Millom in the Dock (20 page)

I can though
and will recount the tale of …

TARKA (not) THE
OTTER

Tarka is a
person who takes/took things from other people when they are
not/were not in. He is banned from Millom. One night, he and his
buddies came to my house and took my shaw kite video player and the
methane jar which I was planning to use with the TV upon its
invention. Wilf Hornsby had promised to tell me pronto when such an
event happened. Nevertheless, they took it. It made me wonder
actually if they had something similar to a TV set wherever they
were. I had a choice at this point, I could either …

Tell the Police
or Tell Sharpo

Number one
required the filling in of a boring looking form and interrogation
for the case of the ‘Missing allotment duck?’”

I decided that
if they tied me to a chair and began boring a confession out of me
I would admit the lesser charge of a chicken perhaps. I would never
confess to one of Craghills Guinea Fowl (my cousin Graham Irwin has
probably eaten the evidence by now and judging by Graham’s new hat,
tried to hide the feathers too) and, a peacock was definitely out.
Sheep rustling was not even to be considered. Sheep ‘rustling’ in
Millom is the sound made by the willies in the dead leaves when you
are chasing your luuuuuurrrvee ‘conquest’ while singing something
by Barry White … even better though … Noddy’s ballad ‘Everyday’ or
…

I tell Sharpy
the story. He listens intently, I feel a little bad because the
poor lads cheeks are swollen with the ‘mumps’. However he takes a
breath, a sip of Ribena (undiluted!) and rasps under his breath …
“Heeeeeeyyy! Okay! Noooo problem, Corlieone sort it out. Let me
make a few enquiries.” He then placed the Persian cat he was
stroking in a mini guillotine and chopped it in half (joking!). I
kissed his ring and left. A couple of days later the Police call at
my house with the video and empty (!) shaw kite jar ... actually,
that’s REAL fantasy.

A couple of
days later, Corlieone comes a calling, mumps cleared I’m glad to
say. It was good news … “Job sorted Frankie, they will bring it
back. I told them ‘you bring my mates stuff back, or, we’ll be down
to visit you ...”. Now that’s service!

One road in to
the town over a bridge, the same way out too unless you own Peg. He
had seen them getting into their car to leave the town and had run
to this bridge. He calmly tied Fireblade Jackaljaw to the fence and
stood in the middle of the road on approach of suspect vehicle …
which … erm, stopped. You would if you saw Eric Estrada, Mike Tyson
hybrid in your way flexing his neck muscles. Not being swayed by
idols (cars), he didn’t bother getting into the mecca position,
although a few passers-by felt they should. Then, various parts of
the car were removed forcibly and the riot act read out. I realise
it’s against the law to treat criminals like this … from folklore
stories passed on, I hear the guys in the car, during the
dismantling, rose in their seats by a few inches atop their own
kite. I also hear that, as a last resort, if the goods did not come
back as politely requested, he was planning to deposit a horse’s
head in Tarka’s bed. But on second thoughts … he wanted his milk
delivery the next morning (the bluff would have to work ... it
did).

Hey presto! A
day or so later, a video player and FULL shaw kite jar (I think it
was their own? The consistency was all wrong for a horse) were
deposited in my back yard. This is honestly a true story; do you
think I should tell the Police? It has been a while .This did have
rather an astonishing effect in Millom. A local colleague of mine,
Mel Wilson, decided to print the town’s first ever newspaper on the
strength of it. The paper was only the size of a playing card,
containing this amazing story, but people enjoyed it and wondered
if the next edition may contain runescopes? On the down side, it
was nowhere near big enough to inspire the potato chip. The second
edition, because nothing much had happened since, contained the
headline story …

‘THE
ADVERTISER’

TIDE COMES IN …
THEN GOES OUT AGAIN.

and ...

King Arthur
discovers VAT, and smiles widely.

League female
player shaves moustache but breaks razor.

Farmer’s
daughter attempts to shave legs, but breaks reinforced cut
throat.

Reverend Joe
(Isaacs) seen carrying large marble statue into house?

Millom Operatic
Society Member remembers lines in the King and I.

Policeman
spotted looking interested in END OF LINE town after winning
fifteen grand hurt feelings money.

Offer for
Millom Express from Richard Branson.

Job centre
staff demands Sou’westers for climbing on the roof in Wintery
conditions.

Barrow in
Furness people jealous of Millom book.

The freelance
reporter was Togo, and the speller was Brick’s Mum and sister Viv
... married to the Lord of Queens Park, Derek Morris. (If I get in
as many names as possible, they will never find a Court house big
enough).

Anyway that’s
the Local Millom hero and one of the best friends I ever had. Up
t’t Nuwrrth …

That was
painless. Stephen is now almost famous I hope.

He died in a
motorcycle accident this year, 2012 ... I’m not a believer in
death, I know we go on with none of this ‘rest in peace’ nonsense
... so, as a final parting shot (for now) ... Sharpy was famous for
his chin, so, hence a cremation ... how the hell would they have
managed to get the coffin lid on otherwise? Well?

There is one
more little funny I have just had clear info about concerning my
car. As I write this, it is the eleventh of Jan, 2014, so this has
been going on for a while. I contacted an old friend of mine, David
Gabbert and his wonderful and beautiful wife Sue back up there in
Millom. He travelled with Sharpo, myself and in this case ... well,
here it is, I think it’s funny anyway.

One morning
when attending college in Workington, I, the driver, get into my
Renault 4, a car which resembled a bread van, whose gear stick came
out of the dashboard; something that always bemused Sharpy to the
tune of “How the fuck do you drive this thing Frankie?”. An old
friend of mine Dave Gabbert (a really nice guy) was on board and
someone else, a Mr Heasley I can’t remember ... and, as the stereo
didn’t work, we needed at least some noise, so, we had already
arranged the next best thing ... I pulled up outside of Sharpo’s.
His door opens, and he comes from the door sort of hopping and
running trying to get into a sleeping bag. He was subtly trying to
tell me that my heater was worse than crap ... (being subtle was
one of his best qualities).

An e-mail from
Sue, Dave’s lovely wife.

Dave doesn’t
mind ‘you mentioning’ (author added) about the car bit.  He
said it was so funny when Sharpo came out of the house jumping in a
sleeping bag and asked ‘why’... Sharpo said ‘you'll soon find
out’... Dave said he's never been soooo cold and there was Sharpo
as snug as anything curled up in his sleeping bag.

Huh! Cold is good for you! What about our version of talk,
talk, talk radio? Zzzzzzzzzz!
We travelled first class to
Workington to college. All I could hear was the engine purring,
‘brrrr!’ and ‘Zzzzzz!’

We finished,
having sponged up all the knowledge Workington lecturers could give
us and made
our way back to the car. I opened the door by
turning the key in the lock (remember those days?). Dave, whose
seat was in the back next to the black box, opened his door, and
the pin in the hinge (these are French country road cars remember,
expense spared), and the door came off in his hand.

He started laughing. As Dave carried on laughing (still is
apparently), I didn’t know what to think, but then thought about
taking the other one off and bolting them to the roof and having
the first DeLorean. I can’t remember what Sharpo said, but it was
something riper than a piece of mature Gorgonzola. I started the
engine, turned on the cold air because it was Winter in the frozen
wastelands of the North, and we’re always hot (anyway, Sellafield
was nearby ... who needs a heater?).
I can’t remember what
happened to the car, but I think Dave has the door, framed and on
his living room wall. At least we had radio on the way back, which
was very loud, but no one could get hold of the knob to turn it
down a bit (I blame his dad’s genes, although Esther may have been
noisy in private).

I’m going to
finish now, but absolutely lastly, I must pay a tribute to my best
friend. The one who whispered the words of inspiration and gave me
the ‘mental’ pictures to write this text and kept me up for weeks,
laughing.

I have taken
the mick out of that old infinite stalwart and all round good egg,
God, throughout this whole thing, for which I may be accused of
blasphemy by certain groups, but do I care? (I don’t fear God ...
why fear friends?). I guess you may have realised I’m not quite
religious? Neither was Sharpo, although he did live right next door
to the Catholic Priest, within stone’s throw of the church ...
there’s some irony in there.

One more
thing

Good News!

God got a
hunch, call it coincidence of you like. He went around to his
parents house for Sunday Dinner He had an urge to explore and so
went into the altar wine cellar which was huge because God’s
parent’s mansion (of which they have many) is pretty spectacular.
He was nosing around omnipresently and came across his old work
desk. He looked at it and was also it, which is very clever. He
noticed the pencil mark on it and upon closer inspection, he found
Millom ... ‘Oh gosh!’ he exclaimed as he realised what he had done
all those billions of years ago which is a mere fraction of a
second in eternity, but a long time for Millom.

Call it
coincidence again if you will (that’s the easy way out) but at
about the same time the Reverend Joe thought ‘I bet he drew Millom
on the white topped table and that’s why it’s so crazy here. But
Joe needed Millom known to the outside world so he could Skype
international banks into which he could deposit the Gold given to
Laal J at Christmas, not to mention all the widow’s treasures. The
banks wouldn’t give him an account because they thought he was
taking the mickey by telling them he lived in Millom, which wasn’t
on the map. But now his fortune needed to be making serious
interest, so he had a word in God’s shell like and gave him an
ultimatum i.e. ‘you put Millom on the map and then you’ve no need
to pray to me anymore.’ A deal was made. Some maps don’t show
Millom because it’s too small. For instance, on this particular one
the red dot is Millom. Actually, if that dot was printed out and
cut out, although it may look like a spot on your finger end, it
would be like a manhole cover if laid on Millom’s main street.

You can see how
young God made the cock up though.

Is that the
end?

Well, if there
is no death, it can’t be (can it?).

Heaven.

God: “Peter,
where is newly returned soul Sharpo?”

Peter: “Behind
that fluffy cloud over there.”

God: “Well, I
have a harp for him. Soul Jesus says he will teach him and then
they can form a duo and play to those newly arrived from rest
homes. Can you tell him through the megaphone please.”

Peter: “Ok.
Testing! Soul Sharpo, could you stop messing around and being
annoying and come over here please?! We have a harp for you and
soul Jesus is going to give you some lessons and then form a lovely
duo with you to play to nice old people’s souls who will appreciate
you both!”

The divine dove
flew from the cloud’s puffy splendour and landed on God’s shoulder.
Peter noticed the message on its leg, removed it, opened it and
read it ... his face dropped.

God: “What does
it say?”

Peter: “Erm ...
well, at least we can’t die and there’s nowhere we can go, because
we’re Now Here