor, and without further ado preceded to show the old gentleman the red card still clutched firmly in his right hand with its address;

To the Tiger Hunter
133 Oriental Road

As he went on to explain how a lack of I.D with the name the tiger hunter and no proof of address meant his trip up the hill to the Post Office might all have been in vain he didn’t seem to notice the gathering beads of sweat upon the old gentleman’s fore head which were rapidly increasing in number.

“Still worth a shot” finished the Professor, leaving the old man who had now begun to mop at his hot brow feverishly with a pocket handkerchief covered in spots.

The man wearing the green Mac and the lady with the pink jumper had long since departed. So up stepped the Professor to the counter.

“I’d like to collect my package please” were the Professor’s first words,

To the Post Office lady who stood behind a clear window on the opposite side of the counter.

“I.D please” barked the post office lady in an official manner.

“I.D!I.D! everybody knows there’s only one tiger hunter that lives on Oriental Road” exclaimed the Professor.

“That’s as may be,” countered the Post Office lady, “I’m still going to need to see some I.D”

“Well I don’t have anything that says, the tiger hunter, on it,” said the Professor,

“What about a proof of address?”

“No”

“In that case we’ll just have to resend the package tomorrow”

Tomorrow thought the Professor. Tomorrow, I’m far too curious about what’s inside this mysterious package to wait until tomorrow to find out what it is.

“No!” cried out the professor for the second time.

“I will return home and search my house top till bottom until I’ve found some proof of my address, and I will come back within the hour to collect my package”

“Alright” said the Post Office lady, “what is this tiger hunter anyway, is it a book, or a company?”

“aww now that is a funny story. It comes from a time when I began a tiger hunt in Sheffield as a part of

The Post Office lady wasn’t listening. Glenda, for that was her name, Glenda had heard more than her fair share of. Now I’ve got a funny, stories and was not in the mood for another. Which she, from experience, was almost certain not to find the least bit amusing. So Glenda turned her back on the Professor as he continued to waffle along and pretended she was getting on with some important work by lifting up some envelopes, shuffling them about a bit and then putting them back down again.

“Thus proving the existence of tigers in India that can be successfully sedated by listening to Rachmaninov” declared the Professor proudly.

“Well really” declared Glenda turning back to face the Professor and away from the thoroughly disgruntled shuffled envelopes that would have been only too happy to say

“We were perfectly satisfied pre shuffle thank you very much and all the same to you”

Of course that could only be if envelopes would talk.

Glenda who had only recently transferred from her Post Office in London to the Post Office at Oriental road was it must be said beginning to get a little alarmed at the amount of... what would the right word be?

Fruit cakes!

That had so far already paid her a visit.

A lady who clearly thought it was a hoot to be dressed in nothing but a pink jumper and the man in a green Mackintosh who said he accidently posted half a bottle of vodka into a post-box as a present for his Postman but on second thoughts would quite like it back please and now this. This batty man and his tiger stories!

“Oriental Road, more like Oriemental” thought Glenda.

“Cheerio then” sang the Proffesor none the wiser to the inner musings of Glenda’s mind, he turned away from the counter to begin his walk back homewards.

He was halfway way out of the door of the Post Office before being stopped by a question from the old gentleman who was still sitting in the corner

“Did I get that right you’ve been hunting tigers out in India?” Said the old man in a gruff voice.

“No Sheffield” returned the Professor matter of factly

“Sheffield?” blurted the old man

“Yes, Sheffield...” the Professor hesitated due to the somewhat blank expression upon the old gentleman’s face, surely the man must have heard of Sheffield.

“South Yorkshire” the Professor finished dryly.

“Oh, because, you see”, said the old man with quite some gravity,

“I actually did hunt tigers out in India”

“Well in that case” Said the Professor, presenting the old gentleman the red card in his hand with a flourish

“This must be for you”.

The old man laughed heartily, but, for some reason or another, would not except the card held out in front of his eyes, gripped between the thumb and four fingers of the hand which was at the end of the Professors out stretched arm.

The card that read

To the Tiger Hunter
133 Oriental Road.


Glenda the new Post Office lady at Oriental Road who had just transferred from London was tired she had already had quite an eventful and stress filled day at her new Post Office

“It’s been a long day” she sighed whilst taking, yes about her twelfth sip from the bottle of vodka that had been doing the rounds at the Oriental Road Post Office since the morning

“Long long long”

It was about to get longer.

As up to her counter stepped a man, a man wearing on his head a straw hat. A straw hat which looked like it had seen better days. There were dents all over the place, meaning the hat was completely misshapen from its original design, almost as if it had been used over and over again as a Frisbee. The hat however, although misshapen and bent completely out of place, particular round the edges, was somehow wedged tightly on top of the man’s head. It wouldn’t fall off. Brown string went all around the hats bonnet and, here and there, colourful shells were attached to the string. It was both at the same time a summer hat and a silly hat.

Especially as underneath the hat was a face.

A face that was hidden by a generous pair of dark shades, the type that make the wearers eyes resemble those of a fly. Below his nose the rest of the man’s face mouth cheeks chin and all, were covered by a ridiculous large black handlebar mustache. A large, fake black handlebar moustache. Which looked suspiciously to Glenda like it had been hand drawn and then cut out of the back of a cereal packet.

Perhaps I’ve had too much vodka to drink today or maybe? Not enough? thought Glenda.

Now I’m going to let you in on a little secret. The man was in fact the Professor back again to collect his package. Which of course explains the hat, shades and mustache. As you see he was dressed up for full effect in his impression of a tiger hunter.

The Professor also wore a white Hawaiian shirt covered in prints of golden and brown flower petals, and had rolled his trousers up into what if your mind worked that way you might say resembled a pair of safari shorts. These revealed a pair of pale and skinny goat like legs, and you’ll never guess what the Professor was carrying. Its body slung over his shoulder to balance down his back for the Professor held by the stripy tale in his hands... a tiger.

“I’ve returned for my package” announced the Professor triumphantly,

“I have brought you not only proof of my address, but a tiger!”

The Professor eyes flashed triumphantly as he simultaneously dumped the body of a small scruffy looking cuddly soft toy tiger onto Glenda’s counter. He had also under one arm the unscrewed round sign that used to be attached to the front of his house. Unfortunately he realized about two and a half screws through that he would not be able to prove to Glenda that the sign belonged to oriental road. Still he had in his heart the faint hope that possibly, just possibly he might be rewarded for effort.

Glenda took one look at the Professor’s get up, she took one look at the soft toy tiger smiling up at her from its seat upon the Post Offices counter, she took one long look at the Professors proof of address, combined with another at the poster on the wall which stated exactly what the Post Office would and would not except as valid forms for proof of address,

“I’m sorry I cannot except that as a proof of address, we will have to send the package tomorrow”

“What” Declared the Professor in shock, so much shock that the white hair on his head underneath the straw hat began to stand on end as if it had been given a healthy dose of static electricity.

He could not believe all his efforts had been in vain. It was no good. Glenda was in charge here and it seemed he would have to wait for the mysterious package to arrive the next day after all.

Tomorrow not tomorrow tomorrow is so far away.

“What about if I let you keep the tiger” The Professors last words to the Post Office lady fell on death ears , Glenda was by no means about to be bribed by a child’s soft toy.

So dejectedly without his package and still not knowing the mystery within the Professor had to walk back to number 133 Oriental road.

He went another way to his usual, so instead of going straight down the hill, he decided to go round a longer route, this choice was out of courtesy.

The Professor thought that it would be rather poor taste and bad manners to go past the boy from before. Especially when dressed in his impression of a tiger hunter and also whilst he happened to be carrying a soft cuddly toy that was quite stripy and did in fact look a lot like a Bengali cat.

Synchronicity synchronicity.

On the road opposite the bench and the two trees. One tree the smallest one tree the biggest. An indian man got out the driver’s seat of a Taxi to open up the back door. The back door nearest the steering wheel. As if in expectation. The man did this just as the Professor came a walking by in his tiger hunter get-up.

“Very fancy dress are you going to a party”

Asked the man

“No” answered the Professor

“Im off to the Post Office to collect a package”

“The Post Office eh, well get in I’ll give you a lift for free”

The Professor couldn’t believe it. The Post Office was the last place he wanted to go back to. He only said he was going to the Post Office as he was suddenly, strangely feeling quite flustered and it was the first thing that popped into his head to say. He shook his head at the man and explained how he had already received his package. Even though this was not the truth.

“Oh you’ve already been to the Past Office” said the man smiling and putting his own deliberate mis pronounced curl upon the word Post.

The man who got out of the driver’s seat of the taxi received no reply. He was talking to the Professor’s back. Which was getting further and further away. The Professor for some reason felt the urgent need to get away from this taxi man.

Rushing on in haste he had already crossed over the road and finally with quite some relief the Professor let himself into the front door of number 133. It closed behind with a click.

Click!

The Professor hadn’t noticed that in his rush he had dropped the cuddly soft toy tiger.

Out of the smallest tree of Oriental Road, the smallest that grows next to the largest, the small tree whose blossom is pink and its leaves orange for the season is Spring, clambered down the Bengali cat. Which was indeed quite stripy. The Bengali cat had a look of sublime divinity upon its face as it sauntered majestically over the road before leaping into the open door of the waiting taxi,

“Very fancy dress” repeated the taxi driver smiling,

Before getting into the driver’s seat of the taxi and slamming the door shut with a slam.

Slam!

Before pressing down on the clutch with his foot. Before putting the key in the ignition twisting it, giving the wheel a jiggle, turning the key, moving the gear stick, putting his foot on the gas. Releasing clutch and driving away, the taxi driver picked up the cuddly soft toy tiger from where the Professor had accidental let it drop upon the road.

Now if you yourself had been there to pick it up you would more than likely remark that it had quite a fair amount more weight to it than your usual child’s soft toy.

And if you were listening when the taxi driver picked it up it you would have heard it make this sort of a sound,

Ker link ker link ker link!

“Very fancy dress”

The taxi driver flashed a sparking smile in his rear-view mirror to the Bengali cat that was sitting on the back seat and preening itself with its tongue.

“Where to now.”