Penny Black Stories

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"Penny," he'd said, "I need your help. We're one short for our return visit to the Kneedly Philatelic Society. I'm sure you can put together about forty sheets on your theme of 'Banking'. You won't let the Society down will you? We visit them next Wednesday. Our President has offered to drive our team over there. We're meeting outside the Church Hall at six o'clock. See you there. Most grateful for your support. See you next Wednesday. Bye."

I could certainly find forty sheets on my pet subject of 'Banking'. But were they worth showing? I remembered the display that the Kneedly Philatelic Society had given us a few months earlier. Although most of it was above my head, it was obviously top quality and well presented. And each of the visitors had given a short talk about the display - something I'd never done. I went weak at the knees just thinking about it.

And then there was the obnoxious Mr Flynn. He was their Secretary, and although he didn't show anything as part of the display he seemed to think he was the incarnation of Hercules and Adonis. He made a couple of very suggestive remarks to me, and the best interpretation was that he wanted a Penny Black to add to his collection; and was I willing to be mounted in his album?

Fortunately my friend George kept him at bay for most of the meeting.

"Watch out for Dickie Flynn," he told me. "He's always after the ladies. He's been married four times and divorced twice."

George caught my puzzled expression. "One of his wives died," he explained. "Rumour has it that she committed suicide because of his 'goings on'. I think she drank herself to death trying to forget she was married to him."

I assembled my forty sheets and prepared notes on what I was going to say. But it was still with some trepidation that I turned up at the Church Hall the following Wednesday.

Our President was late arriving and finally arrived panting and perspiring on foot. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Car's broken down just off the High Street. We need to make alternative transport arrangements. Penny, you live nearest. Any chance you can nip back and provide the transport?"

All eyes turned to me. What choice did I have?

Ten minutes later I was back with my car and we were on our way.

"You'll have to direct me," I said. "I've no idea how to get there."

"Easy," said the President from the comfort of the back seat. "Follow the main road to Kneedly, then first right after the traffic lights, second left, third exit at the roundabout and second right after the railway bridge."

I was lost after the traffic lights. "Just give me the directions as we go," I said.

Well of course there had to be a diversion due to road works and we finished up completely lost in a small village called Little Mulling.

I parked on a double yellow line and gave up a silent prayer for deliverance from a parking ticket to that generous uniformed traffic warden in the sky.

"Don't worry Penny," said the President. "The traffic wardens don't work after six o'clock."

The evening went quite well after that. The obnoxious Dickie Flynn had been taken into hospital the previous day with appendicitis, so he was not there to grope my bottom or make suggestive remarks. And my offering of 'Banking on Stamps' was warmly applauded. The Kneedly society members were very friendly and they said the evening was one of the best meetings they had ever attended.

The vote of thanks at the end made particular mention of my contribution as being the type of display missing in many visiting society evenings, but just the sort of variety needed at Kneedly!

We were treated to hospitality in the community centre's bar after the meeting, though of course as the driver I had to stick to non-alcoholic drinks. However, the President took full advantage of the situation and downed at least three doubles in very short time.

When we got back to my car I found a parking ticket attached to the windscreen. "Don't worry Penny," said the President, "The Society will pay. Must have been some over-eager policeman. There won't be any traffic wardens around at this time of night."

The journey back to Tamling was uneventful, and for some strange reason the diversion we had met coming had disappeared on the way back. I've found this before, and my theory is that it's part of the government's scheme to discourage the use of private cars - or maybe increase their revenue from fuel duty with all the extra miles motorists have to travel!

When I got home and was able to examine the parking ticket in the light. I found that the over-eager policeman was none other than Police Constable Stamp. Poetic justice I suppose!