The Grumpy Old Men’s Society that met on Saturday evenings in the tap room of the Green Dragon at Bearthwaite was quorate and for the folk of Bearthwaite, despite Covid, life had returned to normal, for most of the inhabitants of the isolated village had never had many dealings with the outside world for generations. The spring equinox was behind them and as anticipated and looked forward to the weather was getting warmer. The ladies had settled in the best side with glasses of brandy served by Harriet. Gladys had announced that supper would be chicken and mushroom pie with broccoli, chips [US fries] and gravy. “The only reason you’re getting chips is because Sasha said he’d manage them despite his mouth if there was plenty of gravy to soften them with, and Gustav has shewn the kitchen staff how to make sauerkraut from cow cabbage(1) which is available along with pickled beetroot and pickled red cabbage for any who so desire.” Sasha’s eyes lit up at the mention of sauerkraut.

“How’s it going with your teeth, Sasha?

“Good question, Alf. I’m having the bottom set out next week. That got delayed by the infection, so I’ll let you know when I know anything. However, I tried that alternative fixative for the top plate. The stuff I got of ebay that was described as fresh minty tasting denture fixative.”

“And?” asked Denis.

“I’d say the description was a bit over the top, but it was a hell of a sight better than that Poligrip. I’ll manage with it, so I suppose I’d better get some more ordered. Last time I was in the dentists on entry I was offered a face mask and the hand wash wash pointed out to me. I put the face mask on and when I went to see my dentist she said, ‘I see they’ve given you one of the pink masks. You know they’re only for special people, Sasha.’ I somewhat dryly said, ‘Aye, they’re called girls, Sammi.’ Now Sammi is pretty quick of off the mark and she asked, ‘So you agree girls are special.’ ‘Course they are,’ said I. “You’re wearing the kit.’(2) Now Sammi may be pretty quick but she does have a naïve side to her too and she asked, ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Ask your old man,’ I replied. The dental nurse was blushing bright red, but her voice was steady as she said, ‘I’ll explain later, Sammi.’ By that time Sammi had understood, and she was fair red too as laughing she said, ‘You’re a terrible man, Sasha.’ ‘Aye. I know. Elle says so regularly, and she’d know.’ Like I said, Sammi is okay.

“On the subject of health but back to Covid, Elle and I got another letter exactly the same as the one we’d had a month before saying we were up to be jabbed soon. How many of you have been contacted giving you an appointment?” All the old men indicated they had and Sasha said, “I thought as much. It seems that there wasn’t so much of a screw up in our neck of the woods, but the entire damned country had run out of vaccine, but to begin with none was prepared to admit it. They were trying to keep a lid on it and like I said last week treating us like mushrooms hoping that the next batch would be available before folk started rearing up on them. It didn’t work because the shortage lasted long enough to hit the media.

“Elle has a long time friend who’s a fair bit younger than she is who’s part of the vaccination task force. She’s a recently retired midwife and lives and works in Nottingham. The entire task force was laid off, along with others all over the country. When I rang the surgery here I telt(3) them what I telt you I would say, and they actually telt me what the situation was. My complaint was noted to be passed on to the powers that be, and a couple of days later Elle received a text to offer us both an appointment. The appointment is tomorrow, Sunday, at and I quote ‘Nine fifteen sharp’. I’m not sure if that is reminder to be prompt or supposed to be a reassuring indication of the state of their needles. Elle was telt to text back to say we would attend, or would not, or if we had arranged to have the jab elsewhere. Only trouble was the return text facility didn’t work, so I rang the surgery to tell them we would be attending.”

Stan said, “Aye, Julie had to ring the surgery too for the same reason.”

There was a general agreement as all said they or their wife had had to ring up because the return text facility offered didn’t work.

“Ah well,” said Sasha philosophically, “At least we know everything thing is back to normal, the NHS(4) is a complete bollix. Snafu eh?”(5) Who’s up for a tale? I’ve stuff, but if someone else would like to start feel free to so do.”

~o~O~o~

Denis said, “I’ll start. My gran was a clever woman. She was a grafter, a good provider and kept a house that was considerably more affluent than most would consider she had the money to maintain. However, she was neither educated nor informed. My father who was her eldest child was brilliant and won scholarships to go to grammar school and then to university studying metallurgy. She was proud of him and made him the clothes, including a pair of suits, he needed to be able to hold his head up in an environment that he had never had any experience of. I mind(6) him telling me of his embarrassment when as a young man he had said to a female undergraduate in his class who had said she didn’t understand something that he would learn her if she liked, and her total contempt when she said, ‘I think you mean you would teach me.’ That was the point at which he started to speak received pronunciation English.(7) In my entire life I only heard a trace of accent in his voice once, and that was at granddad’s funeral when he was gey(8) upset.

“I mind playing with my gran’s sewing pins one time. She was a seamstress and used expensive, thin, steel pins, not the cheaper more common, thicker, iron ones that were used by virtually all women in those days. I’d been playing with them with a magnet and some had become magnetised. Steel is harder to magnetise than iron, but by the same token it is harder to demagnetise too. She’d complained to my dad, ‘I don’t know what that bairn of yours has put on them, but I’ve even scrubbed them with Ajax powder and still they stick together.’ My father made a coil of some cheap wire wrapped around a cardboard toilet paper centre. He put the pins inside the tube of cardboard and connected the coil to the mains supply, much to my gran’s dismay, for there was no saying what electricity would do. The pins were demagnetised, which she considered to be a fluke and due to some special quality of the toilet roll centre.

“Dad was down to be a rear gunner in a Lancaster bomber in the war which gave him a life expectancy of three or four operations. However he was in the top nought point one percent of the nation’s intelligentsia and was considered to be too valuable to threw away. As a result he was in the ‘directed labour contingent’. Eventually he was assigned to the American Manhattan project, the nuclear bombs that forced Japan to concede. However, before that he was working for the UK in the steel industry. Steel was made and formed and then coated in grease to avoid rusting and deterioration in storage. When the steel was required it had to be degreased. Detergents had recently been made available, and they were much more powerful degreasants than soaps. Dad had managed to obtain a gallon of the super concentrated detergent and had given it to his mum. ‘A quarter of a tea spoon in a wash load, Mum. No more, that’s all you need,’ he’d said.

“Dad was a stubborn and cantankerous man and without doubt he was his mother’s son, a child of the Isles for sure. Gran knew fine no man knew anything about washing clothes, so she put a cupful of the detergent in the wash. Gran’s house was up on a slope and I was telt decades after that the foam from her wash ran out of her wash house at a yard high and on down hill for a quarter of a mile before the bubbles finally disappeared. Though proud of her son, Gran never accepted that Dad knew anything more than she about anything, and I mind well when I was maybe eleven or twelve her shouting at me saying that if there were no light bulb in a socket electricity would leak out if the switch was in the on position and it would cost money. I now know strictly she was correct, but it would be less than a penny a century. Having said all that, I loved my gran, because she loved all her grand children simply because we were hers, and God help any who had a bad word to say about any of us. That was how it was concerning family in those days.”

~o~O~o~

Charlie said, “Speaking of kin long away,(9) ye mind I telt that my mum had an Auntie Sisavek who kept pigs on Benbecula? During the war when meat was rationed there were gey tight regulations on animal feed and the selling of any kind of farm animal that provided meat. I was telt years after that if one of her sows had a litter of say fifteen, which wasn’t unusual for the pigs she kept, she’d declare twelve to the ministry and claim the feed for a sow with twelve piglets. Her neighbours would make up the difference in the feed required with slops and collected wild feed, and the ministry would control what happened to twelve piglets. If one or two died they’d be part of the twelve, even if they hadn’t actually died. The ‘invisible’ pigs had a boat ride to some other isle and lived their lives out on remote crofts that didn’t officially keep any livestock other than poultry. The best three and the dead ones would be raised on ministry sanctioned feed with the extra feed required provided by her neighbours and friends who would all have a share in the meat the extra piglets eventually provided. In the Isles there was never a shortage of meat, and all the men had a boat, so there was an abundance of unofficial fish too.

“I was telt years later the war made little difference to their day to day lives. I was also telt that the major impact it had on them was the loss of the young men who died in a war none in the Isles understood the point of. I know the loss of a Lancaster bomber crewed by a family of men from one Isle, which was not atypical, wiped out all the family men capable of fathering the next generation. Years later, I met an old man from Bavaria, and we telt each other similar tales. It seemed to me that whether your country won or lost the war the prices paid by ordinary working folk were exactly the same. We all lost, for we were the ones who paid the price not the politicians. That was why I decided to learn to speak German because German working men were nae different from me, and I’d always hated bullshit.”

“You speak German, Charlie‽”

“Yeah, kind of. I understand more than I speak, and the German I understand is from the south. Bavaria like, but yeah I kind of speak German. Gustav and I understand each other right fine.”

Gustav was nodding and said, “Charlie and I have no problems understanding each other. I understand him faster than I understand Sasha who speaks what I think of as Berlin German in an accent which is probably what you would call posh, upper class German. I appreciate Sasha came from nothing, but he is an extremely clever intellectual, whereas Charlie is an ordinary working man like me, so we understand each other better regardless of our accent or dialect.”

~o~O~o~

Seeing Charlie had finished, Dave said, “This is another wartime story, one of misadventure. Like the tale I telt last week, again I believe this to be a true story, though I know the misunderstanding has been a major scene in a movie. This took place at a fighter squadron base somewhere down south. A Canadian pilot seconded to a British spitfire squadron went by the name of Michael Hunt. It seems there was a senior officer looking for him who went to the office and asked for one of the girls to put out a request on the tannoy for Mike to report to the squadron office. It was a long time before the girl lived down putting out for all to hear, ‘Mike Hunt is wanted at the Squadron Office. Has anyone seen Mike Hunt?’

Phil asked, “That film, Dave, would that be ‘Porky’s’?”

“Yeah why?”

“Well, it wasn’t polite, but the look on that lass’ face when she realised what she’d said was the funniest scene in the entire film.”

~o~O~o~

Dave said, “Sticking with history, but going a bit further back, this tale is of a sailor named Amos from the last century, but really it is a tale that could be about any man. Marriage is a contract, and most men are prepared to pay almost anything for a good home which usually means decent regular meals and and an enjoyable time in bed and they don’t care about much else. Amos was no different, and he’d married a pretty young lass from Bristol. He came home after three months from his first voyage after his marriage having sent his wages back from every port his ship docked at and he was expecting the comforts of home. His wife didn’t provide a good meal and went to bed early after having said, ‘Not tonight, Dear. Maybe tomorrow.’ Amos merely said, ‘Okay, Dear.’ His next voyage was of six months and again after having sent his wages home at each port there was no good meal and no bedroom comforts. Again Amos said, ‘Okay, dear.’ His next voyage was of four months duration and after having reached home the same sequence of events occurred. When he went back to sea he left a married woman with no children and no income behind him.

“After that he sent no more money home and never went home again. Soon he was bigamously married to a little girl in a Polynesian port who was grateful for his money and treated him the way he wanted. She gave him eight children who loved their father and a home he was always glad to return to. When he retired from the sea he’d been a happily married man with a loving wife for over forty years. When he died his wife grieved for him till she died nearly ten years later. The tale doesn’t mention what happened to his first wife. The point of my tale is that mgtow is not a new phenomenon.”

“What’s migtow, Dave?”

“It’s spelt em, gee, tee, oh, double you, Alf, and it stands for ‘men going their own way’. If you take any notice of the media or watch Youtube, you’ll get the impression it’s a recent phenomenon. It’s a collective name for men who don’t bother with women, due to the way men have been treated by women, divorce courts and the like. My point is if you press men hard enough they just disappear and start again. It’s not new it’s what we’ve always done.”

~o~O~o~

Pete turned to a table of outsiders and asked, “Anybody fancy telling a tale? We always welcome a new voice.”

Gustav added, “I’ll pull a few pints first, Dad. It looks like we’re ready for them.”

After the beer had been distributed an elderly man said, “I’m Chester. I’ve been here a few times, and I have a few bits and pieces I’ve wanted to tell someone about for years, but this is the only place I know of where there’s any one willing to listen. They’re just a few recollections of days gone by, not really worth calling tales, and some of them are what my missus has telt me of when she was a girl, so those’re only second hand.”

Chester sounded nervous, so Sasha said, to Denis who was sitting near to the bar, “Fetch Chester a glass of tale tellers’ lubricant, Denis. Highland Park seems to be appropriate, don’t you reckon.”

“That it does, Sasha. That it does.” At the bar Denis poured a whiskey out of Sasha’s Highland Park bottle and said, “Get on the outside of that, Chester. It’s specially formulated to put the tale teller’s voice in fine fettle.”

Chester offered a two pound coin, but Sasha, “No need, Lad. The rule is tale tellers don’t pay. Just take Denis’ advice, and take your time.”

Chester smiled and drank the whisky before beginning. “I’ll start with a couple of bits from when I was a kid. I’m seventy-eight now, so I’m going back a bit. I was born in Wigan and we lived in a back to back,(10) one of two dozen that were trapped between the gas works and the railway station. Scoldsbridle Row it was called. A scold’s bridle was an iron device locked round the head of a gossip or unpleasant woman. It had a bit that went into their mouth that prevented them speaking. It was a humiliating punishment. As kids we used to sit on the kerb at the road side in summer and pop the tar bubbles that the sun produced on the road with a stick. They popped with a very satisfying sound as they released the characteristic tar smell. Many small streets and roads then were surfaced with gravel chippings laid on tar. By the standards of kids today it wouldn’t be entertainment, but we did it all day everyday when the sun was warm enough to make the road tar bubble. When dad was in work and had a bit of money he’d take the entire family to the Temperance bar on Railway Road. There there were fourteen of us, sixteen with Mum and Dad. We’d all sit at the round tables and drink hot Vimto(11) served in glasses. That was what we thought of as a proper family outing and we’d talk about it for weeks. Dad worked as a day labourer for the railways and I suppose was in work about three-quarters of the time. By the standards of some of our neighbours we were definitely not poor.

“We’d watch Mum and Gran washing on wash days and fetch and carry for them. I remember Gran getting up early to light the fire under the wash tub which was a huge cast iron thing set in masonry. She dealt with that whilst Mum nursed the baby. After we’d eaten our breakfast of porridge that had been cooked by the residual heat of the fire overnight we fetcht fire wood from the pile and water from the well. I remember eating a lot of porridge in those days. When the water was hot enough Mum and Gran took it in turns to wield the heavy copper bottomed posser which forced water through the clothes and washed out the dirt. We could afford soap flakes for the clothes and wash soda for the bed linens. Some clothes were rubbed on the wash board which was carved from wood, though years later Mum got one that was made out of thick glass. I remember Gran’s corsets were always washed on the washboard. As well as the wash tub we had a dolly tub which was a galvanised, corrugated barrel that after wringing out the soapy clothes Mum and Gran used to rinse them in clean water. That was why we were needed to keep fetching water from the well. Mum and Gran liked washing best when the sun was shining because the bleaching effect of the sunlight got white things whiter. Mostly my sisters pegged the washing out on the lines and we boys fetched fire wood and water.

“I mind when my eldest sister got married and moved three houses away. The women of the family still did their washing together and I couldn’t believe how many of those towelling nappies my sister’s baby went through in just a week and they were all washed by hand like everything else. I said we weren’t poor. Enid, the old woman that lived on the end of the row, used to come down after the wash had been done. She always said the same thing. ‘That’s a lovely drop of hot water you have there, Mary.’ Gran always said, ‘You can have it if you like, Enid.’ Enid was so poor she did her washing in the dirty water Mum and Gran had done the entire family’s wash in, and like I said there were a lot of us. Different days, different ways. Enid was truly grateful and Mum and Gran were glad to help. The day after wash day, Mum and Gran did the ironing with the irons that were heated on the fire. They had six of them, four on the fire heating and two in use. After heating they were wiped clean with a damp cloth prior to use. Another early start and late finish. My sisters always did the cooking when Mum and Gran were busy with the washing and ironing. We boys ran errands for coppers to help feed us all. We also chopped firewood sticks from broken packaging boxes the shops gave us that we sold for coppers too. The shops were glad to get rid of them.

“The women in the family did a lot of sewing and knitting. I remember them buying wool off the woman on the market in hanks, some called them skeins. They were big loops of wool maybe two foot in diameter but they were maybe three feet long when pushed together. They were made on a machine that wrapped the wool round a big, conical drum. I suppose it’s no surprise that it was called a hanking machine. When Mum or Gran or even the girls undid a knitted garment to recover the wool they had the boys wrap it up on a thing called a niddy-noddy or a skeiner. It was a two foot long centre stick with a foot long stick at each end at right angles to the centre stick. The two shorter sticks were also at right angles to each other and three of the four short stick ends had wooden balls on them to stop the wool slipping off. The fourth end didn’t, so when the skein was finished it could be easily slipped off the skeiner. After that the skein was washed and dried to remove the crimp from having been knitted, and it was ready for knitting into something else.

“We were fascinated watching Micky Crushing boil up beetroot. Micky was the local greengrocer and his shop was a converted house at the end of the next Street, Duckingfield street. That was originally the site of the field where women were punished by ducking in the local pond. Micky had an open wood fire in the middle of the shop with a cauldron the size of a wash copper above it hanging by its handle from a metal tripod. There were no safety elfs(12) around in those days. The cauldron was full of beetroot. He’d boil them for an hour or two and let the fire go out. The beetroot would be cold next day and the skins would just slip off with no effort leaving the beetroot ready for sale, but Micky’s hands and arms up to his elbows were bright red till the day he died.”

Sasha saw Chester was looking around at faces to see if things were okay. “Go on, Lad. You’re doing fine. Interesting stuff. Denis, a drop more lubricant for Chester if you would.”

“No problem, Sasha.” Denis poured another whisky into Chester’s glass and asked, “Any else for a short?” There was an almost universal agreement, so Denis said, “You hold it there for a minute or two whilst we get this sorted out, Chester.”

Gustav said, “It looks like we’re a bit light on spirits behind the bar, Denis. I’ll bring a selection up from the cellar.” Outsiders were already putting pound coins into the children’s Christmas party collection box in advance and Denis was pouring what was available. Gustav returned with two carrying cases with six bottles of exotic spirits in each.

Pete said, “That should hold us for the first half of tonight, Son. Pass them over I’ll put then behind the bar ready.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“You ready, Chester?” asked Sasha.

Chester nodded and resumed. “The next few bits and pieces are all what Amy my missus has told me of her childhood. They’re neither complete, nor very long, so I left them till the end to finish with. Her family were much poorer than mine, and she remembered the entire row of houses she lived in being temporarily rehoused by the council, so they could fumigate the entire row to get rid of the cockroaches. Long Row it was called. It was on a street called Pinner’s Brow because the houses had been a originally been factory that made pins and it was at the brow of a bit of a hill. Seemingly fumigation of the houses was an annual, or even six monthly, event. Amy said the only thing that got rid of the cockroaches was the demolition of the row years later.

“Amy told me about the girl who sat behind her at school who was a dirty, smelly, underfed, unpleasant individual with no friends who went by the name of Jacki Palmer. She couldn’t remember the girl’s real name, maybe it was Jacqueline, but maybe not. Jacki was regularly infested with nits, despite the best efforts of the nit nurse who appeared at all schools regularly on a rotating basis with her assortment of insecticidal potions and nit combs. One of Jacki’s more unpleasant activities was to take nits from her hair and place them on the heads of other children. Jacki was violent and despite her lack of size was a bully. She stole Amy’s bike one day. When Amy’s mum found out she marched out of the house and returned with the bike. She never told Amy what had happened, but Amy said she had bruises on her face when she returned. Years later Amy found out her mum had got into a fight with Jacki’s parents and beaten both her father and mother senseless.

“Amy’s mum was a nice enough woman, I got on well with my in laws, but she was a law unto herself. She was a good manager, and her old man handed his pay packet to her unopened for her to manage. I know he did it willingly because he told me once, ‘If I give the old woman the money I eat better, and if there’s any to spare she gives me enough to get a drink with, but the kids are clothed, we eat okay and the rent gets paid first.’ Amy never found out why her mum did it, but she’d been perming Amy’s hair since she was three, and only stopped when Amy married me.

“The last couple of bits concern Amy’s dad. I get on well with Amy’s sister’s old man, Jimmy. Now Jimmy and I both earnt good money, a lot more than our father in law, and whilst the girls’ parents were alive we and our kids spent Christmas with them. The girls would decide who was buying what food to take to, and leave it to Jimmy and I to organise the drink. One Christmas, my father in law, who was no drunk even when he could afford it, had had enough to loosen his tongue a bit. Like all blokes his age he’d done his National Service. He’d done his in the army in what was then Palestine. Now the man was no coward, but we were laughing for ten minutes at his description of events. ‘There were these here Jews on one side of me shooting at these here Arabs on my other side who were shooting back. Now it was no quarrel of mine, and I didn’t want to be there never mind get shot or killed by either of them for getting in the way of a quarrel I didn’t understand, so I hid behind a sand dune for most of the time I was there.’ After that we referred to him as ‘Our Hero of Palestine.’

“My father in law was a bit of a joker, and he could certainly tell a tale, but his best trick was to get lost after he’d died. Seriously. My mother in law had died a few years before and the flavour had gone out of his chewing gum if you get me. He’d not been seen by a neighbour he was friends with that day so she rang Jenny my sister in law who lived nearby. Jimmy went round and couldn’t get in. He rang the police who forced entry and found Dad dead in the bathroom. It turned out that his heart had given up on him. Jenny rang a local undertaker and walked round to wait for them at Dad’s house. The undertakers came and did what they had to. Jenny was on the phone to Amy telling her what had happened when there was a knock at the door. It was the undertakers that she’d instructed. Dad was missing.

“It was twenty-four hours before the mystery was resolved and forty-eight before Dad was where he should have been, in Sanky’s parlour of repose. Seems the police had instructed an undertaker too, and they got there first. The girls were mad as hellfire, but Jimmy calmed them down by saying, ‘You two are tough and can cope with everything life chucks at you. Chester and I reckon we did well marrying you, but most folk aren’t like that and can’t cope with death. Yes, those police were out of order, but they’ll be dealing with folk who can’t cope on a regular basis. They were just trying to help, and most folk would have been grateful, so just let it be both of you. Think on, it was Dad’s last joke, and if it had to happen to anyone it should have been him. He’d have considered it to be really funny wouldn’t he?’ I’ll give Jimmy his due he can handle women, and I was glad he was there rather than me. That’s it.”

“Well done, Chester Lad. Nothing wrong with those. They were good tales. The sort that need telling. A change for us. We could stand more blokes like you giving it a go. We get tired of hearing each others voices. The rest of you take heed. You tell tales, the drink’s free. Supper too.” Pete was smiling as he stood and said, “It brings trade and the Dragon has a reputation to maintain. Consider the price of your drink and supper to be part of our advertising costs. The accountant does, so the tax man pays, not me.”

~o~O~o~

Frank said I’ve got a real short one that will take us up to supper time. From the look of Harriet and Gladys supper will be served gey shortly. It’s more of a puzzle than a tale really. “Bill goes with me regularly to collect pallets, cardboard and whatever else we can get from the Carlisle industrial estates. I take the the hardwood pallets to make stuff I can sell like bird nesting boxes, and he has the rest for firewood and composting. We usually do Rosehill industrial estate first and use the M6 motorway as a ring road to jump up to Kingstown. We have lunch at Gregg’s pie and pasty shop on the Kingstown industrial estate and take it in turns to pay. What puzzles us is the prices we get charged for the same order. We always order two steak bakes, two sausage rolls, two teas and two cream doughnuts to eat in. The price varies, six quid, eight quid, eight pound fifty and ten pound thirty-eight have been regular prices. God alone knows what makes the difference as we always say we want to eat in. We never question the price as it’s usually at the six quid end rather than the ten pound thirty-eight end. If one of us gets unlucky on the price that’s just how it is, but we still just don’t get it. I’ll get em in because that wasn’t worth free beer.”

~o~O~o~

Harriet came in from the kitchens to say, “Clear the tables please because supper will be served within five minutes. Gustave Love, if you put all the empties on the bar I’ll wash them as soon as supper is served.”

Pat said, “Forget about the glasses, Harriet Love. We’ll collect and wash them. You just sort the supper out.” There was a murmur of agreement from the men in the taproom. All the men, locals and the outsiders.

Harriet smiled and said, “Thank you, gentlemen. Mum and I appreciate it. Is there anything special you would like to drink with supper? If there is I’ll fetch it from the cellar for you.”

Pete, Harriet’s dad said, “Don’t fash yoursel(13) about it, Love. I’ll fetch anything required. Gustav’s already brought a dozen bottles of rare stuff up and there are half a dozen cases of the usual spirits under the bar. You just sort supper out, but make sure you have the best side sorted first because we can always have another drink whilst we wait. What do we want, Lads?”

Pat replied, “Poteen,(14) Akvavit,(15) and cactus juice,(16) genever(17) if there’s any left. I’ll put some whisky, Irish, Scotch and US, gin, rum, brandy and vodka ready under the optics for when they run out. What say you, Lads?”

There was a murmur of agreement and Pat said, “Okay, some one give me a lift and we’ll fetch the extra stuff.”

Dave stood and said, “Fine, but a couple of bottles of Calvados too. As usual, any of you lads from outside Bearthwaite that fancy a drop of the rare stuff put a couple of nicker(18) in the kids’ Christmas party collection box and tell Gustav what you want.” A dozen and a half outsiders went to the bar to pay and place orders with Gustav.

Supper was much appreciated and half an hour later, after Pat and Stan had gone down to the cellar to fetch more of the ‘rare stuff’, story telling recommenced.

~o~O~o~

Eric said, “I’ll start with a really quick one, Lads. Shauna sent a pair of nine karat [spelt carat outside the UK] gold earrings weighing less than a gram to Louise the granddaughter who lives in Paris, which is in the EU, as part of a package of things for her birthday. The customs idiots, and I haven’t managed to find out if they were UK customs or French customs recorded it as one unit which is one Kilogramme, and Shauna got a tax demand for exporting a thousand grammes of gold from the UK authorities and another for importing a thousand grammes of gold from the French authorities. It took seven weeks to sort it all out, after which they were prepared to release the gold, which was long after Louise’s birthday. Idiots, every last one of the bloody incompetent bastards.”

~o~O~o~

Sasha said, “Ye mind that wee red cat of mine, the Marmalade Murderer. Well the little monster is now eighteen. Once upon a time he’d go out in the teeth of a howling gale when the rain was knocking holes in the tarmac. The grief that little bugger put Elle and me through was endless. He’d just disappear for anything up to three weeks at a time, and there was many a time we’d given up on him returning thinking he was dead. Then he’d just turn up like nothing had happened. We used to joke he’d packed a suitcase and gone on holiday. I’ve a photo of him twenty feet up a ladder I’d left against the house when I was fitting gutters. He was trying to work out how to catch the martins nesting under the eaves. However, a month back, he wanted to go out through the back door, so I opened the door for him. There was a trace of rain, and a gentle breeze. He took one look at the weather and went back to the fire where he lain down. It comes to us all in the end, and the older you get the faster the process becomes. He disappeared last week and I reckon he’s now at the great fireside in the sky.” A clearly distressed Sasha rose and went towards the door that led to the gents. All knew better than to offer any sympathy. Sasha would handle his pain better without any comment from others. That he could take any amount of physical pain the scars on his body testified and many had seen what he could tolerate when working, but the death of a cat was a tortured anguish to the Siberian.

~o~O~o~

After a grim faced Sasha returned, Dave Wannup indicated he’d a tale to tell. Though not originally from Bearthwaite Dave was a Cumbrian born and bred for centuries. He had a hard line Cumbrian’s disdain for the southern establishment and if anything was even less politically correct than Sasha. He was also extremely quick witted and of a satirical frame of mind. Dave regularly referred to political figures by pejorative epithets and lewd names. Yasser Arafat was Joseph Marrafat(19) or Tea Towel Head. Slobodan Milošević had been Fuckingman Shagabitch. Colonel Gaddafi was Colonel Gadfly. Western politicians faired no better. Prime minister John Major(20) he referred to as Major Grey or Weak Tea,(21) Margaret Thatcher as the Milk Snatcher,(22) Edwina Currie as The Grey Man Shagger(23) or as Mistress Salmonella.(24) Donald Trump as Do Naught Rump or Psychopres, Hillary Clinton as the Email Queen(25) or the Party Canceller,(26) Bill Clinton as the I Didn’t Inhale Lewinski.(27) Dave was constantly making up such names as characters came up in the news much to the amusement of the tap room audience. It was the casual family friendly ones that often made folk laugh the most, ones like Burly Chassis.(28) Doubtless had he had a wider audience he could have been prosecuted though he had always claimed should that happen it was almost certain he would be acquitted on the grounds that satirists had always had more leeway than others.

“I heard a tale last week concerning Covid masks and a bloke who was trying to upset the system without leaving himself open to grief from the police. He used one of the cups of his wife’s bras as a face mask. He didn’t cut the cup out of the bra. He just wrapped the rest of it round his head. The police arrested him. When in court he argued his face mask was at least as good as any other and the magistrates agreed. When asked why he had done it he replied, ‘As I’m sure a lot of you can understand life is difficult at the moment and there is little joy to be had from lock down. I enjoy the scent of my wife’s breasts, so it seemed eminently reasonable to use one of her unwashed bras as a face mask.’ He was found not guilty and the police were reprimanded for harassing a member of the public who had clearly complied with the law and they had to pay four thousand pounds in compensation for harassment. Apparently the only one who wasn’t amused was his wife who was a rather generously proportioned lady. I can only assume she was upset by having to go braless.”

~o~O~o~

After the laughter quietened, Alf said, “I’ll tell a tale or two from being a kid. Not as funny as Dave’s tale, but I mind repairing a Swiss roll electrolytic capacitor [condenser] on a Necchi spin dryer. I knew nowt about capacitors then, but my mum’s spin dryer had stopped working. Dad had been dead for a few years, so I did my best. I could see where the connections had been, so I poked needles into there and soldered the wires to them. Years later I found out the capacitance wouldn’t have been quite right, but it would have been close enough to work. Mum’ spin dyer worked for another twenty years.

“I also mind rewiring the stator on Mum’s Hotpoint mangle washing machine. She’d had a few firms in to look at it. I’d have been twelve or so. They’d all said it was not possible to repair it at an economical price and she needed a new machine. I telt her if that was the case she could afford me to play with it, and if I got nowhere it didn’t matter. I stripped it, did a solder and nail varnish job on one of the windings and got it working. As a result, I made a lot of money out of that, not out of Mum, but out of a lot of other women who had the same machine and were being troubled by the maintenance situation. Over the next decade I made a decent amount of money, even whilst an apprentice, out of repairing Hotpoint mangle washing machines, which were of no interest to any other I was aware of. After that there were no more machines of that type around.

“Funny thing is years later I made money out of converting old spin dryers to operate under steam so bee keepers could spin the wax out of old brood combs. I’m still making money out of that.”

~o~O~o~

Seeing no one was ready to tell a tale Sasha said, “When I worked driving a taxi we had a guy with Yiddish parents who operated the desk on Sundays. He was the best desk man I had ever worked for on a Sunday. Sundays were quiet, so entertainment was at a premium. Hymi the desk man was the best. The stories he telt were brilliant, and kept us all laughing for the entire shift. I can’t mind his best tale, but the essence of it was the nebbish. A nebbish he explained was a person of so little personality that when they left the room it felt like someone had come in. He had endless tales concerning a nebbish that all made us nearly wet ourselves with laughter. I think negative personality is an amazing concept, mostly because it’s all too real. If we didn’t know folk it applied to it wouldn’t be at all funny.”

~o~O~o~

Alf chipped in again, “I’ve another short one that may make you laugh. I try to listen to Gardener’s Question Time on BBC Radio Four every week. It’s a long-running programme in which amateur gardeners can put questions to a panel of experts. It’s repeated twice a week and on a podcast too, but I usually listen on a Sunday afternoon down at the allotments [US community gardens] with some of the lads when we knock off for a cup of tea. It’s on at two in the afternoon. There’s a bloke called Stefan Buczacki—”

Dave chipped in, “I mind him well, Professor Stefan Fuckovski, reckoned to be a clever bloke bloke isn’t he?”

Alf grinned and replied, “Yeah, and as a rule he is. He did over six hundred appearances and has given the program some shit since. I reckon he’s right because after the program was selt(29) off to some other group it went downbank(30) rapidly. I still listen to it, but it’s not the same. However, clever as he is he doesn’t know everything. I mind one Sunday when someone asked a question about Chinese gooseberries, they’re called kiwifruits these days, and he said they won’t fruit in the UK, cos it’s too cold. Thing is, I was sorting through a full two gallon bucket of kiwifruit I’d just harvested that day as I was listening to him. Another time I was listening to him going on about Jerusalem artichokes. He was saying it was too cold in the UK for them to flower. As he said it, I looked across at one of my plots where I’d got hundreds of them in full bloom. I’d say they flower two out of three years for me.”

~o~O~o~

There was a hush as the men were awaiting someone to tell a tale. Eventually Stan asked, “What do you reckon to these bloody missionary folk who are going round knocking on doors and wasting folks’ time, Sasha?”

“Well, Stan, I fucked ‘em off and tried to shut the door in their faces. One of them tried to keep the door open with his foot, so I let him, but he fucked off fast enough when he saw the splitting maul(31) in my hands. All Christians, and every other bunch of idiots who have religion, are primitive groups of folk defined by their superstitious beliefs which they have absolutely zero evidence for. They define themselves in terms of their faith in their god which is a deal they make with themselves if they but knew it to reassure themselves of a good place in the hereafter for which they have no evidence either. They spend their entire lives making excuses for the abominable and unconscionable acts of a non-existent, malevolent god which are in fact purely due to mischance or the nature of the human beast. As for the devil and other evil forces or beings, human beings have already committed every atrocity that the human mind can conceive of, not just once but many times over, so there is no need to invoke the existence of a malevolent being in order to lay the blame at his feet because the blame lies firmly and squarely on the shoulders of human beings. Many years ago, I mind someone telling me, albeit cynically, that God had said to a group of folk contemplating sin ‘Take what you want and do what you will. You can pay right over there at the checkout on your way out.’ Tell you there is no limit to folks’ capacity for self delusion.”

After that the dominoes were produced and as usual the outsiders were invited to partner the locals in the attempt to make them feel welcome and thus return in the future. The outsiders were always welcomed to the monthly dance, for the Bearthwaite girls needed variety and it was hoped that some of the younger outsiders would settle with a local girl and bring their talents and skills to the village. Many had done so in the past, but the residents were constantly trying to recruit new blood. It was harder to bring in new females, but the older boys who went to school and college outside the village were self reliant and compared with most of their age were skilled, confident and all had part time employment. As a result they had money in their pockets, and all with Alf’s help had their own transport at seventeen. Tessa who was a middle aged widow with no children had moved to the village when her husband had died to be near her sister Sarah the post mistress. Tessa was seeing Freddy Wannup, Dave’s brother who was a bricklayer who lived in the village. Freddy was a widower with four teenage children. Tessa was a fully qualified driving instructor who’d taught all the locals for several years. The Bearthwaite boys were attractive to outside girls, and few subsequently divorced. It was known in the county that if a girl decided to leave a Bearthwaite boy she would make nothing out of him, for at a divorce hearing he would turn out to be worth nothing, living with relatives and out of work due to a breakdown caused by her leaving him. When the chips were down, the entire population of Bearthwaite closed ranks around their own. All that was required to be considered one of their own was loyalty, for life.

It was known in the county that Gustav was German, irrevocably and mutually in love with Harriet who was trans, and that her adoptive parents were happy to give the young couple the Green Dragon which was an extremely profitable concern that poured a lot of those profits back into the village. That Gustav’s name was also on the license of the pub as one of the four magistrate sanctioned licensees was a much talked about matter, well it had been for a week. The word was that that was how Bearthwaite worked. Many youngsters came to Bearthwaite to try their luck with locals, but only those genuinely caring and seeking a future as a committed member of a couple had any luck, for Bearthwaite youngsters were discerning and asked advice from their elders. None were telt what to do. Rather they were advised how to make their own decisions. That advice they took to heart, for it was how their parents’ generation had made such good choices, and they were aware of the differences between Bearthwaite folk and others, and they wanted to remain Bearthwaite folk, for that it was a better life was obvious.

When most had gone Pete asked Sasha, “What do you reckon to tonight, Sasha?”

“Good. Chester will come up with more tales eventually. He barely touched on his adult life, but we need to encourage more. You know I’ve recorded the sessions?”

“Sure. We all do. When did you start recording?”

“From my very first tale. I’ve got the lot. I’m thinking a talking book, a CD, and maybe we should video stuff for a DVD in future. Pat could set it up for us. I’ll tell him to get whatever equipment he needs and I’ll pay for it. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a bloody good idea. The kids will have a record of us long after we’re gone. Do it, Sasha. Pat and Alf between them will be able to sort it all out.”

~o~O~o~

Later that night once they were in bed Pete telt Gladys about Sasha’s idea and she agreed saying, “Get Pat to buy equipment that can be used outside too. So the Carnival, the School’s sports day, the barbecues and the Christmas Party can all be videoed. He can teach some of the kids how to use the equipment. If he gets video editing equipment the kids can do it all and the DVDs can be copied and made available in the school library for the entire village. What do you reckon?”

“I know Sasha will go for that. I’ll put it to Pat that he runs an after school club for kids of all ages not just the primary school pupils. Pat will enjoy that and some of us will be happy to help him. Yes a good idea, Love. Now I’ve another good idea what do you think?”

“I thought you’d never get round to it, Old Man, but before you consume me with your lust there’s something I need to tell you. You do know you won’t get me pregnant don’t you?”

Pete wasn’t quite sure where this was going because although Gladys had shewn no signs of approaching menopause yet they’d given up hoping for a second child over fifteen years ago after trying for more than five years. Five years during which Gladys had been deeply distressed by four early miscarriages. She’d always admitted it was only Pete’s love and the daily tasks of the Dragon that had to be done that had distracted her enough to keep her going, but she’d been suicidal from time to time for years. That had only ended when Harriet arrived and filled the empty place in her heart. They’d had an unhappy experience with Delia their only child who’d turned out to be an unpleasant young woman and who’d left with much acrimony on her part. Harriet whom they had adopted was actually Pete’s niece. They’d never bothered with birth control, but even Gladys had stopped longing and praying for a child a long time ago. “Yes I know that, Love, or at least I think I do.”

“Well I do know it because I’m three months pregnant now. I didn’t tell you before, because I was afraid I’d lose the baby like the others. I don’t want it to be known till I can’t hide it any more. It’s a little girl, Pete. We need to think about names. Don’t say anything, Love, just love me. I need you.” Pete understood, and they made love rather more violently than they had done for years. In the afterglow Gladys said, “Thank you.”

“You’re thanking me for making love with you?”

“No. I’m thanking you for your understanding.”

“Well, you are welcome, and I hate to admit it, but just in case you couldn’t tell I did enjoy myself.”

“Idiot.”

“Guilty as charged. Does anyone other than me know yet, Love?”

“Only Harriet. I wanted her to know because if things had gone wrong I would have needed her.” Pete nodded. “You know she and Gustav are looking into adoption, Pete?”

“Yes. Gustav mentioned it a while back. He said Harriet had telt him to tell me. I said I thought it to be an appropriate thing to be doing at that stage of their relationship.”

“I asked Harriet to start the ball rolling immediately after the wedding, because maybe if I lost the baby I could at least be a grandma. She telt me that she already had some contacts with adoption agencies who didn’t care that she is trans, nor that she and Gustav aren’t married yet. They’ll place children with singles and unmarried couples, but apparently their searches are rather more in depth than other places. All they care about is that children will be safe and loved with their needs met. Stuff like religion and LGBT+ issues are of no concern to them. The agencies have all started looking into matters and are collaborating regards that. Harriet has been cleared, but Gustav being a foreigner will take them a little longer. How do you feel about all this, Love?”

“If you’re happy. I’m happy. You happy?”

“No. I’m beyond thrilled. Make love to me again, Pete. Gently this time. Then we both need sleep. We’ve both got deliveries arriving early tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

They were making love when Gladys said, “I think I should tell, Gustav, Elle and Sasha. What do you think?”

“I think you are a very sexy lady and a piece of fluff young enough to be my daughter. I also think you’ll tell whomever you wish to, and that’s all fine with me too.”

“That is really very nice of you, and what you are doing is very nice too. I wonder if this pregnancy will make me as randy as the last one did?”

“I do hope so.”

“Me too.”

It wasn’t long before Gladys said, “That was very nice indeed. Night, Pete.”

“Night, Love” Gladys was asleep almost immediately, but it was an hour before Pete’s thoughts allowed him to sleep. He was truly happy for Gladys, and himself too, but he prayed for a better outcome than they’d experienced with Delia. Most of all he prayed that Gladys did not lose the baby.

~o~O~o~

Pete and Gladys both awoke at five, and were smiling as they prepared to get dressed. Gladys stood in front of the mirror and asked, “Can you tell yet, Love?”

“I think so, but I’m not sure. Your breasts look bigger, but your tummy is not much changed. Can you feel movement yet?”

“It is a little early for me to shew. I should shew some time towards the end of the next four weeks and probably feel movement then too. My breasts are bigger. That started over a month ago. I had to buy some new bras. We’ve probably got a month before it’s obvious. I’ll finish dressing and get ready for the grocery delivery. I promised Aggie I’d do it, so she can get on with the breakfasts with Harriet. How much are you and Gustav taking delivery of?”

“A full load of barrels and we’ve the wines and spirits delivery too this morning. Gustav is expecting delivery of some brewing equipment some time this week, possibly today but more likely tomorrow. I’ll go and catch you for breakfast once I’ve opened the cellar hatches.”

Aggie was entering the kitchen as Gladys was filling the first tea kettle. She said, “I’ll deal with the breakfasts if you deal with the tea and coffee, Gladys.”

Aggie was getting the makings of breakfast out of her fridges when her eye caught Gladys’ face. She looked hard at Gladys’ face then her gaze lowered. Gladys thought ‘So much for another month of privacy’.

“Congratulations, Gladys. Who else knows?”

Knowing it was pointless to do else than accept that Aggie knew she was pregnant Gladys replied, “Only Pete and Harriet. I’m going to tell Gustav, Elle and Sasha.”

“None else will find out from me, Lass, but there are a lot of other women who will be able to tell.”

“What gave me away? My boobs?”

“No. Your face, Love. You’re blooming and there’s only one thing I know that puts that look on a girl’s face. You’ve gained a cup size at least, but that can happen due to the time of the month. Your face, no. Only a baby does that. How far are you along?”

“About thirteen weeks.”

“It’ll be no secret for long, Lass, but with your history I suggest you take it easy. Let Harriet take up your load. I’ll get someone else to deal with the delivery, and don’t bother arguing because I shan’t listen to you. Be sensible.”

Aggie knew about Gladys’ miscarriages and had been a tower of strength in those unhappy days. Gladys said, “Pete said the same without saying a word. Thanks, Aggie. It’s a little girl.”

Aggie hugged her and kissed her forehead saying, “Sit down. I’ll fetch a pot of tea and pour us all one. I don’t want to see you in here till nine from now on because I don’t want to be shouted at by Pete or Harriet, and you know they’d be right to shout at me. I’ll have a word with Harriet and we’ll find some more help from somewhere. Morning, Pete, from now on Gladys is not to get out of bed till nine, okay? I’ll be dealing with things with Harriet. Gladys won’t argue because, well you know why because. I’ll hire some more help as and when we need it.”

Pete sighed with relief and said, “Thanks, Aggie. I thought I was in for a stand up row with Gladys sometime soon. So now I’m ready for a decent breakfast. Tell you what though, Gladys ate like a horse when she was expecting Delia, so get used to it.”

1 Cow cabbage, a large, solid, white cabbage often left for animals to graze whilst still rooted, hence the name. Often strip grazed with an electric fence.
2 The lasses are wearing the kit, an expression used by northern UK men that doesn’t refer to ‘kit’ as in clothes, which is the usual usage. It refers to the female body, as in the women are wearing, or walking about with, the parts that men are interested in.
3 Telt, told.
4 NHS, National Health Service.
5 Snafu, situation normal all fucked up.
6 Mind, remember.
7 Received pronunciation English, (often referred to as RP), the Queen’s/King’s English or Oxford English is the accent traditionally regarded as the standard for British English. There has been a lot of argument concerning that for over a century. Many educated northerners regard the concept of good English being defined as RP as insultingly patronising and bigoted. It is true to say that many less well educated northerners simply don’t understand RP speakers.
8 Gey, very.
9 Away, in this usage referring to those who have died.
10 Back to backs are a form of terraced houses in the UK, built from the late 18th century through to the early 20th century in various guises. Many thousands of these dwellings were built during the Industrial revolution for the rapidly increasing population of expanding factory towns. Back to backs share party walls on three of their four sides, with the front wall having the only door and windows. Back to backs were built as the cheapest possible housing for the impoverished working class, and their construction was usually sub-standard. Their configuration did not allow for sufficient ventilation or sanitation. Toilets and water supplies were shared with multiple households in enclosed courtyards. Back to backs gained an unfavourable reputation for poor levels of health and hygiene. Around the mid-19th century, back to backs were deemed unsatisfactory and a hazard to health. The Public Health Act 1875 permitted municipal corporations to ban new back to backs, replaced in the next phase of building by by-law terraced houses. Leeds City Council opted not to enforce the ban. The popularity of back to back houses with builders and residents led to their continued construction in Leeds until the 1930s. Most back to backs were demolished in waves of slum clearances, although many remain in Leeds and Bradford.
11 Vimto, a soft drink first sold in Lancashire in the UK. It was first manufactured as a health tonic in cordial form, then decades later as a carbonated drink. It contains the juice of grapes, raspberries and blackcurrant, flavoured with herbs and spices. Vimto was created in 1908 in Manchester, England by John Noel Nichols, a wholesaler of herbs, spices and medicines. He saw the market opening for soft drinks due to the temperance movement and the 1908 Licensing Act. Originally sold under the name Vim Tonic Nichols later shortened the name to Vimto.
12 Safety elfs, vernacular for health and safety regulations.
13 Fash yoursel, worry yourself.
14 Poteen, Irish moonshine.
15 Akvavit, distilled spirit principally produced in Scandinavia.
16 Cactus juice, Tequila.
17 Genever, also jenever is Dutch gin made in The Netherlands and Belgium.
18 A nicker, colloquial usage for a UK pound. Maybe going on for one and a half US dollars.
19 Marrowfats are a type of culinary pea.
20 John Major was a compromise candidate for leadership of his party when Margaret Thatcher was forced by her own party to give up leadership because they believed her to be unelectable. He was referred to as the Grey Man.
21 Weak Tea, an elliptical reference to Earl Grey tea. John Major was perceived as a weak man.
22 Margaret Thatcher ended the free milk in schools which had ensured school children had a better diet by giving all UK children a half/ third/quarter of a pint of full cream milk every school day. It was usually provided at morning break. The program had been in place since the second world war. She was opprobriously dubbed ‘Thatcher the milk snatcher’ by the centre and left wing press for years. Free school lunches and had been the subject of the 1906 Education Act and its 1921 extension to include milk, the subsequent 1944 Education Act which provided both and the separate 1946 School Milk Act which specified a third of a pint of full cream milk to be provided in schools to all children under the age of eighteen. School meals have a long history in the UK. When compulsory education was introduced in the 1870s, thousands of poor children went to school hungry. The city of Manchester started giving some children meals in 1879 and the 1906 Education Act allowed authorities to provide meals, but very few did.
23 Edwina Currie later admitted to having had a previous sexual relationship with prime minister John Major.
24 Edwina Currie had to resign over her stating that most eggs sold in the UK, whether produced at home or abroad, carried salmonella. She was subsequently found to have been correct.
25 Email Queen a reference to the scandal caused when secret and top secret emails were found on Hilary Clinton’s inadequately secure, private computer equipment.
26 Party Canceller, a double reference to the victory celebration party that was cancelled when Hilary Clinton unexpectedly lost the presidential election to Donald Trump, and the perceived relationship between ‘Cancel Culture’ and the US Democrat party.
27 I didn’t inhale Lewinski, a double reference to Bill Clinton’s protestations that when he smoked marijuana he didn’t inhale and to his illicit sexual liaison with Monica Lewinski when he was president.
28 Burly Chassis, Shirley Bassey the singer.
29 Selt, sold.
30 Downbank, down hill, deteriorated.
31 Splitting maul, a heavy, wide angled axe used for splitting logs. Usually with a hammer head on the opposite end of the head and about three to four kilos in weight [7-9 pounds].