Marshall Stack

We hadn’t meant to steal the Marshall Stack, well, to be precise, a half Marshall Stack; guitar amplifier and single large speaker cabinet, but it was just sitting there on a little flatbed trolley down a lane off the High Street, round the back of MuSicNow! There was a bit of A4 taped onto the side saying SOLD: Charmwsworth Prep School, and that made my mainly alchohol based blood boil.

“It has a low boiling point,” as my neighbour, friend and workmate Jane would say, only she didn’t as she was too busy ranting: “Bloody Charmwsworth Prep School, thirty grand a year! That’s a teacher per pupil! Per bloody pupil! And they wonder why inequality is so bad.”

I held my breath as I knew what was coming next, but I was also panting as a Marchall Stack is a heavy thing to push up a cobbled road, in the dark, when you’re pissed, a bit. And in heels.

“Please don’t do the lecture about the evils of the Public School system.”

“When have I said that before?” Asked Jane as we turned the corner into Mutton Lane, one of the our oldest streets. She stopped, “Oh, I forgot it was New Rose Day.”

And it was: the town’s annual Punk Festival, the thirty-fifth according to the banners. Sigue Sigue Sputnik were headlining somewhere which meant that the Steam Punks were probably in ascendence this year. I wondered what the diehards would be making of that.

One minute the street was empty and the next there were punks in all directions, in all sizes, belts and hairdos. There was shouting, singing, mock fights and a lot of spilled cider and black.

“Evening ladies,” said a young punk, barechested; though presumably kept warm by all the tattoos. Some were remarkably misspelt. “Nice stack, who are you then?”

But he walked on before we could answer.

“He thinks we’re in a band.” Whispered Jane, stopping and looking at our clothes. “What kind of punk do we look like?”

I put a foot under the wheel of the trolley to stop it rolling back. We inspected each other.

“Oh God.” I muttered after a bit. “Do we look like comedy mums?”

“We really need to get down to Primark and stock up.”

“But maybe that’s the problem?”

“ASOS?”

“ZARA?” I replied.

“Oh get a grip!” Laughed Jane. “Imagine floating round work in a day dress!”

“But we were worried about the punks laughing at us a minute ago.” I complained, looking round, which was when I noticed that the punks had disappeared again, as the last few were sucked into a tiny shop door. One girl with a huge mohawk had to bend double to get in. Then a near naked man crawled down the outside of the shop and in through a window.

“Was that Spiderman?” I asked, mystified but what I had just seen.

Jane nodded, “I have no idea if that was even real.”

Suddenly a siren went off and punks exploded out of the shop. I tried to push the trolley but a wheel was stuck in a grating.

A police car pulled up beside us.

“Are you ladies in need of some assistance?” asked a policewoman though the open window. “That looks very heavy.”

I looked at Jane. We were in so much trouble: criminal record trouble.

“No, you’re OK officer,” said Jane, giving the trolley a defiant shove, “we’ve not got far to go.”

“Are you sure?” the policewoman asked. “Where are you headed?”

“Just Whispers,” Jane said but stopped suddenly looking scared.

“Whispers Avenue.” I said firmly.

“That’s two miles away, more,” said the policewoman. “You’ll not be able to push it that far. Look, let us give you a lift.”

“But what about the punks, isn’t this a riot or something? Haven’t you got to arrest them all?”

She laughed.

“That? No, it was one of those guerilla art things. They all went in and struck a pose and sung happy birthday to Mrs Gargell. She’s a hundred this year and served them punks for the last thirty-five. Sweet really.”

“But the sirens?” I asked.

“Oh that, it’s getting late, cake shop was closing.” The policewoman laughed again. “Night shift wanting to get their cakes in before it was too late.”

There was a mutter from inside the car. The driver was talking to the policewoman.

“Ignore that. I didn’t say that.” She said with a wink. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

And in a second we were loaded in, the tiny trolley folded down even smaller, and driving to Whisper Avenue. Not that we lived in Whisper Avenue, but it was definitely closer to where we actually stayed.

I picked a lane I knew, off the Avenue, that was pedestrian only, but the policewoman followed us up. I had to change house at the last minute and knocked on a door.

“Sorry, lost my keys this morning.” I muttered as Jane’s Nan opened the door. “Hi Nan, sorry I’m a bit late. I’ve got that Marshall Stack you were after.” And noticed that everyone was giving me funny looks. “For young Philip’s birthday. My car broke down and...” I was having to think fast now, “this nice policewoman gave us a lift.

“Thank you.” I said turning back to the officer, “you’ve been so kind.”

We heaved the amplifier head and speaker cabinet into the front room.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Nan asked the policewoman.

“No, that’s very kind of you, but I’d best be off. Have a good night.” She smiled at us as we thanked her and left the house.

As the door closed Jane and I let out a joint sigh of relief.

“Thanks Nan,” said Jane, pulling the curtain back a bit and watching the police car drive off. “Look Nan, we’d better go, I’ll explain later. Hide those picture of me will you, just for a couple of days, you know, in case they come back.”

“Don’t you worry dear, I won’t say a word. What fun, I’ll pretend to be gaga.” She kissed Jane and then me on the cheek. “Off you go then. Let me know when the coast is clear hey?”

We had to push the head and then the cabinet back up the Avenue and in the back entrance of Whispers Primary. It was nearly midnight before we had set them up in the music room. It was already decorated for the music show tomorrow.

We had had to fight to keep the music department open but with every cut to the school budget it was getting harder and harder to stay open. The Music Show was one of the few ways to keep the parents putting pressure on the Head. He loved the praise they gave for the show but hated the headache it caused when he realised that he couldn’t close the department for yet another year.

“Right,” said Jane, “bed, big day tomorrow.”

The torn off serial number plates felt guiltily warm in my pocket as I set off home bed.

The next morning we got to school early and were enjoying a quick tea and biscuits in the staff common room when we heard that the police had come to the school.

Jane and I looked at each other.

“How the hell?” She asked. I shrugged.

“Swap clothes!” She ordered.

“What?” I replied, “why?”

“Swap clothes, come on, to the loo! Rose, can I borrow your wig?” And before Rose could say anything Jane had pulled the wig off her head revealing the baldness resulting from the alopecia.

Rose waved us away. “Don’t damage it, I need it back for classes.”

Jane dragged me to the loo.

We were pretty well the same size, so the clothes swap went fast. Then Jane washed all the makeup off her face and applied a quick layer to mine and put my hair up under Rose’s wig. She took a pair of scissors out of her bag, cut her hair back to shoulder length and then tied it up in a hankie; christian style.

“You think this will work?” I asked as we stood side by side looking at the results in the mirror.

“Course it will! I doubt the Head’ll even recognise us! Come on,” said Jane.

We got back out to the common room just before the School Secretary arrived saying the Head wanted to see us.

We walked to his office.

Inside was the Headmaster, a policeman and the policewoman from the night before. They all stood up as we came in, the Head froze as he caught sight of us.

“Morning, Peter.” I said. I raised the pitch of my voice slighly and moved my accent over a county or two, I was a trained performance teacher after all. “Can I help?”

“Yes, Miss Warner,” said the Head sounding puzzled and looking at Jane and me in turn. “There was a robbery from a music shop in town and two women were seen that fitted your…” he paused and looked to the police for guidance, “description?”

“Yes, Headmaster.” The policeman started. “Last night at 5.42….”

He went on to describe the events of the previous night quite accurately.

“But,” he paused and looked at us. “I saw the women quite clearly last night and these are not them.”

The policewoman turned to her partner and gave him a long stare, then turned back to us.

“Mr Drake says you teach in the Music Department here?” She asked.

We nodded agreement.

“And you have a show on this afternoon?”

“Yes,” replied Jane, “the students picked their ten favourite songs.”

“And this will take place in the..?”

“In the Music room; it’s still quite large.” I said with a glance at the Head. He had moved one of the walls to make the managers’ office larger: they had needed the extra space because the Head was trying to ‘monetise the school facilities’ during the holidays.

“Might we take a look?”

“Of course,” said the Head and led them out of the room. We followed behind, dragging our feet a little.

The kids ran out of the room when they saw us coming. They were not supposed to be in school before the bell went but we didn’t mind (in fact we encouraged them) if they came in and did a bit of practice before class.

They had been doing more decorating for the show.

The policewoman walked over to inspect the Marshall Stack.

The kids had done a good stencilling job, if a bit inappropriate. The Lady had long flowing hair which did not quite cover her nakedness as she knelt down and cradled a guitar. Under her, in bulbous Seventies writing it read: Led Zeppelin. I bent down for a closer look at the amplifier. The policewoman pointed to the controls: every knob now went up to eleven.

“I don’t remember that,” said the Head behind us.

“Oh we’ve had it for years,” said Jane hastily, “donated. We don’t bring it out often though, it’s a bit loud.”

“It’s been well looked after.” Said the policewoman to no one in particular.

“We try our best.” I said.

“Well that’s certainly not the one from last night,” stated the policeman turning to his partner. “We must have been wrong about the old lady.”

“Must have,” she replied.

“Sorry to have bothered you,” the policeman said to the Head. “Ladies.”

He turned and left the room.

“What song’s that being used on then?” She asked us.

“Oh, Stairway to heaven,” I said slightly apologetically, but then felt bad for the kids. “Actually they pull it off.”

“Oh,” said the policewoman. “ I thought it might have been Jane’s Addiction. Anyway, I’ll leave you to it, I hope you have a good night, you deserve it after all this hard work.”

The policewoman smiled and followed after her colleague.

“Jane’s Addiction?” asked the Head as he too turned to leave.

“I think she meant the song: Been Caught Stealing.” Explained Jane. “Good tune, maybe next year.”

The show went well and the parents were very happy. Some made jokes to the Head about how they were nearly deaf now.