The Grumpy Old Men were ready for yet another Saturday evening in the tap room of the Green Dragon Bearthwaite. All was ready, beer glasses were filled and numerous bottles of of spirituous liquors of dubious legality were awaiting broaching once the beer no longer proved to be satisfactory. Pete the landlord nodded to Sasha the Siberian semi-official leader of the group to set the process of tale telling in motion. Sasha in turn nodded to one of the men to proceed.

“I’m Græme Scott and still after forty-odd years happily married to Faith. Less than five years ago I bought an expensive six hundred and fifty quid [$870] lawn mower and it hasn’t worked for eighteen months now. I used to live near Branthwaite, and I’d had good dealings with Keswick Garden Machinery over the years, so I took it to them to have a look at. I now live at Beckfoot near Silloth, which is a long way from Keswick, but I wanted to take it to someone I trusted. Faith decided to come with me just for the ride because we rarely go anywhere these days. The entire trip there it was hammering it down with rain which only eased for the five minutes it took me to unload the mower. Hell, you can’t lose them all. Negotiating the parked cars on Greta Street, which is narrow, with a Land Rover towing a fourteen foot trailer had been as difficult as I remembered it, but eventually I pulled up outside the spot, had a minute of explanation with the lass there that I already spoken to on the phone and left for home, in the pouring rain. Why didn’t I put the mower in the back of the Rover and leave the trailer at home I hear you asking. The answer is because with all the tools and equipment my Land Rover is loaded with all the time it wouldn’t fit, and I couldn’t be arsed to empty it and reload it when I got back. I have a lot of practice manœuvring my Rover and the Ifor Williams fourteen footer, so it didn’t bother me.

“Now the shortest way from Beckfoot to Keswick is cross country through Bothel and using the A591 to cut behind Bassenthwaite Water, but the roads are grim, and how the 591 ever got A road classified I’ll never understand, so if I ever have to do it again, I’ll go on the back roads through Aspatria till I hit the A595, head to Cockermouth and then use the A66 to Keswick which goes in front of Bassenthwaite Water. That’s what I did in reverse order on my return home. It was maybe eight miles farther than my outward bound route, but a hell of a sight quicker, and in the rain it felt a lot safer too. Faith asked why I hadn’t gone that way, and I said that it just hadn’t occurred to me.

“The mower wasn’t economic to repair. The carburettor was corroded away and the mechanics couldn’t even get the thing to run. So much for modern technology. I’ve a pre second world war Allen Scythe(1) that is in perfect working condition and I use it every year under rather extreme conditions. For most of its life it has lived out in all weathers. I keep it in a barn, but that is TLC(2) it had never had till I bought it at a farm estate auction eight years ago. But back to my mower, a new carburettor was ninety quid to buy, and there were a load of other bits it needed too. Given the labour charges for doing the job, it was a no brainer,(3) it needed writing off. The boss at Keswick had tried to source a decent mower at a half way decent price, but he telt me all he could source were cheap Chinese imports at round four and a half hundred quid.[$600]

“I’d not been idle in the meanwhile and I’d managed to internet source a six and a half horsepower Chinese import, available in the UK, a self propelling model with a key start and a recoil spring starter too, for a quid short of three hundred [$400] which I reckoned, if it lasted three years, I could scrap it, buy another and still be money in front. As for the stigma of being made in China, all the so called ‘decent makes’ are made in China too these days, and I’ve got nothing against the Chinese, nor anybody else come to that. I said I’d see what I could do, and telt him if he would scrap mine for me he could keep any thing off it worth keeping. He agreed, so I asked him what I owed him, and he said given the parts he was happy at forty quid. [$55] I was happy at that, especially since I didn’t have to drive back to Keswick to pick it up which is a round trip costing going on for fifteen quid [$20] in a Land Rover pulling a big and heavy trailer.

“That night I had the heat out of(4) the plastic bits from the mower I hadn’t taken with me, the top shoot blocker that forced the cut grass out of the side shoot on to the ground rather than allowing it to be collected in the hopper, the side shoot itself and the hopper. I’ve taken delivery of the new mower, but not yet had time to assemble it, nor put any oil in the sump. They always ship stuff like that with no fuel nor oil in to prevent spillage. That’s my tale, but I have a question to ask concerning what you here refer to as the rare stuff. I’ve tried a goodly few different distillates from all over the world over the eighteen months I’ve been coming here on Saturdays. I’ve no problem whatsoever about chucking a couple of quid [$3] into the collection box, but what’s the situation regarding someone like me who doesn’t live here bringing some rare stuff for storage and usage here?”

All looked at Pete since he was the Landlord. “As long as you understand the implications, Græme, no problems. You bring your liquor here purely for storage. It can never be selt because that is illegal, it has to be given away. The couple of quid you associate with drinking the rare stuff is not connected with it, it is purely a charitable donation and can never be considered as a part of a transaction, because that too would be illegal. That right, Michael?”

Michael Graham, the local police sergeant, who was born and bred in Bearthwaite though he no longer lived there, replied, “Absolutely correct, Pete. That’s my understanding of the law, and it’s the basis on which I and my boys enforce it. Too, it’s the only reason I feel okay, as a member of Her Majesty’s Cumbria Constabulary, about keeping a supply of some of the rare stuff here myself. I’d like to know why you’re asking, Græme Lad? The way you pronounce your name tells us you’re no southern fool and are potentially one of us. From your questions and attitude you sound like you’d fit in here right fine which is why even as a copper I’m being so open. You got something you want to share and give us a taste of? Please don’t say anything I could get into trouble for knowing about and not reporting. Is your good lady in the best side?”

“Indeed. Why?”

“Make sure she understands the situation will you, because my wife is in there too, and I’d not be happy having to tell a magistrate I thought what she telt me was a lie. I love my wife, and I hope you are understanding of what I am saying.”

It was clear that Græme was mentally organising his words to comply with Michael’s request. After half a minute or so he said, “As regards Faith, I’ll explain the situation to her, Michael. But back to explanations. I have a friend who likes to experiment.” There were numerous ‘Ahs’ about the taproom in understanding and appreciation of Græme’s delicacy when explaining to Michael, though Michael’s face was completely blank. All understood that closer interrogation, which would not happen since that would be considered to be appallingly bad mannered, would reveal that Græme’s friend was in fact himself. “He is by way of being a bit of an engineer, scientist and experimenter. His latest experimental venture has resulted in the distillation of very clean and potable beverages. He doesn’t drink himself, so he gives me the results of his endeavours, as I appreciate them. As you made clear, Michael, to comply with the law I hasten to add I don’t do anything in return for him, but he is a good friend whom I help with various tasks from time to time, purely as an act of friendship you understand.

“It’s those gifted beverages I was wondering about bringing for others to taste too. I suppose they could best be described as super strength Polish spirit, of about ninety-six percent by volume ethanol. I usually cut that fifty fifty with water to produce a fifty-ish percent by volume liquor that can be used with any mixer of your choice. Obviously it’s easier to transport the stuff undiluted. If I brought some here and any who’d subsequently tried a sample felt the ‘spirit’ move them to donate a couple of quid to the children’s Christmas party collection box I should consider that to be the act of a decent, reasonably well off man who merely wished to share his good fortune with the less fortunate from time to time.”

“Fuck me, Græme, that was eloquently said, and so delicately put it could be called a speech from a diplomat. I loved that bit about being moved by the spirit, that could have come out of the mouth of a bosky(5) parson delivering a sermon. You aren’t a barrister or a solicitor in real life are you?”

“Language, Uncle Alf, please. Though I can always close the door betwixt the tap and the room to make sure any strong stuff doesn’t reach the ladies. You do of course realise that if I do that you can only be served by Dad and yourselves because neither I nor Mum will hear you. I don’t have a problem either way, and if the door between the bar sides is closed I’ll tell Gustav to stay on the tap side which doubtless he will enjoy. Maybe we need to have you sort some kind of semi noise barrier betwixt the two sides, Uncle Alf? That would be good if you could manage it?”

“Sorry, Harriet Love, I’ll try to keep my language under control. I’ll start thinking regards your idea concerning a semi door. However, Græme, I still want to know, are you a barrister or a lawyer?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Alf, but no. I’m a graduate chemical engineer, but I work for a company that makes building adhesives. We make ‘Glues that will stick owt(6) to owt’. You probably recognise the advertising jingle from the northern TV channels.”

“A chemical engineer eh? Ah well, it takes all sorts, and I’ve even used some of those glues. If you are responsible for any of the ones I’ve used you certainly know your trade. Initially, I admit I had my doubts, but they actually did what the advertising bullshit said they would do. For once it did exactly what it said on the tin.(7) Put him out of his misery Pete. Michael, perhaps you’d like to check that Mavis is okay at this point. We’ll only take a couple of minutes to conclude matters.” Michael nodded in awareness that things of a perhaps not totally legal nature were about to be discussed.

Pete waited till Michael had closed the door behind him before speaking. “Aye, Græme Lad. Drop the bottles off some time, or bring ‘em with you of a Saturday. If there are too many for you to handle easily I’ll find some of the lads who will help you to fetch ‘em in, but welcome to the storage club. If you want to obtain some decent rum, and we are talking serious quality and quantity too, have a word with Simon or Sasha and they’ll put you down for a couple of hundred quid’s worth of charity donation to a Caribbean maritime charity that will handle matters outside of UK jurisdiction. That’s to say all will be handled out side territorial waters, We’re not exactly sure what that will get you, but we reckon the stuff is going to be about four quid a gallon [US 50 cents a pint]. If there’s anyone else interested, like I said, talk to Simon or Sasha. You don’t have to put two hundred up, there’s no upper nor lower limit. Some of the lads have gone for fifty and some for a grand. Don’t worry, the liquor will be safely delivered and protected till required in small quantities. None will ever be discovered. Daniel, the previous landlord and his family had been handling such matters for a few centuries. He regarded Gladys as his daughter and that’s why our names are above the the doors now. She inherited all such knowledge. I suggest we end this conversation now before Michael returns. Like I said a quiet word with Simon or Sasha later will sort you out.”(8) Pete looked around and saw several of the men were clearly interested and Adio’s boat load looked like it would be all spoken for long before he arrived with it. He whispered to Sasha, “A chemical engineer with a degree would know about distillation, wouldn’t he?” Sasha just smiled and reached for bottle of Simon’s rum. “I’ll give Michael nod to return. Put him down for a couple of hundred quid’s worth Sasha.” Sasha just nodded.

~o~O~o~

As Alf poured himself some rum, Michael returned and Alf said, “I keep being asked why I’m limping, so I’ll tell you the tale. Sasha’s crusher being on a single axle means it’s too heavy to tow legally on the public highway. I’ve always admitted the sophisticated electronic starting system is beyond my knowledge, so when it stopped working I telt Sasha to have an auto electrician look at it. I also telt him given the machine is too heavy to legally tow it’s an appropriate time to mount it on two axles which would mean it could be used elsewhere to make money. I know that’s already been talked about so it makes sense to do it legally. The single axle it’s on at the moment was only a stop gap when I originally mounted it because it was all I could lay my hands on at the time. Knowing that it would eventually need two axles I long since had a mate pick up two army cooks’ trailers from the military surplus auction site at Honeypot Lane Grantham Lincolnshire for me. My idea is to bolt them together to create a two axle trailer using the NATO towing hitch on the forward trailer to tow the pair with the crusher above them. Sasha said he trusted me completely and telt me just to do
whatever I thought was best.

“Years ago I fitted the Dixon-Bate adjustable hitch set up on Sasha’s Land Rover, and in theory all I had to do was remove the combined ball and pin hitch in order to fit the NATO hitch that went with the tow bars on the trailers. To do that all you have to do is pull out the four R clips that secure the two one inch [25mm] pins and then pull the pins out, easy. I wanted to do that so I could tow the two cooks’ trailers to somewhere more convenient to work on them. That’s when things went a bit pear shaped. The NATO pintle type hitch didn’t quite fit. The part of the Dixon Bate coupling that’s permanently bolted on to the Rover was a gnat’s nadger(9) too narrow to accommodate the nuts on the NATO hitch. It needed prying apart, but it was too narrow to fit the high rise jack I was planning to use to pry it out with. The thing is made from twelve millimetre plate steel [½ inch] so a goodly amount of force was going to be needed to move it even the fraction of a millimetre [10 maybe 20 thousandths of an inch] required.

“Not able to use the high lift jack, which would have applied the force in a gradual and controlled way, I resorted to MBFAI, which is massive brute force and ignorance to those of you who don’t understand technical terms. Translated into real terms that’s a fourteen pound [6.4Kg] sledge hammer. Six blows, three each side. Though the fitting was not spring steel, its shape was such that it worked like a spring under impact. The thee blows on the first side worked well. The first two on the other side worked equally well, however, the last blow, though doing what it was intended to, rebounded and hit the outside of my knee. It just about crippled me for forty-eight hours, but it was liveable with after that. Well, with the pain killers and the ibuprofen it was. There was swelling but no bruising which gave me to serious thoughts concerning the meaning of life. Maybe Ellen’s right and I’m not human. However, the NATO hitch fitted like a hand in a glove, and I managed to move both trailers to exactly where I wanted them. My knee still hurts and I’m still limping a week later.”

~o~O~o~

Gerry said, “Ne’er mind, Alf. Another glass of chemic’ll put you to rights. When you’ve done with it pass me the bottle before I tell you about when Gwen and I went for our booster Covid jabs last Sunday at Darrelby Cottage hospital. I know a few of us went down there over the weekend, but I thought it was an interesting experience in a silly sort of a way. Ten past and twenty past eleven we were down for. When I woke up at just gone six there was three inches of snow on the ground and it was still coming down, but the weather forecast said it wouldn’t snow for long, so I wasn’t expecting any problems getting to Darrelby and then back here. As I was doing the toast and Gwen was cooking bacon and eggs it occurred to me that the trip may not be fun, as I was prepared to bet that every idiot and his wife was going to be out there driving, but at least the kids weren’t at school today, so few of them were going to be dying on the roads. It’s when we get weather like that that I remember why I drive a big, heavy, high, permanent four wheel drive truck that I haven’t actually needed for years. I do hardly any mileage these days, less than a thousand mile a year, and I’ll live with the fuel consumption for the safety. If some fool in a small car driving too fast in poor driving conditions runs in to me on a narrow country road it’ll be a head on collision, and the chances are he, or even she, will die rather than me or Gwen.” There were a number of the old men nodding and saying things in agreement, for it was a reason many of them shared for driving similar vehicles which covered more or less the same annual mileage as Gerry’s.

“We’d had the AstraZeneca vaccine for our first and second shots, but were having the Pfizer vaccine for our boosters. We left home giving ourselves plenty of time due to the conditions. It was still snowing a bit, but from the tracks in the snow there’d been hardly any traffic that morning, and there was little on the road all the way there. Surprisingly what little there was was driving at speeds appropriate to the conditions; they must have been old buggers like me who’d already scared themselves nigh to death once too often.

“When we arrived, we noticed the place was signposted all over the place giving instructions as to where to park and where to go after we had. That surprised me because it’s damned tight for parking at that spot,(10) but it was unusually easy. The number of folk there was amazing, traffic and parking marshals in hi-vis jackets outside, and nurses and general helpers inside. I don’t think the folks actually doing the jabs were doctors, but who knows. Hell, a jab in the arm is a jab in the arm, right? I’d say there were at least a couple of dozen folk in all there. They’d been recruited from local hospitals, surgeries, the north fells response team, the ambulance teams, first responders, and anywhere else they could get appropriate personnel who were available, and needed the extra cash. That’s what one of the nurses Gwen was talking to said.

“We went in, and answered all the usual questions Covid folk always asked concerning recent health. I noticed a sign on the door that said, ‘These doors are alarmed!’ I couldn’t help myself when I said to the bloke who was going to stab us. ‘Those doors are lucky. They aren’t going to be violated with anti-Covid vaccine. Me, I’m not just alarmed; I’m bloody terrified.’ Another jobsworth with either no sense of humour or no brains or possibly neither. We were stabbed in the arm by the bloke who said he was Peter and his colleague, who was doing all the bureaucracy, was Annette. She recorded it all and filled in the cards that we were given that were our copy of information that proved the government had now done as much as it could for us and if we were going to die please go and do it discreetly somewhere else. We were then escorted into an other room where there were dozens of stainless steel egg timers marked Electrolux, they even looked liked eggs. Our egg timer was turned to twelve minutes, and we were telt when it rang we’d be hard boilt and could escape. On my way to the egg timer room I’d noticed another sign that read, ‘Ramp behind these doors’. I’d thought that was a bit much, and said indignantly to the lass escorting us, ‘I don’t take orders about that sort of thing from anyone, and in any case I only ramp in private with another consenting adult, and they have to be female.’ Ah well like I said the world is full of jobsworths with neither a sense of humour nor any brains or possibly neither and I’d just found my second one in a matter of minutes.

“Gwen asked that nurse I telt you about what were the common symptoms if one reacted badly. ‘I’ve never seen it, cos it’s really rare’ the lass replied, ‘but it’s anaphylactic shock.’ Both Gwen and I knew what that meant. She’d suffered from it in the past and had carried an EpiPen(11) for years. I’d seen her suffer from such an event and someone else do so too when I was a school boy and it’s anything but funny.

“On our way back to the truck, as we were walking across the car park I noticed yet another amusing sign, there surely was a plethora of them about that morning. This one was on a skip [US dumpster] and it read ‘General Waste’. ‘Good job this is a hospital and not an army base. That’s a pretty poor office for a general,’ I remarked to Gwen. Gwen sniffed and said, ‘What is it with you this morning, Gerry? You really have got it on you, haven’t you.’ Maybe she was right, but it all amused me. However, better to be amused than to be a miserable bastard.

“I was originally supposed to go on Monday at nine in the morning to the quacks at the Allinthwaite medical centre for my pneumonia jab. Then they texted to change it to thirteen fifty on the Tuesday. I don’t know why, but Gwen had had it and I hadn’t. It’s a one off jab, for life I think.

“When I went for my pneumonia jab the car park was empty and the lass giving it was a lass I’d known for thirty years. Gwen and I used to be a member of the same Scottish country dancing society as her. However, I’d not laid eyes on her for a decade or more. I knew she was a district nurse, but when I’d last laid eyes on her she’d been a natural red head. Now she was completely white haired which lead me to wonder what she’d made of me. I’d had my Covid booster in my right arm a few days before, I’m left handed, so I asked her if it was okay to have the jab in my right arm too. She said it was okay, so I went with that. I didn’t feel a thing, and after another few minutes craic,(12) mostly about Gwen, I left. Later that afternoon my arm started to ache a bit, and it did for two days or so, but it’s fine now. I want another, shall I pull a few pints, Pete?”

“If you will, Gerry. I’ll chase up a few empties. Then I’ve a tale to tell.”

~o~O~o~

Pete started the conversation by saying, “I want to talk about someone who’s been on my mind for years. It’s only now that I’m no longer embarrassed to mention her. That’s probably because Gladys openly loves me and I openly love her and Harriet and Gloria too. Whatever. It may seem stupid, but I’d like to ask you all to think seriously about sandwiches. What is it with sandwiches, Lads? Before any answers the question I’ll tell you how it was for me. We were poor when I was a kid, we all were in Bearthwaite in those days, and I was sick of eating owt in between two thick slices of bread long before I went to the big school.(13)

“I mind years over once I started work I hated anything put between two slices of bread to make it go further to eat for my bait. God knows I’d eaten enough like that to hate it. When I went cross country to work in the Newcastle Durham area I was earning serious money and I could afford decent digs.(14) Mrs. Agecroft was my landlady. She was a lonely, widow woman in her early sixties with no family, and there were six of us, all young blokes, lodging with her. We all helped her out, kept her car running and did bits of jobs to maintain her house and garden. She treated us like we were family, and was really upset when one of us left, though she was always happy when another young bloke took the leaver’s place. She only accepted young blokes, we were like her kids, she even mended our clothes for us and did our laundry. She gave us good meals and a really decent bait box to take to work.(15) Thinking about it she certainly wasn’t making much money out of us, it was just the company she wanted.

“Our sandwiches were always cut diagonally into two triangles, and somehow that made them taste better. I suspect it was because we thought they were classier somehow, and so we were important to her, but whatever the reason it lifted our self esteem. I’ve never forgotten how important that is to those I’ve employed since. She’s long gone now, but I was notified when she died. I went to her funeral, where there were well over two hundred of her ‘boys’, but no relatives. Despite all being sad that it was time for her memorial headstone, we all dug deep into our pockets to buy one that expressed our appreciation of what she had done for us. She was real folk, folk as all ought to be, and as I have tried to be ever since.”

There was a thoughtful silence as the men considered Pete’s tale. Alf smiled and said, “I never thought about it, but you’re probably right about sandwiches tasting better if they’re cut diagonally, Pete, which just goes to prove how daft we are.”

Sasha said, “There are a lot of decent folk everywhere. We are just lucky to live in a spot where there are none of the other kind because they don’t stay long.”

“Aye, and any bad bastards as are born here like my brother Bert soon leave, or they face the consequences and then they leave.” There was a murmur of agreement with Pete, for many had known Bert when he lived at Bearthwaite, and knew he’d been an unlikeable and argumentative young man with a bad temper who was over ready to use his fists. After causing and losing numerous fights, he’d left Bearthwaite at the age of twenty for the North East and never returned. He was Harriet’s biological father, and he’d physically abused her as a child called Alex before she’d escaped from Bert’s scrapyard. The scrapyard was the hell she’d known as home, and she’d left, at the age of fourteen, to live on the streets of Manchester prior to transitioning to become Harriet, a silver service waitress living in a tiny bedsit apartment flat who’d just about got by. It had been Sasha who’d instructed Pete to get her to Bearthwaite and adopt her.

Vince the Mince,(16) the village slaughterman and butcher, had summed up local opinion in a nut shell years before when he’d said, “For sure Bert won’t be made welcome if he tries to return here. Even as a kid he was a gey(17) ignorant(18) bastard that none liked.” This time though he had an expression of distaste on his face he said nothing about Bert, merely remarking, “I’ll have another Guinness if someone would be good enough to pull it for me.”

Stan said, “Nay bother, Vincent. I’ll pull it and any others too. You stay there. Someone will fetch it over to you.” Vincent had suffered from polio as a child and needed two sticks to get around, as a result the other men treated him in an appropriate manner.

~o~O~o~

“Now you’ve a pint in front of you, Vincent. How did you go on with Peabody’s old Belgian Blue bull. I heard a couple of month ago when the the vet called to look at a couple of cows that he said it needed put down from old age. Next thing I know a couple of days since I’m being telt it’s in your window being selt behind a sign saying Peabody’s beef. How did you manage that?”

“Well I’ll tell you, Stan, the vet wasn’t happy about it. Probably because he didn’t get the fee for knocking it down. If he’d knocked it down, Alan would have had to pay the knackers’(19) fee to dispose of it, for at that point it can’t legally be selt into the human food chain. There was nowt wrong with the beast, it just couldn’t get it up to serve a cow and wasn’t interested in ‘em even when the were bulling(20) right next to it fit to raise the roof. I paid Allan a decent price for the beast and everyone except the vet was happy.” Vincent chuckled and said, “Comes to us all in the end if we’re lucky enough to live that long.”

Bill snorted and said, “I don’t care how bloody old I get. I’m not going to be knocked down by you, Vincent, to be displayed in your shop window, along with the other meat. You might put me along side some bugger I don’t like.”

There was a lot of laughter at that, but eventually Vincent resumed, “Alan brought it to my spot in a horse box and the moment it walked out of the horse box and into my yard on its own legs it became legal to sell for folk to eat. The law says if it walks in to a slaughter house it’s legal, and my yard is registered as part of the slaughter house. Course the meat inspectorate have to pass the carcass, but that’s a minor inconvenience I sometimes forget about. I’ve forgotten more about meat hygiene than any of those bits of kids with the ink still wet on their college diplomas will ever know.”

None were bothered by Vincent’s flagrant disregard for the law since they knew what he’d said was correct and on a couple of occasions over the years he’d refused to sell meat that had been passed by the inspectorate. On both occasions subsequent investigations had proven the carcasses to be unsafe to eat. Stan asked, “You equipped to butch(21) something that size, Vincent, because it was a gey big bugger?”

“Not really, but I did what I always do with a beast of that size.”

“What’s that?”

“I borrowed Alf’s stacker truck, Bill, and once I’d knocked it down I strung it up from the forks. I did all the initial work in the yard. Once I’d reduced it into primals(22) that I could take inside on a trolley it was just like any other butching job.”

Alf interrupted to say, “Vincent gave Ellen some of the beast in return for the loan of my stacker. It was damned tasty no matter how old it was. It would have been criminal to waste that much meat that tasted that good. Vincent always said Allan’s meat is all good meat because of the way he raises and feeds em. I know Ellen prefers meat raised local rather than anything Vincent buys at slaughter markets.”

“Aye that’s right enough, Alf, but to be honest that pair of rump steaks I gave Ellen hadn’t really been hung long enough. They’d had three weeks, but with an old bull I prefer six weeks hanging, which is what the stuff I’m selling now has had, but Alf was itching to put his knife and fork to it, so what can you do, Lads? I have to keep Alf happy to make sure I can borrow his stacker in future. Allan was happy with the price, I was happy with the price and the ladies of the village are happy with the price I can sell the meat for whilst still making a living. I’ll have another pint please, Pete.”

~o~O~o~

After all who required serving had another pint, Sasha said, “It’s no good, Oliver, you can’t put it off any longer. You must have kicked that tale about your new Rayburn into some sort of order by now.” The other men were nodding in agreement with Sasha’s remonstrations, for Oliver could tell a tale and they’d been waiting months to hear the full version of what they’d only heard tantalising whisps of up till then.

“It’s a hell of a tale that will take some time in the telling if you’re insisting on hearing it all in one go. Up to you, Lads, I’m willing, but I may have to back track a couple of times to fill in stuff I missed out that’s relevant.”

Simon said thoughtfully, “That being the case, rather than interrupt the tale perhaps we’d better have three or even four pints apiece in front of us and lay in some extra supplies of the hard stuff from the cellar. I’d hate to be considered bad mannered to the point of interrupting a tale teller in full flow. And after all tales is why we’re here whatever the length.”

There was a lot of laughter at that, but Pete and Bill started pulling pints whilst Stan and Gee disappeared down the cellar for some cases of ‘serious chemic’. When Simon’s proposal had been fully implemented and all had settled down Oliver began.

“What a performance getting a new cooker turned out to be. Three or four years ago I bought a claret red (Scarlett insisted on the colour which cost an extra few hundred quid) Rayburn 699K oil fired Range Master. It cooked, provided domestic hot water and could heat twelve radiators according to the blurb. It provided a hundred thousand Btus per hour(23) which is about thirty kilowatts. I knew a couple of folk who had one and they said the beast would heat twenty radiators with no problems. I suppose it depends on the size of the radiators and the general standard of insulation in the house. I had a bloke to it to advise me on what I needed to do, remember about him, cos he resurfaces later in the tale. Anyway I hadn’t sorted out other things in the house that needed to be done first, so it sat there in its box in the kitchen for at least three years. When I finally was ready to have it installed I thought I’d better have everything ready for who ever was going to commission it. I could have done the job, but not being OFTEC certified that would have voided the warranty which started from when it was commissioned by an OFTEC certified engineer. I wasn’t prepared to do that to something that had cost us ten and a half grand. [$14000]

“My existing kerro tank was twelve hundred litres [240 Imperial gallons, 300 US gallons] and not in the best of conditions. Having said that it was worth a fair amount of money because I’d just had it filled before the old Stanley cooker went down for its final time. I bought a new two and a half thousand litre [500 Imperial gallons, 625 US gallons] tank. It took a couple of weeks for me to decide where to site it, and the only sensible place was in my vegetable plot. I cleared the beds to provide for a ten foot [3m] by eight foot [2.4m] reinforced concrete base which I planned on being six inches [150mm] thick. I’d calculated that if I ordered a cubic metre of concrete that would be perfect. I used old scaffolding planks for the shuttering, and liberally covered the ground with broken masonry to lift the steel work off the ground before ordering the cubic metre of ready mixed concrete from DA.(24) The steel rebar(25) wasn’t particularly good stuff, but it was what I had and it was a better use for it than weighing it in at a mere eighty quid a ton, [8 pence a kilo, 5 US cents a pound] and using it did do a bit of clearing up. It actually looked like a half decent job when I’d wired it all up together into some semblance of a grid.

“I planned on building a shed on a dwarf wall of cement blocks to cover the kerro tank. I bought a cheap steel shed which was seven foot four [2235mm] by nine foot four [2845mm] and built the block work three foot high and sized to suit the shed base. Inside the dwarf wall I built a platform using concrete blocks which had a solid block top. I made four wedges the width of the tank, in turn they tapered from four to three inches [100-75mm], from three to two inches [75-50mm], from two to one inches [50-25mm] and from one inch to nothing [25-0mm].The wedges were covered in a treated piece of 18mm [¾ inch] exterior ply which was screwed to them. The idea was the tank would not only lean backwards away from the outlet but from side to side too meaning any water that settled out of the kerro or formed as a result of condensation would lie at the most accessible rear corner for pumping out via a solid copper 12mm [½ inch] pipe. It had to be done that way because my new tank was bunded, i.e. it was essentially a tank within a tank to contain any kerro in the event of leakage.

“Because it was in effect two tanks it was damned heavy to lift up onto the piece of ply, but it was manageable. Next came the nightmare of assembling the shed around the tank. I have to say that poxy shed was the poorest quality piece of shite I have ever come across. The idea was okay in principle, but the panels were wafer thin and the fastening mechanisms were hopelessly inadequate in both mechanism and in number. We had a slight breeze over night and it nearly destroyed what I had assembled of the shed the day before. In the end I pop riveted every panel every six inches [150mm] using stainless steel blind rivets to fasten them to the vertical stanchions. That’s a lot of three millimetre [⅛ inch] holes to drill high up on a set of step ladders drilling into stuff that won’t stay still. As a result the job ate up drill bits at a ferocious rate, so it’s a good job I took delivery of five packets of a hundred cheap bits off Ebay the week before. It’s as easy to snap a quality bit under those conditions as it is to snap a poor one, and since they snap long before they lose their edge cheap ones are definitely called for.

“The bottom rails of the shed I’d screwed to the dwarf wall with 100mm [4 inch] coach bolts screwed into large diameter plastic wall plugs set into holes drilled into the blocks. The vertical stanchions I drilled and bolted to the bottom rails. Half way along the back and sides I set a piece of four by two [US two by four] timber in place on the inside of the shed. I screwed a bracket to the foot of the timbers and screwed through the panels into the timbers from the outside using heavy duty screws through large washers. It looked okay with a dab of brown paint on the washers to match the shed. I had to cut the tips of the screws off on the inside with an angle grinder to avoid tearing large chunks of flesh off yours truly. The brackets at the foot of the timbers I coach bolted to the block work the way I had bolted the bottom rails. The entire job required extra fixtures to hold the shed together a lot of which I had to make, but hell that’s what a forge and an anvil are for right?

“I assembled the roof on the ground and again pop riveted the panels to the framework at six inch intervals. There was no way I could get that roof up and in place on my own, so I readied a couple of scaffold towers and some twenty foot scaffold planks and rang a mate. Now Lou is up for anything as long as it’s crazy enough. He’s the ideal bloke to help on a job like that. The trouble was the roof was pretty flimsy and flexed alarmingly as we man handled it. We slid it up the planks on to the top of the tower at the front of the shed. Then we moved the planks to span the two towers, and gradually eased the roof over the shed. After a bit of messing about it was in position. Sounds easy, but it took us from just after lunch at one till six in the evening. Fortunately there’d been no wind that afternoon, but it was forecast to blow up over night, so when Lou went home I carried on drilling holes through the vertical stanchions and the roof frame members to bolt them together. I finished at eight. The following day I pumped the fuel out of my old tank into forty-five gallon [50 US gallons] oil drums, took the drums forty metres [130 feet] to the new tank and pumped the fuel into the new tank. I rang the oil merchant for the tank to be filled up with the required twenty-eight second kerosene.(26) Completely fortuitously I found a farmer who wanted my old tank. He picked it up on the pallet forks on his tractor and I didn’t even have to dispose of it.

“The next task was to dig a forty-odd metre [150 foot] trench a foot deep for the oil pipe from the shed to where it was to enter the kitchen. I didn’t know it, but I was digging through tightly packed hard core all the way. That’s not true, I was using a pick to break the hard core up so I could use Scarlett’s narrow border spade to get the stuff out. Christ that was hard work. I didn’t do it all in one go because I’d other stuff to do as well, but I was at it every other day for a couple of hours for nigh on a fortnight. It was much harder than I’d expected. But you do get some breaks. Putting a two inch [50mm] core drill through the concrete base for the oil pipe took less than an hour, nowhere near the nightmare I’d been expecting. I reckon I must have been lucky and missed all the steel. The core drill through the kitchen wall for the oil pipe was a breeze. I laid three inches of sand in the bottom of the trench before laying the white plastic coated oil pipe in it. I’d bought a fifty metre [170 feet] coil of the pipe. Getting the pipe through the concrete base was pretty easy, but getting it through the kitchen wall was anything but. Problem was the pipe was tight up against the wall between the kitchen and the pantry wall. I didn’t want to cut the pipe and install an elbow, so I fed it in a bit at a time bent tighter than I was happy with. Every time I pushed a bit through from the outside I had to go into the kitchen to move it and relieve the bend. Took me an hour and a half to push ten foot [3m] of pipe through the wall.

“I’d always been worried about protecting the oil pipe. The solution came to me by accident. I must have had a thousand foot [300m] of that foam insulation stuff that fits round fifteen millimetre [½ inch] copper water piping. I took it as part payment for a job that went bad on me. The bloke hadn’t any money but he’d a load of gear. I did all right out of it in the end, but I’d rather have had the money. I ran the insulation over the oil pipe and back filled the trench with more sand. The trench was twelve maybe fifteen inches [300-400mm] deep and after treading the sand down to firm it up I used the smaller hardcore to back fill the last couple of inches. To finish that bit of the job I connected up the tank fittings and used a flaring tool to put a double flare on the tank end of the oil pipe. A final connection of the pipe to the tank and I was ready to face the next part of my adventure.

“I decided that the Rayburn needed to come out of it’s box for two reasons. One I wanted to site it so I could connect it up to the water pipes and the flue, and two since I knew whoever commissioned it would be travelling a long way possibly two hundred miles [320km] or more I wanted to ensure all the pieces that were supposed to be there were actually there. I’ll get round to that sorry state of affairs in a minute. Connecting the Rayburn up to the existing twenty-eight millimetre [approximately 1¼ inch equivalent] pipework was no problem even though I wanted a number of changes to the system. Sorting the flue out meant dropping flexible stainless steel pipe down the chimney and connecting it up to an anti down draft cowl. Problem was the cowl didn’t match up with my chimney pot, so I ended up making a custom adapter piece, but that was only an hour’s work. I was glad to get that done because not long after the wind started up, and it didn’t let up for a month. Far too dodgy for me to even consider working on a roof. Okay for some, but not this mother’s son. I was blown off a thirty foot roof years ago and walked away from it. I was young and a quick healer in those days. Now I’m neither, and I may not be that lucky next time, so I’m not even chancing it a second time. Splicing the Rayburn up to the flexible flue pipe was a relatively easy job, but it was nerve racking due to the cost of the stove enamelled solid pipes and fittings involved. They had to be cut to fit and it was gey difficult to decide where, so I cut ’em over big and kept taking small slices off. Kind of sneaking up on the size till I’d got a perfect fit.

“When I looked at the books of words that came with the Rayburn, one for the appliance itself and one from the manufacturers of the pressure jet burner installed in it there were a number of bits missing. One or two flexible oil pipes that fitted inside the beast, it was a long time before I got to the the bottom of that conundrum, a horseshoe shaped washer that was only required if the two pipe system was adopted, two fibre washers that went between the enamelled front rail brackets and the enamelled front of the cooker to protect the enamel and the two grub screws that fastened the front rail brackets to the Rayburn. The two front rail brackets were also missing There were two plastic pieces that I supposed could be a modern day replacement for the fibre washers but I didn’t like the idea of what were obviously polyethylene washers on the front of an appliance that became as hot as a Rayburn does.

“I rang Rayburn and explained what were missing. They were helpful and said they’d send the bits to me, Two flexible oil pipes arrived along with the brackets for the front rail, nothing else. No grub screws. I tried to match the internal threads of the brackets but nothing I had would fit and I have a huge variety of threads to go at. If I ain’t got one it truly is an odd ball. If I’d known what size the screws were I could have bought a couple or even made them, it’s easy enough to do. I rang Rayburn and explained again to an obliging young man who said he would contact technical service on my behalf. A few days later I rang again and he said technical services had no knowledge of the fibre washers, the horse shoe shaped washer nor indeed of the grub screws. He suggested they may be described as miscellaneous parts and not have a part number. I said well I only have knowledge of them as a result of reading the literature that came with the appliance. They are there clearly diagrammed and referred to in the accompanying text. He asked if I would send copies of the appropriate pages which I did indicating on the pages the serial number of the booklet that page was in. Time went by and I rang Rayburn again. I asked to speak to the young man I’d spoken to before, but he was unavailable. The young woman I spoke to was perhaps the beginning of my good luck. She said a package had been sent out to me the day before and it should contain what I required. It arrived by carrier in the early evening.

“The package contained four fibre washers the internal diameter of which was too small to fit, and a fuel pump manufactured by Danfos that looked like over a hundred quids worth [$150]. I didn’t know why I had been sent a pump. The pump was not the one that the box it was in was for, nor was it one of the four pumps that were referred to on the A3 sized leaflet included with it. The following day I rang Rayburn and was talking to the same woman as the day before. I explained the situation, saying the fibre washers are okay, their external diameter is the right size and I can enbiggen(27) the hole to fit, but I’m completely perplexed by the pump. She said she’d look into it and get back to me. Fifteen minutes later to my great surprise she rang me back. She telt me the horse shoe shaped washer was not available on its own and was part of the pump, so they’d sent me a pump. Okay, I could live with that. She said it had taken her a bit of time to access Rayburn’s technical sheets because she was working from home due to Covid and the computer link was slow. She telt me she’d had no trouble finding the grub screws, but there were some letters and numbers beside them on the diagram she did not know the significance off. She read them to me, ‘M5 x 0.8 18mm hex head pointed grub screw’. Bingo! I knew exactly what that meant. A five millimetre screw with a thread pitch of point eight millimetres, eighteen millimetres long with a head to fit an Allen key and a point on the other end that located in the groove on the bracket mounting stud. She added they come in packets of four and she’d send me a packet. I only needed two, but that was okay. So a lass working from home with no technical background had solved something in a matter of minutes that the other lad and technical services hadn’t been able to solve in weeks. It makes you wonder if they’d actually tried doesn’t it.

“I telt her I needed to know what the situation was regarding the one or two pipe oil system. I explained I’d been looking for an OFTEC certified technician to commission my appliance for ten or so weeks and I was now having to approach folk who were over two hundred miles away and talking about paying for local hotel accommodation. I’d been telt by their technical people that even if I couldn’t find an OFTEC certified person who was familiar with Rayburns as long as they were familiar with pressure jet systems once I got them on site they’d be prepared to talk them through the process even if it meant an hour or more on the phone. If it was going to cost me that kind of money I wanted to be sure that everything was ready for the job. I asked her to find out if my appliance was set up for one system rather than the other or was it truly optional. I said it was a ridiculous situation to be in, but I was now starting to think in terms of small claims courts and Trading Standards Services. She said she’d speak to technical services who usually were only prepared to talk to OFTEC certified persons, but she’d ask if they would contact me.

“Technical services contacted me, and the bloke was as much use as a chocolate fire guard. It was clear he didn’t wish to talk to me or explain anything. I think it was only my talk about legal action that had made him ring me at all. I get it, I really do. They have to be careful in case some idiot sets up an appliance and his family die from carbon monoxide poisoning and he says in court, ‘But the man from technical services telt me what to do and that’s what I did.’ I explained I had no intention of trying to do the job, I just wanted to be sure that when I did find someone to do it he didn’t have to go home again while we waited for parts or anything else. I telt him we were talking hotel bills and hundred of miles travelling. I said that I’d a fifteen thousand pound [$20000] investment of which ten and a half thousand [$14000] was in the appliance and I still had a cold house. Talking to me as though I were a child he said the one or two pipe issue was purely down to the installer. It was obvious I was getting nowhere and he wasn’t going to tell me anything that would be of any help. A completely pointless conversation with a zero communication content.

“Back to the question of finding someone to do the job. I went on the website suggested by one of the Rayburn folk to find a Rayburn installer. I’d been on the phone to them far more often than I’ve just telt you about. The nearest was just less than eighty miles [130km] away. Trouble was he was on the Isle of Man. Trust me the ferry fees on top everything else made me sweat. All the others less than a hundred miles away [160km] wouldn’t travel that far or had already retired. Most gave me phone numbers to try and I tried them all without any joy at all. I tried everyone within two hundred miles [320km] on that website with no results at all. I tried a builders’ merchant over on the other side of the county that I knew had sold Aga cookers and Rayburns too years before. I didn’t know if they still did, but I wondered if they had any contacts concerning local installers. The bloke there gave me three phone numbers. The first he said was definitely still working and specialised in Rayburns, but he was booked up for months. The other two numbers were builders’ merchants of the same company both in the county and he said they may be able to help as they all still selt Rayburns from time to time.

“I rang the first number, spoke to the bloke’s wife and she said it would have be a couple of months. She said best to ring her old man at the house number at seven in the evening after he’d eaten. I rang and I was amazed when he said he knew my house and had even seen my Rayburn just after it was delivered. I telt you to remember him. He asked how come it had taken so long and I explained about the other work on the house that had had to be done first. How I lost his number I don’t know, but to be honest I’d expected him to have retired by then. He said best to ring him in maybe six weeks and we’d sort something out. He explained a number of issues I hadn’t fully understood, but it was when I asked him about the one or two pipe issue I hit gold. He replied by asking me how much head was there between the bottom of my fuel tank and the surface the Rayburn sat on. Maybe a metre [three feet] I answered. A one pipe system is fine he telt me. He added that a two pipe system was only required if the head of oil was less than a foot [300mm]. Now why couldn’t that bloody technical services bloke have telt me that. So now I have a bloke lined up to do the job.

“Fitting those grub screw and installing the hand rail was a farce. What should have been a five minute job at most took an hour and a half. There was no way the screws would go into the thread inside the brackets. At one point I’d considered drilling the holes out to five millimetres and tapping(28) them with an M6 x 1.0 tap to take six millimetre grub screws, but that was before I found out they took M5 screws. I tapped them M5 x 0.8 to clean them out. I can only assume the brackets had been enamelled after drilling and tapping and the threads were full of enamel. It was damned hard getting that tap through to clear the crud. I’d get it in a bit, back it out, clear the threads as well as the flutes of the tap, put some more cutting compound on it and reinsert it to clear a bit more thread, and then repeat the process ad nauseam. I was damned careful not to snap the tap because they are a nightmare to extract. I can spark erode(29) one out but it takes forever. However, after that the screws went in just fine. Trouble was I couldn’t fix the brackets on to their mounting studs. Eventually I realised that the holes in the brackets weren’t deep enough to push the brackets on far enough for the grub screw point to locate in the grove in the stud. Drilling cast iron isn’t difficult so I drilled the holes in the brackets deep enough. Nibbling out a fibre washer with a leather punch isn’t difficult either, so I made the fibre washers fit, and now I have the hand rail mounted. That’s the state of play at the moment. I’ll let you know in two or three months when I finally have a working Rayburn.”

Alf looked puzzled and said, “The issues with the threads and the holes for the studs are pretty much par for the course these days, Lad, but why do you reckon it’s all been so difficult, Oliver?”

“I don’t know, but one of the folk I spoke to said they’d recently been bought by an American company, so doubtless the changes involved by that didn’t help. I was also telt by one of the retired Rayburn engineers that I spoke to on the phone that at one time Rayburn had their own team of installer commissioners, but they no longer did. I think that’s true, but I couldn’t swear to it, and even were it to be true I have no idea how long ago it was they made the change. It sounds like the kind of thing that’s been happening in just about every branch of British industry, and none of it helps the customer. Now you’ve all been drinking whilst I’ve been talking, so I think I’ll just ease some of that beer down, before I try whatever is in my jungle juice glass and have a listen to some other bugger talk for a while.”

“It’s some of Simon’s hostage(30) rum, Lad. It’ll cure whatever ails you, even if you aren’t aware you’re ailing. You up next for a tale, Murray?” Asked Dave.

~o~O~o~

Murray who was married to Madeline had not long moved to Bearthwaite. They’d been looking for somewhere quiet and peaceful with good neighbours to retire to. Murray was a self confessed raconteur and had regularly attended ‘The World’s Biggest Liar Competition’ held at the southern end of the county every November at the Bridge Inn Santon Bridge. It was there he heard about the Grumpy Old Men’s Society that met every Saturday evening at the Green Dragon Bearthwaite. The couple had booked a room at the Dragon for a week, and on his first Saturday Murray had telt a short but well received tale. Madeline was not particularly interested in listening to tales, but had been welcomed and enjoyed her evening in the best room with the women. The couple had talked the matter over and decided to enquire as to the cost and availability of housing in and around the village.

Sasha had advised the couple to leave it a while and spend some time in the village, “Let yourselves become known. When that happens if you’re welcome you’ll find a place to live with no trouble at all. If the consensus is against you there will be nothing available to you. We have financial mechanisms in place to ensure that property here is not bought by folk who are not, I suppose the best way to put it is, folk who are not our kind of folk.” A couple of months later the couple had bought a cottage just off the village green. They were helped to move in, and threw a party in the Green Dragon ball room to which all were invited.

In answer to Dave’s question Murray replied,“Aye, but as a bit of a change from my usual line of tales, I’ve decided to tell one of my early life before I met Madeline. Decades ago I was working for a multinational as an accountant and to my surprise I was transferred to the Amsterdam branch. The work was okay, but not particularly interesting. I soon found a girlfriend, so the sex shows and red light district had never had any appeal for me. I’d been a malt drinker long before I left school, so the ready availability of drugs had no appeal to me either. I often went to ‘sex bars’ with my friend Wim(31) to play pool or darts or to watch big sporting events on the huge TV screens the clubs had, and the lady on the stage in the corner with the donkey was of no interest to either of us. It reached the point where the doormen knew I was a local not a tourist, and that trying to shake me down for fifty guilders to enter would only result in a torrent of abuse in Dutch with a funny accent. That I referred to guilders rather than euros tells you how long ago I am talking about because the Dutch adopted the euro when it first came in on the first of January nineteen ninety-nine, and when I was over there no one had ever even heard of it. I don’t think the idea of a common European currency had even been considered then, but who knows what politicians get up to in cigar smoke filled rooms.

“Once the doormen knew me well enough for us to have a laugh and a craic they used to take the piss out of my accent. I always telt them my Dutch was perfect it was just that they were listening in a funny accent which always cracked them up. Another thing that they thought funny was when I translated expressions from English to Dutch that had no equivalent. A particularly funny one seemed to be ‘Why not’ which I translated as ‘Waarom niet’ which I believe though technically correct was not a widely used expression. Then again maybe I just used it inappropriately. I was single and had a good time over there. Most of the girls I went out with dumped me as soon as they realised I’d no intention of getting too serious, which was more often than not a relief to me. It was obvious I was earning serious money, and I think most were more interested in my wallet than in me.

“I worked in the area known as the west harbour, and at the time a Japanese car company, Nissan or maybe Toyota, I can’t recall, was developing a new European site to import their cars by the tens, if not hundreds, of thousands a year. The enormous warehouse, like all buildings on the polders,(32) was build on piles. The piles were huge reinforced concrete affairs that were made individually for where they were going to be placed. Each one was custom made in length for its site according to how deep it would sink through the sand before it hit what I had been telt was hard clay. I could see the whole process through my office window. The piles were about three hundred millimetres [a foot] square in section and typically thirty to forty metres [100-130 feet] long. They were delivered by helicopter dangling vertically below the huge transport. I was telt typically they weighed six to seven thousand kilos [6-7 tons, 13500-16000 pounds] but the longest ones could be as much as ten thousand [10 tons, 22400 pounds].

“The helicopter hovered with the suspended pile below it while the lower end was manually jockeyed into position, when that was okay the helicopter lowered the pile which sunk into the soft sandy substrate anything up to a third of its length. Then a vibrating pile driver was clamped around the pile, and a deep toned thumping began which caused everything around to shake including my office which was maybe a couple of kilometres away [a mile and a half]. To begin with every thump caused the pile to sink dramatically often by more than a metre, [three feet] gradually as the pile sank the driver was raised to be clamped higher up the pile. When perhaps eight or so meters of the pile was above ground the helicopter released its connection and flew away. The driver continued to put the pile into the ground each thump making a smaller difference than the last.

“When only a couple of metres [six feet] remained above ground the process stopped because the pile had bottomed out. We could tell when that occurred because our building shook much more violently. The entire process took about two hours, and they put three a day in seven days a week for months. Then they started piling for another building. A colleague telt me the piling had been going on for years and would continue for several years more till the area was completely developed into the proposed light industrial park. He said the plans were freely available if I wanted to see what the area would ultimately look like.

“I left the company after a while and returned to the UK. Amsterdam was a great place to live, but that bloody thumping all day every day started to get me down. I couldn’t work properly, and there was no escaping it, so I quit. I did well out of coming back, I got a better job with more money. I’d definitely had more fun living in Amsterdam than in Leeds, but there were no pile drivers in Leeds. I was in Leeds for the best part of a year. It’s not a bad place, but I was awful glad to move to a job in Lancaster. It’s bloody cold in Leeds, and the wind is bitter. They say it’s a lazy wind because it can’t be bothered to go round you. It goes straight through you.”

Stan said, “It’s the same every where on the east of the country, Murray. Years ago, I worked in the Newcastle Durham area. Just the same. Bleak, bitter, cold and unforgiving. And it makes the folk there miserable. I was pretty miserable too when I lived over there. Other side of the coin is it never stops bloody raining on this side of the country, but at least the rain’s relatively warm. Even when it is cold over here it’s bearable. More pints, Lads?”

~o~O~o~

“Tommy, now you’re here you can tell us where’ve you been these last few days,” Alf remarked.

“Sarah and I haven’t had a day off from the Post Office in eighteen months, so when her sister and brother-in-law said they’d mind the shop for a few days we took the opportunity. They’re both cleared with the Post Office to do that, so it seemed too good an opportunity to let go. There were a few places down country we wanted to see so we took the car and stayed in bed and breakfast hotels. Mostly we wanted to visit Kidderminster.”

“Kidderminster!” Exclaimed Paul who’d spent part of his childhood in Malvern which was about twenty-five miles [43km] from Kidderminster. “There’s nothing there now. It used to be the carpet capital of the empire, maybe sixty years ago, then when traditionally made Axminster and Wilton carpets got to be uncompetitive as a result of modern cheaper methods of making carpets the town died. What did you go there to see?”

“Sir Roland Hill was born there and there’s a marble statue of him statue in Kidderminster. It’s at the junction of Vicar and Exchange Streets. We’ve always wanted to see it.”

Alf asked, “Sorry for being ignorant, but who the hell was Roland Hill?”

“The bloke who completely revolutionised the postal system. He invented postage stamps. Before that you had to pay to receive post.”

“I suppose that makes sense for someone in your line of work, Tommy. Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, both of us, Alf. I enjoyed seeing the Ironbridge and Coalbrookdale and Sarah loved Stratford upon Avon and some of the small towns on the river Severn, especially Stourport on Severn and Bewdley.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing the Ironbridge and Coalbrookdale myself. It’s where it all started, engineering and the industrial revolution I mean.”

“You’d enjoy yourself, Alf, and there are some truly superb ales to be enjoyed down there. Talking of which I seem to have an empty glass. I wonder how that happened?” Stan started towards the back of the bar amidst the laughter as empty glasses were rounded up for washing.

~o~O~o~

Luke emptied his third pint and pulled his fourth towards him as he said, “We’ve heard a variety of tales tonight of various kinds. An interesting mix I’d say. I’ve a short one, Lads, that’s along similar lines to the work related tales. It’ll probably take us up to supper time. I’d have been twenty-two or -three and working as a van driver for an outfit in Chester called Terraqua. They specialised in river crossings of various kinds. To be honest I didn’t know too much about what they did at the time because I wasn’t involved. I just picked stuff up and delivered it. I know even less about what they did now. I don’t think the company exists now, but I don’t know that for sure. I was offered a big pay rise if I’d go down to Carmarthen in Wales. They said they’d pay for my hotel too. I’d nothing to stay for where I was, so I went. They were doing a three mile stretch of the original gas network that crossed the River Towy that the Welsh called Afon Tywi. That’s the west end of the network. Essentially Sam and Gee Shaw were working on the new parallel network, but at this end of it. To drive from one side of the crossing to the other was a forty-odd mile drive to cover a few tens of yards.

“We used to see a lot of fishermen on the banks after the salmon and sea trout the river is famous for, mostly they were locals. They were always warning us about the incoming tide, for the river was tidal and it flowed backwards when the tide came in. The spring tides were apparently very dangerous. To avoid the inconvenience of the drive round which took over an hour because the roads were narrow country lanes, a boat was used for fetching small stuff from one side to the other. It wasn’t big, maybe ten foot long and had a small outboard motor on it. Some lads had come over for a selection of hand tools one day and reckoned it was fifteen minutes before the tide came in. The river narrowed quite dramatically down stream of the site, so as the tide came in the water built up in height and increased in speed. We’d seen it often enough, a wall of water a foot [300mm] high moving at maybe five miles an hour [8km per hour]. But tides aren’t predictable to that degree. I know the tide tables seem to suggest that they are, but a lot depends on how much rain there’s been and how strong the wind is and on what direction it’s blowing in.

“It was only a couple of minutes to cross the river, so no one was concerned. That is no one was concerned till they saw the four foot [1.2m] wall of water moving at maybe fifteen miles an hour. [24km per hour] It hit the boat as it reached the middle of the river and took it out of sight upstream in less than a minute. We found out the day after it had taken the boat near to twenty miles [32km] upstream before they managed to get the boat to the bank. None of the lads were hurt, but they all admitted that a change of underwear had been a good idea. I worked there for maybe six months before the job ended. The firm had been good to me, and I made some good mates down there. Locals as well as others working for the firm. That’s where I got the fishing bug. When I left I came up here to work for Lux Lights delivering temporary traffic lights. I moved around a bit but I’ve never lived outside Cumbria since. Just after starting work for Parcel Force I met Hazel and we decided to live here when we got married. That was just after her dad died, and her mum wanted the company. Hazel is an only child and her mum left her everything including the house. We’re still living in the house Hazel was born and grew up in. I’ve been in Bearthwaite just over thirty years now, and I’m still driving for Parcel Force. I’m helping Tommy to put together the proposal for the fishing rights to the reservoir, so we can create a fishing weekend staying at the Dragon including listening to the Grumpy Old Men’s Society on the Saturday night. Damn me, Tommy had the right of it, my glass has become empty too. Stan do your duty, and make sure everyone’s glass is full before Harriet brings the supper through. Anybody know what’s on the menu tonight?”

Harriet entered in time to hear Luke’s question and she replied, “Steak and kidney puddings with mashed potatoes and mushy peas, Uncle Luke. There’s extra gravy too. I made the puddings yesterday and put it all together today, cos Veronica’s not feeling too good and has taken to her bed. Looks like I’ll be cooking for all her shifts till she’s well again. She’s got a bad cough and a really sore throat. Auntie Elle said it’s a five day thing that’s doing the rounds. A lot of the kids have got it, so Auntie Lucy has ordered in a load of cough medicine that has something in it to sooth a sore throat. It’s already arrived and is available from the shop and the Post Office. The supper has been served in the best side, so I’ll be bringing yours in within five minutes.”

~o~O~o~

“By hell, those puddings of Harriet’s hit the spot, didn’t they just, Alf.”

“Aye, Rib sticking without a doubt, Simon. What I like about the recipe used here, which I think was originally one of Aggie’s, is unlike commercial ones, which contain bugger all kidney, these are fifty fifty steak and kidney. I know the pastry is made with beef suet and that’s exactly what what the doctor ordered when the weather is cold.”

“The good thing from my point of view, Alf, is it doesn’t matter how much kidney of whatever kind I’ve in the shop freezers, which sometimes doesn’t sell very quickly, when steak and kidney pie or pudding is on the supper menu here the entire lot goes. I don’t even have to ask I just deliver every thing I’ve got with the steak trimmings. Both of which I’m glad to see the back of and both of which are perfect for pies and puddings.” The speaker had been Vincent the village slaughter man and butcher. “Someone mentioned earlier you were telling a tale tonight, Alf. Was it that one about Sasha’s Land Rover or another? If so are you up for it now?”

“Aye but, before I even start I’ll tell you I’ve Ellen’s permission to tell this tale. She wanted to buy some new knickers, but with the Covid she said she wasn’t prepared to go out shopping in anywhere she’s likely to find anything suitable, so seeing as I regularly use Ebay to buy bits and pieces I got volunteered for the great on line knickers hunt. I wasn’t bothered, no problem, search, select, buy and wait a few days. That’s how it works for me. I didn’t realise women’s stuff was so different and complicated. Talk about a lamb to the slaughter. I’m sure if I’d been after underpants it would have been as simple as buying nuts and bolts. I no idea there was so much to it. I asked Ellen what we were looking for. Black and size fourteen women’s knickers I was telt. That seemed straight forward enough. Then she started telling me what she didn’t want. No menstrual knickers, nothing that would give a vpl, that’s a visible panty line as I now know, no bikini types, nothing with the word high associated with them and definitely no throngs or G strings.

“Two and a half hours of trawling through knickers of the world before she settled on a twelve pack that met all the criteria at a price she was prepared to pay. Still some things remain the same, just like real shopping the ones she ended up buying were some we’d looked at right at the beginning. I’d definitely lost the will to live long before she’d done, but at least my feet didn’t hurt from all that walking though my benumbed arse took an hour to regain any sense of feeling after the pins and needles had gone. Still no matter how long it takes to get what she wants online it’s got to be better than hanging around all day in the lingerie section in department stores and places like La Senza in Carlisle trying to look unconcerned by what’s all around you.”

“Is that us, Lads? Time for dominoes?” Asked Pete.

~o~O~o~

“Nay lad, I’ve a quick one,” said Dave. Most realised Dave was about to tell something humorous, or at least quirky, and nodded in agreement. “This tale takes place in an art gallery in Dublin. The exhibition was titled ‘Being Black in Ireland’. There was a painting of three naked black men, all were as well endowed as stereotypically black men were said to be. However, the middle man of the three had a white penis. A group of middle class art aficionados were gathered round in front of the picture bullshitting in the usual way of such folk concerning the deeper inner meaning of the painting. After a while a scruffy looking man came up to them and said in an Irish accent, “You are all talking bollocks.”

“And how would you know,” condescendingly asked one of the group.

“I painted the picture,” replied the man. “The three men are all Irish coal miners who work a drift mine painted from real life after their shift ended immediately before they had a shower.”

“So what is the real meaning behind the middle man having a white penis?” Another condescending voice asked.

The painter looked disdainfully at the group before saying,”He goes home for his lunch.”

~o~O~o~

After the laughter quietened, Pete looked around to see if anyone wanted to tell another tale, but seeing no takers he said, “Okay, lets have the glasses washed, some more pints pulled, and a round of rare stuff for any as want it. I’ll just go to see what’s happening on the best side and check on Gladys and Gloria, so if someone will deal with matters here I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Sasha said, “I’ll sort the dominoes, Lad. Stan and the others can do the rest. Partner me?” Pete nodded and on his return the rest of them were waiting ready to commence the onslaught of the no holds barred event that playing dominoes involved.

1 Allen Scythe, a self propelled knife bar mower the operator walks behind. A heavy and exhausting machine to use. The clutch only controls the forward motion. When the engine is turning over the knives are in operation. The only way to stop them is to stop the engine.
2 TLC, tender loving care.
3 No brainer, not worth considering.
4 Had the heat out of is a vernacular expression implying not just burning, but burning in a stove or on a fire. Literally it means usefully extracting the heat. A common expression implying getting the best out of a bad situation is, ‘Well at least I had the heat out of it.’
5 Bosky, drunk.
6 Owt, anything.
7 It does exactly what it says on the tin, was the punch line of an advert in the UK which rapidly became a meme all were familiar with indicating whatever was claimed was true. It originated in a series of TV ads by the wood stain and wood-dye manufacturer Ronseal, initiated in 1994, and it is still being broadcast in advertisements and online media to date.
8 It is a legal requirement that the names of the licence holders of all establishments entitled to sell alcohol in the UK are displayed above the entry doors to such establishments.
9 A gnat’s nadger, colloquial expression indicating a very small amount.
10 Spot, dialectal for place.
11 EpiPen, the trademark of a particular hypodermic device that administers a dose of epinephrine, also called adrenaline, used for the emergency treatment of an acute allergic reaction. For someone with an allergy an EpiPen can mean the difference between life and death. The term has come to be used as a generic name for all such devices.
12 Craic, pronounced crack, enjoyable social activity, a good time, or just gossip.
13 Big school, secondary school. UK children go to secondary school when they are eleven.
14 Digs, accommodation.
15 Bait, a working man’s mid shift meal. Bait box, the box in which his bait was packed.
16 Mince or minced meat is the English expression for ground meat.
17 Gey, very.
18 Ignorant in this context means bad mannered and antisocial.
19 Knackers, those who collect ‘fallen’ stock for rendering. They deal with animals that can’t be sold into the human food chain. They are in the main the only legal way open to most farmers to dispose of dead animals in the UK and they are expensive. There are other legal methods that are not widely available and there are of course illegal methods too.
20 Bulling. A cow is said to be bulling when at the appropriate part of its oestrus cycle to become in calf. Cows at that time make characteristic, and very loud, mooing noises.
21 Butch, verb to butcher.
22 A primal or primal cut of meat is a piece of meat initially separated from the carcass of an animal during butchering. Different countries and cultures make these cuts in different ways, and primal cuts also differ between type of carcass.
23 Btu, a measure of energy, a British thermal unit. 100,000 Btu per hour is equivalent to 29.307106944 kW, say 30kW.
24 DA, a reference to D. A. Harrison, the largest Ready-Mix concrete supplier in Cumbria. Known to most in the area as simply DA [dee ay] they operate plants at numerous sites in Cumbria.
25 Rebar, reinforcing bar. The steel used to reinforce concrete.
26 Twenty-eight second kerosene, the twenty eight seconds is a viscosity term. It refers to the time it takes a standard volume of the kerosene to flow through a standard viscometer under standard conditions. The term is widely used in the UK.
27 Enbiggen, enlarge. As far as I can ascertain this is a word coined by a Youtuber with a workshop channel in humour maybe five years ago. It seems, however, to have caught on and I have heard it in general usage by others who all seem to have workshops too. I stand to be corrected, and if anyone knows of an earlier or different origin of the word please do let me know.
28 Tapping, the process whereby a female thread is produced using a very hard male thread form called a tap. A tap has grooves down its sides called flutes that are there to accept the material removed in the process and also to provide the sharp ‘edge’ that actually cuts the female thread.
29 Spark erosion is a process where metal is melted or vaporised by an electric spark. Commercial machines often use cold water to flush away the eroded material as microscopic pieces of now solid material. It is a very precise and controllable process, often the only way to remove a broken tap or drill, which are very hard, from a softer work piece without destroying the work piece.
30 Hostage rum, illegal locally distilled rum. A term used amongst smugglers in the Caribbean islands.
31 Wim, a Dutch masculine given name or short for Willem. Pronounced Vim and Villem.
32 Poulder, a piece of low-lying land reclaimed from the sea or a river and protected by dykes, especially in the Netherlands.