The White Bag

The supermarket was busy. Lines of impatient shoppers reached back from the tills and children wrestled and wriggled to get away from parents that no longer wanted to be there.

At the tills, the white plastic bags were filled with fruit, cans, bottles and vegetables. They bulged and stretched and the handles grew longer as gravity came to bear and hands became raw when the handles cut in.

The family pushed the loaded shopping cart, bulging with bags out across the car park and started to load the shopping into the car.

The doors shut and the car moved off with the bags rustling and creaking around until they got home, safe in the suburban driveway with doors flying open and the children rush out to the garden. Parents shout, kids scream and the bags get transported back to the house. They scatter on the floor as the groceries are unpacked and put away in cupboards and freezers. White bags get thrown on the floor and a dog runs away with one. “Hey” says the man “come here with that” The dog runs and the man grabs at the bag and dog growls.

Out to the garden, the dog guards the bag and the man goes inside and then returns with a treat “here Duke” and the dog runs over to the man, leaving the bag to get blown across the yard and out. Out into the street, along the pavement and down towards the park.

The old man sits on a bench and looks out at the birds who swoop and spin to dodge joggers or cyclists that distract them from the bread that man has thrown. He has a bag, an old torn bag with holes. He sees the crisp new white bag that blows down the path and slowly he stands, makes a stamp with his foot and the bag is trapped. He walks over to the grass, tips out the last of his bread and then with his new bag, he trudges home, his stick tapping along beside him. He does not look around him, but watched where he is walking.

The house was dark, tired and unkempt. The old man took his time climbing the three steps to his cracked and peeling door, which he closed behind him, with a slam. He was tired, he was alone. It was not always like this. His kids were grown up and spread out all over the globe, busy, never visiting and only in touch with the odd phone call or letter. He had a wife, but she was in heaven now and he still missed her after 6 years – I won’t be long he thought every day.

He lived frugally - not because he needed to, he had money, but he was independent.  That meant he took risks. He still smoked – his house was a fire bomb ready to happen. He kept cash in his house - he was not a man to trust banks. And he was a man of habits and he took his walk at the same time, to the same place.

Upstairs the old man carried his new bag into his bedroom, where he carefully lifted the bedding and saw a pile of cash, under the mattress, just like his Dad also taught him. He replaced the contents of his back pocket with the rest and put the bed back in place. The bag was lying by the bed and suddenly there was a knock at the door which startled him. Who could that be?

He slowly descended the stairs and opened his door. In front of him were two young men, dressed in the same blue overalls, carrying a tool bag and a clipboard.

“Mr Downs? We are from Thames Water, got to check your tank – had a report of some leaks and need to sign you off. Where is it, upstairs”? And they barged past, one climbing the stairs, the other chatting to the old man in the hall. He was confused, what leaks, where is your ID?

In a very few minutes, the young man sprinted downstairs and pushed past the old man “All good Dave, got it”. He said, rushing off down the path. “Thanks Mr Downs, take care”. The old man noticed a flash of white, looked like a bag?

They were gone. The old man was bothered, it did not feel right. He scratched his chin as he watched the two young men walk quickly down the road. Where was their van? Once more he struggled to climb the stairs.

He entered his bedroom. It was in turmoil. The mattress was flipped over onto the floor, the money was gone and so was the bag. The old man started shaking, he had been robbed.

The Policeman was even younger than the two thieves. He listened to the account of the events and wrote down the facts. He was not positive about recovery, it was cash and the chances are that the thieves were aware that the old man may have some savings and that as he went to the park at the same time every day, they could easily pick their moment to strike. The old man was still shaking and he lit his pipe.

The Policemen left with the agreement that he would send over a photo-fit expert later that day and suggested the old man improve his security and fit a chain to his door. Advice from such a young boy hurt the old man. He was tired and he went through to his front room and sat down heavily, puffing on his pipe.

The two men had thrown away the blue overalls and were now clutching the bag as they hurried down the High Street. The tool bag and clip board were gone too. “Good haul Dave – a big wad of cash”. The other man smiled “Silly old git, why not use a bank. Tell you what Barry, I am ready for a drink - let’s get down to the Red Cow”.

Petty crooks often get carried away with sudden wealth and splash out cash which draws attention to them, and Dave and Barry were no different. At 11.30 in the morning the Red Cow pub was quiet. The two men took up residence at the bar and two hours later they were somewhat more relaxed and the lunchtime crowd was in full swing.

In a corner out of the main group sat a couple of young ladies who could not help to notice the party and the frequent opening of the white plastic bag, which seemed to result in the production of twenty pound notes.

The young women were off-duty Police, on the way home from a night shift. They decided to place a call to the station and spoke to the duty Sergeant who had seen the report from the Policeman that had interviewed the old man. He sent two more officers who were waiting outside the pub when Barry and Dave, now ready to go to the betting shop, elected to stagger out, laughing.

The arrest was swift and the two thieves could not explain how they got the cash, still held in the white bag. The men were not consistent in their replies to the Police, one claiming a win on the horses, the other a lottery windfall.

In the meantime, a lady with a laptop PC was with the old man. He was shown a range of pictures, including Barry and Dave, and he identified them as the thieves as he smoked his pipe.

The vital evidence was the white bag. Fingerprints showed that both the old man and the two burglars had handled the bag. The bag remained in another thicker clear plastic evidence bag, locked away in a filing cabinet for some months.

On a bright autumn day, the bag was retrieved, taken in a van to the County Court and later that day passed around in front on a jury, a judge and several bewigged court room officials.

The case closed, a verdict was passed and the old man’s money, at least what Dave and Barry had not drunk, was returned to him. The Policeman who handed him the money also handed him the white bag, still showing black finger print dust and now free from the evidence bag.

The old man sighed. He was still tired and he shut his door once again, this time placing the chain on and turning the new lock.

He sat down and looked around him. Was this all he had now? He was so tired, and he sat back in his old chair and fell asleep. In fact he drifted in the last sleep he ever had and was found by a concerned neighbour four days later – his habits broken forever, the pipe out for good and the birds going unfed.

Again the Police came and they tracked down the relatives who were overseas. A funeral was held after that an auction and removal men came to the house, taking away furniture and possessions that recalled a full life, now over.

New ownership came to the house and the young couple grinned as they walked from room to room, planning what they were going to do and where they would start.

“Let’s go Suzy, we will come back tomorrow and really get cracking”.

“OK Phil, just want to grab a few plants from the garden to share with Mum – what can use to put them in”?

“Here” said Phil, reaching down into a kitchen cupboard “Take this old white bag”

And once more the bag came into play, this time holding bulbs, blooms and life that will be transplanted to another garden.

The next day, the white bag was lying on the ground, next to a grey haired lady who was totally absorbed in the process of kneeling over her flower beds. It was October, the wind gusted and the bag rose into the air. It flew up and away, it soared and dipped across the fields and out into countryside. It was driven up and out to the river and at last settled on the surface and was now floating out to the weir and along to the wide banks that went into the City.

Wet and sodden, the white bag looked forlorn and alone as it floated out into the middle of the wide fast moving river. Towards it motored a large pleasure boat. Its prow sucked the bag under its hull and back towards it quickly churning propellers, which very efficiently reduced the bag to tiny battered shreds and spewed them out in its wake.

In the control room of the boat the Captain turned to the helmsman and said “Did you see a white thing on the surface just there? Was it a bird”? “No Sir, just an old white plastic bag – no use to anyone”.

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