A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 52 Political Analysis

Printer-friendly version

A Grumpy Old Man’s Tale 52 Political Analysis

Continued on from GOM 51 on a Saturday evening in the Green Dragon Inn taproom

~Dave on a Rant~

Dave said, “If everyone has finished going on about the valley and what’s going on here I’d like to get something of my chest.”

There were no objections and Sasha said, “Go on then, Dave, let’s hear it.”

“What I want to know is why and how so many of the poverty stricken folk on television documentaries and on Youtube who seem to expect the likes of me to feed them from taxes and food banks have all those tattoos. As many of the local lads know, I was leaving a supermarket maybe a sixmonth back, I can’t even remember whether it was in Carlisle or Workington now, when I was approached by a group of neo Nazi, thought policing, social do gooders. All of them were of a distinctly thuggish mien and that was just the women. You know the sort, seriously overweight, ugly as sin and if you could have seen their faces through the metal piercings doubtless they’d have looked as ugly as a bashed crab too. All combinations of green, blue, orange, yellow, pink and purple hair, skin tight leggings over an arse fat enough that if it were rendered it would provide enough bio diesel to keep a truck running for a week. No bra and tits in danger of dropping out at the waist under their tee shirts bearing, if you pardon the pun, the logo ‘Free the Nipple’ or something else equally bizarre that you could find in the Tree Hugger’s Gazette or the Normal Folk are all Racist Fascist Twats Monthly. All the lot, men and women were covered in tattoos. Bastards tried to intimidate me into leaving my groceries in the wheelie bin that was being used as a food collection point for a local food bank. They were enough to scare kids to death, tell you walking nightmares like that shouldn’t be allowed outside on the street. The ugliest of the lot pointed at the bin and said to me, ‘You can obviously afford to donate that to the food bank. Don’t you feel ashamed not to?’ ‘No,’ said I. ‘I’m just a working bloke and even years past retirement I’m still working. I suggest all those useless bits of shit as scrounge off the likes of me piss off and get a job and I suggest all of you useless arseholes do the same. Now lady, and I use the term loosely, I suggest you and all your friends get the hell out of my way. If it comes to violence it won’t be the first time I’ve gone down. But that won’t be before I’ve crippled most of you, and it’s you I’ll go for first.”

“Christ, Lads, Dave completely missed his calling working as a green grocer. He should have been a diplomat. Decades ago he’d have had all the middle east conflicts sorted in minutes. Admittedly, he’d have turned the entire spot into one big, fuck off, glassed down, radioactive slag plain, but the situation would have bin sorted permanently which would definitely have bin a result. We need more of that kind of thinking. There’re more than enough bloody problems in the world that we really could do with some solutions to, and I reckon Dave’s just the bloke to be able to provide a few.”

The laughter at Alf’s remark took a goodly while to fade. After emptying his pint and pushing his glass towards Stan for refilling, Dave took a decent mouthful of some orange coloured toxin. As he was topping his glass up with more of the same an outsider asked, “What happened then, Dave?”

“She took two steps towards me and put her face a few inches from mine, so seeing as I could see behind her that Plod(1) was coming in through the glass entrance doors, I stepped forward so our nose touched. She hadn’t expected that. I think she expected me to back down rather than become a threat to her. That sort of scum are all cowards with a yellow stripe down the middle of their backs at least six foot [2m] wide. They certainly ain’t used to folk standing up to them. They’re too used to their numbers and the rest of their intimidation tactics working and causing folk to back down. I saw the fear in her eyes as she stepped back and tried to throw a punch at me, so I decked her. It was a goodly one two to her paunch and a two handed chop to both sides of her neck all followed by a knee to her groin. A knee to a lass’s fanny(2) isn’t as effective as to a bloke’s bollocks, but it does give them some serious pain to deal with, and done hard enough puts ’em out of the game for a goodly while, long enough to provide some fighting space in which to tek a few more out in any roads. A punch to the tit on a normal woman is seriously debilitating too, but I doubted if it would have achieved anything with that slut, even if I’d been able to work out where her tits were to punch ’em. A twenty year auld milker has a tighter bag(3) than what was hanging from her chest.

“And mind most lasses can’t tek pain the way blokes can for two reasons. The first is because their biology and hormones mek ’em more sensitive to it and the second, maybe more important reason, is because they ain’t used to it. Lasses don’t tend to work in jobs where it happens from time to time, and parasitic, tree hugging(4) sluts like her don’t usually work at all. The rest of ’em tried to do me some damage, but none of them could fight for shit, Christ I’d teken far worse that what they were dishing out in the play ground at primary school [aged 11 or lower], and before Plod arrived to take control of the situation I must have put at least half a dozen in a hospital bed and most of the rest needed a trip to A&E [Accident & Emergency, US ER, Emergency Room]. I never try to punch any of that sort in the face because you can seriously break your hand punching a bag of spanners,(5)[US wrenches]. Plod telt me they’d been called fifteen minutes before and had got it all on the store’s CCTV as well as their BWV.(6) BWV I was telt stands for Body Worn Video. I was asked if I was okay because I’d got a brasted(7) nose which was bloodier than I’d realised, but it wasn’t owt to be fashed(8) by. They wanted to take me to A&E too, that was they did till they asked for my name and address. Once they realised I came from Bearthwaite they backed off and lost interest in dealing with me. You’d have thought I’d got the plague. They’d arrested all of the idiots and had ’em in handcuffs by then. That was the last I heard of the matter. I read in the paper they’d all been fined a few hundred quid for intimidating shoppers and causing an affray.(9) God knows where they get the hubris from that enables them to believe that sort of behaviour is ever acceptable even it they are doing it for so called charity which I doubt.”

“What’s a fray and hubris, Dave?”

~Tattoos~

“It’s an affray, Alf, and it’s like when someone disturbs the peace. Hubris is like arrogant neck, not quite, but that’s close enough and it’ll do. On the same topic, I looked at a Youtube clip about homelessness & poverty in Grimsby last night. I reckon I was supposed to feel sorry for ’em all, but all it did was make me angry. Tattoos ain’t cheap, so I reckon they must be lying about being poor, or did they get poor wasting their money on tattoos, or were they once wealthy enough to afford the tattoos yet so stupid that they failed to realise that if hard times ever visited them they’d never get a decent job because folk like me wouldn’t dream of employing them just because they were covered with ink. To me, and millions of others too, that indicates they’ve got no self respect because if they had they wouldn’t treat their bodies like that. Tattoos indicate you are a member of a different type of folk, from a different tribe if you like. Like as what tartans and fair isles patterns do.(10) My view on that is they should seek employment with their own kind because we, my tribe if you like, just don’t want to know.

“Some of ’em on the programme I watched had thousands not hundreds of pounds worth of tattoo work done. If times were that hard I’d have saved the tattoo money and used it to leave and make a fresh start somewhere else. For sure I’d have made my way somewhere somehow. If they really are that inadequate then there’s nowt any can do for ’em and food banks and other hand outs won’t make any difference because they’ll still be hungry, homeless, poverty stricken and covered in ink, so it would be best to let the bastards starve or freeze to death as soon as late. They must have been able to pay cash for those tattoos, because the folk that do tattoos won’t work without out knowing they’ll get paid, and they don’t work for promises to pay. Too, most of those folks had that drained, pinched look that I and many others rightly associate with alcoholism and addiction. Like I said I’d just let the bastards starve and freeze. Maybe they could get a tattoo of a four course meal and eat that, or of a roaring fire to keep warm by.”

“Dave’s just too full of the milk of human kindness ain’t he, Lads? You got a downer on folk with tattoos, Dave? Surely you don’t object to a lad taking a drink or ten?”

~Piercings~

“Yeah. Too right I have, and stop trying to wind me up, Stan, because so have you and every other inhabitant of Bearthwaite. As to the drink, we all drink too much for sure, but I don’t see any alkies around me, nor druggies neither. None of us here have any tattoos. Why do you think that is, Dave? Don’t bother answering because I’ll tell you why. To us, as I said, it evidences a total lack of self respect, and you might as well have tosser written on your forehead, or maybe tattooed there would be better. If there’re any here who are offended by that that’s just too bad because it’s how it’s seen here. I ain’t backing up, and I certainly ain’t apologising for being me. Same as body piercings. Sure most of our lasses have pieced ears, some even have two pairs of earrings, but that’s it. Why? Again, don’t bother to answer because I’ll tell you why, it’s the same reason, and they’ve all known from being little lasses that their chances of finding a man here would be nil if they looked like a bloody scrapyard. Ellery the hairdresser pierces their ears. Sure it’s mostly when they’re little lasses, but she’ll only do it when they’re accompanied by their mums or their grans, and she’s far too caring and has far too much sense to do anything that would make a lass an outcast when she grows up.

“And, Stan, I mind well what you said when Delia and the Diesel Dyke(11) came here that time looking like a pair of refugees from a squirrel picklers’(12) rally. ‘If you’re ugly it’s completely stupid to think that having purple hair, tattoos and lumps of metal stuck through your face or elsewhere will improve the situation. Better by far to improve your personality, and it’d be a hell of a sight cheaper too.’ Your words, not mine, Lad. Tell you something else too, I looked it up to see what piercings cost. I found a web site that was truly eye watering, I’d no idea that folk had piercings in the places it quoted prices for, and each had its own name too. Basically it’s fifty quid a pop, with reductions for multiple piercings. If you want a good fright go to metalfatigue.co.uk. The prices are eye watering, but even more eye watering is the idea of allowing someone to do that to yourself. Seventy-five quid to have a spike riveted through your bell end.”(13) Dave didn’t even slow down as he heard the sudden intakes of breath, “But you can relax cos it’ll only cost you fifty quid to have your missus’ clitoris pierced vertically, though you could have it done horizontally for the same money. That’s a bargain really, a snip at only a hundred and twenty-five quid to have both of you mutilated by some freaking weirdo in places only the pair of you should be even seeing. However, mostly the folk you come across with serious piercing work done are out of work and like I said it’s typically fifty quid a pop for what you can see, and they claim to be poor and hungry. Total bollocks!”

Stan was still out for a bit of fun and asked, “So are you telling me, Dave, that you have never given any food away ever?”

“Course I have. I’m a bloody grocer aren’t I? But I’ve never donated to a food bank, because like the rest of us here I want to know where my charity, which I’ve worked damned hard to be able to give, is going. Usually I give food away so I, like Vincent, know who’s going to be eating it, and usually I give it away so that useless buggers like you get fed in here on Saturday nights.” It took a while for the roars of laughter to die away. The local men were used to Stan and Dave baiting each other. They went to school together in the same class and were more like a pair of brothers than brothers in law. Years ago Lucy, Dave’s wife and Stan’s sister, had said they behaved like they were about six from time to time, and she was still saying it. Usually they were well matched, but that was definitely one to Dave. Dave hadn’t quite finished when he added, “Tell you something else about bastards of their sort. I bumped into Danny as lives at Silloth the other day. He’s Stan’s sister in law’s old man as works at Carr’s Mill there and drinks in here a few times a year. He was drinking in one of the rougher spots round there the week before and he overheard a couple of tattooed twats talking ower loud due to an inability to tek their ale. One of ’em said there was no point in paying Bearthwaite a visit because despite what folk said we hadn’t got owt worth tekin. It meks you wonder where he got the information from don’t it? On the other hand, it’s not a bad idea that we try to assist that belief out there is it?” There were no responses to either question but all were aware the matter would be discussed at a later time when there were no outsiders around to hear what was said. It was yet again time for glasses to be washed and refilled.

~Supper Menu~

The men hadn’t settled down and some were still awaiting a pint at the bar when Harriet appeared in order to count heads in the taproom to ensure enough food would be prepared for supper. “What’s for supper, Harriet Love? There’s a seriously good smell coming from the kitchen and Alf is nearly dehydrating due to drooling.”

“For a number of reasons, mostly because it’s what was readily available that saved a bit of work for a goodly number of folk, it’s a bit different this week, Uncle Gerry. You’re having a full English breakfast for supper with haggis too. Supper is starring Uncle Vincent’s Cumberland sausages made not with the usual meat, mostly pork, but with bison beef, what the kids call bife, from one of the bison bulls that Elleanor Peabody considered wasn’t up to snuff for breeding. She said most of her bison herd, even the bulls, were tractable enough if one had a bale of hay, but unlike most even then it wasn’t of a particularly pleasant disposition, so she put it to the top of the slaughter list and waited till it reached full weight. She had it follow one of her dad’s cows that was abulling(14) into a horse box and drove the box down to Uncle Vincent’s covered(15) slaughter yard, so it was all done legally(16) whether bison become classified as cattle, farmed game or game. Elleanor telt me that in the UK so far there’re only two herds of bison, which she said are also known as wizent. Hers are being called bison and raised like cattle, so will probably end up being subject to the cattle regulations, and she will reap all the benefits of her herd because she paid for all of their transport and for all of the paper work too.

“The ironic thing is that after all the grief the authorities gave her about importing them, which took her over three years to obtain consent for, in the end DEFRA(17) offered to provide a subsidy. She provisionally accepted, and they said they’d send her the paperwork to fill in. There were so many strings attached to the money she’d have had zero control over the breeding and slaughter of the beasts as a result of DEFRA putting up less than five percent of the costs. What really wound her up was that DEFRA would have had a legal right to access the beasts at any time of their choosing, so she lit the fire with their paperwork. Auld Allen said he wouldn’t allow DEFRA on the farm and no one else would want them in the valley, which she telt me she knew would be the case, and she was no more up for them coming here than any else would be. Six months after she’d imported the beasts DEFRA contacted her demanding she filled in the subsidy paperwork immediately or there would be no money. Enid may have given birth to Elleanor, but she was reared by Veronica, and for sure like all eight of the siblings she’s a true child of Veronica when it comes to dealing with official idiots, and I have no intention of repeating exactly what she telt the DEFRA folk concerning where they could stuff their money.

“The other animals are down in Kent, are being referred to as wizent and are part of a rewilding scheme being managed by a hands off approach under the ægis of Natural England,(18) so she presumes they will eventually be subject to the game regulations. All costs to bring them over here were paid for by the good old UK taxpayer, so naturally enough Josephine Taxpayer gets nothing back on the deal. That two herds of the same animal may be tret as two entirely different beasts because different government departments have oversight of them, even if Natural England is ultimately controlled by DEFRA, and they use different names for them will Elleanor reckons eventually cause mayhem in the powers that be because like all other government departments they don’t talk to each other because they have power issues about areas of control and authority. The issue for Elleanor and Uncle Vincent is it’s not clear which laws apply regards slaughter for human consumption. However, they have decided to play it safe and go with the cattle and farmed game regulations rather than the slightly less stringent game regulations. I suspect none here would have been bothered if the beast had been knocked down anywhere else, but like I said they’re playing it safe to protect Uncle Vincent’s licence to slaughter, butch and sell meat.

“Elleanor says that the two groups of animals came from different places in Poland nearly four hundred miles [640km] apart which makes a profound difference. She went looking for nice tempered beasts to import, and though her bison are definitely wild rather than domestic animals and need to be tret with sensible caution they ignore folk on horses and are happy to see folk in a Land Rover or a tractor and trailer bringing hay and feed and are much more interested in the feed than the folk bringing it. Maybe whoever imported the Kent wizent didn’t consider their temperament, or maybe they wanted nasty beasts to keep folk away, but either way they are reported to be wary of humans to the point of hostility if not quite outright aggression. Elleanor is systematically culling the more aggressive animals in her herd as soon as they reach killing weight and is having some of her cows impregnated with bison semen from the artificial insemination folk in the hope that some of the offspring will be even better tempered than the animals in her existing herd.

“She telt me she’d looked into the possibilities of bison cattle hybridisation using bulls of both species with cows of the other, but said both had been done before numerous times in Europe and didn’t seem to be worth repeating. It was difficult due to the bison’s ambivalent temperament with regards to humans and though it produced fertile first generation hybrid cows the first generation hybrid bulls were sterile, although the first generation hybrid cows could be crossed back to bulls of either parentage to produce fertile bull calves. However, none of the hybrids possessed any particular virtue over their parent stocks, so she’s not going to bother unless she dreams up anything new that she thinks may be worth trying. The meat of those bison, like I said as the kids call bife, like that of most game is gey lean and needs to be used appropriately, but minced it’s just like lean beef steak mince and given long slow cooking all cuts are delicious. A major advantage of raising bison is given even half decent pasture, like highland cattle, they reach killing weight gey fast. I’ve a load from Uncle Vincent in the freezer I intend to use for mince and onion pies sometime.

“Going back to the one she took down to Uncle Vincent’s spot. Even its interest in the cow didn’t render it safe enough to approach close enough to to knock it down, so they rang for Uncle Hamilton who arrived with Livvy in that Range Rover of hers that Uncle Hamilton seems to keep half of a vet’s surgery tackle in the back of. Uncle Vincent and the other men who were going to help him deal with the beast were wondering how best to get it into Uncle Vincent’s crush(19) with a cattle prod and a couple of tractors so that Hamilton could deal with it using Uncle Vincent’s stun gun when Livvy went to her rover and returned with her rifle. Seemingly the others there all just nodded and the problem was solved without recourse to a cattle prod, tractors or the crush, and as usual the beast was strung up from the forks of uncle Alf’s stacker truck and broken down into quarters and other handleable pieces for hanging in Uncle Vincent’s cold store to age within the hour. Even the gralloch was dealt with too.”

Hamilton just nodded in agreement, but Vincent interrupted to say, “That three oh three of hers fair packs a punch with those rounds that she makes up herself. Soft nosed they are. If one were placed right it would knock down an elephant or a rhino easily, though she uses it for deer. She’s a crack shot and won’t pull the trigger if she’s not confidently certain of a clean killing shot, but I reckon the sheer shock power of those rounds of hers would take out something that sustained a poorly placed hit anyway. That bison went down instantly. She’s definitely an asset to me and all our cattle farmers too which in the end means all of us.

Mitchel Armstrong, Elleanor Peabody’s fiancé, said, “Aye, but Nicky telt me he’s awful glad she never carries it when’s she out and about the neighbourhood on her broomstick.” Nicky was one of Vincent’s grandsons who had almost finished serving his time to Vincent as an apprentice slaughterman and butcher. He would be taking the business over when Vincent retired and he was also Livvy’s long time boyfriend. They’d been on squabbling terms since birth and kissing terms since they were eleven. None doubted that their relationship would survive Livvy’s veterinary course at Glasgow. The couple were publicly talking about a wedding in the summer, and Livvy was known to opine that if it came to it she wouldn’t be the first mother to finish, or even start, a degree course whilst pregnant. There was laughter from the local men. Many of the outsiders were not aware that the broomstick reference was a local male euphemism for when their women were at the dangerous end of the month. It derived elliptically from women being temperamental due to their cycles. A cycle was also a form of transport as was a witch’s broomstick. Logically, or maybe not, since to the male Bearthwaite mind they were behaving like witches et cetera. Anyway with or without logic they were said to be on their broomsticks. Like a lot of such expressions its origins had been lost in the mists of time and explanations didn’t really help those who hadn’t been used to the expression since almost birth.

Harriet smiled at that, for all the local women knew that Livvy, like her sisters, could be more difficult than most of them when afflicted by her cycle, and they were all aware of the male expression which wasn’t in the least pejorative. It was used with love and sympathy and gratitude that the experience was one they didn’t have to suffer. One or two outsiders over the years had argued that PMS(20) due to menstruation was no worse than having to shave every day. They’d been seriously taken aback to be telt to man up, grow a pair of balls and a beard too if they considered shaving to be that bad. Harriet like the rest of the village women also knew that Suzy, Livvy’s mum, kept a goodly supply of chocolate(21) available to alleviate the problems caused by her four daughters. Billy, the girls’ dad, said Suzy had been difficult as a girl, but she’d calmed down considerably as a result of her first pregnancy with Jessica. Harriet continued to say, “As usual for big beasts, like as I said Uncle Vincent borrowed Uncle Alf’s forklift truck to string it up and do the gralloching and initial butching from. As well as the sausage, there’re Uncle Vincent’s bacon, black pudding and haggis. The eggs came from some of the children’s poultry, mostly ducks, and they and their friends gathered the wild mushrooms. Auntie Christine prepared and canned the baked beans using white haricot navy beans grown locally and the early tomatoes are a small, arctic variety fresh from the allotments’ hot houses, courtesy of Uncle Johnto. Arctic Plenty I think they’re called.

“Auntie Veronica and Brigitte made the fried bread and the hash browns. I expect only Uncle Alf, Bertie and Uncle Simon will be able to eat a full helping of everything, so select what you want to eat, for Auntie Aggie says she’ll put anything left over to tomorrow’s breakfast and bait(22) for the shepherds and wallers.” Alf, Bertie and Simon the blacksmith were all huge, powerfully built men. Wearing boots Alf and Bertie were over seven feet tall, wide and deep chested too and all three men were renown for having appetites to match their size. “Brigitte and Auntie Veronica have started buttering bread and they would appreciate knowing roughly how much to do, so if someone can do a rough head count of who wants bread and butter and pop into the kitchen to let them know they’d be grateful. To the nearest half dozen men will do. Mum said to say for the benefit of those that don’t know, the locally baked bread is made from flour stone milled from locally grown wheat and barley milled and baked at Uncle Phil and Auntie Alice’s mill just half a mile away. The bread is buttered with pure butter from Uncle Alan’s dairy. Young Alex Peabody as usually makes the butter is in the dining room with his brothers. There is no so called healthy alternative to full fat, cholesterol rich butter served in this establishment. Mum says the coronary heart attacks are free of charge.”

There were sounds all round the room of approval and laughter too as Alf said, “I’ll definitely need at least another couple of pints to ease all that down. I don’t suppose there’s anything substantial for pudding to follow that snack is there, Pet?” The laughter now was raucous and Bertie slapped his granddad on the back in approval.

When the noise had died down Harriet smiled and replied, “May the gods have mercy on your bellies, Gentlemen, but aye there’s a very substantial pudding. The crumble over the cinnamon peach as usual has crushed mixt nuts and rolled oats in it and will be served with custard to drown it in. There are a few apricots in with the peaches too. Before you ask, Uncle Harry did a run from Ormskirk way carrying carrots out of the clamps(23) to Covent Garden market in London last Monday overnight into Tuesday. There’s no market on the Wednesday, so the traders try to get rid of anything they reckon they won’t be able to sell on the Tuesday before they have to pay to have it taken away on the Thursday. A trader he knew and some of his mates loaded Uncle Harry’s waggon up virtually full with fruit and vegetables all on the turn or about to turn for free. Uncle Harry texted Auntie Christine to have folk ready to process it all as soon as he arrived home. Auntie Christine had to phone about for extra helpers to deal with it all before we lost it, though after we’d done she said it was virtually all in perfectly good condition. Brigitte and I went to help for a while. We worked a couple of shifts and amongst us all we had Auntie Christine’s spot working flat out for near to forty-eight hours straight.

“Auntie Christine reckoned we’d processed and canned well over twenty tons of free food, and some of it is expensive luxury items. You’ve got peach crumble instead of the apple you were going to be served with because it saved Auntie Christine’s folk having to bottle some of the peaches that we’d cooked. There were just a few crates of apricots that were on the turn, so we added them to the much larger quantity of peaches that were all in good condition and cooked them ready for the night.(24) Most of the women took some home to use, but we put the cookt peach and apricot mix that you’re having for your supper into a chiller unit. We left the bottled apple on the shelves to be used another time. We’ve telt all in the room that there are loads of jars of all sorts of different things going gey cheap down at the mill and at Auntie Lucy’s store, but make sure any of the ladies that aren’t here tonight are aware of that too, please. There are so many more folk here than usual the night that we’ve had to call for extra staff. Mum and Auntie Veronica are being helped out in the room by Phillippa and Geraldine who do silver service in the dining room here and at the Granary too. Brigitte and I shall be serving in here, and Peter and Violet are serving the gentlemen in the dinning room. That’ll be in twenty minutes or so after Brigitte has topped the dogs dishes up. After that you’ll probably want to let the dogs out and back in again, so you supper isn’t disturbed by them.”

~A Good Run~

As Harriet left, Harry added, “That carrot run was a good run in more ways than one. I took down twenty-five ton [25 000Kg, 56 000 pounds] of carrots for what I thought was a damned good price seeing as I’d already tipped a full load(25) of calf nuts from Greg Armstrong at this end no more than twenty miles away from the pick up, and I brought back what I reckoned from the way she was pulling was about twenty-two ton of all sorts including dozens of Oriental, Asian and African vegetables I’d never heard of. Elle telt me that Jeremy will be advertising meals using them at The Granary restaurante to bring a bit more money into this spot from outside, and for any as wants to have a go at using any of ’em he’s more than willing to provide information and advice. Even after the lads down at the market telt me the names of some of the stuff I’d still no idea what all of the stuff I brought back was, and I still don’t. Any of you lot who want to know what callaloo, an eddoe or a drumstick vegetable is I suggest you ask Jeremy because I know he knows. I just telt the lads down there to pile it on because we’d have it all dealt with and none would be wasted. They were gey happy to see the back of it, and I was even happier to fetch it back.

“I reckon when I go again, and I’d say twice a month is now pretty certain since Greg has a contract to supply calf nuts there and the carrot farmers like the price I charged them, even if all the market lads have got is too far gone I’ll bring it back anyway for the pigs and the compost pits at the allotments and then the lads down there will owe me one. They are a hard but straight bunch of lads, so I know they’ll repay any favours I do them because they know that I’ll do the same. Too, if there’s ever owt we want they’ll supply it at cost and not regard that as a favour. Christine wants a couple of ton of pineapple for canning. It’s gey strange that most folk don’t seem to get it these days, but straight dealing does pay, and those lads, like us, would far rather deal wi’ someone like me than some clever, fast mouthed arsehole they know they can’t trust. They ain’t Bearthwaite lads, but they are working lads, and as such they know who they can trust: other working lads and no bugger else. The Peabody lads said they’d appreciate owt their pigs can eat, and Alf telt me the allotment lads would be gey happy to receive fruit and vegetables that’re gone too far ower the top for even the pigs, for they’ll help the paper and cardboard to rot faster.

“Funny thing was all the time it took to get loaded because in spite of being loaded by stacker truck I had a dozen and a half places in the market to be loaded from. I expected to be away and heading home at least an hour before I finally strapped my load down and left heading north for the motorway. I’d have ended up close to my hours on my tacho, but okay under normal conditions, but then I got stopped on the way back just north of Kendal for only the third time in my life by the police and transport authorities for a routine check. Licence and tacho only need produced(26) these days, they don’t need to check vehicle tax, insurance and certificates of road worthiness any more because they’ve done those for the waggon and the trailer on the computer before they pull you in. Plod took a quick look at my tacho and asked, ‘What are you carrying, Driver?’ ‘Perishable food stuffs, fresh fruit and veg,’ I telt him. ‘Mind if I look?’ he asked. Like I’d got a choice. ‘Be my guest,’ said I, and after the ministry of transport bloke had dipped my tank(27) and seen my certificate of entitlement to use biofuels that Murray pays the fuel duty on direct to HMRC(28) that was that. I was close to running out of time, but was still legal. I’d two minutes to go when I pulled onto the vehicle park at Bearthwaite Lonning Ends, so I rang for Charlie to drive the last bit down to the Bobbin Mill, and I drove his rover back. It’s stupid to risk it when you don’t have to and the penalties are so high. As many of us have said before those bastards mek more coin out of penalties for minor infringements, infringements so minor that any reasonable bloke would just say fuck it and ignore them, than they do out of legitimate charges that the only way to screw them is to play gey canny.(29)

“One of Bertie’s lads was there with a stacker truck to off load my waggon and Christine had managed to find going on fifty lasses and a dozen blokes to deal with it all. I was tired and needed something to eat and a cup of tea, so I just left the waggon there with the keys in it so anyone as wanted it shifted could move it. I’d have made it home with a handful of minutes to spare if I’d not been stopped. You never know that may well be the last time I ever get stopped because they have a data base record of when a waggon and trailers too were last checked and unless there’s an obvious reason to pull you over they leave you alone to pull a waggon that’s not been checked for a long time, if ever. Years ago you were allowed an extra two hours of driving time if you were carrying perishables, but I don’t know if you still are because I haven’t carried owt like that where it would be an issue for decades. Seeing as I’m likely to get more carrot runs I’d better find out, and maybe better still I’ll find another local driver to come with me to share the driving, even if they’re driving on provisional HGV(30) driver’s licence plates. After the waggon’s expenses are covered, it meks nay odds to me to share the drivers’ pay wi’ a local lad or lass because that way it’ll all end up here anyway. I’m thinking Beebell should put up the money for as many youngsters as want to train for and tek their HGV licence test even if they don’t want to drive big uns for a full time living. We could do with ’em in reserve ready for when we need them, and it’s always better driving wi’ company, not least because there’ll always be tales to tell in here of a Saturday evening. That’s free drink and supper, and as a pensioner I’m too auld to be fashed(31) about working for money, but I’m more than willing to work for the craic.”

After the laughter had faded sufficiently, Charlie said, “The market traders used to do that with stuff about to turn they wanted rid of fifty years ago too when I took lettuce from Chat Moss down there. Though that was long before the new Covent Garden market was even envisaged ne’er mind built. Seems nowt changes. If you mind on, I telt a tale a long while back about that.”(32)

Chance was considering what could be done about youngsters training for their HGV licences and had come to the conclusion that given the isolation of Bearthwaite and the lonnings and fields available many youngsters could be provided with all the training they would need to pass their HGV test as soon as they turned twenty-one, long before then on Bearthwaite’s private land off the public highways. It would be, he considered, an excellent year ten [15-16 year old] option that many pupils, from the non academically inclined all the way up to the very bright with highly achieving academic futures before them would be interested in. Harry didn’t know it yet, but his membership of the Bearthwaite Educational Establishment’s teaching staff was about to be expanded into a capacity that had little if anything to do with his academic brilliance. Though of course his pan STEM and other teaching abilities would remain appreciated for a couple of decades to come.

~Eggs and Water~

“Hello, Love,” Alf said to Brigitte who’d entered the taproom with a pail of kibble for the dogs. “Had a good day? You finished helping in the kitchen for the night?”

“No. I’ll be frying eggs in bit, Uncle Alf. I’ve had a really good day in the kitchen today. After lunch I helped Auntie Veronica make the brandy snaps for the ladies. We used to make them round the handles of wooden ladles, but they were a pain to fill cos they were so narrow, so I asked Peter to cut up an inch and a quarter thick unused broom stail(33) for me. He took it down to the Bobbin Mill, cut it into six pieces and rounded the ends over on their wood lathe. I put the pieces in the oven to dry out before oiling them with vegetable oil. They soaked up an amazing amount which means the brandy snaps don’t stick to them. Filling them is now much easier. I whipped up the cream and added the powdered sugar to fill them with, but instead of cognac which Auntie Veronica uses or Asbach which Mum uses I laced it with a drop of Uncle Adio’s hostage rum. Dad gave me a two gallon bottle for the kitchen ages ago, but it’s so strong that I’ve only ever needed to use a tiny bit at a time. Auntie Aggie uses it in Tarte Tatin too, but I think that bottle will last us years if it’s only used in the kitchen. I know a few of the ladies like a drop of Windjammer rum which is forty percent alcohol but Dad telt me that what he gave me was at least sixty-five percent.

“I went for a walk with Ron round the reservoir to feed the swans after that. When I came home I made the custard ready for the night, and Ron went down to the allotments to help his granddad. I’m not sure what they were doing exactly, but I know it was something to do with the rhubarb, which you’ll probably have as a pudding soon. Just now I was slicing the bread for Auntie Veronica to butter. I helped buttering bread for a while and she’s still buttering, but I wanted to see to the dogs before we start doing the eggs. Everything is not quite cooked and in the warming ovens. It only needs a last minute heating as we start on the eggs. By the time the eggs are done it’ll all be ready. Mum spoke to Violet, who texted half a dozen of her friends to help out too. They’ve all arrived, so things won’t be anywhere near as frantic as Gran had feared. I’ll be back in a tick with a pail of water and I’ll open the back door for the dogs on my way. It’s still dry outside, so I’ll leave the door open for them, but it’s cool, so when they all come back in I’d be grateful if some one closes the back door before it pours down and to keep the warmth in too, cos I’ll be busy.”

“I’ll do it, Love,” said Pete.

“Thanks, Granddad. I’ll fetch some water.”

~Supper~

Harriet and Brigitte entered the taproom with a trolley of plates and cutlery and one of various trays and pans of items to eat. Brigitte left her mum to dish up and left saying, “I’ll be back with the bread and butter and some of the mugs for the tea. Uncle Alf insisted on drinking pints of tea with his supper rather than pints of beer. He said it was unnatural drinking beer with eggs and bacon for some reason, so it’s available for all of you. After I’ve fetched the bread and butter I’ll go for the tea. The ladies are being served their tea in the cups and saucers we use for afternoon tea.” She giggled and added, “Mum didn’t think that to be appropriate for in here, and Gran said she didn’t want to risk Uncle Alf having a heart attack being expected to extend his little finger, so she had a word with him, which is why you’re all getting a proper pint [568ml, 20 fl oz] mug with a big handle as made by Auntie Celia.”

By the time she returned a considerable amount had already been eaten and Harriet was dishing up second helpings. As fast as Brigitte was passing out large plates of bread and butter they were being emptied. Harriet said, “I’ll finish here, Love, if you’ll fetch the tea please. Uncle Alf, when it arrives will you pour the tea please? We used the two and a half gallon [12½ litres, 12½ US quarts] kettles to mash the tea in and they’re heavy.

“Nay bother, Lass. How many are there?”

“Four and then there’re are some more pint mugs too. Mum and Auntie Aggie with help from Adele and Dinah are dealing with whatever is needed in the bestside and the other ladies in the ballroom and Peter and Violet and two of Violets friends are dealing with the other men in the dining room.”

“Bertie, be a good lad and fetch that trolley in here for Brigitte. A hundred weight, [50Kg, 112 pounds] of tea is a bit much for the lass, and make sure those lasses in the dining room are okay too, please.”

“Right you are, Granddad.”

After taking two kettles of tea into the dining room, Bertie returned with the trolley of tea and Brigitte with one with more mugs, milk and sugar on it. Fifteen minutes later all had been consumed right down to the last slice of bread and butter. “Hell fire, Lads, I’m going to have to start all over again on the chemic. That breakfast chesst(34) down with two mugs of tea has set me back to being stone cold sober. A damned fine supper, but that’s a hell of a price to pay for it at this time of a Saturday night.” There was a lot of laughter at Stan’s remark, but Peter and a couple of outsiders were already pulling pints as the ladies came in to remove the debris of what all had agreed to be an excellent supper.

~Vincent on Mixed Measures~

Vincent indicated he’d a tale to tell, so Pete asked, “After another glass of brown before you start, Vincent?”

“Aye, Lad, please.” When all were settled Vincent said, “Over the years, we’ve had many a tale in here concerning Imperial and Metric measures. Some of rank stupidity, some funny(35) and some thought provoking. If I had to choose which of the three this relates to it would have to be thought provoking, but the tale isn’t really about weights and measures, it’s more about our kids and our expectations and our often what eventually prove to be unreasonable judgements of them. Well I’ve a tale to tell of where mixing up Imperial and Metric paid off in terms of the time it saved, though I suppose if your mind works that way it’s kind of funny. You mind Jessica, Gerry’s granddaughter helping me out in the shop during Covid, well she worked in the shop till she went away to study ecology at the University of Munich in Germany. It’s one of the best ecology departments in Europe. She was offered places to study in the States and Canada but turned them down because she opined their wildlife and vegetation were too different from what is to be found in Europe and she wanted to obtain as much learning as she could that would be relevant to her when she returned home from her time spent away. Gustav arranged for her to live with his mum at the family inn.

“She’s telt her sisters she’s really enjoying herself and is working as a barmaid at the inn for a bit of spending money. She says she can’t wait to come home for the week at half term because when she’s working she wears one of those low cut Bavarian frocks that barmaids all seem to wear in the lager adverts. Gustav telt me it’s called a dirndl and they are different in each area, though some are unique to a family or a business, and Jessika, spelt with a kay [k], one of his sisters in law has had a Kupfer Braukessel one made for Jessica, that’s our Jessica spelt with a see [c]. Der Kupfer Braukessel means The Copper Brew Kettle. It’s the name of Gustav’s family’s Inn. She reckons it’ll have all the lads’ eyes dropping out, especially Micky’s. She telt him she’s grown some and he’s telt his mates he can’t wait. She zoomed him and said she was getting bothered by a lot of the lads over there who thought she was fair game because he was so far away. Cutting a long story short they’re now engaged, so she can wear a ring which keeps the unwanted lads away. Ernst, Gustav’s brother as is wed to Jessika has had a quiet word that if they bother her or any other of his staff they’ll have to drink somewhere else which has done the trick. Seems that in Germany girls wear their engagement ring on their left hand, but after marriage it goes on the right hand with their wedding ring. Which probably explains why Harriet wears hers on her right hand.”

Gustav was seen to nod, and he held his right hand up for all to see his wedding ring saying, “Men too.”

Vincent continued, “It’s a three year degree she’s studying, but the brightest have an option to spend an additional year out in the field. She’s going to be spending her extra year in Poland with their equivalent of the Forestry Commission who have more of a wildlife and ecology rôle than ours do. She wants to observe the bison there and how they interact with their environment to see if she can discover owt useful for the Peabody lasses. She’s already fluent in German and is getting there in Polish. I telt you at the time she was a bright lass. It seems Billy and Suzie are knocking out a tribe of bright lasses. Jessica is Livvy’s older sister. She didn’t want to drop me in it(36) when she left to study in Germany, so she arranged with their youngest sister Lilly to take her place in the shop. Lilly is another bright wee thing, she’s thirteen, wants to be a family doctor working with Sun, and has taken up with Joseph who’s fifteen. That’s Joseph who works on the weekend with Tony as a trainee digger and excavator operator and will be going full time with him when he leaves school. Whether they last when she goes away to study, as doubtless she will, time alone will tell. Guðrún the third eldest lass is aiming to be a gynaecologist and has teken up with a lad called Victor who wants to do a degree in astronomy and train as a teacher to work here.

“Anyway back to the tale. Most of you are aware that the Victorian scales in the shop were my great great grandparents’ and are of the mass(37) balance type and use brass weights. The two sets of scales in the back that the lasses use to weigh stuff out into those paper containers we use for the van to deliver meat in are modern electronic weight scales that you can put the container on and tare off the container’s weight to read zero before weighing out whatever you wish. A touch of the screen and they change from Imperial to Metric, another touch and they go back to Imperial again. Lilly was helping in the shop, and doing a good job as she always does, when Old Mary Halbert came in. Lilly served her whilst I was sorting a lamb out. As I expected of the lass, for she’d learnt the job quickly, she put a trotter and a slab of pressed head meat to Mary’s order without having to be telt to do so, and the pair of them were enjoying the craic as Lilly worked and everything was going well, but eventually Mary said, ‘Apart from my stewing beef, that’s it, Pet. I’d like twenty ounces of medium chopped stewing steak weighing out into my pan please.’ Mary has a Victorian cast iron pot that she uses to cook beef stew with a pastry crust on when she has family visiting over the weekend. It’s been in her family a goodly few generations. It’s the cauldron type women used to hang over an open fire from a hook to cook with and despite having had all the soot washed off you can tell it saw many hours of service cooking over an open fire. I’ve seen ’em referred to as Dutch ovens on the internet. It’s a fair weight, at least a stone [14 pounds, 6½ Kg] maybe going on for twice that, and she always asks for her beef to be weighed out straight into her pot so it catches any blood, and it’s always the same pot, These days she comes to the shop with one of her great grand sons to carry it for her. Her lads are like every other, they’ll do owt for any as ‘ll feed ’em.

“That’s something Mary asks us to do usually a couple of times a month, but there were half a dozen lasses in the back working hard weighing out orders that had to be boxed up and ready for the van to collect at twelve to deliver in the afternoon, and the electronic scales would have been in full use. With all the Bearthwaite folk as live outside the valley that we supply with food now a days and the small shops that we provision as well now that’s a lot of work. Even with the help of a couple of young lads the van drivers, Ken and Ian, as were tekin it away to load the vans were hard pressed to keep up with the lasses. I was about to tell Lilly just to weigh the beef and add an ounce extra into a paper container before putting it into Mary’s dish when I heard her say, ‘No problem, Auntie Mary.’ I turned round to see what she was doing.

~Scales~

“Digressing a bit, the set of brass, imperial weights I use with the scales are fancy looking affairs called bell weights. Mine are as old as the scales themselves and the heaviest one is a stone [14 pounds, 6½Kg]. About thirty or forty years since I bought a set of similar looking, fancy, brass, metric bell weights and the heaviest one of those is ten kilos [10Kg, 22 pounds]. That means using all the weights I can weigh up to two stone using the imperial ones or twenty kilos using the metric ones. Out in the back I’ve an really huge set of scales and the weights that originally were selt with it too. That can go up to five hundred weight [5cwt, 560 pounds, 255Kg]. They were made by Avery who made hundreds of thousands of scales and sets of weights of dozens of types and sizes that were exported all over the empire as it was then. My granddad bought them second hand when Dad was a boy. There’s also an Avery steelyard balance(38) that can do two and a half ton, [2500Kg, 11200 pounds], under cover out in the yard, but I only use that for entire beast carcasses. Dad bought that from a scrap yard for next to nowt just after the second world war. When I bought the metric brass weights for the shop scales I’d no real intention of using them because none round here used metric in those days. I bought them because they were a good match with the others and they looked right. Years ago I used to have ’em on the shelf over the back workbench as ornaments for folk to look at. Now they live with the imperial weights next to the scales.

“Anyway back to the tale. Lilly removed the scale pan and replaced it with Mary’s pot and tared it off with metric weights till the pointer read a perfect zero balance. She then added a pound weight and a four ounce weight to the metric ones and weighed out twenty ounces of beef. It was the obviously sensible way to do it. I’d never needed to do it myself, but I thought that it was pretty cute for a lass of thirteen. When I asked why she’d done it that way she replied, ‘Anything would have done the job, even house bricks, as long as they weighed the same as the pan, but the other set of weights was there and gey convenient. After all I didn’t need to know the weight of Auntie Mary’s pan. I just had to tare it off didn’t I?’ It’s not an exciting tale, Lads, but I get fed up with some of our older folk when they run the kids down. Come a day we’ll be running down and the kids will be running everything, and by then they’ll have enough learning and experience to be able to do at least as good a job as we do. I just thought I’d remind us of that.”

Euan McIvor said, “Aye it’s true enough, Lads, and I felt a lot better working in the seventies when I was twenty-odd than I do now I’m retired in the twenties and I’m seventy-odd.”

There was an amused ripple of understanding laughter around the room and Pete grinned at Peter his grandson and said, “Peter ain’t as good a cellar man as I am yet, but there’s no doubt that long before he leaves school he will be. You hit the nail bang on the head there, Vincent, and, Euan, too. None should blame the kids for being young, and think on some of us have already made a good start on running down already.”

“Aye, Pete. Being young is a condition they should be able to enjoy whilst it lasts because all too soon they’ll lose it. I’ve often wondered if trading youth for experience is a good enough deal to buy into, and I still don’t know the answer, not that any of us have a choice. I reckon I’ll have Lilly with me for going on four years, maybe five, by which time I’ll probably be getting ready to hand it all over to Nicky, or at least he’ll working there full time with whatever help he thinks he needs from me, though I doubt he’ll need any by then. When I was badly(39) wi’ my chest a couple of months since and I had to take to my bed for a week, he stepped up and took a few days off school to help me out. The school sent work home on the computer and with his mates, so he could keep up with his A level work. Whilst I was ill, he knocked down and butched one of Elleanor’s Highland bullocks [40] and he dealt with a red deer stag that Harry picked up from the roadside that had been pretty mangled when it took on an artic(41) on the A66. He did exactly what I’d have expected of a good slaughterman and butcher with the bullock, but when I was telt what he’d managed to get out of the stag I was impressed after I’d seen the photos of it before he started on it. The lasses in the back said not a damned pennyweight(42) was wasted, though there were some very grateful ferrets in the village. Seems one text was all he had to make to have all the ferret meat shifted in half an hour. No waste and nothing left in the back of the shop that shouldn’t have been there.”

~Stained Glass and Pews~

In the lounge, Elle said, “I went to the church to view the final few stained glass windows that I was telt you installed last week, Belinda. Truly magnificent. Beautiful. One of our own works of art just like the iroko tables Alf made for the community hall and the pew ends that Heidi carved.”

“Thank you, Elle. I’ll let you all into a secret, Ladies. I suppose I could have finished the windows quite a while back, last year some time for sure, but I was nervous about those last few scenes because they involved a couple of new techniques I’d dreamed up myself, and mistakes could have been expensive in both time and money. If I’d got it badly wrong the window could have left its supporting structures and fallen out of it’s framing. The new techniques involved glass of deliberately uneven thickness containing incompletely melted in shards that I’d made up, coloured and produced myself in Iðunn’s workshop. The process of melting in the shards using an oxy acetylene torch produces glass with interesting light transmissive and reflective properties. For the visitors who haven’t been there yet Iðunn is a glass blower and her workshop is well worth a visit. You can watch her work and make things, and from two till four in the afternoon Monday till Friday you can have a go at blowing glass yourself if you like. You can buy artefacts from her and take your own work home for free. She obtains different sands from all over the country and some from abroad but says none of it is expensive, not even the coloured sands she has from Alum bay on the Isle of Wight.(43) As regards folk making things to take away, she says that it’s only sand that folk are taking and the sand she provides visitors with is as cheap as it gets because it’s from Armstrong’s quarry at Overby.

“The restoration work that I did on the windows at Carlisle cathedral was by way of a practice run. The tricky steps were the cutting, and then the setting of the artisan glass I’d made into the lead came(44) which joins all the individual glass pieces together into the scene or pattern that makes up the window. Finally the came had to be affixed to the stainless steel rods that provide the entire window with its rigidity. Most older windows use mild steel rods or bar, but I’ve only ever used stainless because it’ll last for centuries, if not millennia, without corrosion, and the grade I use is stronger which means I can uses thinner rods which are not as visible running across the scenes. The trick is to solder wire to the came and twist and solder it around the stainless rods. I’d known the cathedral job was coming up for a couple of years, so I bad(45) my time, after all it had taken me twenty years to replace most of the plain glass in the church, so another year or two was no big deal, and I wanted to do it right first time. I didn’t make any mistakes cutting the glass and with a little care the pieces mounted securely in the lead came to produce rigidly robust windows at the cathedral, but if I had made any mistakes at least it would have been on someone else’s time and money not ours.” There was a lot of chuckling at that. “The work on our windows was much more difficult because my vision of the final product was so much more demanding in terms of the way I wished the light to interact with the glass than what I produced for the cathedral, but the work for the cathedral had provided me with proof that the concept worked in terms of the glass light interactions and evidence that the processes were at least viable in terms of construction.”

~Visitors~

Alice who owned and worked the flour mill with Phil her husband said, “There was a coach load of tourists in the church when I went to look. They were all amazed first at the beauty of the windows and then at the total lack of religious scenes and depictions. Some of them were not entirely at ease with the scenes depicting a butcher eviscerating and then splitting a pig in half with a cleaver as it hung from a gambrel.(46) Vincent was there too and he telt me he thought it was excellently illustrated, and the cleaver work was perfectly executed for he could see that the spine was split perfectly down the middle which he said would make for attractive looking chops exactly the way a good butcher would wish them to look for putting in the shop window or in the display cabinet. I thought one of the tourists was going to threw up when she heard him say that. Vincent ignored the woman but as he was leaving he said to me in a loud voice, ‘I recently heard, Alice, that Hell is staffed by vegetarians and the security guards are all vegans, so I’m going to heaven where folk like me are well thought of because the angels who run the spot are known to enjoy a deliciously bloody, blue steak, and there are no security guards because none of the residents wish to leave,’ which a number of folk laught at. I was still laughing when I got home. The tourists struggled to get their heads around the fact that all the glass scenes were relatively recent creations by a local artist who was not only alive but wasn’t even elderly. I explained the windows depicted scenes from the valley at all seasons and under all weather conditions as well as farming and other local crafting and trades scenes too.

“That many of those crafting scenes were of centuries old activities like dry stone walling and shepherding whilst some were totally modern in nature, like the depictions of Christine’s huge pressure canner being loaded, venting steam and being unloaded, they could see, but that some of the most splendid were of activities which blended the ancient with the modern, like the scenes of the dry stone wallers working with the fencers, or the Tuskers and the tractors reclaiming land from the bracken, perplexed many of them. The one that baffled them most was the one shewing Chance working at a computer database, Madeleine wrapping and boxing carp and Emily examining output from an address label printer. I wasn’t sure why, but I suspect it was because they couldn’t understand why any would wish to celebrate such activities. Who knows?” She laught and said, “You’d have thought I was a tour guide. They were completely blown away by the huge only recently installed triptych(47) that forms the single scene behind where the altar originally was and agreed the image depicting the force at the back of the valley in a storm was one of the most spectacular works of art they had ever seen. They said that the lighting effects brought the lightning to life so vividly they could almost hear the thunder and smell the nose tingling ozone the flash caused, and the lightning illuminated torrent as it deluged off the fell behind it as a force to be channelled down the ravine, which I explained was a millennia old pack pony trail, was portrayed so realistically it were as if one were there. Many of them said the mist they could see felt so real that they almost felt the dampness off it. I agree that the ever changing back lighting from the spot lights outside the window that Hal Levens set up to shine via rotating, multi coloured mirrors in kaleidoscopes imitates a lightning storm so well as to make it so real seeming that it’s as if one were standing there right in front of the force at the valley head. The real marvel of it to me is the shifting light effects never repeat themselves. There’s a notice there explaining it all, but some of them don’t seem to be bright enough to understand it unless there’s someone like me there to read it to them.” At that Alice shrugged her shoulders.

“Aye, Alice, but a lot of the drama is due to the interaction of Hal’s wonderful, kaleidoscopic lighting with that irregular glass that I spent a couple of years perfecting. The sources of light from Hal’s gadgets all rotate the light unevenly with as you said unpredictably changing speed and the intensity and colours of the light change subtly due to the kaleidoscopes but equally unevenly thanks to some clever electronics produced by Pat. The glass shards are only melted at the point of contact with the glass sheet to which they are attached and they have broken and sharp edges which I was careful to keep untouched by the oxyacetylene flame which would have dulled their razor sharp edges which are what produce the sudden and immediately chaotic changes in their interactions with the lights as they change mimicking the way that a lightning strike behaves. It’s the combination of the fixed changes brought about by the irregular glass and the never repeating changes brought about by the lighting that create the illusion of the storm. I was very happy with the final result. I hadn’t dreamt of being able to produce such a splendid effect. Hal and Pat’s work repaid the time I put into developing the glass many times over.” At that there were nods and smiles of agreement, and a small silence of reflection.

When Alice resumed she said, “The tourists were equally fascinated by Heidi’s carvings on the pew ends and again couldn’t believe that they too were of relatively recent creation, and had been commissioned as celebrations of Bearthwaite life and had nothing to do with Christianity that like all other religions had no meaning to Bearthwaite folk. As most of you will know Heidi has left the last few of the pews for future work and just recently she has carved one of Murray conducting a wedding ceremony and another of Ian and his crew trawling for charr on the water. That those two were only a matter of months old rather than centuries amazed them and that such skills were to be found resident in a place the size of Bearthwaite seemed impossible. I suspected a couple of the tourists were on the edge of accusing me of lying.” Alice shrugged with indifference, but the local women had noticed her use of the locally pejorative term tourists rather than the politer term visitors although that went over the heads of the outsiders.

“I turned the spot lights on for them and telt them that if they looked carefully they would see that like the stained glass windows the carved scenes too were of ancient activities, modern ones and ones that blended the ancient and the modern. I also telt them that when the village had bought the church and it’s property the Church of England had deconsecrated it, so it wasn’t actually a church any more, and they’d also wished to take the existing stained glass because it was valuable and meaningful to them. The tourists were amazed that we hadn’t been bothered because the images meant nothing to us, and we’d insisted that they took all of the stained glass, not just the religious scenes but the ones that related to the Gershambe family too. The Gershambes were the family who’d owned the valley and oppressed the residents for centuries till they selt it to pay death duties to the Challacombes from whom we bought it. That we’d insisted that the open window spaces were reglazed with clear glass at the churches expense some considered to be sacrilegious.

“They couldn’t understand why we wanted the building as a large public assembly place if it wasn’t actually a church any more. I tried to explain, but when I saw I wasn’t getting through to them I gave up. I explained although the new windows’ genesis was a straight forward matter due to our appreciation of what would be in keeping with both the building and our values, the genesis of the pew end carvings was more complex. Most of them were aware of the Grumpy Old Men’s Society and the tale telling, so I explained that Charlie had telt a tale years ago concerning an article in a wood carvers’ magazine that was already many years old when he’d read it years before he telt the tale. The article was about centuries old oak pews in a small village church down south that centuries after the pews had been made had had their ends carved in deep relief with rural scenes by a lady wood carver. I telt them that our carver too was a lady who was a woodworker and a carver who mostly made treen and bespoke picture frames for art galleries and museums. I had to explain that treen referred to small wooden artefacts and that the word treen was related to tree in the same way that the word wooden was related to wood and woollen to wool, though a third e was not added, just the n, [treen not treeen]. I think some of them even understood that.”

Kathleen said, “I went to see the final pieces of stained glass last week too, and whilst I was there I looked at the pew ends again too. My favourites are still the scenes of the bee keepers working their hives. I know I could be said to be biased because I’m a bee keeper, but those scenes are so true to life and they will be the only such works of art that depict our twenty by twenty [508mm x 508mm] hives in enough detail for any bee keeper to be able to tell at a glance that’s what they are. Most images of bee keepers going about their craft shew them using skeps(48) because the artists feel they are more real, whatever that is supposed to mean. Skeps were essentially history before my grandparents were born, though some bee keepers I know still use one for catching swarms in because they’re so light. A modern image purporting to shew bee keeping as it is carried out by the overwhelming majority of bee keepers has to involve movable frame hives of a modern design using Langstroth type frames which excludes British National type hives and any that uses British National type frames with long lugs. It’s doubtless true that I don’t know enough to fully appreciate some of the other scenes, and I’m sure others who do have that knowledge will have different favourites based on similar reasoning to mine. However, those two will always be special to me.”

Belinda said, “It always means a lot to any artist to receive that kind of praise from someone who has that level of specialist knowledge. That is what I aimed for with all the scenes. In order to do that I consulted a lot of photographs, a lot of which I’d had to take myself, as I worked and I sought advice from many experts on each and every scene. I know Heidi did too because it was she who advised me that that was the way to ensure what appeared to be faithful reproductions. She telt me that any mediocre artist in any medium could produce excellent scenes that appeared wonderful to the general public, but it was much more challenging and time consuming to produce something that would elicit the same response from those who were experts concerning the subject matter. The example she used was that anyone could create an image of a generic tractor that would be well received by folk who knew nowt about tractors, but if it were desired that an elderly farmer instantly recognised it as say a nineteen fifty-seven Ford Dexter, then one had to have appropriate photographs and talk to an elderly farmer concerning which aspects of the photo were critical for correct identification.

“Heidi maintained that you needed that information in order to enhance those features without it being noticeable. The tractor in some of my scenes is a nineteen fifty-seven Ford Dexter, and the farmer I talked to was Auld Alan Peabody because it’s one of his tractors. I sketched several designs before he was satisfied. I did the sketches in his parlour and was pretty drunk when I left.” The local women understood and were laughing, but the outsiders needed to have that explained. “Auld Alan is nigh to a hundred years auld, and the only refreshment he serves in his parlour is single malt whisky, and you have to drink with him and he can drink like a fish. I underwent a similar process with every single scene, but without the whisky thank goodness, as did Heidi a decade before me. However, even though I have now replaced every clear glass window I still haven’t finished with the church. Gilespie made the new hardwood window frames for every window aperture in the church. I asked that despite the variations in the aperture sizes that he created frames that had a minimum number of internal sizes so they would accept standard sized stained glass windows. The idea was that though the frames are fixed and sealed into their apertures, the glass fits up against a flexible seal and is easily removable for maintenance in order to make the lives of myself and those who come after me much easier.

“It would have been about five years ago that I realised I could create different easily changeable scenes for any particular frame. In particular I wish to be able to change the glass according to what ever those particular scenes would shew at that time of year. I took volumes of notes and thousands of photographs, and there are copies of them all in the library. There are also photographs of all Heidi’s pew ends and Alf’s tables. I did huge numbers of sketches and glass outlines from which I can work. I wish to have two large triptych window scenes for behind the altar space. The one that’s there and the other in good summer weather shewing visitors scrambling up the pack pony trail. I have half a dozen scenes for the tractors and agricultural work, two more of bee keepers at work including foundation and candle making and honey processing both liquid and sections and scores for all the other activities that would make good subjects for a work in glass, even one of a glass blower at work.

“I wish to do a scene at the hatchery as a mate for the charr trawl and to shew a saining and a general meeting in the church. I thought about a funeral, but in the end considered it would be disrespectful. Not to portray a funeral, but to make such a scene accessible to outsiders, for they would not view it with the respect that we would.” There was a murmur of agreement and many of the outsider women present realised that there was a lot more to Bearthwaite society and mores than was readily apparent. “The hard work is done, that was collecting the information and the photographs and then producing sketches acceptable to our experts. Of course now I have to earn a living doing outside work and the church has become a hobby, so it’ll probably take another twenty years to see the job done, and when it is finished I wish to create windows shewing the observatory on Flat Top Fell and the new dam when they are finished that can be exchanged from time to time with the scenes of the major buildings of Bearthwaite. However, a lass has to have something to occupy her mind because she can’t be thinking about men all the time can she?”

When the laughter had quietened, Elle said, “I think Bearthwaite can more than afford to support a few artists in residence, Belinda, and will be more than willing to do so too, for they are the ones who are recording our culture. It is similar to the way in which Annalísa is recording and translating the sǫgur that have been said by the High Fell speakers for over a thousand years. A history that we nearly lost. To those of you who do not live here, our shepherds and some others speak a language called High Fell that is nearly what the Vikings spoke a thousand years ago. They have an oral tradition of telling tales verbatim as they were telt a long time ago. They call it sagasay, for saga means that which is said or telt. The plural of saga in High Fell is sǫgur. There has been a lot in the media recently concerning their sǫgur. Belinda, I suggest you only take on outside work that interests you and the rest of your time you spend on your hobby, because that will be of far greater interest and import to us than what you do outside. I think the visitors would be interested in windows that changed according to the season and if somehow they could see you at work even if only through a plate glass shop window that would generate more interest and enhance our reputation as an interesting place to visit. That would generate income and…. I’m not sure and what, but I will talk to others and get back to you. Does Denis know you only do the windows to avoid thinking about men?” Elle had a smile on her face as she asked.

“It was his idea in the first place. Elle. We’d been having an exchange of unfriendly words when in anger he shouted he’d rather I took up with other men than spent so much time messing about with shards of broken glass. I’ve just never let him forget that he said that. You know what men are like, Ladies, if you ever let them think they’ve got the upper hand the rest of your life won’t be worth living. I just got the edge over him pretty early on in our relationship. I’m for another glass of Gladys’ excellent punch, but I’ll have an extra brandy in mine this time please. Then again if there is there any of that rum that Adio provides available I’ll try that. It should be safe enough in the punch and I’ve a mind to try the taste.”

Harriet replied saying, “There’s a two gallon bottle of it in the kitchen that Auntie Aggie and Brigitte use for cooking, but I’ll get Gustav or Dad to provide us with a bottle that’s somewhat easier to pick up, Belinda. I’ll only be a couple of minutes. A few minutes later Harriet was back with a normal seven hundred and fifty millilitre sized spirits bottle [1⅓ Imperial pints, 26⅔ fluid ounces] that the label proclaimed contained Captain Morgan Original Spiced Gold. “This was an empty. I’ve washed it out and Gustav had one of the men fill it for me. If you like it we’ll keep it behind the bar on this side. I’ll pour you a little to try straight.

After sipping the rum Belinda said, “Ugh. No Thank you, Harriet, but I can see it will be okay in the punch.” A minute or so later, Belinda said, “That I like. A single in a punch is almost like a double of something else. I recommend any of you who like rum give it a try rather than sticking with Lidl’s cheap brandy.” A number of the women tried the hostage rum and all decided it was very agreeable. The giggles had almost disappeared by the time they all had another glass of punch. Not every one had a brandy or a rum added but five and a half bottles of brandy were used by those who did and the rum bottle was near enough empty, which at twenty-one thirty-five millilitres shots(49) to the standard seven fifty millilitre [27 fl oz] bottle amounted to a lot of happy ladies. Whilst not comparable to the ‘brandy’ drunk in the taproom, the brandy the ladies drank with their punch was one of the cheaper varieties widely available from the discount supermarkets Lidl and Aldi. Higher quality widely known brandies were available, but it was considered to be profligate to use them in punch. The rum provided by Adio was pennies a shot, if that, but Gladys, Harriet and the other local women who knew that decided it would be safer just to regard it as any other rum and say nothing as to its origins. The other women were already referring to it as Captain Morgan rum, and it wouldn’t take long before they all believed that that was what it was.

~Iðunn and Uilleam~

Alice announced, “Talking of the doings of Iðunn, or at least those of Iðunn and Uilleam. I heard this morning that in addition to all of Uilleam’s apprentices that Iðunn looks after and mothers unofficially they’ve officially adopted a dozen lasses and lads in ages from two to sixteen. All were just dumped into the so called care system and most have proved to be problematic to their numerous foster parents which I suspect is due their history and how they have been tret by the system including by their foster parents. It seems Social Services were going to drop them all into an orphanage [US group home] and forget about them, but Germain Beattie transferred them to NCSG with a recommendation to see what they could do for the kids here. The NCSG investigators are looking into the histories of all of the kids and that Jym Rosehill, who has been promoted to senior investigator, is so fired up she’s in burn, kill, slash and slaughter mode. She’s that pregnant lass of maybe thirty or so whose man just upped and left her as soon as he realised she was expecting, The lass that Grant Peabody is seriously interested in, and it seems she’s not got a problem with that. Our lasses as know her say she’s one of us so no problems there.

“The kids were all taken to Iðunn and Uilleam’s spot by minibus yesterday. Uilleam had had to leave for work before they arrived, but Iðunn soon settled them and telt them that though things would be a bit cramped for space for a couple of days they’d be moving to a new spot where they’d have a room each. They’re taking a pair of those big semis on the far side of the green. The delay is the Levens men’s builders need the time to turn the pair into a single house. I doubt if it’ll be a surprise to any of us, but the kids created no problems for Iðunn. I’ve said it before and I’ll probably say it again many times, Grayson the educational psychologist is right when he says, kids don’t need much to make them happy. He’s always said you don’t need to be a psychologist to work out that a warm, dry, well fed, cared for and loved child is a happy and well behaved child. He also says that’s something that every decent mum knows in her heart as well as her head. Iðunn had the kids sorted in twenty minutes and the older ones helping the younger ones settle in half an hour.

“When Uilleam came home they were a bit nervous, and I can understand that, for he’s a big, tough and physically imposing looking man, but the little ones were soon okay because after Iðunn had bathed them he dried them and helped them into their night clothes before tucking them up into bed and telling them a bedtime story. Seemingly he telt them one of the child friendlier sǫgur which naturally they’d never heard before. He telt it complete with all the High Fell words that don’t translate gey well in High Fell. The kids were fascinated and asked a lot of questions. Uilleam said it was a gey auld local language that was particularly suitable for telling stories called sǫgur in. The kids all want to learn High Fell. Whilst Iðunn prepared supper, which was a surprise to the older kids because they are all malnourished and had never been fed at supper time before, Uilleam explained what his job as a dry stone waller involved and telt them that they had a choice of school or what he described as paid work experience with either one of his gangs or any number of other tradesmen and women who would be glad to have their assistance in return for apprenticeship training. Some of them wished to go to school, but admitted they’d missed a lot of schooling.

“Uilleam explained that that would not be held against them and they could learn at their own pace and would not have to leave school at any stage just because of their age. He added that even if they chose to undertake training they could continue learning whatever they decided they needed to learn either on day release or at evening classes. Due to the kids’ extreme nervousness, which he ascribed to the kids wanting to do what they thought he wished them to do, he telt them. ‘Whatever you are thinking, just stop. You are not here because Social Services wished to dump you somewhere where you would no longer be a problem to them, though I don’t doubt that that is the way they regard you. I, like most Bearthwaite folk, don’t get on with most Social Workers, but Germain Beattie, who is the local director of Social Services is a friend of ours. She is going to marry a Bearthwaite man soon. You’ll all be invited to the wedding celebrations. She had your cases transferred to NCSG and asked that they looked into what Bearthwaite could do for you. NCSG don’t give a damn about politics or Social Services. They only care about the weal, that means well being, of children, and they definitely are our friends.’

“ ‘You are here because after NCSG contacted us Iðunn and I wanted you to join us as family. We want to be your mum and dad. I suggest you give it a few days. If you then wish to leave here all you have to do is say so, and NCSG will do their damnedest to find you somewhere where you will be happy. All they care about is what you need and what will make you happy. If that isn’t Iðunn and me they will take you to meet a family where you will be happier as soon as they can. Iðunn and I will be sad that you weren’t happy with us, but we will accept your choice because it is your choice not ours.’ The kids all decided to stay and telt Iðunn and Uilleam separately that they were the best thing that had ever happened to them. Most are in school and the three who elected for training are all doing evening classes in literacy, numeracy and Bearthwaiteacy or whatever it is that Jill Levens calls that induction to living here that she put together for kids rescued from whatever kind of hell they’d lived in before coming here.”

~Religion at Bearthwaite~

In the taproom, Dave said, “I’m not sure if all of what I’m going to say can rightly be called a tale, though what I witnessed my self is worthy of the title. The rest are just interesting snippets rather than tales. They all concern interactions of some of the kids with some of the tourists. I’m only claiming to have witnessed my main offering personally and I’m not swearing to the total truth of what I’ve been telt by others, though I reckon in the main all of what I was telt will be pretty close to actual events because they are all pretty similar. If any has owt to add at any point please feel free to interrupt because I reckon any number of us must have seen incidents from time to time like the ones I’m about to relate. I heard one of the lads, I didn’t recognise him, but he’d have been rising school leaving age certainly no more, tell a group of tourists to the church who’d been more than a little disparaging of his answers to their questions concerning us, our beliefs and our church, words to the effect of,

“ ‘We do not need a mouldy old book written for, if not by, the powerful to use to control the rest of us, nor do we need some brainwashed, witless parasite wearing his collar the wrong way round spouting vitriol and hatred, and if not those at least spouting complete bullshit and færie tales called some kind of Christianity, to tell us what is right and how to live as decent human beings, when our ancestors have been living here as decent human beings since long before any of the writers of that poxy book were even born. We are not the ones who turned the world into the damaged, polluted wasteland that it is and the oceans into festering chemically poisoned dumping grounds full of probably thousands of different kinds of toxic waste. We are not the ones who have forced probably hundreds of thousands of creatures and plants into extinction. We are not the ones who have caused constant wars, poverty and famine. Perhaps most significantly we are not the ones who have disrespected our elders and ancestors. We are the ones who have listened, considered and made our own minds up as to what constitutes a proper way to live in our time, so that we in our turn can guide our children, so that they too in their turn can make their own minds up as to what is decent, proper and wise for future generations in their time.’

“It was a fair(50) high powered, well delivered rant. To say the tourists were stunned was an understatement, some were clearly offended and one started to have a go at the lad for cheek. A rather well developed young lass, who I suspected from her similarity to Ellen is one of Alf’s granddaughters, kissed the lad and telt the bloke who was having a go at her boyfriend that if he didn’t like Bearthwaite beliefs and customs perhaps it would be best for all if he left and didn’t bother coming back, for his kind with their perverse, twisted, sick and dangerous views on life and living and contempt for and abuse of their environment would never be welcome amongst Bearthwaite folk. She then asked the lad, purely I suspect for badness and the shock value of it because she was obviously gey angry, ‘Would you like to make a start on those children you mentioned before dinner, Love?’ The roars of laughter from the other kids had me still chuckling nearly an hour later when I got home. Lucy thought it to be as funny as I did.”

Alf chuckled and said, “Aye, that lass was Iris. She plans on working wi’ Christine preserving fruit and vegetables, and telt Ellen all about the incident, so her gran could make sure her mum heard the tale in context rather than a garbled version that would upset some of the family. The lad was Viggo one of Gilespie and Louise’s grandsons who intends to tek up farm work. Spirited pair, plucky too. They’ll do us proud. Ellen telt me that there were a dozen or so of the kids in the church washing and polishing the woodwork and such like for their school course in community care. Jill Levens, as married Jack, is the school and community librarian, and Murray persuaded her to teach A level English literature starting last September. Being more involved with the kids than she used to be, she came up with the idea of the course in community care and oversees it. It involves all sorts, baby sitting, checking the old folks are okay, cleaning and polishing community buildings, helping out at community barbecues and a whole lot more. Now before you ask, sure the kids all did that before, but now Jill is recording it as an official activity, so they can include it on university applications and the like. She reckoned if there ain’t paperwork on something it doen’t carry much clout(51) out there. This way the kids do what they’d do anyway, but get some credit for it with outsiders.

“Anyway, back to Viggo and Iris. Seemingly the others all backed the pair up and some of the tourists left with their knickers in a twist, one of the blokes calling us all the spawn of Satan. Guðrún, Gerry’s fifteen year old granddaughter, the one as Vincent said wants to be a gynaecologist and has paired up with young Victor who wants to study astronomy and then teach, squared up to him preventing him from leaving and telt ’em, and I’m not quoting verbatim, but it’ll be near enough, ‘We all know that my Uncle Satan was a bit of a lad when he was younger and doubtless he put it about more than a bit when he lived down south. Mum telt me he settled down and gave up philandering and seducing married women when he came back to Bearthwaite and married Auntie Lilith. So the only spawn of Satan knocking around will be where you lot come from. Are you totally certain that the kids your wives telt you are yours really are? Had a DNA test done have you? Uncle Satan has always maintained that he had to come home because the women down country were so depressingly ugly and miserable that he had to resort to using ale as a sex aid, for only then could he face going there. He always said that given enough ale even the truly ugly and miserable became twelve pint princesses.’ I didn’t know till Sasha telt me that in some of the old scriptures Lilith was a demoness who was Adam’s first wife before Eve. I didn’t even know he’d had a wife before Eve. Not a bad put down at all for a fifteen year old lass. You can be proud of that lass, Gerry, because that little tale of hers that she made up in its entirety on the spot put the entire bunch of ’em completely to rout. I heard they near enough ran out of the church, and the kids hadn’t stopped laughing when they went to bed. Let’s have a pint, Lads, before Dave carries on.”

A few minutes later Dave resumed, “In most of the snippets I heard most of the children were neither as blunt nor as forceful as Guðrún, but some were, and they were just as as happy to speak their minds to a cleric wearing a dog collar(52) as to any else. That was a serious shock to many churchy type tourists who’d assumed that Bearthwaite folk were good god fearing folk as they understood the term. It seems a lot of ’em, including that vicar, believed you couldn’t be a decent human being without the god crap and when they tried convincing the kids of that they were shocked to be firmly put in their places by a bunch of youngsters who they believed should just listen and not answer back to their elders. In response Snædís,(53) Valerie and Ted’s youngest lass, who’d be about nine now telt them that Bearthwaite kids were reared to think and do for themselves and not to just wait to be telt what to think and certainly not to just wait for an adult to do something for them that they could at least have a try at doing for themselves. She added that any number of highly thought of philosophers had said over the ages that the human capacity for self delusion was boundless including Jordan Peterson that Canadian bloke who had spent decades as an atheist but not long ago had turned to religion which she telt them just meant that his popularity ratings on Youtube must be going down to the point where he had to do something about it rather than he’d actually fallen for any of the god crap.

“I’ve heard several tales about American tourists, who were shocked to realise that, despite what they’d heard about us from outsiders before they came here, Bearthwaite folk were not the English equivalent of their red necked hill billies, nor even of their isolationist Amish.(54) Which was what some of them had considered us to be. One woman asked the kids if we were connected to the Shakers,(55) which I’m reliably telt had the kids shaking with laughter, no connection I’m sure. A group that had been having a go at some of the kids was even more shocked to be telt that some Bearthwaite folk considered many descendants of those who’d left England for America in pursuit of religious freedom to be little different from their ancestors who’d been antisocial, bigoted criminals who’d left for fear that the law, or worse their neighbours, would catch up with them and use them for fuel on a public bonfire.”

Ægir added, “Well I reckon what I heard can top all of that. I was bringing my dogs down to visit Hamilton for their annual check up when I saw and heard a tourist that puts all those others to shame in the arsehole stakes. I can’t say where he came from because I’m no good at accents that aren’t from hereabouts, but you know the type, one of the ones that you need to wear sunglasses so as to protect your eyes from the brightness of the shirt, and no bugger as fat as him, with legs as spindly and anaemic as his should ever wear shorts. I swear his belly was hanging a foot lower than his bollocks. This idiot had been having a go at one of our lasses that was in a group of maybe a dozen, all couples in their mid teens I’d say. He said she’d got all sorts of connections to the devil and ended up calling her a slut because of what she was wearing and her behaviour with the rather large and strong looking young man through whose arm hers was. A young man he said she was clearly hell bent on seducing away from the paths of righteousness.

“It was a hot day and she was wearing what hundreds of our lasses wear in weather like that, a tee shirt and shorts, and she wasn’t hanging out of either like some of the tourist lasses do. I was on my way to deal with the bastard and ensure he left the valley when her mightily offended boyfriend stepped up and dealt with the matter. A true master of wit and repartee the lad said, ‘Fuck off, Shithead, before I twat(56) you one.’ As he moved towards the tourist the bloke turned and fled. Now, folk that obese shouldn’t even attempt to run and he made four possibly five steps before falling over. The kids who were all laughing fit to burst ignored him and left him lying there on the ground which I considered to be appropriate, so I did too. That sort of thing meks me gey glad I spend most of my life up on the tops wi’ dogs and sheep. As a rule, without good dogs, sheep can be relied on to do exactly what you don’t want, but they’re never bigoted or malicious about it, just stupid.”

After the laughter abated, Dave continued and said, “Tell you, Lads, Vincent was absolutely bang on, this spot is going be in damned good hands when we’ve all gone to enjoy life courtesy of Gustav’s heavenly brewery and distillery in the taproom of Pete and Gladys’ Celestial Dragon Inn, all situate in the Valhalla Paradise Valley in the sky. Most of us tek no shit from any, if anything the kids are even less inclined to tek any than us and their parents. We’ve always known that when the chips are down women have always been much more dangerous than men when their families and friends are under threat. Well it’s breeding true lads. Some of those lasses I’ve heard about going toe to toe with those outsider idiots who tried giving their boyfriends a hard time hadn’t even started puberty never mind gone through it, and they were every bit as feisty as their mums and grans. I hate to even think what they’ll be like when they’re riding their first broomstick.(57) All is all right with the world at Bearthwaite, and it looks like it’s going to stay that way. Time for a glass and I’m going to raise mine to the kids. That’s your generation, Young Peter, and it includes you, My Lad.”

The ladies briefly wondered what all the noise was about in the taproom. Gladys went behind the bar to listen and when she returned to explain concerning the loud shouts of, ‘To the Kids’, the ladies lifted their glasses, but somewhat more quietly, ‘To the Children’.

~Second Class Men~

“I want to know why so many women, intelligent ones too, are so hell bent on becoming second class men when they are already first class women, and some are the equal of any, man or woman? Now I reckon I’m a tolerant and respectful man, even if I am having a bit of a rant. There’s none in the LGBTP that I have any issues with because they’re whatever it is that they are. Naturally enough there are some in the LGBTP who are complete twats, bound to be, after all no group of folk is without twats any more than any has a monopoly on twatdom, and why should they be any different from any other group of folk. Naturally they’ll have their fair share. Of course I’d have a downer on those members of the LGBTP, if I knew any that is, but I don’t, but that would be because they’re twats not for any other reason. Same as with black folk, I don’t like black twats. Like I’ve always said being black is fine, being a twat is not.”

Black Simon, the Bearthwaite blacksmith who came from Jamaica interrupted to say, “I’m with you all the way on that one, Gee. I can’t stand black twats either.” There was a ripple of quiet laughter around the room, but it was only from outsiders.

Adio was a very dark skinned Jamaican who mostly lived on his boat, The Free Spirit, sometimes at Bearthwaite and occasionally at Kingston Jamaica. He derived a considerable part of his livelihood from smuggling spirits. He’d always maintained he initially took to the high seas because his life on land was made so miserable by folk he’d refused to call arseholes because unlike an arsehole they weren’t in the least bit useful. Adio with his wife Alerica was currently enjoying a fortnight or so at the Green Dragon as a guest of Pete and Gladys after having delivered a full cargo of various spirits which at the time were somewhere en route between the Solway beaches he’d dropped the barrels off at and the Green Dragon. On hearing Simon’s remark he’d added, “Simon knows what he’s talking about, Lads. Trust me, back home we’ve got far more than our fair share of them. That’s why I left for a life at sea sailing with folk I get on with. Life in Kingston is a complete nightmare. I only ever go there to arrange for a cargo of rum.”

Simon was a huge elderly man with a full head of tightly curled, wiry, pale grey hair that had once been as black as his skin still was. In Bearthwaite, the Black that prepended his name may possibly have originally been due to the colour of his skin, but for decades it had solely been due to his trade, and Theo his adopted great grandson and latest apprentice, who had pale skin and bright red hair was known as Black Theo for the same reason. With Theo, Simon’s history had repeated itself. He’d been rescued from abuse by Simon during a fight he was losing against heavy odds in Coventry and surreptitiously taken two hundred and fifty miles north to Bearthwaite. Theo had been living on the streets, and, like Simon in his early years at Bearthwaite, Theo didn’t officially exist. Theo was tall and skinny but had a whipcord like strength about him and his biceps were abuilding rapidly due to his endeavours at the anvil. As Simon had worshipped Thomson and followed his trade, Theo worshipped Simon and followed his trade too. Theo attended the Bearthwaite Educational Establishment, but his name didn’t appear on any documentation anywhere.

Theo and Michaela, who was a year younger than Theo, had been an item since not long after her adoption by Samantha and Gee Shaw. Theo’s non existence was an open secret in the village and Michaela’s parents who farmed at Pant Pedwar, the hill farm right up at the valley head, had discussed with Theo and his family what should be done in the unlikely event of officialdom starting to sniff around and ask questions. It had been decided that Theo would move in with them and stay out of sight till it was safe. It was at that point that Murray with the agreement of the educational staff proposed that all lessons should be video recorded and available on line, so that in future Theo, any other non existent children like him and children too ill to attend school wouldn’t miss out on any education. All the children knew that his relationship with Michaela was not to be talked about in front of any who was not Bearthwaite folk. Theo only had to not exist for another three and a half years and as Simon had said, “There are a lot of secrets here that have been kept for a lot longer than that, Son. If need be you could spend as much time as necessary to keep you safe up on the fells with the shepherds and the wallers. Since the increase in the number of shepherds and sheep on Bearthwaite land the wallers and builders have restored all the existing bothies(58) and started building some on recently acquired land.” In the end none of it had proved necessary, and Theo officially emerged aged eighteen for his wedding, though he and Michaela had been living as man and wife for a couple of years by then. Chance had put his previous address in Coventry down as his original place of residence in the registrars’ paperwork, but his Bearthwaite address was on Michaela’s Marriage Lines(59) and it was never questioned. Black Theo was a man of Bearthwaite.

Many Bearthwaite folk had such trade related soubriquets, some, like Black Theo, were prepended to their names and some were appended to them, to wit Phil the Mill and Vince the Mince. Such weren’t restricted to men nor even adults. Tracy Maxwell a diminutive and pretty woman was known as Trucking Trace, because she drove a crew cab pick up delivering goods and even Bearthwaite folk too, which was unlicensed and hence illegal taxiing, for a living. Livvy had been called Hotshot Livvy because of her skill with a shot gun and later a rifle for years. Gunni Peabody was referred to as Gunni Gris because gris(60) was an ancient word for a pig and mostly he managed the pigs whilst his elder brothers mostly managed the dairy’s activities. Drusilla Parker who’d lived to a hundred and two had been called Granny Parker for so long that few had known her first name. Mostly she’d just been referred to as Granny. In Bearthwaite when one had referred to Granny without further identifier or qualifier all had known you were referring to Granny Parker. There were many more such, some obvious as to how they were arrived at, some not. Some were generic and had vague rules, or perhaps usual usages would be a better way to put it, associated with them, examples of which would be, none were ever referred to as Auld, as in Auld Mary or Auld Alan, till she or he was at least seventy turned. To be called Granny, as in Granny Dahlman, a woman had to be in her eighties, for such were titles of respect. To outsiders the mystery that was Bearthwaite was at times impenetrable, and that was just how the residents liked it.

Gee clearly hadn’t finished and continued to address the taproom. “Before I get well into this rant I wish all the outsiders to be aware that Bearthwaite is a culture based on tolerance for all, and any who wish to disparage any of the LGBTP purely because of what they are is not welcome here. It hasn’t always been like that but it has bin for maybe three decades, certainly long before I came to live here. We have no politics here other than that we support any who support us. We even have friends who vote Labour and others who vote Tory though Bearthwaite folk always spoil their ballot papers often with words of abuse. So I’m warning you all we’ll tolerate no intolerance. Within this room there are gay men, bisexual men, trans men and others who claim the plus aspect of LGBTP. In the best side there are lesbians, bisexual women, trans women and as in here others who claim the plus aspect of LGBTP. I’m surprised that a couple of the lads that cross dress aren’t in the night. Pete said he was expecting them, but may be they were called out to fettle something. They’re both emergency maintenance engineers for the leccy board.(61)

“What matters to Bearthwaite folk, men, women and the others too, is that they all live and behave as Bearthwaite folk, for nowt else matters here. I’ll rephrase that. Who a person sleeps with and how they present themselves in public is of absolutely no consequence to the rest of us. I am specifically addressing outsiders, for locals need no telling concerning these matters. Till you become one of us, if that ever happens, you shall be telt no more, for we protect the privacy of our own whatsoever they choose to be. If you can’t accept our views and any of that bothers you I suggest you never return, for you shall never be welcome here, and I suggest you leave now before you say something that will get you hurt and it would possibly be hurt badly enough to require an operating theatre. We’ll stop now for glasses to be filled and visits to the gents’, which will give any of you who can’t handle the Bearthwaite ethos the opportunity to leave via the back door without being noticed or being beaten unconscious.”

After Gee’s address and the subsequent chaotic pulling of pints, filling of chemic glasses and visits to the gents’ to empty bladders it was noticed that a few faces were missing. As Sasha said, “Clearly the tale telling here was not what they expected. Your last few remarks were unexpected and gey hardline, Gee. Neither unwelcome, nor in any way untrue, but unexpected all the same. Why did you feel the need to make the matter clear just now?”

Gee replied, “I’m not entirely sure, Sasha, but Samantha’s been getting a bit rattled about such things recently and I don’t like owt that upsets my family, so maybe I was just having a go to level the playing field a bit, but I don’t really know. For those of you from outside who don’t know, Sam, my missus, is openly trans, and I and all of the local men here are more than willing to fight to defend her right to be herself as she sees it and equally the rights of all other Bearthwaite folk too. She punches well above her weight(62) in terms of what she has done for Bearthwaite folk and only an idiot would give someone like that a hard time. The fact is none deserve a hard time for just being who they are. Sam says she came across plenty of nasty LGBTP folk when she worked round Manchester, but I haven’t. Mind I’ve never lived in a city either. Sam naturally enough I suppose takes more notice than I do of what’s in the media concerning such matters, and she was upset the other evening after watching some garbage interview program on the TV.

“What upset her was folk who should have known better were having a go at each other. She ended up asking me if I had any idea why were some members of the disparate sections of the LGBTP attacking each other? Her view was they had obviously never heard of the divide and conquer principal, because that was what the nasties in the bigots and the media were managing to do very successfully to them all, and some of the idiots in the LGBTP were assisting them. She paraphrased another principal and said united they would stand, but divided they would surely fall, and the idiots were doing the bigots’ self appointed task for them. Sam reckons that part of the problem is so called celebrities wanting to take on an identity that keeps them in the public eye. Most will admit to owt if it gets them a bit of media coverage. I suppose that’s what young Snædís was saying about that Peterson bloke getting religion. Sam reckons that trans is the in ID these days, folk she refers to as transtrenders. Once it was fashionable to be gay, then it was being bi that rang all the bells, currently it’s trans, but I like her do wonder what it will be next.

“Which segues me nicely to my rant.” Gee was clearly puzzled as he went on to say, “What is it
about when some so called celebrity who I’ve never heard of before blows a fortune on a bloody wedding to get married to herself? I mean are they for friggin’ real? I reckon possibly it’s marrying your self that will be the next in thing in terms of identity. It’s even got a name these days, sologamy. Mind I’m not sure it’s legal, wouldn’t that technically be incest? The kind of love life that implies is normal enough for teenagers, though it used to be called self abuse,(63) but I reckon for an adult marrying yourself is next door to being a nutter, if not a sociopath. It seems to be mostly women doing it but I’ve come across several blokes too. Now most of the time, I like myself. I’d even go so far as to say I think I’m decent human being, but unless I’m discussing something like this I don’t make an issue of it, only folk with serious problems would. I’m damned glad I’m married to Sam, and I’m even gladder she came from Bearthwaite where I don’t have to put up with that kind of inanity and insanity. I’m even gladder still that my girls aren’t getting influenced by those sorts of folk, and that they have a decent mum to help them grow up to be decent women like her. As the local lads all know, I’ve said it many a time afore and doubtless I’ll say it many a time again, ‘Thank god for young Theo and Finn.’ I can’t say it would bother me if either of my lasses took up with another lass rather than a lad, but at least they’re not trying to take up with themselves.” The local men smiled but said nothing for they all knew that not only was Gee’s wife Sam trans but Janine one of his adopted twin daughters was trans too.

Alf asserted, “You need a serious sup of chemic, Gee Lad. Pour him a glass someone, he’s far too young to be getting worked up by this sort of nonsense. He’s got youngsters to rear, and we all know every one needs to be able to remain calm in the face of considerable provocation to rear teenagers, and his lasses are wilder than most lads. You’re right, Gee, it doesn’t bear thinking about what they’d be like without the calming influences of Theo and Finn. Anyway, calm down, Lad, you’re starting to spout big words. Insanity okay, but not that other one! There was no call to sully my ears with that sort of talk.” There a lot of chuckling at that, but all knew Alf was right and a bottle of, for once, an innocuous looking, clear liquid was passed along the table. All knew looks could be deceiving, and it was unlikely that the bottle contained the totally innocuous forty percent alcohol by volume Bristol Distilling Company’s London Dry Gin 77 as the label suggested.

However, it was a two gallon [9 litre, 2½ US gal] whisky bottle containing a pale pink, yet ominously evil looking liquor that arrived first in one of the bottles that Gee himself had obtained two artic [eighteen wheeler] loads of a few years before.(64) The pink poison was poured into Gee’s glass. He drank what ever it was he’d been given and after a minute or so said hoarsely, “Alf, I reckon your cure works. None can drink a glass of that stuff and stay wound up because they’re too busy trying to breath and restart their heart. Fill my glass up again, Pete. I’ll see if it works twice, but what the hell is it? and who can I buy some from?”

“I’ll put you down for a few cases, Gee. Adio supplied it in two hundred litre drums, and Peter and some of his school friends bottled it for me last Sunday. There’re just over twenty-two of these bottles like the one you’ve got aholt on(65) to the drum, but it’s a sight easier to handle the bottles than the drums. Adio said it’s some sort of Moldovan, high quality furniture polish restorer.”

“No, Pete, that’s the dark green, sludgy one. The pink is the cheap Romanian paint thinner.” There was a lot of laughter at Adios remark and for a few minutes all that could be heard was the sound of coins clinking as they fell into the children’s Christmas party collection box as bottle after bottle of dark green and pale pink liquors were emptied into glasses. Even the gin bottle was discovered to be empty a few minutes later, though none could remember having drunk the clear stuff. Adio said, “Well whatever it was, it seems to work. There’re not many liquors can claim to have that powerful an effect on the memory so quickly. It smells of aniseed and I picked it up in Cyprus last year. It’s probably Turkish rather than Greek because those bastards will drink anything, but you have to give it to them, that illegal raki the Turkish farmers make in the back woods is damned fine stuff. Mind back woods Greek ouzo is not to be sniffed at and I’ve drunk some very tolerable sambuca, pastis and arak(66) over the years which are all similar. I’ll be collecting a load of raki from Turkey some time next summer.” That caused considerable amusement, because to disparage the Turks for being willing to drink anything in the taproom of the Green Dragon Inn at Bearthwaite was more than a trifle hypocritical.

“Is there owt you won’t drink, Adio?”

“Well, Stan, Coffees of various descriptions and teas too are okay at the appropriate times of the day, though I’m not too fond of water.” It took a while for the laughter to abate.

Eventually Stan said after he’d emptied his third glass of chemic, “Thing is you don’t need to worry about folk marrying themselves or any other shite of that sort, Gee. You’ve got a damned good woman as have the rest of us. They all know how to be sucessful women and are happy about it. Perhaps more to the point we’ve got enough sense to make sure they know we’re happy about it too. Perhaps their most significant characteristic is they all know how to rear kids and especially our daughters and granddaughters who they will ensure will, in their turn, become as sucessful at being women and mothers as their mums and grans are, and, despite their current behaviour, that includes your lasses too. And think on you only need to give it a bit of time and they’ll be Theo and Finn’s problems not yours, Lad, so you can relax and let the world out there go to Hell on its own hand cart under its own steam, for there’s no need at all for you nor any else to give it a push. Our job, our obligation, as men, sucessful men, Bearthwaite men is to protect our way of life by keeping the shite that’s out there out there and to rear our sons to be able to do the same.

“Most of us have really got it made, and that includes you, because most of us are like Alf in that we’re wealthy enough not to have to work if we don’t want to, but like Alf we do anyway, and when all’s said and done there’s stuff as needs done and it does keep boredom at bay. Somehow it never seems as bad if you have some choice in the matter. Now that’s okay, but much better than that is having a bit of cash behind us because that means if it’s pissing down we don’t have to get wet, and even if we do have to go out in it we can afford the ultimate in weatherproof gear to wear and whatever it takes in the way of chemic to get warm again when the job’s done.” There was a lot of appreciative laughter at that because that was a major truth that had resulted from Bearthwaite and it’s environs now being owned and managed by the folk who lived there. Life may well be difficult from time to time, but they all took it head on on their own terms, not on someone else’s.

Stan continued to say, “I’ll start pulling pint’s if someone deals with the glasses and the coin.(67) For any as wants ’em Aggie and some of the kids have done a fresh batch of salted chestnuts and one of pork scratchings(68) too. We’ve run out of crisps [US chips], but the lasses will be mekin a pile from spuds during the week. They plan to mek some vegetable crisps too using, radishes, turnips and carrots. If Alf can ratch out some swede [rutabaga] some of those will be used too. I’ll put a box of nuts and one of scratchings on the bar. Just leave the money next to the boxes. The chestnuts are Spanish not local. Unfortunately we’ll have no more of those till the kids gather this year’s nuts at the back end. As always the scratchings are from local pigs. The dark ones are from black skinned pigs, but they taste the same as the lighter ones. For any as don’t know they’re both packaged up in paper bags, so as there’s no plastic to have to get rid of. The paper bags all eventually end up in the compost pits down at the allotments.”

~Shifting Politics and Changing Voting Behaviour~

Buthar indicated a desire to be heard and Sasha said, “Listen up, Lads, for Buthar has something of serious import to say that we all need to take on board. When you’re ready, Buthar Lad,”

Buthar was a computer expert who worked for the local government authority. He was in his late fifties and was known to have said he was taking early retirement at the first opportunity. A few folk knew he had corrupted the local authority’s computer systems in order to destroy data held concerning Bearthwaite to facilitate house building there without interference by the local authority planners. It was not as widely known that at the same time he’d planted false data for the same reasons. Blake who was twenty and studying for a degree in cyber security at Aston university spent a lot of his holiday time with Buthar and it was known the pair planned for Blake to take over from Buthar more and more as Buthar aged. Buthar was generally a quiet thoughtful man and difficult for outsiders to understand and get to know. Most of them had never heard either he or Blake speak, for Blake was even quieter than his mentor. Locals believed that quietness went along with their somewhat arcane art since much of what the pair did to protect their folk was probably illegal and best not spoken of.

“As has already been discussed elsewhere, I agree it’s not enough to keep finding ways to get the authorities off our backs because it’s too much like hard work. It’s just reacting to their actions. We need to be proactive and to take the fight to them and make them have to find ways to get us off their backs. If they’re spending time doing that they won’t have the time to make our lives difficult. I’ve put a lot of thought into that and as a result I’ve decided to stand for election to the Council as the Councillor for the Bearthwaite ward, and I’d like someone to stand for the Calva ward, preferably someone as lives there. The Calva ward includes virtually all our folk as live outside the valley. Ultimately I want to end up as chairman of the Council planning committee.” At that there were Machiavellian smiles and devious looking grins on the faces of the local men, for should Buthar be successful that would put the local authority at a considerable disadvantage in its attempts to make life difficult for the residents of the valley. “In the Bearthwaite ward we’ll win a hundred percent of the vote because there’re only Bearthwaite folk as live here now. The Bearthwaite adults as live in the Calva ward comprise thirty-nine point eight percent of the ward’s voting electorate. Since we have all always voted but spoilt our ballots and average voter turn out is of the order of sixty percent in the Calva ward that means that only twenty percent of the electorate other than our folk bother to vote, which is about one in three of the non Bearthwaite folk. If instead of spoiling our ballots we all vote for me and whoever else stands we would win every vote here and take about two-thirds of the votes cast in Calva without doing any electioneering at all. For us to lose the non Bearthwaite folk would have to double their turnout and all vote against us which ain’t going to happen.

“That alone will be a dramatic shock to the powers that be, and if for no other reason than to upset them I wish two of us to stand. There hasn’t been a Councillor elected for Bearthwaite since the last of the outsiders left because the powers that be couldn’t put anyone in place who’d received not a single vote. They haven’t bothered fielding any candidates since then either for the same reason. Which is why at the last couple of elections the voting slips we spoiled had no candidates on them, which was a serious waste of money but had to be done for legal reasons. After that I suggest we start electioneering in other nearby wards too ready for the election after the next. It doesn’t matter whether we win or lose there because the aim would be to unbalance the existing powers that be, to give them something to worry about and focus on other than what is going on here and in the Calva area. It’s just taking a leaf out of Adalheidis’ book because it was what she did with the utilities company before it all went to court. She had ’em looking in all the wrong places just to keep ’em too busy to look into what she was really up to. What took me a while to realise is our two seats on the Council are actually more powerful than it would at first sight appear. We’ll be independents and completely free to vote in any way we choose at Council meetings. But, and this is the crux of it, Councillors trade their votes on matters that don’t matter to them.

“If on matters that don’t matter to us we agree to vote the way someone else wants in return for their vote when it matters to us but not to them we shall have more than just two votes. Since we are not dependant for financial support from a political party with its own agenda there can be no consequences no matter how we vote. That means we are freer than others to support, or oppose, other Councillors, therefore we’ll be more courted for our votes, which means we’ll in turn get more support for what matters to us. It would be no problem to us to ally with say Councillors in the Furness area which is ninety miles from here using good roads and sixty-five using poor ones, either way it’s well over two hours away. It’s of no concern to us what happens there, well not at the moment it’s not, though that may change. The other thing that took me a while to realise is that when we were in Eden District Council there was the overarching authority of Cumbria County Council to contend with and an Eden Councillor’s vote wasn’t that significant. With the reorganisation, which turned the six Councils and the County Council into two Unitary Authorities, a Westmorland & Furness Councillor’s vote is of far greater significance than an Eden Councillor’s was, not least because there are fewer Councillors in total than there used to be.

“To any of you from farther afield Westmorland now is the east of the old county of Cumbria and the new county came into being on April Fools Day(69) in twenty twenty-three so it all makes perfect sense. There’s a goodly number of Bearthwaite lads that live in the Calva ward rather than in the valley in here the night, and I think it would be better if one of you or your missus stood in the Calva ward. It might just be better if we had a lass standing in Calva, maybe even a really young one, because then they’ll just laugh at us, and that way those of us as live in the valley can’t be accused of interfering in political matters outside of the valley. It would really shake ’em up if that fat, labourite fool in his fifties who currently is the Calva Councillor got wiped out two to one by a bit of a lass of eighteen. I’d appreciate it if you passed the word around amongst our folk as live in your neck of the woods, but ask that it be kept quietish. Keeping it totally quiet isn’t possible and once the returning officer receives names of who is standing it’ll all be public anyway. However, if we don’t do any electioneering the powers that be won’t become too alarmed too soon and won’t bother to try to do owt about it. As I focus more on this Blake will be tekin over from me maintaining our data bases and the like, so there’s no need to fash yoursels(70) on that, for it will be business as usual. I’ll be doing it all till the Blake finishes at university which is not that far into the future, and I’ll be around if he ever needs any aid.”

The laughter in the taproom had a viscous edge to it, for Buthar was proposing that they upped the stakes considerably in the ongoing David and Goliath situation that existed between Bearthwaite and the outside authorities, and he seemed to have the situation gift wrapped and ready to be given away in the wards inhabited by Bearthwaite folk, and was proposing taking the issue elsewhere. It wasn’t impossible that Bearthwaite candidates could win in wards other than Bearthwaite and Calva, for many outsiders that lived in poorer rural communities were aware that the once bitterly impoverished Bearthwaite folk now lived well and would be interested in the possibility of improved lives that didn’t depend on what they knew were the lies spouted by establishment politicians of both the major flavours and probably the rest too who merely wanted a place to get their snouts into the trough that was public money. However, most of the Bearthwaite residents had been so entrenched in their rejection of politics seeing it as a totally two party contest that only the corrupt took part in that they had not considered it was something they could actually play a part in without becoming tainted by it. Chance said, “It is something we should have considered a few years ago, Buthar. I’ll start putting the word round. Tell you what, this is going to surprise the returning officer when she realises there are no boxes of spoilt ballots to be investigated. Send those bottles round, Lads. This needs drinking to. I’ll take a glop of that green sludge, Harry, and a glass of Græme and Jean-Claude’s bacterial cyanide(71) tackle too.”

~Gotcha Gotcha~

Pete asked, “You not got owt to mek us laugh, Dave?”

“Nothing of my own and not really owt else of any originality, Pete. The other day I saw something on my phone that I first heard something similar to decades ago, so I suspect a lot of us will have heard it too, but that’s all I can think of for the now.”

It was a surprise to the local men when Peter, Pete’s grandson said, “I wasn’t around decades ago, Uncle Dave, so I’m okay with that.”

After the laughter at Peter’s remark quietened Dave added, “It’s a bit non PC concerning modern tastes and doubtless some of the LGBTP may be offended, so perhaps I’d best not, Peter.”

Immediately Peter replied, “Some of those LGBTP folk outside yonder are as daft as any other folk, Uncle Dave. I’m sure any of them that are Bearthwaite folk won’t give a damn, and like Granddad I’d like something to laugh at. It takes a lot to offend me even if I bain’t(72) old enough to buy a pint out yonder. These days even Brigitte complains that it’s difficult to upset me, and god alone knows she tries hard enough, especially when she’s tekin(73) her broomstick for a spin.(74) There’s no point in responding to an unwinnable situation, so I either ignore her or just say, ‘Yes, Brigitte.’ Even then I get abuse, but it’s not only an unwinnable situation it’s a guaranteed losing one.”

A few laught at Peter saying his sister tried in vain to upset him knowing that he was developing the classic adult males’ ‘Yes Dear’ response to women, and he’d already acquired the sense not to try to reason with a female under the influence of her hormones. The locals also realised that Peter’s reversion to his Cornish speech, using I bain’t rather than I’m not or the more usual I ain’t, indicated a little bit of pressure. Only some of the outsiders, mostly long time drinkers at the Dragon, were aware that Peter was trans, but like the local men they all accepted his boyhood and his right as a young Bearthwaite lad who could pull a pint and change a barrel to be in the taproom, and he was giving Dave explicit permission to continue with whatever it was he was talking about. Pete said, “Peter is as up for a laugh as the rest of us, Dave, so bugger his age and just get on with it.”

Dave shrugged and started his tale. “By a curious mischance at a taxi rank a handsome young man with long blond hair and deep blue eyes and a young pretty looking nun got into the same taxi from different sides. It transpired that they were both crossing the city, a twenty minute journey, so they agreed to share the cab fare. They were both taking shy glances at each other from time to time and eventually their eyes locked on each others’. The young man eventually said very quietly. ‘I’ve always fantasised about passionately kissing a nun.’ ” At that Gee snorted with laughter. “Well I see at least Gee has heard it before, but I’ll continue as he seems to be the only one who knows where this is going. The nun replied, ‘I think my response to that depends on several things. Are you a good Catholic?’ ‘Oh yes,’ replied the young man. ‘I see. When did you last go to confession?’ ‘Just a few days ago,’ the young man replied. ‘Are you in a relationship?’ ‘Certainly not!’ the young man replied. ‘Well in that case I suppose it would be all right,’ the nun replied.

“They kissed their way across the entire city. Despite the relatively short skirt the nun was wearing, well it was short for a nun being just below the knee, the young man did not try to further their intimacy and kissing was all they did. However, it was deep and passionate kissing they engaged in for at least a quarter of an hour that left their lips feeling bruised. They decided to get out of the taxi at the same road junction and duly paid their respective shares of the fare. When they reached the large hotel, which was the nun’s destination, the young man confessed, ‘I’m sorry, but you are so beautiful that I was carried away by the moment. It’s true I’m not in a relationship, but I’m not a Catholic, so obviously I didn’t go to confession a few days ago. I’m truly sorry, but you are so beautiful and I couldn’t help myself.’ The nun smiled a positively wicked smile which was made even wickeder by the fact that it was on such a beatific looking face and replied, ‘Since it appears to be confession time. I too have something to admit to. I’m going to the fancy dress ball held here and my name is Stephen.”

When the howls of laughter faded enough for him to be heard, Dave asked plaintively, “May I finish my tale now?” causing instant hush. “The young man replied, ‘I’m going to the ball too. Would you like to accompany me as my partner, Stephen? My name by the way is Pamela. At that they reached for each others’ hands and walked up into the hotel foyer still holding hands.”

The laughter in the taproom this time was nowhere near as raucous and faded much more quickly as many realised that Dave had had them twice, but the few who now remembered the old tale knew that the second twist at the end had been of Dave’s creation and it had made what had been a somewhat chauvinistic tale into a gentler and some how more amusing one. Peter said, “I don’t see how any, regardless of how they perceive themselves to be, can object to that, Uncle Dave. The first punchline made it funny, but the second one made us laugh at ourselves too. I enjoyed it. Thank you.”

Dave nodded and smiled at Peter. To the bewilderment of the outsiders be said, “Thank you, young Peter. I wasn’t sure you would appreciate the tale.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I may be young, but I’m not stupid. Long ago I realised that for men and women, girls and boys too, making fun of each other for behaviours that are fundamental to their sex is something that has been going on for ever, and more to the point it will be a sad day for both when that stops. Even my sister and I do it to each other. It’s just a part of life, and it’s an enjoyable part of life for all. The do gooders are trying to stop it elsewhere, but you are keeping it alive by telling such tales and jokes here. We should all be grateful. I know I am.”

“Clever lad that son of yours, Gustav! You’re rearing him right. Peter, you want a pint on me? I know you don’t drink much which is sensible at your age, but I’d be right glad to get you one in even if you only have a half now and keep the other in the barrel for later.”

“Thank you, Uncle Harry. I’ll do that.” It was noticed by outsiders that when Peter pulled himself the first half of his pint he’d quite properly pulled it into a pint glass. The locals didn’t notice, but then they’d have expected Peter to do that, for drinking from a half pint glass was considered effeminate which was all right for women and the occasional effeminate taproom visitors. Many of the latter drank in the taproom on Saturday evenings wearing a dress or a skirt and blouse, some even telt good tales. Too, some had impressive beards, but in Bearthwaite they were what they were and that was fine, for they were not trying to pretend to be what they were not, and they were pleasant folk, easy to get on with. However, Peter, despite his XX genetic medical condition was a young lad of Bearthwaite who given time would become a man of Bearthwaite, and Bearthwaite men did not drink from half pint glasses.

29176 words including footnotes
To be continued.

1 Plod, pejorative term for police. Mr. Plod was a fictional bumbling police officer in the Noddy series of children’s books by Enid Blyton.
2 Fanny in English English is a crude expression for a woman’s genitalia. As used here it refers to the area of the cleft dividing the labia and the lower pudendum.
3 A twenty year auld milker has a tighter bag, a twenty year old dairy cow has a tighter udder. Nowadays most dairy cows are sent to slaughter between the ages of five and six years old due to decreased milk yield. When dairy cows lived out their lives to their natural age of about twenty their teats and often their udders too were dragging on the ground.
4 Tree hugging, pejorative term for those of a left wing persuasion, for conservationists and their like.
5 Spanners, a double implicit reference. A face like a bag of spanners is a well known and used reference to an ugly face. The reference also is to the metal facial piercings that could hurt a fist punching them.
6 BWV, Body Worn Video is a wearable device that can record audio and video.
7 Brasted, generally broken, here it is probably better translated as bursted or burst.
8 Fashed, bothered or worried.
9 A person is guilty of affray if he uses or threatens unlawful violence towards another and his conduct is such as would cause a person of reasonable firmness present at the scene to fear for his personal safety.
10 Tartans indicate clan membership. Fair Isle knitting patterns on a fisherman’s jersey, pullover or sweater were unique to a particular community in the Hebridean Islands and west coast of Scotland ports. They enabled a drowned man’s corpse to be sent back to his home for decent burial.
11 Delia and Deedee. Delia was Gladys and Pete’s daughter who arrived at the Green Dragon with her partner Deedee in the expectation of scrounging or maybe extorting money from her parents, see GOM 42 for the story.
12 Squirrel pickler, pejorative term for conservationists and their like. It comes from the concept of preserving squirrels by pickling them. Its wider usage applies to any of the political and social left wing regardless of their particular agenda. Delia and Deedee, were hard line feministas with multi coloured hair, facial tattoos and multiple facial piercings. In spite of being exactly the sort of folk despised by Bearthwaite ethics Pete provided them with a room. The following morning Delia was found dead in bed from an opiates overdose. Deedee was arrested for possession of class A narcotics which had been found in her and Delia’s luggage. That Deedee was subsequently gaoled for thirty-two years for drugs offences and people trafficking had produced the reaction of, “So much for the liberal values of the woke brigade,” and the entire matter was considered to have ended well.
13 Bell end, colloquial name for the penal head, the glans of the penis.
14 Bulling is a behaviour seen in cattle when one mounts another, usually when one or the other is a female in oestrus, on heat. It is commonly used as a term for a cow in oestrus who usually exhibits the condition by repeated, loud, characteristic noises to attract the attention of a bull.
15 UK law requires that slaughterhouses must have a room or covered space for the reception of animals and for their inspection before slaughter.
16 Legally in the UK an animal has to walk into a licenced slaughter premises to allow its meat to pass into the human food chain. There are exceptions to this rule including if an animal is being moved for certain breeding purposes, requires veterinary treatment or is going straight to a slaughterhouse.
17 DEFRA, The Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs is a department of His Majesty’s Government in the United Kingdom responsible for environmental protection, food production and standards, agriculture, fisheries and rural communities in the entire United Kingdom.
18 Natural England is a non departmental public body in the UK sponsored by the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs. They are responsible for the protection and improvement of England’s natural environment.
19 A livestock crush in the UK is a strongly built stall or cage for holding cattle, horses or other livestock safely while they are examined, marked, or given veterinary treatment. Unwilling cows may be made to suckle calves not their own in a crush. The overall purpose of a crush is to hold an animal still to minimise the risk of injury to both the animal and the operator while work on the animal is performed.
20 PMS, Pre Menstrual Syndrome.
21 Chocolate cravings are not unusual for women at various stages of their menstrual cycles and during pregnancy too. Many say chocolate calms them when menstrual issues are making them temperamental. Some women say it’s because women have been conditioned to relax a little and thus behave better as a result of eating chocolate. Others, and this is the belief in Bearthwaite, take the pragmatic if it works don’t knock it approach and say if conditioning their daughters into behaving better works then it’s a good idea to buy chocolate in bulk.
22 Bait, colloquial usage for a working man’s meal when at work.
23 Clamping, a method of storing root vegetables on an elevated line of soil a thick layer of straw is spread. The root vegetables are heaped up to a height nearly as great as the width of the pile. The clamp, the long pyramid of vegetables, is thickly covered with straw and then covered with a thick layer of soil. Such treatment will preserve the vegetables all the way through the winter will little loss due to rotting.
24 The night, dialectal tonight.
25 Tipped my load, not literally involving a tipper waggon. The expression merely means to have unloaded.
26 Use of the past participle rather than the present participle or the infinitive is a standard usage in northern England.
27 Dipped my tank, taken a sample to check the vehicle wasn’t using lower tax rated agricultural diesel which contains a dye easily detectable in minute quantities. If vehicles are using bio fuels the driver must be able to demonstrate that the duty either has or will be paid to HMRC [see below]. Dependent upon the exact circumstances several mechanisms exist that satisfy that requirement. A certificate shewing entitlement to use such fuels from a source that pays the tax direct to HMRC on fuels set aside exclusively for the use of road vehicles is one such. Another is the recent receipts from the fuel supplier shewing that the duty has either been paid or not. If not the vehicle’s owner and or operator must be on the HMRC list of such users who pay their duty by the month. Such receipts must match the tachograph mileage records and include receipts for all fuel used during that mileage whether biofuel or not.
28 HMRC, His Majesties Customs and Excise, the tax man.
29 Canny, having or showing shrewdness and good judgement, especially in money or business matters. In this case being able to win under difficult conditions.
30 HGV, Heavy Goods Vehicle.
31 Fashed, bothered or worried.
32 See GOM 17
33 Stail or stale, a long handle as is used on a sweeping brush.
34 Chesst, dialectal chased. See the game of chess in GOM 24.
35 See GOM 33.
36 Drop me in it, a common place UK expression meaning to do or say something that causes causes trouble for you, especially by telling someone about something wrong that you have done or something that is embarrassing for you. Here the meaning is to leave Vincent short staffed in the shop.
37 In common usage the mass of an object is often referred to as its weight. Mass is a fundamental property of matter that may be said to be a measure of how much matter is present, though matter is a tricky quantity to define. Mass remains constant no matter where the object is. Weight is the force exerted on an object by the gravity that mass happens to be experiencing at the time which depends on where it is. At the Earth’s surface, an object whose mass is exactly one Kilogram weighs approximately 9.81 Newtons, the product of its mass and the gravitational field strength there. The object’s weight is less on the Moon, where gravity is weaker and more on Saturn, where gravity is stronger. Its weight is very small in space, far from significant sources of gravity, but it always has the same mass. A set of balances scales compares masses. A spring balance like most electronic scales indicates weight.
38 A steelyard balance, steelyard, or stilyard is a straight-beam balance with arms of unequal length. It incorporates a counterweight which slides along the longer arm to counterbalance the load and indicate its weight.
39 Badly used thus means ill.
40 Bullock in British English, a castrated male bovine animal of any age. In US English a steer.
41 Artic, articulated trailers. Trailers using a fifth wheel coupling, eighteen wheelers.
42 A pennyweight is a unit of mass equal to 24 grains, 1⁄20 of a troy ounce, 1⁄240 of a troy pound, approximately 0.05485 avoirdupois ounce and exactly 1.55517384 grammes. It is abbreviated dwt, d standing for denarius – (an ancient Roman coin), and later used as the symbol of an old British penny (see £sd). It is a rarely used weight these days having given way to the gramme. Though it is used as here to indicate a very small quantity.
43 Alum Bay beach is on the Isle of Wight. This mainly shingle beach situated at the most westerly tip of the Island is framed by the iconic chalk stacks known as The Needles with the world famous coloured sands with 21 different shades. The sands are coloured due to oxidised iron compounds formed under different conditions.
44 Lead came is a slender lead bar used to form a framework around and between the glass sections of a stained glass window. Came is a fairly soft, malleable extrusion that is grooved on one or both sides to accept the glass.
45 Bad, alternative past tense of bide. Bided, bade or bad are all in use probably in decreasing frequency respectively.
46 A gambrel is a metal device used by butchers and hunters to suspend a slaughtered animal so as to more easily break the carcass down. Typically it has a ring or kink in the center to suspend it from and hooks at each end to hold the carcass open for easier access. Usually a carcass is suspended from the hooks by its rear legs.
47 A triptych, IPA trIptIk, is a work of art, usually a panel painting, that is divided into three sections. Here the term is used for a stained glass window that has three panels.
48 A skep is a traditional beehive made of straw or similar material like bracken or willow. Few bee keepers, and no serious commercial bee keepers, use them. They are illegal in the US and other countries too because the combs can’t be easily inspected for diseases. Having said that there are bee keepers who use them and they can put up reasonable justifications for their use. The matter is not a black and white issue.
49 Licenced premises in the UK may elect to sell gin, rum, vodka and whisky in either twenty-five or thirty-five millilitre aliquots, but not both on the same premises. The larger portion is most common in Scotland and Northern Ireland. Most premises sell all other such liquors in their selected aliquot, but that is not mandatory.
50 Fair is being used as an adverb here not an adjective. Strictly Dave should have said fairly meaning moderately or reasonably in this context. His usage is commonplace and would have been clear and understood by virtually all of the men in the taproom, locals and outsiders alike.
51 Clout, weight or influence in this context. A clout is also a clot or a rag.
52 Dog collar, familiar UK term for the back to front collar worn by vicars and clerics of other flavours too.
53 Snædís, pronounced Snide ea suh, IPA snaidi:s.
54 The Amish, formally the Old Order Amish, are a group of traditionalist Anabaptist Christian church fellowships with Swiss German and Alsatian origins. They are closely related to Mennonite churches, a separate Anabaptist denomination. Many live in Lancaster county Pennsylvania in the US.
55 Shakers, The United Society of Believers in Christ’s Second Appearing, more commonly known as the Shakers, are a millenarian restorationist Christian sect founded c. 1747 in England and then organized in the United States in the 1780s. They were initially known as “Shaking Quakers” because of their ecstatic behaviour during worship services.
56 Twat as used here is a verb meaning to hit or punch. To administer a good twatting, would be to administer a good beating.
57 Riding a broomstick, vernacular for at the wrong end of the month. Riding their first broomstick, experiencing their menarche.
58 A bothy is a basic shelter, usually left unlocked and available for anyone to use free of charge. It was also a term for basic accommodation, usually for gardeners or other workers on an estate. Bothies are found in remote mountainous areas of Scotland, Northern England, Ulster and Wales. They are particularly common in the Scottish Highlands, but related buildings can be found around the world. The high fell shepherds of Bearthwaite use them whilst managing their flocks.
59 Marriage lines or Wedding Lines, old terms still in use for a wedding certificate. In the UK it always was the legal property of the bride. In the UK to this day even at a civil wedding the registrar hands the document to the bride not the groom. It is her proof she is married and her children are legitimate. In the event of her widowhood in days gone by it gave her respectability and proof she was not a slut with a clutch of bastards. The terms are old fashioned, but still widely used by women, even young women.
60 Gris is an ancient word for pig that goes back to Viking days. It is still in use as in for example Grisedale and Mungrisdale in Cumbria which translate as the valley of the pigs. Gris is also used in Swedish and Norwegian and to a lesser extent in Icelandic as a word for pig to this day.
61 Leccy board, the electricity board, old name for the electricity supply system company. Pronounced lekky, IPA lɛkiː.
62.To punch well above one’s weight is to do more than one’s fair share or to out perform what one could reasonably be expected to do.
63 Self abuse, a Victorian euphemism for masturbation that goes back to the days when it was said that it would turn you blind and cause all sorts of other serious health problems. The Victorians had a lot of sexual hang ups that resulted in some strange behaviours in public though in private they tended to be a depraved and licentious society. Some examples of their public hypocrisy would be coining the expression chicken drumsticks lest the word legs over excited their men folk. Similarly, furniture like pianos which were supported on legs had curtains around the supports in order to prevent male over excitement. There are hundreds of other such examples.
64 See GOM 37
65 Got aholt on, got hold of, usually bought but not used thus here.
66 Raki is a Turkish anise flavoured spirit. Ouzo is a Greek anise flavoured spirit. Sambuca is an Italian anise flavoured spirit. Pastis is a French anise flavoured spirit. Arak or araq is a Levantine anise flavoured spirit.
67 The coin, the money.
68 Pork scratchings are a traditional bar snack made by oven frying pork skin. They are seasoned with rather more salt than is good for you, but are regarded as a delicious comfort food.
69 On April the first 2023, yes that’s right, wouldn’t you know it, on April Fools Day, the local government administration of Cumbria changed. The previous six district councils and Cumbria County Council were replaced by two new unitary authorities. Carlisle City Council, Allerdale Borough Council and Copeland Borough Council were merged to form a new authority, Cumberland Council. Eden District Council, South Lakeland District Council and Barrow Borough Council were merged to form a new authority, Westmorland and Furness Council. Cumbria County Council’s rôle was distributed to the two new Unitary Councils.
70 Yoursels, yourselves.
71 Bacterial cyanide tackle, Cyanobacta, the Bearthwaite spirit flavoured with extracts from the toxic blue green algae which is actually blue green bacteria that blooms on Bearthwaite Water, the reservoir.
72 Bain’t, be ain’t, be not, am not. A Cornish and Devonian common usage.
73 Tekin, dialectal taking. Northern English rather than Cornish.
74 Tekin her broomstick for a spin. Male expression referring to female behaviour when at the dangerous part of their cycles.

up
42 users have voted.
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos! Click the "Thumbs Up!" button above to leave a Kudos

Comments

Back to the Green Dragon

Another enjoyable continuation of events in The Green Dragon on a single Saturday evening that includes a unique visit to "The Best Side" where the ladies gather while their kinfolk are in the Taproom and an insight to the ladies socialising and activities.

An enjoyable read that took me two evenings to get through. I loved the plotting to take on the local council in the Council Chamber!

Brit