Millom in the Dock Page 13

  Frank Hill (probably dead?), a great singer, so he told me, stood behind me once and just made noises in tune! He was a little moth with big eyes on its wings. I had taken weeks to learn all the words.

  Peter Clark, who played the cowardly lion and had his tail come off … marvellous! He bled for hours afterwards. Pamela Newton, the pianist Betty’s daughter, splendid actress and singer, she’s now married to a Bell.

  Russell Harding, Pam Newton (Bell), Dave Guy and meeeeee! In a comedy play. Not Now Darling!

  I was brilliant; the rest? So, so.

  Julie Clark/Matthews. She changed her name to Westwood, you’ll have seen her on Coronation Street and Brookside … but only if you have a TV set. John Eccleson … he went on to present Children’s Disney TV and work with Jim Henson. George Usher, Lynne McQuire. Lynne is the dictionary description of talent, she is a stalwart. I find it extremely difficult to describe Lynne adequately. Maybe the M.A.O.S. (Millom Amateur Operatic Society) is her soul expressing itself to a grand level? This grandness spills over into her family. Two talented daughters, Johanne and Claire. Chris and Keiran too, Chris is a sportsman and Keiran an actor and musician. Every single time I’ve banged on her door, I’ve been welcomed, only because I say … “Here’s a twenty Lynne.”

  Dave Guy, Russell Harding, George Usher, Albert Taylor, Derek Bamber and his lovely wife Sandra, JR Clarke of HMV and Acapella Karaoke fame. JR began MAOS staring through the bottom of a quickly emptying whisky bottle because he was rather fearful about the audience. I know because I was stood right next to him and worse, I’d encouraged him to come along. That’s nerves. He became a complete wa … performer, supported (after the whisky) by his lovely wife Sue and daughters Laura and Natasha.

  I can’t pass this point without expressing my love for Bridget Ford (you still around Bridge?) and her (late) husband John. John was Anna’s (the newsreader) father and rightly was/is very proud of his daughter. I met John a few times and found him to be a really nice man, the press called him something like a ‘dirty Vicar’ for marrying Bridget … his junior. They were happy though … say no more, except … rare. Bridget had her critics but, she spoiled me and I always did and always will give her a good write up … whatever the circumstances. I had a few after show dances with this talented lady, the memories of which I will treasure … thanks Bridge! Hey! Come to think of it … John did have some nice antiques!

  Bridie Boyle, Laal Viv Birkett, David Cooper (the six foot odd cop), Gogs, Midge Cairns, Kevin McNally (Bill Sykes, never mind Oliver Reed … Kevin is wasted, he is a De Niro). Kala Shaplin, Cybil Shepherd lookalike, great actress (now on a radio station in Brighton). Jackie Moore, Jackie is the manifestation of what this entertainments game is all about. If you are going to put her in a box and limit her in any way … use inexpensive material because she will smash the sides down and dazzle anyone within a hundred miles … brilliant! She was working with Johnny Vegas last time I spoke to her, she should be famous herself. And there are possibly another hundred who I can’t recall. All of them magic. And all of them together with the rest of the town deserving a break. They would appreciate their hall of entertainment refurbishing; they would like a proper cinema, a swimming pool, electricity. They have been turned down by all money sources every time. Can’t some money be injected into this great little town? All in all, not bad for a little END OF THE LINE community with no prospects is it!

  But now … 10 May … sorry 23 August … sorry 15 November (these books take time) 2003, the town is suffering (as I type this for the last time, it’s October 2012). It’s grey when it should be rainbow coloured. It now has young muggers thanks to the policy of ‘protect the criminal’ this deplorably run country now possesses. Thanks very much ‘Law’? Millom has tons of potential; it is on the edge of the Lakes, forget the iron ore, that’s history. Millom is a potential goldmine and I ain’t talking pyrites. Thanks Terence McGlennon for highlighting this fact.

  And that M’lud, ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, dear, dear reader is that. I have nothing more to offer in the defence of Millom.

  Thank you very much.

  ***

  SUMMING UP

  M’lud: “Well Mr Lassut, Jury and reader. Millom seems like a talented child that hasn’t yet been noticed and, as you say Mr Lassut, thanks to PC McGlennon, that time may be on the horizon? Let’s hope so. I’m not going to ask the Jury or reader for a verdict … any results of this case will speak loudly for themselves. I myself find the town not deserving of punishment for simply being located in a picturesque, if out on the limb, area.

  Therefore … Not Guilty!

  As for Sharpo, what a characteristic hero! A scotch bonnet chilli in the mild curry that is Millom.

  I wish the people there all the best fortune which fate may bring and I am putting a Court Order that God gets his finger out and remembers Millom.

  ***

  The Jury up and leave, I leave with M’lud and you. We’re walking down the corridor on the way the bar for a G & T.

  M’lud?

  M’lud: “Yes Frankie? And it’s Bob now please”.

  Ok Bob, my friend, the local hero Sharpo ... I’ve mentioned him a few times but … I haven’t quite given the court enough, so here’s a little more.

  Bob: “Tell you what, lets you, the reader and myself chat informally over the drinks. You buy, why change the habit of a lifetime”.

  Ok … Erm Bob?

  Bob: “Yes?”

  About that three grand, for the poems?

  ***

  GOOD OLD SHARPO

  Bob: “Well cheers everyone … (chink!) Okay then Frankie, tell us ALL about Sharpo?”

  Well Bob, dear reader …

  I grew up with Stephen. We’re from completely different backgrounds i.e. my parents insisted on using Brylcreem on me (Beckham hadn’t made it fashionable yet) and, making sure a hot water bottle was in my bed each night. At school at least, he was always the one for the women, while I stood back like a wallflower and watched, bemused at his magnetism. I was infatuated, as were half the school, with a girl called Joyce Stubbs, one day I had to watch him snogging her in the cloakroom of the second floor Millom Comprehensive School, Middle School building. That is still a clear memory, mind you, if it had of been me in his shoes, the caretaker would have been sent to mop me up and take me home in a bucket. Fighting too, he was good at it, I wasn’t I don’t think. When we left school, we both landed jobs at Sellafield and both ended up in the same trade, instrumentation. I was told you had to be clever to do instruments so how I landed that occupation I’ll never know? We were always mates anyway.

  Virginity wise at this time, the early seventies, I was still innocent! Crazy or what? My mate though … been there, known her etc.

  During our four year apprenticeship we were required to go on block release to college i.e. six weeks at a time, to the Whitehaven Science and Technology corridors of wisdom, to learn such things as calculus, from a madman teacher called Dave Hill (no, not the Slade guitarist). The calculus huddled amongst other crazy subjects such as something un-understandable called ‘Science’ with Mr Wombwell who told us that “If you dabbuwl the vowltayge the cawwnt awtomatically dabbuwles”. Yeah ok, thanks, it was never much use to me. Well at least I remember the guy.

  Sharpy also got kicked out of lesson by a teacher nicknamed ‘The Gentle Giant’ (he reminded me of Bill Maynard), for throwing used batteries from his calculator into a tin bin at the front of the room, from the back of the room of course … with a resultant CLANG! No one in the history of the world had ever managed to upset this teacher before.

  We were once sat in a corridor when some girls walked past. Sharpy then came out with a saying which revealed the reason as to why he had a nice motorbike, a ‘SHARP’ make stereo system (of course), and why he could afford cosmetic surgery which gave him delicious Val Kilmer lips. The bugger was moonlighting, as … a gynaecologist! I just knew it, call me psychic. Why else would he say to either the group of l
adies, or an individual? “Drop your knic… ‘hemp panties’, let’s see if I know you?” Memorable indeed. Isn’t it a good job the Reverend doesn’t know about these things!”

  The biggest, most ironic laugh occurred on the day everyone in the class went on a drinking spree around Whitehaven. Well why not? Afterwards, I seem to somehow recall, Sharpo and myself decided to bunk off, you know, too drunk to learn and too happy to care (good song title for a working class band). We somehow managed to reach Egremont near Cleator Moor. Walking through this Northern Mecca, which is about four miles away from Whitehaven and the home of a few people whose past lives I won’t go into (lucky you Moggy Moreland and John Fitz), we were picked up, in a pickup by a guy called Miley Mason, who owned the Punchbowl Inn at the Green, near Millom. We sat in the back and froze to death as Miley drove us over the fells. We didn’t hit the mecca position as our joints had solidified. Meanwhile, the rest of the class were having a firework display … IN the actual college. No one in authority could believe Sharpo wasn’t actually involved. How could he have been … he was with Mister Innocence himself … how boring. Zzzzzzzzz.

  However, the whole class was banned from the college for the duration of the next three big bangs and evolutionary processes at least … including Sharpo and myself. Halleluiah … at last … I’m BAD … I’ve SINNED! What am I like?! The first and only time I’ve ever nearly been a villain, accidentally of course. Well …

  Around about this time I met a girl one night, got drunk, took her home and something happened … what time is it Bob? because I have to go home soon to feed my goldfish.

  Bob: “It’s about five thirty Frankie, should we carry on this conversation some other time?”

  Well, in the circumstances with this story of the girl in public like this, I’d like to say yes, but that private time may never come. Half an hour won’t hurt, so to carry on …

  There is or was a little pub next door to the college where we used to go and slake thirsts at dinner time, it was/is called The Castle. One particular dinnertime we were all sat in this little watering hole drinking lots of beer, my recent sexual conquest memory was having a laugh doing my head in, so, I decided to pour it out, tell my FRIEND … and cure myself. Yes M’lud, in confidence I told my friend, on the understandable condition, that he tell no one … to which he of course agreed, being a man of his word. Back inside the college, before the lecturer arrived he was up onto a chair (yet!! Still only 4’6 tall ... four foot five and a half of that, in this case, being mouth ... I blame his dad’s voicebox and genes), showing a great talent as a public speaker … tell no ‘one’ person, he kept his word and just told the whole wiiiiiiiiiide wooooooorld!

  Soon, lots of people knew of the loss of my innocence and much, much worse, the real meaning of the number 20. T ... WENTY. But twenty 6 years on, the ‘pen-is’ is mightier than the sword and, it’s my turn now.

  Now remember Mr Sharp, this is bound to get to you one way or another, so remember … you’re my mate and importantly, between mates … if you’re going to give it, you’ve gotta be able to take it. So firstly, well, I have to stick. Oh, by the way, do you remember that time at the fair when you snatched my toffee apple off the stick and ran off with it? Or that time, down the fair again, when we were 17 and you jumped onto the bonnet of my parents blue Cortina, AJG 581K, which I had borrowed? I got hell for the dint!

  So here goes, we can argue this in eternity. I must wholeheartedly disagree with the Millom and surrounding areas opinions. You see, I know for a fact that Sharpo would NOT deviate from the path of good or say BOO to a goose … neither would you if you were sneaking up on it with a club and a sack. The local responsible and well run constabulary would not get any overtime pay if it wasn’t for him. They would (maybe?) get some sleep though and even a pot of coffee … Mmmmmm … during those boring days when nothing ‘seems’ to happen in Millom (I should write a book and send it to them … one hundred thumbtwiddlepatterns for bored PC’s).

  Naaaa, things are not as they seem, seldom are, you see, Sharpo is psychic. He instinctively knows when the officers are about to make coffee and sit with their feet up on the desk in a state of semi-trance thinking … “Mmmmmmm this is the life, could do with a good safari holiday next year. Think I might claim some “End of the Line” compensation”.

  Then he strikes quicker than a Cobra or Red Bull … ten minutes later the coffee idea floats aromatically into the ozone layer (it finds a bit we haven’t screwed up) and theeeeeyyy’re off. Diddleliddle um Diddleliddle um … the Millomstone Cops … Whhheeee! … Yet their quarry is nowhere to be found? I can tell you, he is in the well hidden spaceship with Noddy and the lads laughing at the antics on the 26” either floating plasma metaphysical screen. Told you he was a hero. To his advantage he has the fighting spirit of a cross between Mike Tyson and a Viking and looks a little like Eric Estrada … the Policeman from the 70’s series … CHIPS (Californian Highway Patrol … bet he never sued them through boredom). Remember though, chips in Millom? There is no newspaper to wrap them up in. Aren’t I being very complimentary about a chap who ruined my womanising power and humiliated me in front of the whole world … for years!

  Talking of women, I just haven’t got the time in this life to recount what I could recount about Sharpo and the fairer sex, as it just wouldn’t be fair on the planet … knocking down so many trees for the pages … plus I don’t want his mam to find out anything that her wayward son has been up to concerning women over the last few years as it would cause her acute worry, leading to about 500 years sleep deprivation. I leave it to you the reader to use your imagination … which I’m sure you will. I will also refrain from telling anything about a certain Policewoman. I taught this lady officer guitar, she liked old ‘chisel chin’, very ironic although he didn’t much care for her (so he said) … yet she told me that …

  I can though and will recount the tale of …

  TARKA (not) THE OTTER

  Tarka is a person who takes/took things from other people when they are not/were not in. He is banned from Millom. One night, he and his buddies came to my house and took my shaw kite video player and the methane jar which I was planning to use with the TV upon its invention. Wilf Hornsby had promised to tell me pronto when such an event happened. Nevertheless, they took it. It made me wonder actually if they had something similar to a TV set wherever they were. I had a choice at this point, I could either …

  Tell the Police or Tell Sharpo

  Number one required the filling in of a boring looking form and interrogation for the case of the ‘Missing allotment duck?’”

  I decided that if they tied me to a chair and began boring a confession out of me I would admit the lesser charge of a chicken perhaps. I would never confess to one of Craghills Guinea Fowl (my cousin Graham Irwin has probably eaten the evidence by now and judging by Graham’s new hat, tried to hide the feathers too) and, a peacock was definitely out. Sheep rustling was not even to be considered. Sheep ‘rustling’ in Millom is the sound made by the willies in the dead leaves when you are chasing your luuuuuurrrvee ‘conquest’ while singing something by Barry White … even better though … Noddy’s ballad ‘Everyday’ or …

  I tell Sharpy the story. He listens intently, I feel a little bad because the poor lads cheeks are swollen with the ‘mumps’. However he takes a breath, a sip of Ribena (undiluted!) and rasps under his breath … “Heeeeeeyyy! Okay! Noooo problem, Corlieone sort it out. Let me make a few enquiries.” He then placed the Persian cat he was stroking in a mini guillotine and chopped it in half (joking!). I kissed his ring and left. A couple of days later the Police call at my house with the video and empty (!) shaw kite jar ... actually, that’s REAL fantasy.

  A couple of days later, Corlieone comes a calling, mumps cleared I’m glad to say. It was good news … “Job sorted Frankie, they will bring it back. I told them ‘you bring my mates stuff back, or, we’ll be down to visit you ...”. Now that’s service!

  One road in to the
town over a bridge, the same way out too unless you own Peg. He had seen them getting into their car to leave the town and had run to this bridge. He calmly tied Fireblade Jackaljaw to the fence and stood in the middle of the road on approach of suspect vehicle … which … erm, stopped. You would if you saw Eric Estrada, Mike Tyson hybrid in your way flexing his neck muscles. Not being swayed by idols (cars), he didn’t bother getting into the mecca position, although a few passers-by felt they should. Then, various parts of the car were removed forcibly and the riot act read out. I realise it’s against the law to treat criminals like this … from folklore stories passed on, I hear the guys in the car, during the dismantling, rose in their seats by a few inches atop their own kite. I also hear that, as a last resort, if the goods did not come back as politely requested, he was planning to deposit a horse’s head in Tarka’s bed. But on second thoughts … he wanted his milk delivery the next morning (the bluff would have to work ... it did).

  Hey presto! A day or so later, a video player and FULL shaw kite jar (I think it was their own? The consistency was all wrong for a horse) were deposited in my back yard. This is honestly a true story; do you think I should tell the Police? It has been a while .This did have rather an astonishing effect in Millom. A local colleague of mine, Mel Wilson, decided to print the town’s first ever newspaper on the strength of it. The paper was only the size of a playing card, containing this amazing story, but people enjoyed it and wondered if the next edition may contain runescopes? On the down side, it was nowhere near big enough to inspire the potato chip. The second edition, because nothing much had happened since, contained the headline story …