The stars were shining brightly. Orion was clearly visible above the church roof. The moon, full and round with its familiar face, was continuing to rise on its nightly journey. The six members of St Augustine’s Academy’s Astronomy Club were enthralled, if beginning to feel a bit cold. Besides, half of them had other plans for the night and were nervously waiting for their teacher Mr Roberts to say the session was over. Mr Roberts however was known for his enthusiasm and the boys knew there would be at least another half an hour of passing his telescope round and listening to more facts about the sky above their heads. Frost was beginning to form on the village roofs and the grass around their feet had already turned a bright white in the moonlight.
At 8.30 Mr Roberts closed his telescope for the last time.
‘It’s getting too cold lads. Time to go home. I’ve shown you enough of the night sky for now. We can talk about it in more depth in school tomorrow. I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves and seen something new.’
The boys waved as their teacher drove away. Half of them headed home as Mr Roberts had instructed but half walked as far as the bus shelter on the village green and huddled inside it, passing round the last of Colby’s cigarettes.
‘Are we really going to do it?’ asked Dicko.
‘It’s too bright. Someone’ll see us,’ said Colby. ‘We ought to wait till a darker night. It’s too bright now.’
‘We can’t wait,’ said Dicko. ‘My Dad says the people making the TV programme about fracking are coming tomorrow to interview old Garder to report on why he’s offering his land for sale to the fracking company.’
The oldest of the teenagers, Banksy, stubbed out the shared cigarette and said in his newly deepening voice, ‘We’ve got to show everyone what a silly old fool he is. Doesn’t he realise what it will do to this village? All that light pollution. No more dark skies. You know what Mr Roberts was talking about last week. And what about the wildlife? There’s foxes up in the woods by old Garder’s farm, and badgers. There’s bats too. None of them will be there any more. We’ve got to show everyone what a stupid idea this is. So we’ve got to do this tonight.’ His voice squeaked to a crescendo as he pulled his hoodie round his face. ‘Come on. Let’s do it.’
‘Did you get the paint?’ asked Colby. He was the practical one. Banksy was the dreamer and Dicko – was just Dicko - not the sharpest knife in the box, but a good mate.
‘Yeah. I got lots. Dad won’t miss it. He’s got loads of left over bits and pieces from his decorating job. The boss never asks for it back. I just took plenty. The walls of the barn are a fair size. Everyone will be able to see what we think of old Garder and his fracking plans.’
‘Have you got enough paint brushes?’ asked Colby.
‘Don’t need ‘em. I’ve got spray cans. It’ll be quick and easy.’
‘Cool,’ said Dicko.’
‘Let’s get over to the farm. No one’ll see us if we go round the back way. The barn’s by the main drive away from the farm house. It won’t take long. Come on.’ Impatience and fear of being caught reflected in Colby’s voice.
They pulled their hoodies around their faces and stopped by the dry ditch where the paint cans were hidden. The village was quiet. They walked in silence and stopped when they reached the end of the farm drive.
‘Come on,’ said Colby. ‘Time to do our bit for the environment. Time to show old Garder what we think of him.’
Keeping in the shadow of a line of conifers they edged their way towards the barn. Close up, the black walls of the barn looked enormous.
Banksy opened the bag containing the paint. ‘You go that end and start writing. Write in big letters. I’ll go this end. I’ve got an idea for a picture.’
‘We haven’t got time for you to do that…’replied Colby.
‘I’ll be quick.’
‘Well I suppose you are the best at art. But we need to get out of here before anyone sees us.’
Colby and Dicko looked up at the wall and undid their paint cannisters. Colby sprayed some yellow on the ground.
‘It’s bright. It’ll show up for miles. Here goes. NO FRA…How d’you spell fracking?’
‘F R A K I N G’ instructed Dicko.
‘Are you sure? I think there’s a C in it somewhere.’
‘Oh yeah. F R A K C I N G.’
Colby sprayed the message in large letters and stood back to admire his work.
‘Great. There’s room to write it some more. You have a go Dicko’
Soon their end of the wall was resplendent with their words and they moved along to see the other end of the wall. They stood open mouthed. There were forest animals carrying banners as they fled in terror down a road pursued by an enormous yellow digger. The bucket of the digger was a huge open jaw ready to devour whatever was in its path. Foxes, badgers, deer, squirrels, rabbits were running for their lives. Their banners said SAVE GREEN VALLEY. NO FRACKING.
‘Banksy, it’s great,’ said Dicko. ‘You’re a genius. I think you’ll go far - but you’ve spelled fracking wrong.’
