Millom in the Dock Page 5

  So M’lud, ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader … one main road! As for the town centre itself, one bridge in, one bridge out, too durn big! To shake it all about! Yow! And one ‘Bridge Café’, thank you Mr and Mrs ‘Russell’ Townsend. Yes! As good as ‘cut off’ from civilisation as we know it! So … how would the big wiiiiide world ever learn of the completely un-versatile Gammawave oven for example?

  I will now verbally list for you the Jury and you the reader just a few of the fascinating local inventions from this one horse town. If any of you good people are business angels or, just fancy a dabble with your nest egg it may be worth you taking notes for future reference.

  1: WIND POWERED FLIGHT (Circa 1980) ... (for Chris, Freddie and Arthur)

  Freddie Hunter, a rich Haverigg farmer, actually made the first Cumbrian one horsepower flight. Good old Freddie! Mate of mine … honest. It’s 1 a.m. and Peg’s at home in bed, she doesn’t do night flights. Yes that’s iced tea (and Fred’s the Pope!)

  Local Hero of Haverigg (just outside the border of Millom)

  The horse, called Peggy, who we’ve already briefly met by the side of the bowling green, was a rather suspect buy from an ex fairground gypsy, an ‘old’ mate of mine called William Taylor, better known as Sir William of Haverigg … knighted by King Arthur for services to Hick town entertainment. He now renovates fairground organs, beautifully it must be said. Do bow in his presence if the fancy ever takes you but, never when you’re stood in front of him looking away, cos he’s quick I hear. He one lazy late summer evening in the Harbour Hotel in Haverigg, over some of the last of the previous delivery beer, recounted the story of Peg’s ‘surprise’ conception.

  Listening intently were Fred, Craggy, my uncle Arthur and various other omnipresent local yokels. He told, in all honesty, how she had been sired by the Greek God Thor’s magnificent stallion. The romantic episode had occurred during a holiday which her, Peg’s mother that is, had been enjoying immensely in Athens. She had tagged along as William’s companion in the absence of any friends. I should make the point clear M’lud, ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader that I mean William was devoid of friends; the horse had plenty.

  Well, she had felt extremely thirsty through trying to keep up with William on perpetual motion Ouzo sessions and had wandered off in search of water. She synchronistically found a handy trough just adjacent to the Parthenon and, proceeded to stand innocently in front of her stone oasis, head lowered, slaking the craving. Now, according to William, Thor (Virgin flight 2347834 probably) just ‘happened’ to appear in the sky from behind a bank of ‘well fluffy nimbus clouds’ riding proudly and with great skill his fine handsome stallion. They landed, did a little ego rearing around for a while to impress the crowds, received a round of applause and … but then, it, maybe, perhaps, things would have probably, possibly, have been different if … but …

  Thor neglected to tie him to something immovable e.g. a 50 ton earthmover before appearing in a ‘dis’ sort of way into a local boozer to slake his tormenting thirst or more to the point, maybe? To calm his troubled mind? Because I actually thought it would be damp flying through clouds so, why get thirsty? Just lick up the drips as they fall off your nose, like snot when you have a cold.

  M’lud: “Mr Lassut! Yeugh!”

  Sorry M’lud.

  M’lud: “Carry on but get yourself a hanky please, just in case”.

  I will M’lud, where was I? Ah yes …

  The bored stallion to put it simply, was way short of a little entertainment and ‘love’. You see Gods such as Thor tend to not be luvvy duvvy huggers, mane caressers, sweet talking horse whisperers or, soppy hoof holders, this is just in case their mates see them and take the P. High SS, which can play havoc with the weather to say the least, so as humans, we’re damn lucky the Greek Gods are hard. Yes the stallion was feeling lonely, unloved, unhugged, ungroomed, unwhispered to and very, 101%, bored. Not to mention as horny as a … as a … hmmm … bored stallion! This was the wrong state to be in when he noticed, in his amplified peripheral vision, this pretty female, with nose immersed in the refreshing water trough, her eyes closed in ecstasy(!?).He did really well not to clip clop as he (snooked up) approached, breath held, with no intentions of chatting up or foreplay I may add!!! (I may also add foreplay is great). Well no one likes rejection do they? (Also it’s hard to masturbate with hooves, I would guess, having never tried). Because owner William had been on the Ouzo all day when this event happened plum direct in front of his schnozzle, the story was a little suspect to ‘all’ the wise Haverigg folk … “Our families have had doggy goods problems with Fergie in the past, so we’ve learnt our lessons and we’re not falling for it again!”

  A Lovingly made model of Peg who went to God and St Peter some years ago. Modelled showing her lovely personality.

  Well ‘all’ that is except the world wise Freddie Hunter who, was always milking when Ferg was selling. He snatched the unbelievable bargain quicker than you could say shaw kite! The locals called her Suspect Peggy or, Peggy Sus because of her dodgy origins. Her pedigree name became Peggy Sus Haverigg Farmer following in the great British poncy tradition of having stupid pedigree names for interbred animals. The whole idea behind the historic maiden flight was due to the fact that Fred couldn’t be bothered to walk home wobbly afternoon after afternoon, night after night, after week after month … ad infinitum from the Harbour Hotel (owned by my old guitar student Chris Mayne). Now, as she couldn’t outrun the local op cart to save her life (pulled by a penny farthing’ed End of the Line officer I may add). “Outrun the cop cart? Why would a horse want … ?” You ask M’lud, ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader?

  That’s Chris and myself with Freddie looking on jealous of Chris for knowing well the ‘rightful’ King of Millom (don’t tell Sharpo, he may want to defend his crown jewels) ... Freddie is actually hanging off a coat hook and that’s iced tea he’s supping.

  Well Peg likes a few bevvies too you know, like mother like daughter, alas though drinking and trotting in charge of a merry ‘hic!’ farmer is an offence for rural horses up North in Hick-ville so, in order to avoid him being pulled over and hassled, Fred was given a useful gift, a beautiful set of almost fairylike gossamer wings for Peg. The frames were made by my late uncle Arthur Irwin who, was a skilled carpenter, from plywood and bent coat hangers with the main wing ‘skin’ provided by split flattened out condoms. Arthur actually had the ingenuity to remove and discard the rubber rings, no point in having the extra ballast. The condoms were stitched together with ‘catgut’ because, to glue them would have involved killing Peggy to make such a fluid and, as she was the only horse in two neighbouring towns come villages that would have been a little stupid even for End of Liners. I mentioned before that Peg has lots of friends so, how is this if she is the only horse in town? Well, horses can be friends with other things, animals and humans too and, of course, they make a better job of making friends than humans. Yes the day was saved because there are always plenty of cats with guts wherever you go, one less now though. The fur was useful too, as a tea cosy in the Harbour Hotel kitchen and Chris always goes to local fancy dress parties as … “Evening Chris! Davey Crocket again! How original!”

  Chris and Freddie, that may seem like a light about Freddie’s head but it’s actually an off centre halo, due to a bad camera angle, that’s ‘another’ pint too! About 2 a.m!

  The wings were fitted one Saturday afternoon in the beer garden after Fred had carpet bombed his liver and had had to return home to the mansion to do the milking. Peg had, under protest, been put on a shandy for this occasion. Fred was loaded onto Peggy in a non-elegant ‘Quixotic Knight Errant’ yet very entertaining sort of body jumble, not helped at all by her wobble, thirty seven pints on one third lemonade shandy you see. Satisfied then with his illusory balance when finally mounted i.e. his wobble luckily synchronising with hers and, happy that his shoelaces were tied securely together with good knots under Peg’s belly …
a kind of crude safety harness just in case the natural ethyl influenced telepathy failed. All systems were ready! Mission (out of) control were all sat on the wall by the river ‘Lazy’ waiting, with baited breath and, a complimentary jug of Slalom D lager champagne substitute should the take-off be successful … however no one gets lost on ‘their’ shift! The take-off sequence was initiated i.e. her rump was smacked by Chris. This is a local form of motivation enjoyed by many of the local fema … never mind! Luckily because Peg wasn’t exactly pulling a ton up, the tide was on the way which provided a good headwind from the shorefront. At an estimated 3 mph Peg raised her nose from the ground and pointed it forwards, a precursor to Conk-Corde. Sufficient wind beneath her wings … they took off and were soon a mere dot in the cloudless blue sky. There was a big cheer from mission (out of) control and the Slalom D was polished off preceded by the chinking of pint sized champagne flutes with celebratory gusto!

  Because Fred knew nothing of flap control in rising thermals, save those produced in abundance by mild and other assorted brews and pork scratchings, they were at first blown totally out of control across the channel (a local stretch of water belonging to the Irish Sea) and over Barrow in Furness. It was lucky the pair were not forced to land because Peg would have ended up as Cordon Bleu on plate animal protein; horse being the stable (staple!) diet in Barrow. However he managed in his panic to produce an excellent artificial draught of warm ale conditioned air. This saved them and, as a result, they swept around the marshy Duddon Estuary, over Clive Procter’s residence (The Green). Clive, a shooting man and ex Round Tabler, ‘missed’ with both No 6 shot, twelve bore cartridges, swore and, in anger almost shot his next door neighbour Poggy’s dog. The dog actually bit him in anger which was lucky really because if he’d copped Peg she’d have been after his head on a plate.

  My old bud clive (he died october 2007

  Poggy being the local doctor he gets to prescribe many herb medicines, secret hick potions and a little witchcraft! It must be said they are pretty healthy up there. Good old Pog! Pog was a miracle healer. He had a stutter, and by the time he had told someone what was wrong with them, they were better ... he didn’t half piss the pharmaceutical companies off.

  ***

  Little supplement:

  It’s 2011 and Poggy recommends that my mother lay her car aside because she’s been diagnosed with dementia and the memory is going however, the inner anger is still there and she isn’t happy, so she says … “He’s took my car! I hope that ****** burns in hell!” ... She can be forgiven I suppose as she has the demented, worry produced disease, which when mixed with a practiced acid tongue … (she actually always liked Pog). Poggy dropped dead two days later.

  Another little supplement: This is of a shooting flavour.

  My uncle Arthur was a very good shot in the army, something which he carried on after he left. He had a .22 rifle, liked a pint, and landed a cushy number at the prison. He told me that he would take the bullet rifle to work and, when it was quiet (he had a silencer too), would shoot the rabbits on the patch of grass ... then sell them in his shop. Fresh Local Rabbit ... he had to skin them because they had Property of HM Prison Haverigg showing naturally on them.

  ***

  Eventually they came in to land, Peg kissed the tarmac of Lapstone Road and Fred joined the list of famous inventors in the sleepy, End of the Line town … M. Unfortunately Peggy, having suffered from nerves just a huge amount during her maiden voyage, had dropped some ballast just prior to landing. It was a beautifully timed ejaculation and landed right on the head of a local copper who had just left the cop shop and was plodding around feeling bored. They were arrested and locked up at the pleasure of His Majesty Ferg, who liked Peg and released her immediately, well actually just after dubbing her his by ‘Royal Appointment’, Deluxe Grade AA shaw kite supplier. He then bought the lawman’s unexpected kite, scraping it from his head (he had his helmet off at the time and was scratching his cranium, wondering what day it was) and, sold it at a huuuuuuge profit. But that was it the historic first one horse powered flight which was ‘claimed’ by the residents of M (now I’m going to flip to S-V) because they thought there may be a few bob in it … ‘innit’ hasn’t scaled the wire yet. The few bob would be used to subsidise their DHSS because 1,000 of them are on the dole? According to the press. Were they ‘Wright’? Or-Ville they suffer the consequences of Wilbur-lingly taking what was rightly belonging to Haverigg? (That’s probably a bit clever for most readers M’lud, ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader).

  Years later an actual helicopter came and hovered above the town, all the locals got onto their knees in the Mecca position (as they do with all non-understood technology), making an offering of fresh fruit and chanting incomprehensible gutturals. The helicopter landed and an evil eyed Alien climbed out, it began to communicate with the petrified masses. That though was how Labour got the critical votes to win their historical, sorry, hysterical second term.

  Simple drawings in rabbit blood and charcoal of flying machines and ‘lizard’ like things in posh suits can still to this day be seen on some residents living room walls. Historians from Cambridge University and Barrow Museum said … “It is not too significant a find but the local beer was okay”.

  Oh no! Politics in other dimensions and Universities.

  ***

  2: THE GAMMAWAVE OVEN (circa 1977)

  This was devised by two process workers from nearby, famous, sparkly, wonderful what would we do without it ‘Sellafield’. Their finished model, constructed from lead then painted Arctic White, with a red door handle was bigger than you may imagine a puny microwave to be, it was twelve foot by nine foot by eight foot. Yes that measurement really is in feet. The body as already mentioned was made of lead and the ‘waves’ were supplied courtesy of two (missing … enquiry!) uranium rods. The oven is placed on the back garden; the item to be cooked is placed on the garden path in a cooking tin because the chef doesn’t want any greasy stains on the concrete slabs. These type of erm … ‘microwave’ ovens, it should be stated, are not affected by metal objects rather, they can sometimes melt them i.e. Hiroshima. The chef opens the door and walks inside the appliance of dodgy science. Then, after checking that there is no sign of the neighbours through the periscope (which comes as standard) the appliance is turned on, thus activating the Uranium in the mini reactor on the top of the oven by bombarding it with Neutrons. There is sometimes the slight problem of the neighbour’s dog or cat coming to investigate the aromatic chicken and roast potatoes with herbs, banking allotment veg, chestnut stuffing and giblets ‘Mmmmmmm’ sizzling away to perfection on the path only to wind up on the menu themselves. This usually causes slight tiffs with the now angry / furious neighbours, resolved in the usual way … an invite to the following evenings barbecue and, a new pet (live hedgehogs can be picked from the road most evenings) hoping deep down that they aren’t the barbie type … be honest. And guess what, they always say …

  “Well thanks very much, we can’t actually make tomorrow night (yes!) but, you enjoy yourselves anyway … go on all night if you want to.” That’s cos they hate you too but tend to mellow when you take them a burnt sausage and a can of beer. Whatever.

  But, bad news …It is thought that the S-V / Sellafield Gamma wave oven didn’t take off commercially, only because it wouldn’t fit on a kitchen top, damned bad luck really. Blame the British weather.

  ***

  3: THE WOODEN HORSE OF TROY SCONNER (circa 1995)

  This is so close to the truth that I nearly didn’t require a parallel Universe / dimension. Built by Sconner in his bedroom much to the displeasure of his wife; an equine phobic. The problem was, or so I was told, it was too big to get out of the bedroom so the window had to be removed, you know like when they have to get obese people out. This four times life sized wooden replica of Peg was simply for sneaking up on the enemy. The project failed miserably as it is twenty four miles to Barrow in Furness with only about ten pubs on
the way, not to mention the hills between the pubs. It was abandoned, under protest from Sconner, and shoved into a handy dyke (who screamed ‘NO’ at first, but then begged for more). The mini army disappeared into one of the refreshment centres after first letting out the famous Achillies Sharpo (he was too cuddly to leave behind. Who would run his decorated fairy cupcake business?). It became a spacious luxury home to a swarm of bees.

  ***

  4: THE SHAW KITE VIDEO RECORDER (circa 1989)

  Invented by local video title stockist; another mate, Mr Wilf Hornsby. My cousin Chris wires up houses for Wilf, it keeps the local Fire Brigade busy. Unfortunately for Wilf the television set had yet to reach the North West coast, not to mention electrickery. To this day I don’t know how he eats? Or pays for his huge house?

  ***

  5: THE BAGLESS VACUUM CLEANER (circa 1999)

  Devised by the local spinster sisters; the Dames Ison. These ladies owned a domestic gadget shop in Holborn Hill (like Coronation Street on a slope). Their invention didn’t have a plug supplied but, what is to be expected in a town with no electricity supply … as yet, in the Slade days that is. The claim on the box was … “Comes complete with NO plug”. The device consisted of a very large jam jar with a tube protruding from the base, providing the cleaning head and a wooden rotor fan in the top. So then how does it work? Easy! The owner attaches it to the front of their pushbikes and clever gearing causes it to suck everything in its path, a bit like … never mind.