\u201cThis can\u2019t be right, Dicky.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s what the map says,\u201d replied Dicky Toolan, with a shake of the AtoZ we\u2019d fortuitously found discarded on the train down to Paddington. It was to be the first new ground we\u2019d visited for some time, and there was an atmosphere of adventure as we boarded the first train from Low Level station with Archie Trammer and some of his mates from the Chubb works. That seemed a long time ago now. \u201cThe Breakfast Boys\u201d, as the Chubb lot were informally known, had headed off in search of a greasy spoon in W2 while we changed at Hammersmith for the Piccadilly line to Boston Manor. That also seemed a long time ago now, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShout up if you see a pub\u201d said Jack Dudley, impatiently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe know, Jack,\u201d came the choral reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was a beautiful February morning, still crisp underfoot from a sharp frost, but with the kind of particulate fog that lends a patina to the landscape, beautifying everything almost as much as sunshine. The twelve of us were crossing a wide, well-tended lawn, vapours emitting from between rosy, shaven cheeks and joining the misty atmosphere. From it distance, it would have looked as though speaking, laughing, even breathing itself were a vice, like smoking. Anyway we were usually smoking as well.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow far, Dicky?\u201d asked Jack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t know. Near. Quarter of a mile, maybe?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We trundled on, watched by crows from their perches in naked yews and elms, the conversation weaving between Wolves\u2019 stop-start, mid-table season, Magnificent Obsession<\/em> starring Robert Taylor, and that darkness on the edge of Europe, Germany. Only on this last topic did we all agree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis can\u2019t be the way,\u201d said Reg Farley, as we approached a large glass structure. \u201cHere, Dicky, let us have a look\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDicky can read a map,\u201d I said sternly, and not for nothing: there had been a time when Dicky Toolan went to every away game with the North Street and Staveley Orienteers. Yeah, Dicky could read a map.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIn here,\u201d he said, his clear words cutting the cold air like a cleaver.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hesitation, sideways glances, quizzical looks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHere?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHere.\u201d nodded Dicky, confidently. <\/p>\n\n\n\n A crow cawed in the distance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis is a greenhouse, Dicky.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot according to this,\u201d he said, tapping the front cover of the AtoZ.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTo be honest, mate,\u201d I said, quietly, \u201cIt does look like a greenhouse.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFour hundred yards through here, then turn left and we\u2019re at the ground. Should find a pub nearby. Come on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Feeling it was best to let him have his way (either he\u2019d get us there or, after leading us up a single-paned cul-de-sac, he\u2019d take a back seat on the navigating), I shrugged my shoulders and followed him through the glass door. Amid grumbles and chuckles, so did the others. After about seventy yards of dense flora and lepidoptera, we reached a third wall of glass and turned around. Wafting butterflies from his face, Dicky said,<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis isn\u2019t right. It\u2019s not what the map says.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBugger the map,\u201d said Reg Farley.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u30ed \u30ed \u30ed \u30ed \u30ed<\/p>\n\n\n\n When we got back to the entrance, it had been padlocked from the outside. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll have to break a window,\u201d said Reg.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe can\u2019t do that,\u201d said Jack, gazing lovingly at a Karner Blue which had settled on the back of his hand. \u201cIt\u2019s a Butterfly House.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s not what the map says,\u201d quipped Reg, to appreciative laughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLook,\u201d I said, \u201cwhoever locked us in here has clearly made a mistake, and he won\u2019t have got far. Make enough noise and he\u2019ll come back and let us out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And we began to sing the song we always sang on such occasions:<\/p>\n\n\n\n After two dozen or so repetitions, we saw some familiar crossing the lawn, heading directly towards us. On arrival, Archie Trammer tried pulling at the door, and was about to walk off when he heard us bang on the glass. He chose Les Graham to pick the lock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n “That’s not what the map says.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n In less than a minute the lock had been picked, and the Chubb Boys had joined us in the Butterfly House.\u00a0 I immediately asked them why they\u2019d done this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis is the way to the ground,\u201d said Archie, raising an AtoZ in evidence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhere did you get that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSomeone had left it in our compartment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We heard noise outside, and saw a figure in green serge run off into the mist. It took seconds to confirm we\u2019d been locked in again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll have to break a window,\u201d said Archie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe can\u2019t do that,\u201d groaned Jack, \u201cIt\u2019s a butterfly house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We knew there was no point singing for our captor, but we couldn\u2019t agree on what to do instead. Jack and I wandered around admiring the lepidoptera for a while, while the Chubb lot bragged about what a nice breakfast they\u2019d had and others just sat on the floor smoking. Every so often, discussion broke out between those who prioritized escape, and those who believed preservation of the collection to be more important. These discussions always got nowhere then subsided. Outside the crows appeared to be enjoying our plight, mocking us with sardonic caws.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u30ed \u30ed \u30ed \u30ed \u30ed<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was no shortage of glum faces in the butterfly house after an hour of frustration, and no face was glummer than that of Dicky Toolan, the lad whose renowned map-reading skills had led us to captivity.\u00a0 But his was the first face to change.\u00a0 He stood up suddenly with a look of surprise, and then recognition.\u00a0 I had barely made out the faint sound of distant whistling (coo, coo-coooooo coo), by the time Dicky had started to respond.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Coo-coo-coo, cooooo, cooooo, cooooo, coo-coo-coo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Within three minutes, the North Street and Staveley Orienteers were at the entrance to the butterfly house. Bob Chase set upon the padlock in a much less refined way than Les Graham had done (\u201che always carries an hommer\u201d explained Dicky) and we were out within seconds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019ve been using bad charts!\u201d said Larry Dann crossly, \u201cDid we teach you nothing, Richard Toolan?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou taught me to whistle,\u201d said Dicky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAr,\u201d smiled Larry, \u201cGood job an\u2019all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow did you know?\u201d asked Reg Farley.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Bob Chase was accepting a Senior Service from Jack Dudley, \u201cI got a tip off,\u201d he said, \u201cFrom our kid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n At this the whole party stopped. And then groaned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019d go via Euston next time, if I were you,\u201d he chuckled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Bob\u2019s brother Trevor was a boiler-fitter at a well-known locomotive works, just a couple of miles north of the Low Level station.\u00a0 I would like to tell you we got the last laugh, arriving on time for a mauling of the newly-promoted side, but, after a couple of pints in the Royal Oak, we saw every minute of a 5-0 defeat, including a bizarre own goal by Bill Morris.\u00a0 I have no idea how much time and expense went into our rivals\u2019 cunning ruse, but that day has stuck long in the memory as the day we were bemused by butterflies and Bees, and stung by Stafford Road.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A butterfly house in Syon Park? That’s not what the map says.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":856,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-850","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/850","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=850"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/850\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=850"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=850"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gonbys.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=850"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}Let us out! Let us out!\nWe\u2019re stuck in your butterfly house!\nThere must have been a mistake of some kind!\nYou\u2019ve snapped the lock and left us behind.\n\nWe live in Wolverhampton, Staffs,\nNot a large outbuilding made of glass\nThis isn\u2019t home to me or any of \u2018em\nIt\u2019s a bloody lepidopterarium!\n\nWe\u2019ve got nothing against entomology\nBut an amateur biologist could see\nThat what we really want to study\nIs Wolverhampton Wanderers F.C.!\n\nLet us out! Let us out! Let us out of here!\nKick-off is approaching and we want some beer!\n<\/pre>\n\n\n\n