The Frumplingtons

Disturbing news this weekend from Ma and Pa — the senior Frumplingtons — who live on Lincolnshire’s wild coastal fringe (or, more likely by the sound of it, the lunatic fringe): they recently became ‘have-a-go heroes’.

Details are sketchy at the moment, but it seems they came across a street brawl. Eight men: seven assailants, one victim. As the elder Frumplingtons are never out after dark, I must assume this was a daytime incident.

And apparently, Ma and Pa just waded in, ‘dispersed’ the gang, called the local police, and remained with the injured man until further help arrived.

The elder Frumplingtons are both in their sixties. They have always live in quiet neighbourhoods, so they are not especially used to breaking up fights; the nearest they usually come to seeing real action is shooing next door’s cat off the herbaceous borders.

Dad also walks with a stick, after having had two hip replacements over the past few years. If this little act of bravery had gone wrong he would have had no way of escaping in a hurry. It could so easily have happened. Heaven knows, there have been enough stories in the papers recently of the possible consequences of tackling thugs in the street, what with the prevalence of knife crime these days. It’s dangerous enough for a man of 20, let alone someone in his mid-60s.

We were both horrified when we heard about all this. Relieved, but horrified too. There is, I believe, a fine line between courage and naivete. (If I had been writing about anyone else, not related to me, I would have come straight out and said ’stupidity’.)

It’s weird: parents are supposed to worry about what their children (even their 41-year-old children) are getting up to. It’s not meant to be the other way round.

And as for motive, all I can think of is that Ma and Pa thought they were ‘doing the right thing’. Being like the Good Samaritan. I haven’t read that story for years, but as far as I recall he only turned up and helped after the event; he didn’t actually roll his sleeves up and start tackling the local baddies, like some kind of precursor to the A-Team.

After putting themselves in such a dangerous situation, what do you think the local police had to say about it. “Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Oldie Frumplington. Well done! Here’s a reward”, perhaps?

Not a bit of it. Mother said, “We’re not standing up there in front of the magistrates and giving our name and address just so the villains know where we live.” And the local plod is peeved because they refused to go to court as witnesses.

Well there’s gratitude for you.

The sensible thing to have done, we think, would have been just to make a 999 call and keep out of the way; let the so-called ‘professionals’ handle things. For all we know, this fight might merely have been an argument over drugs or something. Who’s to say? And what, seriously, is the point of making yourself a potential victim as well?

Ironically, we did once consider moving out of Lincoln to be nearer to the senior Frumplingtons. Things have deteriorated too much round their way though: only a couple of months ago, a couple of stolen cars were torched within a stone’s throw of their retirement bungalow. And there was another mugging not far away the other week. Lincoln might have its share of drunken yobs, but it’s a peaceful idyll by comparison. It always amazes me though, because where Ma and Pa live used to be such a nice area. I wonder why it has gone downhill so much.

Maybe it’s something in the water.

Chris