Millom in the Dock (10 page)

The hill in the
background is Black Coombe. Famous because the summit is where King
Arthur first saw Millom. That’s the pitch and putt in the
foreground, near the place where the feathered Noddy Holder
died.

This Ho! Ho! Ly
est establishment is the barbed wire protected switchboard for
Reverential (or so he says) one to one with the one who missed them
off the map in the first place, yet talks, if a little fearfully,
with only the Reverend (or so the Reverend says), who then kindly
passes on relevant thou shalt / shalt not, unedited (!?) messages
to the flock. This is where some of the residents shop for peace
and go a blabbing everything they wouldn’t tell their mum … cos
she’d tell the cops, boring them just a little more. Yes folks, the
townsfolk are not too happy at all with the Almighty and, you can
bet that when it’s all over and they walk through the Pearly Gates
and go straight to Complaints, there is still one resident who
feels mucho glee, because …

Where there’s a
will, there’s usually a relati … sorry … a Reverend.

(A REVEREND
WITH
JR’S
A ROLEX OYSTER PERPETUAL
... A GIFT FROM GOD! To be exact)
.

This is why the
Reverend has no trouble smiling in Sharpo-Ville, even when there is
a good stiff chilly breeze plus rain coming from the gusset of
Haverigg shore, Hodbarrow Point, or the Duddon Estuary. You’d smile
too if ‘God’ prayed to ‘you’ and, you also had a watch with jewels
to shame the Crown, wouldn’t you M’lud, ladies and gentlemen of the
Jury, dear reader? But still! Hell! (Oops! Hail Mary!). A cold wind
straight off the Irish Sea, brrrr! It makes everyone else
miserable, especially at night when some poor soul finds it
necessary to open their back door to put the cat out and let the
kids in or vice versa and the wind blows out the living room
light.

As the Winter
draws in some of the locals i.e. ‘the poor’, huddle in groups
around the Reverend’s front garden as they dare not stand on the
holy consecrated grass (freezing is one thing, but if a little
wrath is thrown in too that could be serious). They’re hoping for
Alms i.e. scraps of bacon, bread etc., which he throws into the
crowd for holy power amusement between penning profound
philosophical sermons. Sometimes if it is really, bitterly, beyond
a joke cold, he will open the door and throw out onto his crazy
paving, a real gift from God via him the Divinely appointed finger
of condemnation, a glowing ember from his blazing antique
Dickensian hearth (a goodwill ‘good Will’ gift that one), from
which bitterly cold hands may glean a little warmth. “See you all
Sunday” shouts the Rev. “Remember now, in the meantime, if you
can’t afford bread you must eat cake or starve! God bless me and
maybe remember you with great ‘massive’ effort, goodnight!” Through
his closed curtains, they can see many people in silhouette, stood
talking politely to each other it appears, while the Rev floats
amongst this obviously blessed throng. Yes the perfect host,
visiting with all of his guests. Occasionally he is seen to sit
down and lean over what is presumed to be his work desk … exhausted
no doubt? “Oh! Ooooh! The pooor, pooor man” say the shivering
ragged trousered philanthropists to one another. Some of the women
cry with emotion at being blessed in having such a martyr seeing to
their souls needs and tears have been known to freeze on
cheeks.

There was one
memorable night when a lady with no arms came to a party … this
saintly man even entertains the disabled??? Well “HELL!” (Hail
Mary!) Where is he supposed to put all the inherited Italian marble
statues? Thank God for widows (not Windows, that’s Microsoft or
Stormglaze). The armless one disappeared from view after partying
constantly for a week (such rock hard stamina), soon after which
the Rev had four large crates of money delivered by the postman’s
cart, dragged huffingly, puffingly by Peg. I’m assuming it was
money because each crate had ‘MONEY’ written in large letters on
the top and sides, so I’m told by the Catholic Priest (Hisssss!
Blasphemer!) in his chilly living room one afternoon when he was
chatting to me about his neighbour Sharpo’s loud rock music, from
his Kite CD. The gorgeously huge amount of money received by the
Reverend from a deceased relative via the Rev’s personal grovelling
butler … God, was for the roof fund said the notice board A4. This
was rather confusing because soon after the money arrived, that
notice disappeared and this one appeared … I think the first bit is
from Bambi?

Pit pit pat
little April showers … drip! Drip!

CHURCH
NOTICE

WE WOULD BE
GRATEFUL FOR THE LOAN OF UN-HOLY BUCKETS … THANKS. RETURN NOT
GUARANTEED … THANKS AGAIN.

His Holiness …
THE REV

P.S. TO NOT
LEND OR, TO TAKE BACK OR DEMAND THE RETURN OF YOUR DONATED BUCKET
IS A SIN! BE WARNED!

SATAN IS
WAITING FOR YOU.

A large bird in
silhouette appeared on his living room curtain show one night. To
the locals it did not seem to close its wings so, they assumed it
must have been waiting for the set bones to repair? The Rev must
also look after God’s sick creatures, convalescing after local Vet
Rick Brown has repaired them? He is like Saint Francis of
Assisi!

Naaaaa.

Eagle style
lecterns constructed from solid gold tend not to close their wings.
As for his exhausted leaning on the desk, you have to be really
careful doing someone else’s signature, especially by the Gothic
flickering (Acme church supplies) candle light.

Cometh Christus
Birthdayus festive season, the Reverend really goes to town … to
Millom Builders Merchants to be exact, then on his return erects,
(Hail Mary!), erm, ‘put’s up’ a full size, donated three star
stable hotel in his front garden using the shop assistants as holy
manual voluntary labour. He always seems to have three visitors at
this time of year … two adults and one half price and, a donkey
…

NO PETS, BUT
EXCEPTIONS MADE IN SOME EXTREME CASES. PLENTY OF ROOM AT THE INN,
BUT YOU FOUR MAY STAY HERE.

Although no one
has ever seen them? The local kids are encouraged to visit and
bring a trinket as a birthday present for the child. It is stated
in the leaflet, pushed through the door flaps of the relevant
people.

REVEREND’S
CHRISTMAS APPEAL (for the visitors, especially the young BOY child)
PLEASE ENSURE THAT ALL TRINKETS ARE MADE OF SOLID GOLD (remember …
size matters). PLEASE, NO FRANKINCENSE AND MYRRH, WE ALREADY HAVE
BUCKETFULS OF THE STUFF IN THE LOFT.

So, the correct
kids (no blaspheming Devil spawn please. Thank you) come round the
Rev’s house bearing gifts a plenty. They are all allowed to walk
onto the path, leaving more cracks in the paving and, then onto the
consecrated garden where they leave footprints three inches deep.
But, every year without fail, there is a sign on the stable door
…

SORRY, NOT IN.
HAVE GONE FOR A WALK DOWN HODBARROW POINT, PLUS A DONKEY RIDE ON
THE SAND FOR LAAL ‘J’ (tide out, God willing … Moses. King Arthur’s
joke not ours ha! Ha! Laal means small, little) PLEASE, AS WE
THEREFORE CANNOT PERSONALLY GREET YOU AGAIN THIS YEAR PLEASE PLACE
GIFTS i.e. GOLD, GOLD AND GOLD THROUGH THE REVEREND’S LETTERBOX FOR
SAFE KEEPING. PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB THE MOST HOLY ONE, AS HE IS
WRITING A VERY IMPORTANT SERMON. THANKS VERY MUCH.

J, M &
(laal) J and Easter the donkey.

So, as it is
almost written Matthew 7:7 “realise you’ve been conned and then you
shall receive (unless you don’t” … the flap opens and half a ton of
precious metal is tipped quickly through the letterbox. The Rev has
lost three vicious, special breed dogs (German Statuegaarders) like
this in the past, crushed by the weight of glittering, luverly,
juberly gold much to the delight of Freddie Gleaves the postman.
The Rev though, to his Divine souls credit, when he can be
bothered, listens to Gods confessions before going to bed after a
hard nights calligraphy, logging for Southerbys and Jeet Kune Do
Kata practice, in case of a fight over goods with the undertakers
or (who will rid me of) that dammmmmned Priest!

Pride of place
on his dressing table is the gold, diamond and ruby encrusted Rolex
Dog Collar stand. He drifts off to sleep hoping that someone in
Millom will soon invent the motor car and the speedboat as he is
determined to beat the Pope, who is materially, his richest
rival.

Good old Rev!
Old mate of mine! SERIOUSLY! Has a God like sense of humour!!! A
good man! I’ve had some laughs with the Rev. I like him. He
wouldn’t harm a fly. He has a heart of gold (had it made as an
ornament).

M’lud: “Thank
you Mr Lassut, Court will recess until 2 p.m. Amen!”

“All rise for
M’lud! Amen!”

***

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Except in
Millom Sharpo would just nick the plant and sell it
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.

***

2 p.m.

THE FOLK
MUSEUM

“All rise for
M’lud” (hic!)

M’lud: “Welcome
back everyone. Now Mr Lassut could you please tell us about the
Folk Museum, for a little historic culture shopping. The museum
being, according to the press, the ‘Only place worth visiting’;
which I personally find hard to believe. Did Sharpo ever go in to
fill up his culture tank and volunteer some time, NOT through the
suggestion of a Judge?”.

Thank you,
M’lud, Ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader, The only
place worth visiting, of course not M’lud, that would be like a
politician going on a humanities course.

The lost and
alone (chilled to the bone … in a Northern Winter) American tourist
couple pay a couple of
Millom Croats
quid
each to get into the place. On the ticket it states … ‘Includes
Prodder’. This baffles the pair, huuuh? Until an enthusiastic young
lad or lass comes running from the historical innards of the memory
mansion and states, with great Northern gusto “Hi, I’m Shelley! I’m
your prodder!” They think … “Wow, strange young girl, she has a
shadow of a moustache?” The visitors however accept the situation
and enter the room. “Mmmmm look dear community bar of earwax soap!
Mmmmm old box of matches! Mmmmm Dames Ison’s first attempt! Mmmmmmm
… ration … mmm … book! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm … pigs bladder
… rugby … mmmmmmm … ball?! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm …
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm … zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzz …

PROD! PROD!
PROOOOOOOOOD!

PRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOODDDD!

“Eeeeh!
Whaaaaa?! Heeeey!!!! Ohhhhh! Nooo, hmmmmmmmm just another five
minssssssssssswhhaaaa …?

PRRRROOOOOOODDDD! House on fire!? Ohhhhh! Ooohhhhh! … Right!

Oh hello, I’m
sorry, oooh what!? We’re not in bed, we’re where? Oh, thanks! …
Wake up dear … Dear! We’re in Millom Folk Museum! …

Firelighter,
half used!! Oh my Gooood! Burning interrupted by the Blitz! Wowee!
Hey Dear! Aren’t you glad we came? Wow! Lookee here dear an actual
sepia Daguerreotype photograph of Hodbarrow from St George’s!
Here’s one of St George’s from Hodbarrow and one here of St
George’s and Hodbarrow from Blaaack Coombe! … Oooooohh! Here’s one
taken from TWENTY FIVE THOUSAND FEET!

The trouble
with this picture that our couple have stumbled upon is … Peg can’t
breathe at that height … so ???

M’lud, ladies
and gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader, here we have another
fascinating aspect of Millom which will explain such photographs.
This also bears great precedence in the Astro Physicist scientific
field …

ALIEN ABDUCTION
(or … Screw Roswell!) For Brick and Togo.

There is an
actual eye witness report but it is locked in a safe in the
Reverend’s house (and he’ll keep it secret … Vat- he – can).
Unfortunately the reporter was one of the squeaky shoed brigade who
fell victim to an undertakers ‘Boo!’ so there was no chance of
getting him into the witness box. The aliens did the difficult part
I would suppose i.e. reached the earth’s atmosphere, they then it
seems blew it. They came in search of two humans, two humans with
infinite intelligence and superior scientific minds. Two humans to
help save their planet which was on the verge of destruction! They
chose Millom and, just happened to be hovering above Wellington
Street one night when local lads, Brick and Togo, were coming out
of the Royal British Legion Club. I lived opposite the club and saw
this through my partly opened curtains … honest! M’lud, ladies and
gentlemen of the Jury, dear reader their alien selection committee
may be comprised of beings well capable of building a ship which
could travel across the Universe like kite of a shovel but, their
character analysis on this occasion at least, must have been
tarnished by the cosmic equivalent of Guinness (wonder if they have
cracked the pouring time?)

In the ‘new
abductees’ welcoming room they sat, reading well read,
well-travelled magazines (someone had drawn glasses and a moustache
on a cover shot of Gillian Anderson). Brick and Togo are brilliant
characters, as a comedy duo, would make Stan and Ollie look like a
pair of innocent framed Amish pessimists on Death Row with one
night left to live. These two heroes weren’t scared though … it was
a good break in routinetinetinetine … and the scenery down below
looked nice the following morning, admired between gaps in the
clouds. Brick was excited I believe because he could see his roof!
So I reckon it was he who must have requested the picture in order
to show everyone that it wasn’t true that he had a slate missing,
especially the girl, Esme Relda Jones, who had given him a can of
pop one hot afternoon when he was locked in the stocks outside St
George’s church for taking his bucket back (Hail Mary!). She said …
“You must have a slate missing for taking your bucket back but, I
can’t see you gasping for a drink”.