Millom in the Dock Page 7
Naaaaa.
Eagle style lecterns constructed from solid gold tend not to close their wings. As for his exhausted leaning on the desk, you have to be really careful doing someone else’s signature, especially by the Gothic flickering (Acme church supplies) candle light.
Cometh Christus Birthdayus festive season, the Reverend really goes to town … to Millom Builders Merchants to be exact, then on his return erects, (Hail Mary!), erm, ‘put’s up’ a full size, donated three star stable hotel in his front garden using the shop assistants as holy manual voluntary labour. He always seems to have three visitors at this time of year … two adults and one half price and, a donkey …
NO PETS, BUT EXCEPTIONS MADE IN SOME EXTREME CASES. PLENTY OF ROOM AT THE INN, BUT YOU FOUR MAY STAY HERE.
Although no one has ever seen them? The local kids are encouraged to visit and bring a trinket as a birthday present for the child. It is stated in the leaflet, pushed through the door flaps of the relevant people.
REVEREND’S CHRISTMAS APPEAL (for the visitors, especially the young BOY child) PLEASE ENSURE THAT ALL TRINKETS ARE MADE OF SOLID GOLD (remember … size matters). PLEASE, NO FRANKINCENSE AND MYRRH, WE ALREADY HAVE BUCKETFULS OF THE STUFF IN THE LOFT.
So, the correct kids (no blaspheming Devil spawn please. Thank you) come round the Rev’s house bearing gifts a plenty. They are all allowed to walk onto the path, leaving more cracks in the paving and, then onto the consecrated garden where they leave footprints three inches deep. But, every year without fail, there is a sign on the stable door …
SORRY, NOT IN. HAVE GONE FOR A WALK DOWN HODBARROW POINT, PLUS A DONKEY RIDE ON THE SAND FOR LAAL ‘J’ (tide out, God willing … Moses. King Arthur’s joke not ours ha! Ha! Laal means small, little) PLEASE, AS WE THEREFORE CANNOT PERSONALLY GREET YOU AGAIN THIS YEAR PLEASE PLACE GIFTS i.e. GOLD, GOLD AND GOLD THROUGH THE REVEREND’S LETTERBOX FOR SAFE KEEPING. PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB THE MOST HOLY ONE, AS HE IS WRITING A VERY IMPORTANT SERMON. THANKS VERY MUCH.
J, M & (laal) J and Easter the donkey.
So, as it is almost written Matthew 7:7 “realise you’ve been conned and then you shall receive (unless you don’t” … the flap opens and half a ton of precious metal is tipped quickly through the letterbox. The Rev has lost three vicious, special breed dogs (German Statuegaarders) like this in the past, crushed by the weight of glittering, luverly, juberly gold much to the delight of Freddie Gleaves the postman. The Rev though, to his Divine souls credit, when he can be bothered, listens to Gods confessions before going to bed after a hard nights calligraphy, logging for Southerbys and Jeet Kune Do Kata practice, in case of a fight over goods with the undertakers or (who will rid me of) that dammmmmned Priest!
Pride of place on his dressing table is the gold, diamond and ruby encrusted Rolex Dog Collar stand. He drifts off to sleep hoping that someone in Millom will soon invent the motor car and the speedboat as he is determined to beat the Pope, who is materially, his richest rival.
Good old Rev! Old mate of mine! SERIOUSLY! Has a God like sense of humour!!! A good man! I’ve had some laughs with the Rev. I like him. He wouldn’t harm a fly. He has a heart of gold (had it made as an ornament).
M’lud: “Thank you Mr Lassut, Court will recess until 2 p.m. Amen!”
“All rise for M’lud! Amen!”
***
Advertising feature
‘GOD’
Available for Creative Projects. Anything Considered in ALL Possible Universes Dimensions ...
Except in Millom Sharpo would just nick the plant and sell it on.
***
2 p.m.
THE FOLK MUSEUM
“All rise for M’lud” (hic!)
M’lud: “Welcome back everyone. Now Mr Lassut could you please tell us about the Folk Museum, for a little historic culture shopping. The museum being, according to the press, the ‘Only place worth visiting’; which I personally find hard to believe. Did Sharpo ever go in to fill up his culture tank and volunteer some time, NOT through the suggestion of a Judge?”.
Thank you, M’lud, Ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader, The only place worth visiting, of course not M’lud, that would be like a politician going on a humanities course.
The lost and alone (chilled to the bone … in a Northern Winter) American tourist couple pay a couple of Millom Croats quid each to get into the place. On the ticket it states … ‘Includes Prodder’. This baffles the pair, huuuh? Until an enthusiastic young lad or lass comes running from the historical innards of the memory mansion and states, with great Northern gusto “Hi, I’m Shelley! I’m your prodder!” They think … “Wow, strange young girl, she has a shadow of a moustache?” The visitors however accept the situation and enter the room. “Mmmmm look dear community bar of earwax soap! Mmmmm old box of matches! Mmmmm Dames Ison’s first attempt! Mmmmmmm … ration … mmm … book! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm … pigs bladder … rugby … mmmmmmm … ball?! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm … mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm … zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz … ZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzz …
PROD! PROD! PROOOOOOOOOD!
PRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOODDDD!
“Eeeeh! Whaaaaa?! Heeeey!!!! Ohhhhh! Nooo, hmmmmmmmm just another five minssssssssssswhhaaaa …?
PRRRROOOOOOODDDD! House on fire!? Ohhhhh! Ooohhhhh! … Right!
Oh hello, I’m sorry, oooh what!? We’re not in bed, we’re where? Oh, thanks! … Wake up dear … Dear! We’re in Millom Folk Museum! …
Firelighter, half used!! Oh my Gooood! Burning interrupted by the Blitz! Wowee! Hey Dear! Aren’t you glad we came? Wow! Lookee here dear an actual sepia Daguerreotype photograph of Hodbarrow from St George’s! Here’s one of St George’s from Hodbarrow and one here of St George’s and Hodbarrow from Blaaack Coombe! … Oooooohh! Here’s one taken from TWENTY FIVE THOUSAND FEET!
The trouble with this picture that our couple have stumbled upon is … Peg can’t breathe at that height … so ???
M’lud, ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader, here we have another fascinating aspect of Millom which will explain such photographs. This also bears great precedence in the Astro Physicist scientific field …
ALIEN ABDUCTION (or … Screw Roswell!) For Brick and Togo.
There is an actual eye witness report but it is locked in a safe in the Reverend’s house (and he’ll keep it secret … Vat- he – can). Unfortunately the reporter was one of the squeaky shoed brigade who fell victim to an undertakers ‘Boo!’ so there was no chance of getting him into the witness box. The aliens did the difficult part I would suppose i.e. reached the earth’s atmosphere, they then it seems blew it. They came in search of two humans, two humans with infinite intelligence and superior scientific minds. Two humans to help save their planet which was on the verge of destruction! They chose Millom and, just happened to be hovering above Wellington Street one night when local lads, Brick and Togo, were coming out of the Royal British Legion Club. I lived opposite the club and saw this through my partly opened curtains … honest! M’lud, ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader their alien selection committee may be comprised of beings well capable of building a ship which could travel across the Universe like kite of a shovel but, their character analysis on this occasion at least, must have been tarnished by the cosmic equivalent of Guinness (wonder if they have cracked the pouring time?)
In the ‘new abductees’ welcoming room they sat, reading well read, well-travelled magazines (someone had drawn glasses and a moustache on a cover shot of Gillian Anderson). Brick and Togo are brilliant characters, as a comedy duo, would make Stan and Ollie look like a pair of innocent framed Amish pessimists on Death Row with one night left to live. These two heroes weren’t scared though … it was a good break in routinetinetinetine … and the scenery down below looked nice the following morning, admired between gaps in the clouds. Brick was excited I believe because he could see his roof! So I reckon it was he who must have requested the picture in order to show everyone that it wasn’t true that he had a slate mis
sing, especially the girl, Esme Relda Jones, who had given him a can of pop one hot afternoon when he was locked in the stocks outside St George’s church for taking his bucket back (Hail Mary!). She said … “You must have a slate missing for taking your bucket back but, I can’t see you gasping for a drink”.
The church however is sticking to the story that the picture was the work of the Devil and, therefore worth a few pence a week into the tray as protection money (chink, chink. Hee! Hee!) Togo’s roof by the way had a large gaping hole in it! They had been abducted by actual Martians, which I think were / are Slade. It would certainly clear up any doubts about Dave Hill and, not forgetting Noddy Holders intergalactic top hat (mirrors used for light overtone travel). May be not?
They were both taken back in time to the heyday, just before the (playing with genetics and becoming slaves to technology and greed, terrorism and fear) decline of Mars, to save the planet. Ooops! Error! … Look at all these books and programmes now on TV (outside of M) … Mars, the dead planet, say no more. They were then brought back. The Martians came with them as they didn’t really have much choice. It goes to prove that the Jobstart programme doesn’t work on other planets either. They had been missed only by the Job Centre staff, ‘missed’ possibly not being the correct word, as it isn’t always accompanied by relief. Years after the abduction which seemed like a month to the social staff, actually one Millom light year, yet one week in reality, and a while in this other dimension ... they both marched into the Job Centre and said, in unison … “Sorry we didn’t sign on last Thursday, we were abducted by four aliens collectively known as Slade, taken through a couple of interconnecting curved space interstellar wormholes to Mars. We were taken to Martian HQ and asked to use our intelligence and therefore halt the demise of the troubled planet and, now we’re back”.
The remaining lady, guess who? My mother, the late Joan Lassut! That’s how I know all this, said … “yes lads okay, whatever you say, are you both available for work?” In unison … “NO!” … (gulp).
And the rest of the staff as this was going on? Kill with a stare yet full of fun, Dot Cartwright, lovely Enid Bowes and the late Meg Atkinson, another lovely lady and wife of a local Police Sergeant! also passed. Their son, Norman, is now a Police Sergeant! (But now, 2012, I have no idea where they all are). Well, Meg and Dot ran to the loo always and forever in twos, to water their noses and powder the hydrangea and feed the Triffid, only God knows what with? Beef flavoured UB40s dipped in fresh rabbit’s blood perhaps? And not forgetting to check the hen’s eggs which they would try and hatch on the radiator … it was a local non-military coup.
Enid, being an out of town farmer’s daughter and, therefore a consultant on this radiator chicken coup, had had to muck out and milk the cows and climb trees all her life since birth and was therefore, well fed and energetic, with her own unlimited free fuel supply, shaw kite bedside light (!!) had climbed athletically onto the roof, stuff the torrential rain and, nearly fallen through the large gaping hole in the process.
“Oh well … it’s Jobstart then” … said my old girl to the pair. Oh my God … what of the Earth? (Me thinking out loud now). Brick actually contacted me through Friends Reunited, called me names, and then threatened me with death or something. I told him he should be f*****g honoured to be chosen as good enough to be in MY work. He then became friendly, then the next thing I heard, he died ... at least now his memory is remembered ... he was an ok guy.
Back to the folk museum, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
There is though another odd thing about the photograph. Visitors have commented on the strange and mysterious Ley Line which runs the length of the town. Is it some mystical Sun Worshippers line up with the Pole Star? The landing strip for? (Slade?) Actually it’s a ditch. Cable TV should have checked first.
Our tourists are then prodded into the back room where there is a mock-up mine with a scary dummy of an indifferent looking miner, pipe in mouth and a tape playing of ‘ironworks mine sounds’ Oooh! This is what my dad used to listen to, is what I used to think as I did the pipe. There is also a mock-up of Cissy and Arthur Ferguson’s first living room which makes Angela’s Ashes look like Space 1999. Locals have become inebriated, climbed in the museum window quietly so as not to wake the wife, then wonder why all they can hear is the ironworks in full swing when they wake up in the morning … and why has the missus been out and bought a new ultra-modern settee from Stollers without discussing it with them first? Typical!
M’lud: “Thank you Mr Lassut, alien abduction! I find that very exciting you know life elsewhere. Shopping, I must admit sounds like fun in Sharpo-Ville”.
Oh it is M’lud, even for the lonely.
M’lud: “For the lonely? What do you mean Mr Lassut?”
Oh M’lud, this is a subject close to my heart. You see M’lud, ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader, with such a small closed community; it is very easy to get left on the shelf. Elbowed out of the matrimonious stakes, especially if you don’t play certain rough and tumble games with a certain amount of vigour, which I will describe after this little quip. The fact is, the population at last count, now in 2003, was 8,000. Not many at all as compared to most places. That is … 3,000 of the younger generation and 4,998 married / engaged / courting adults … which leaves ‘two’ lonesome folk, whom as luck would have it are male and female of roughly the same age. For privacy’s sake and to hide embarrassment, we’ll call them Kevin and Doris. So just for the likes of these two, Millom boasts …
THE IT TAKES TWO, TO TANGO Dating Agency
Shopping for Luuuuurve! This is something Sharpo never needed, but I’ll tell you about it anyway.
Very easy to use, the weekly ad appears in Fergie’s shop door window. Are you lonely? Looking for that one special person? …etc. The letters were dropped in secret into a locked ballot box in Fergie’s shop. Each Wednesday they were opened and read enthusiastically by Arthur. Details of the prospective lovebirds were taken, including the address of course and, the matches made through the supreme knowledge of his subjects. The ‘this is me’ letters are then given, in plain brown envelopes (under strict secrecy) to the Postman, Mayor … Freddie Gleaves, who then delivered them to the prospective couples homes (under strict secrecy) disguised as a window cleaner. The replies were dropped secretly in a box in Fergie’s shop were delivered by Arthur (who doesn’t read these particular sets of private romantic coo-ings) in plain brown envelopes, to Freddie once again, who … once again (under the strictest of secrecy), disguised as a milkman, delivered these little bits of human heart to the prospective couples homes.
I would hazard a guess that the letters contain things about the couples likes and dislikes etc., and, most importantly, what they will be wearing when they meet on the wall outside the Harbour Hotel. The only rules are and, they are good ones, no second names in the correspondence and no Daguerreotype means of identification. This helps keep that element of surprise when the couple meet. The cost of using the agency by the way is £25.00 per week.
M’lud: “Isn’t that a little steep Mr Lassut?”
Well M’lud, it’s worth it, wait until I tell you what they get. Think of part of the fee as a worthwhile payment to Arthur for running such an agency of bliss production. It is also greatly encouraged by the Reverend who has a marriage in mind, a nice little earner.
So then Kevin and Doris meet on the wall and oh boy, do they like each other! They then walk into the Harbour and are met by Chris, all dolled up in his chef’s gear, they are sat in a romantic candlelit corner, well away from the dart board. The delicious gourmet meal is then served.
THE IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO MENU
Starter
Prone Cocktail
(Not written on the menu but … Prone is not misspelt, it’s actually the recommended position to take as you down this drink in one … a little warmer upper).
A mixture of gin, whisky, rum, coconut milk, Worcester sauce and a dash of St George’s Church altar wine.
<
br /> (Not on the menu … courtesy of the Reverend … a little pre-marriage blessing perhaps? Hmmmmm … if you like each other enough).
Or Soup
Locally caught eel, jellyfish, plaice, mackerel, dogfish, edible seaweed and dickey crab chowder.
Main Course
Rabbit and Banking allotment vegetable casserole with Woodalls of Waberthwaite Cumberland Sausage. With a side salad and clay cooked gypsy style hedgehog.
Do I see mouths watering among the Jury? Dear reader?
M’lud: “I’m feeling rather peckish Mr Lassut”.
Me too M’lud, what a wonderful menu, just look at the afters …
Sweet
Lakeland Vanilla Ice Cream.
(My note … simply the greatest!)
Coffee and Mints.
And the evening draws on, are Doris and Kevin getting on well together? Remember there is a lot at stake. The dating agency depends on these two peoples continued support. It is unbelievable actually because the couple both worked in Ferguson’s shop and, have actually fancied each other for ages but have been too shy to say anything in case of a humiliating rejection and, had therefore actually given up on the idea and decided to look for other people … ‘Oh! This is just too good to be true!’
The Reverend however wants a marriage but, because it is good business for Arthur and Chris, a little, sorry large, underhand manipulation (learnt from a Government secret dossier, takes about 45 minutes to read) is put into practice in the shape of a secret beer brewed by Chris in his bedroom. It is a bitter brewed to 11½ % ABV and, has the essence of a little flower added to it for such a romantic occasion.
Kevin receives one after the other, in celebration of such a lovely, marvellous, memorable date … nine pints of ‘Forget Me Not’ bitter, while Doris receives eighteen halves.