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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 17, 2005 13:56:06 GMT 1
While looking for something on some old disks I found this sample of a story written by one of our members some time ago. Although incomplete as yet, it had me chuckling, and for that reason alone, and because I know the member won't mind, thought I'd post what I have of it...
Agatha's Apples
a work in progress by AuntAggie
Part 1
Well, bless me knickers! How fitting to find this old diary on the very eve of the day I begin me new life? Been neglectin’ it, I have, what with all the shocks, knocks and upheavals of this past year. First there was the rumours. Next came them wretched little Council compulsory purchase notices pasted onto lampposts and in the papers. After that, well, everything went all to pottin’ compost. Still, good things grow from shit, don’t they?
£15,000, that’s all they offered me. And here’s me havin’ lived all me life in this nice little terrace in Brick Lane. Spent a fortune keeping the place proper, I have, but that means nothing to them. Not a thing. In they came in their smiley-suits, carryin’ fancy briefcases stuffed with bits of paper and talkin’ non-stop about jobs and the local economy but carin’ nowt about folk’s feelings as live here.
Patronisin’ polecats, I call ‘em - and the local traders all agree. Well, who needs another supermarket on their doorstep when they can grow all the fruit and veggies they need in the back garden and have enough left over to give the neighbours? Why, I even sent the Mayor a dozen new laid eggs from me chucks for his birthday, but did it make any difference? Not a blind smidgen of it! And he didn’t even have the decency to thank me neither, the arrogant little bastard.
‘Ah, but Miss Skinner... Agatha, you must move with the times and £15,000 is a lot of money for…’ said his Whoreship, staring down his shnoz at that drunken sot, Herbie Smith’s place next door.
Soon put him straight, I did, but it made no difference – except to Herbie. Only offered him £10,000, they did - and that with them standin’ to make millions out of the developers and at the resident’s expense. Said so in the papers, it did, and right next to a photo of his Whoreship and that jumped up, struttin’ little dung-cock, Councillor Endaway from the plannin’ committee. Posing beside me apple trees like they already owned 'em, they were. ‘Just you remember, yesterday’s peacocks is tomorrow’s feather dusters,’ I yelled, going at 'em with me broom, and just as the photographer took his picture. Threatened to have me arrested, his Whoreship did – and it was them that was trespassin’!
You’d think I’d enough troubles on me plate what with that lot, and me picture in the paper, now wouldn't you? Fact is, that was just the start…
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 17, 2005 13:57:07 GMT 1
Part 2 All of a rumble, I was, going to work the day after me run-in with his Whoreship and that Councillor Endaway. A Friday, it was but I couldn’t even face going to the station kiosk for me usual ‘umbugs, I couldn’t, for fear as what folks would recognise me from that wretched photo.
What a photo it was, too. Made me look twenty years older and like one of them crones from that Scottish play as what that clever Will Shakespeare wrote.
Shocked, I was, the day I found a copy of that stuffed in the rubbish bin down the Station Road convenients. Must have been some schoolgirl what done it but it still weren’t respectful to such a great man to stuff his play in with the wet towels and periodicals. It weren’t sanitary neither, but that didn’t stop Aggie Skinner fishing it out for a read, did it? Well, when you’ve worked 47 years down the Station Road convenients I reckon you do get immune to bugs and bacterials.
Yes, 47 years I’d been tending them convenients and only the two days off, apart from Sundays, and them to bury me dear old Mam and Dad. Not a day’s sickness, nor an ‘oliday, have I had in all that time neither, and there’s not many folk as can say that, now is there? But I nearly broke me record that day, I can tell you. There I was bleachin’ the pans, when it hit me. Where was I to go if I had to leave me lovely little home? And at my age too. Where could I buy another place for a measly £15,000 and the few hundred saved up towards me burial?
‘Are you all right, Aggie?’ said Daisy Betts from off the flower stall across the road, findin’ me slumped down and bawlin’ me eyes out over the bowl. Terrible embarrassed, I was. Didn’t know where to look, so pulled myself together quick and fibbed.
‘Oh, Daisy… it’s this new bleach. Awful powerful, it is. Reckon the fumes must’ve got to me,’ says I, hopin’ him upstairs would forgive me.
Well, I felt such a fraud, I did, when she helped me up and into me little room, then made a nice, strong cuppa.
‘Here you are, luv. Get this down your neck and you’ll feel much better… Bit of fresh air you need, Aggie. How’s about lookin’ after my stall lunchtime while I pop and get us both one of them fancy take-aways?’ says Daisy Betts.
Must’ve thought I was born yesterday, she must’ve, for if there’s ever a woman as lives up to her name it’s her. But she’s a good ’earted soul so I agreed, knowin’ how we’d be lucky to have a sandwich apiece, and that grabbed from her flat on the way back from the bookies.
I was right. Cheese they was. A bit of mild, dry cheddar slapped between stale bread. Terrible thing gamblin’. Felt guilty about eating the food, guessin’ as how Daisy'd be dipping the takings for her supper that night. Reckoned it were only a matter of time before her boss found out and sacked her.
We’d just about finished our sandwiches when who do I spy amongst the chrysanthemums but Councillor Endaway and that actressy woman, Doris Wimple. Her as what’s married to the eccentric Sir Stanley Wimple who's turned Wimple Manor Estate into a Folk Museum.
Deep in the conversationals they were, Doris and Endaway. Oblivious to the rest of the world.
‘Wonder if they’re arrangin’ one of them assig-what’s-its?’ Daisy whispered.
We edged closer like a couple of nosy schoolgirls and shielded from sight by the racks of buckets. (Well, you’ve got to have a bit of spice in your life when you get to my age, ain’t you?)
‘Don’t you worry about a thing, Doris, my dear,’ says Endaway, rubbin’ his hand against her shoulder and lettin’ it trail down over her bosom. ‘I’ve arranged it all. Just you leave it to your Wizzy Wizard and I promise you’ll get your wish.’
Daisy and me exchanged meaningful looks. This was better than telly but I wished I’d me old Brownie with me to take a picture. The papers would have loved that. Yes, a bit of fittin’ revenge would have warmed me cockles after what Endaway had done to me, so it would.
‘Sir Stanley must never find out that you’ve anything’ to do with this, Percival, he’d be furious. It could ruin everything, even though he is such an altruistic old fool,’ said Doris, givin’ him a smacker and makin’ him blush like a broiled lobster. ‘Fancy you discovering them, you clever Wizzy Wizard.’
‘It’ll be fine. He dotes on you, darling and you know you can rap him around your little pinkie-winkies,’ he said, kissing her fingers one at a time, and suckling at them like a hungry puppy.
Well, it was touch and go whether Daisy or me would pee ourselves first. Better than telly, it was – if a bit confusing.
‘Oh, Percival, I love it when you do that but not now. Not here, darling.’
‘Then when? Where? I can’t wait to see you again.’
‘Later. At the usual place – and after the letter’s been delivered. We can plan our next move.’
‘Here,’ said Daisy, nudgin’ me ribs as that wicked Wimple woman and Councillor Endaway moved out of earshot, ‘what’s the odds on them two havin’ if off tonight?’
‘Ask the bookie, gal, ‘cos I’ve got to get back to work.’ I said crossly and left her to speckylate.
Upset me, it did, to think of poor Sir Stanley, eccentric millionaire or not, being deceived in some way, let alone his wife behavin’ as she was with that creep. I tell you straight, if I weren’t an upright, honest citizen I’d have found it hard to resist black-mailin’ the fat, horny, hippo, all things considered.
Indulged myself in a little wishful thinking and projectin’ for the next hour as I worked me anger out polishing all the taps and basins 'til they shone like mirrors. See your face in them, you could. Aye, or eat your dinner out of them basins down Station Road convenients that day, so you could.
It was nearly five o’clock when she came in. That funny, brusque little woman as works in the council wages office and never smiles. No, not even when the sun’s shinin’ fit to bust. Been bringin’ me wages for years, she had, but never once mentioned her name. Cora Cabbage, I do call her and it suits - not that I've any right to point a finger. Not with a face like mine. They was askin’ me for me bus pass ten years before ever I had a right to one.
As usual Cora had a quick look around the place then peered down her nose and into her handbag before pullin’ out me pay packet and the docket to be signed.
‘You have to sign for this too, Agatha,’ she said, handin’ me a letter but, surprised as I was, it was her smile as set me hand to quiverin’ the pen…
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 17, 2005 13:57:55 GMT 1
Part 3
Well, if I was a shakin’ before I opened that letter it weren’t nothin’ compared to the state on me after, I can tell you.
All couched in them legalility nonsense terms, it was. Pursuant to this, contravention of that and in breach of something else, it went. However, even someone such as the likes of me, Aggie Skinner, who’d left school before she were fourteen, could get the gisticles of it all right.
Fact is, thanks to me havin’ that wretched photo in the papers and being foolish enough to tell the photographer me age, some sharp, shifty-eyed, shite-stirrin’ scoundrel up the council offices had cottoned on as to how I should have been pensioned off a full six years before.
Served me right, it did, for only thinkin’ a few days before (that when readin’ about a Lollipop Lady as what had a medal off Her Royal Majesty for fifty years loyal service) that in another three years, it could be me receivin’ one.
Mind you, don’t reckon Her Majesty would really want to hand the likes of me a medal, long service or not. No, more like she’d be worried about catching somethin’, me havin’ spent so much of me time down the lavvies, see? Still, it were a nice thought and not like them I was havin’ about that lot up the Council Offices. Evil, they was. Pure evil, them thoughts. Why, when the worst of the shock started to wear off, I’d a good mind to dredge the drains and send them council folk a dollop of Station Road Convenients’s best and to show ‘em just what I thought of ‘em. Dirty, stinking ingrates, that’s what they are, sackin’ me with immediate effect, and that no time at all after the minimum wage come out and nearly doubled me pay! Made me blood boil right up, it did.
I tell you, for a minute or two I reckon me sanity went walkabout and if that Cora Cabbage or any of them other sadistic council bastards had walked in on me then I’d be doin’ time for murder by now, I would.
‘’ere, Aggie,’ says Daisy Betts, popping her head round the door just as I was clearin’ me personals out of me little room, ‘couldn’t lend us a couple of quid, could you, luv?’
Didn’t know whether to be grateful to ‘er for remindin’ me as how, bad though things were, other folks had worse, or grateful just to have someone around to bring me to me senses before I took me feelings out on them gleamin’ basins and smashed them to smithereens with the drain rods.
‘Well…’ I began.
‘Oh, go on, Aggie, please? I’ll pay you back tomorrow, honest I will,’ said Daisy.
‘Here,’ I says, handin’ her two quid and wonderin’ if I needed me ’ead examined. ‘Take it as a gift from me on me retirement.’
‘Thanks, Aggie. You’re a good ‘un,’ she said and was halfway up the steps before she stopped short and almost fell arse over melons back down again. ‘Retirement? Did you say retirement, Aggie?… But you can’t retire!’
‘Why not? Don’t you reckon I deserve a rest after slavin’ me knuckles halfway to the sewers nearly all me life? Besides, got to find somewhere else to live, ain’t I? Ain’t going to do that stuck down here, now am I?’
Well, you should ‘ave seen her face. Like a stage struck goldfish, she were, what with her mouth hung open and a bubble about to burst. It were a full thirty seconds before Daisy let out a wail as what’d send the toms scamperin’ for their lives out the ally behind Joe Pasta’s café.
‘But what am I going to do?’ she cried, and, I tell you, pitiful though it was, I came close to tellin’ her to get off the pot on account as I felt it were my turn to indulge myself with a dose of self-pity for a change.
‘Just ‘ave to keep out the bookie’s, won’t you, gal?’ says I, finally letting her know as how I weren’t the fool she’d been takin’ me for all them years and, without a backward glance, gathered up me personals and headed for me bus home.
Had I known what awaited me there I'd 'ave been sore tempted to pop in the Dog and Ferret for a good stiff brandy, that I would.
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 17, 2005 13:58:43 GMT 1
Part 4
I were just comin’ in through me front gate when I spotted it, the box as what sat on me front step. First off I thought it were someone’s groceries delivered to the wrong house. Then I saw the envelope. Upset me terrible, it did, for inside was a copy of that wretched photo – exceptin’ that someone had drawn a black cat on the end of me broomstick. Made it look like I were riding the thing at his Whoreship and Councillor Endaway, it did. On the back it said ‘To ‘The Ugly Old Witch’ – Saw you needed a black cat so have this one’, and at that moment I ‘eard the most pitiful little mewling as ever I ‘eard and coming from the box.
‘Oh, dear God alive!’ I says, takin’ the box into me kitchen and openin’ it up.
Such a dear wee soul she was too, the cat as stepped out of it. Had the sweetest little face you ever did see and surroundin’ huge greeny-gold saucer-eyes. Starvin’, she was. All bone and with a big belly, like them poor little African kiddies as what they do show in the charity shops. Well, what could I do but open a tin of me best salmon, on account I didn’t have no cat food, see?
Tuckin’ in nicely she was and with me watching and wonderin’ how I was to manage to keep ‘er, what with havin’ to move and losin’ me job, when suddenly there’s this great rappin’ at me door. Frit Blackie-puss half to death it did. Aye, and me until I seen as how it were only Maggie-May Lovelace, ‘er from number 10 as what’s all held together with corset and hairspray but who still hangs out her frillies for all the world to see.
‘Aggie! Aggie!’ she cries. ‘Come quick! Archie Thoke have collapsed outside your gate!’
‘What?’ says I, thinkin’ as how she must be mistaken, him havin’ last been ‘eard of months before and headin’ back to Paisley to visit the place of ‘is birth.
‘I said…’ began Maggie-May, but I waved ‘er to hush and went to see for myself.
Sure enough it were Archie but he didn’t fool me one bit, the preachin’ old parasite. I knew what he was after. A good square meal and a bed for the night, which is what he always used to wheedle out of me poor old Mam, God rest ‘er.
‘I s’pose you’d better come in, Archie,’ I says, aware as how the neighbours was all startin’ to gather and stare.
‘I’ll go ahead and put the kettle on,’ says Maggie-May, leavin’ me lumbered and with Archie out for winnin’ an Oscar with ‘is little poor-me, pity-me, performance.
‘I couldsh do wish a cup, too,’ says Herbie Smith from next door and before I could say Jack Daniels I’d got ‘him and ‘is stinkin’ whiskey bottle over me threshold and all.
‘Well,’ I says, spyin’ old Holy Tone, him as what spends ‘is days under a sandwich-board as declares ‘Jesus Lives’ on one side and ‘Suffer ye to come unto Him’ on t’other, ‘don’t just stand their a gawpin’, Tone, give us a hand!’
Between the two of us we somehow managed to get Archie into the kitchen and plonked down in me Mam’s favourite old chair. Soon started comin’ around he did then and when Maggie-May shoved a cuppa into his hands.
Herbie must have been feelin’ generous as he sloshed in a dose of the Scotch additives. ‘Shought you’d been defrocked?’ says Herbie, swayin’ like he was about to go down onto Archie’s lap.
‘Course he has,’ says Maggie-May, winking at me. ‘Defrocked you myself, didn’t I, Archie luv?’
Poor bugger didn’t know where to look, he didn’t. And you should have seen Holy Tone’s face. Not that he dared say anythin’. Not when everyone in the room knew as how he were always poppin’ into Maggie-May’s himself on paydays. Service the whole neighbourhood, would Maggie-May, and her a grandmother, too. I tell you, it’s a wonder she ain’t caught somethin’ by now on account she’s still at it. Aye, and her three daughters an’ all.
Quite a little party we had that night, to be sure, and it weren’t helped by Herbie findin’ me homemade wine, neither. Pissed as Welshmen on a rugby International night, they all was, but perhaps it’s just as well. Made it easier to persuade Holy Tone to do his decent Christian duty and give poor Archie Thoke a share of ‘is bed for the night. Could do with a bit of company, could Holy Tone. Ain’t been right in the head since ‘is wife ran off with the woman from the laundrette, ‘e ain’t.
‘Sho wheresh you goin’ to live, Aggie?’ slurs Herbie after they’d gone.
‘Ain’t decided yet,’ I says. ‘Are you fixed up yet?’
‘Counshil’s givin’ me a nicsh little flash,’ says Herbie and Maggie-May laughed so much she almost fell over.
‘Flash!’ she cried. ‘I’ll give you more’n a flash, darlin’. You can have the works for only twenty quid!’
‘Aye, but not here in my kitchen. Some of us have to be up early in the mornin’,’ says I, and somehow got the pair of ‘em out the door and bolted it before they could change their minds.
I don’t mind tellin’ you as how right then I said a little prayer to him upstairs to help me find a nice little place in the country somewhere. One as what had nice peaceful neighbours and a place to keep me chucks. It were only then as I remembered the little Blackie-puss.
Well, I looked and called high and low, I did, but not a sign of ‘er. Finally made myself a cup of cocoa and got comfortable for the night before headin’ for my bed, all the time thinkin’ as how Blackie-puss’d likely come out of hidin’ when she were good and ready.
Just about to get into bed, I was, when I ‘eard this tiny squeaky sound and acomin’ from under me blankets. Gave me a right start it did. Threw back the blankets and, would you believe it, there weren’t half a mess! Worse that a bin-load of periodicals, it were!
Yes, there was little Blackie-puss and she weren’t alone neither. Four of ‘em, she’d had, and down me bed, too! All black as miners, they was, exceptin’ one and he only had a white tip to ‘is tail.
‘Well,’ says I, ‘it’s just as well I didn’t give me spare bed to Archie Thoke, ain’t it?’
‘Course, Blackie-puss weren’t about to reply, was she? I mean, all she did was lie there in the lap of luxury with them little bundles locked on and pummellin’ ‘er titties, and ‘er purrin’ and paddlin’ ‘er little paws fit to bust. Proud as a Percheron, she was, bless ’er.
‘It’s all very well for you,’ says I, ‘but where on earth are we all goin’ to go and with forty good layin’ hens and all?’
I tell you straight, Jesus might live, but it sure as Westminster’s in London ain’t on the pension I’ll be gettin’ off the lot as what rules there!
My dear old Mam always said, ‘Keep your troubles to yourself and your nose out of other folk’s business, Aggie and that way, if you work hard and show respect for your betters they’ll look after you just fine.’
That’s what I’ve always tried to do but, I tell you, Aggie Skinner have had enough of such crap. From now on things is goin’ to change. I can feel it in me bones, so I can…
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 17, 2005 13:59:35 GMT 1
Part 5
Sleeping in a strange bed, even though I were born in that particular one, don’t do a body no favours, it don’t. Brought on the most peculiar dream as what Aggie Skinner ‘ere ever did have in all ‘er 66 years - unless it were the goings on of the previous night, that is. Quite shook me up, it did, that dream. One minute I were strokin’ a little black cat with a white-tipped tail, next he turns into the handsomest gent as ever you seen, and less than a moment later we was up to that which loses a gal her virgininity – and at my age, too!
‘Pull yourself together, Aggie,’ I says, wakin’ up and going to see if the pussies were real or only part of me dream.
They was real okay, and still there down me own bed with Blackie-puss purrin’ a greetin’ as I give ‘er a bit of fuss an’ the last of the salmon. After that she didn’t seem to mind too much when I emptied out an old box and made ‘er and ‘er kits a proper kitty bed in that before strippin’ off me own for the washer.
An hour later and I was on me way out the door to buy cat food and a paper with the accommodation adverticals in it.
Hadn’t gone above fifty yards from me door when I seen him. Almost fell over me own feet, I did, and me heart nearly stopped on the spot. It were his eyes that done it. All wrinkly-crinkly-shiny-blue and peekin’ out from under a mass of flowin’ white hair as what looked like it hadn’t seen a barber in years. You’d almost have taken him for a tramp, you would, if it weren’t for him smellin’ like a soap-dish. He was wearin’ them olivey-green cords and a check, farmer-shirt with a fancy kerchief and mustard waistcoat under ‘is tweedy jacket. That ‘ad them leather patches on the elbows and around the sleeves; but for all he were a scruffildy-buck, he were a handsome one.
Didn’t know him from Adam, I didn’t, but the moment I set me old eyes on him I wanted to take him home and look after him like you would a poor stray dog, so I did. Almost made me forget me errand to the corner shop but I hurried on, and probably blushing like a schoolgirl.
Still thinkin’ about him, I was, when I reached the bus stop and would have got on the bus if it weren’t for Holy Tone.
‘Thought you’d retired?’ he says.
‘So I have but I’ve a bit of shoppin’ to do,’ says I, comin’ to me senses.
‘Can do that at the corner shop. Save bus fare,’ he says and then leans forward to whisper into me ear. ‘Archie Thoke’s still in my house. Told me as how he wants to settle down with a good woman… Told him there weren’t any, I did.’
There were something mighty strange about the look on Tone’s face as he says that. Sort of all glitter-eyed secret satisfaction, and none too healthy, like. I tell you, I were glad the bus come along then, so I were. Aye, and that I was retired so didn’t have to sit next to him on the way to town and on account he weren’t the easiest fellow to have a conversational with. Folks could never quite tell what was goin’ on behind them pale eyes of his.
Back in a world of me own, I was, carryin’ me shoppin’ bag home and awonderin’ who the scruffildy gent might be lookin’ to find. Hoped he weren’t after Maggie-May. Not at that time of a Saturday morning. But I needn’t ‘ave worried. She were outside polishin’ ‘er knob and knocker. ‘ Mornin’, Aggie. How’s your first day retired?’ she called as I passed.
‘Fine,’ says I. ‘How was your night with Herbie Smith?’
‘Couldn’t have been better. The old soak fell asleep on the landing so I dragged him into the spare room and left him there to sleep it off like I always do. Mind, don’t you go tellin’ him that, Aggie. A woman in my position ain’t about to give refunds to punters that sleep on the job.’
Poor Herbie, I thought, hurrying on me way. Couldn’t help wonderin’ how he’d manage in his council flat and with £10,000 to piss against the wall. Had a sad feelin’ as how he’d be lucky to survive a month, the way he was goin’.
So engrossed was I in them sad thoughts, and anxious to get into the advertical columns in me paper, that I’d clean forgot the scruffildy gent. It weren’t ‘til I went to me sink to fill the kettle for a cuppa that I remembered him, and that’s when I spied him again. There, plain as me name’s Aggie Skinner, he were and leanin’ over the back wall of me garden watchin’ me chucks like he’d nothing better to do in the world.
Sixty-six I may be, but you ain’t never seen legs move so fast into me little bathroom. Aye, nor a brush an’ comb or powder puff do their work like mine did that day. To think there’s some as says a woman can’t make herself presentable in less than an hour!
It were only when I was all tarted up that I thought, ‘Aggie, you can’t go marchin’ out to introduce yourself just like that. Be enough to frighten the poor fellow off, so it would.’ And that’s when I thought to grab a bit of stale bread and pretend as how I were really going to feed it the chucks. So that’s exactly what I did, and pretending as I didn’t even notice him leanin’ over me wall.
‘Fine birds,’ he says, and that I took as me cue to make like he’d startled me.
‘Oh dear God alive,’ I says, clutchin’ me bosom and droppin’ the bread all over me feet so as them chucks nigh on tripped me up in the scramble for it. Well, worked a treat it did, for he were over the wall and ‘ad his arm at me elbow steadyin’ me before you could say ‘love at first sight’.
Aye, that’s what it was, I’m convinced of it, me havin’ heard so many folks talking about it in them 47 years as I’d spent down the Station Road convenients. What a shock it were too, at my age. Came over terrible queer I did when he touched me and all me actin’ went right out the chuck’s pen, so it did.
Next thing I knew I were bein’ sat down in me very own kitchen and with him holdin’ a cup of water to me lips.
Well, what else could I do but thank him and feel a right guilty old fool as I gazed up into them lovely wrinkly-crinkly blue eyes as what were gazin’ back so full of worry and concern? I’ll tell you what else. I could pull myself together and make him a cuppa, and give him a slice of me best apple sponge cake, that’s what.
‘By the way,’ I says, as we’re sittin’ there enjoying it, ‘I’m Aggie Skinner. Miss Aggie Skinner,’ I adds, just to make sure as he knew I weren’t married.
‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Aggie,’ he says, finally shakin’ me hand and addin’, ‘and you may call me Stan… I must say this is delicious cake, and home-made, too if I’m not mistaken?’
‘That you’re not, Stan. Made it myself and usin’ apples from those very trees out in me garden,’ says I, blushin’ like a ripe strawberry.
‘Ah, yes,’ says Stan, ‘about those trees… er…and all the other wonderful plants and herbs in your garden… I know this might be painful for you, Aggie but they’re the reason I’m here. You have some very old varieties in your garden… Well, the fact is, trees and plants like yours are needed to help lend authenticity to some of the reconstructed historical properties that are situated on Wimple Manor Estate.’
Quite took the wind out of me sails, did that, and for a minute I couldn’t think what to say but finally found me voice. ‘You mean the folk museum as what’s there?’
Stan nodded.
‘Are you sayin’ as how it were them as sent you, and to buy me plants and trees?’ I says, suddenly feelin’ the most foolish old woman in the whole county.
‘That’s right, Aggie, ‘ says Stan and next thing I knew he were offerin’ me this spotless white hankie from his very own pocket for I was bawlin’ like a baby, that I was…
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 17, 2005 14:00:20 GMT 1
Part 6
‘Course, you and me both knows as how it weren’t the thought of losin’ the home as I’d lived in all me life, nor even losin’ me job down the Station Road convenients, as what set me to bawling. No, nor even the realisation that, no matter where I ended up, there were little chance of ever havin’ such a lovely garden again, though that didn’t help.
Fact is it were the shatterin’ of me little fantasy. The destruction of the dream this silly old woman had been buildin’ up in her head like a fairytale and ever since first settin’ me eyes on Stan. Why, I’d all but got the pair of us married off and living happy as ducks in a dung-heap by the time Stan dropped his bombshell. Ours weren’t one of them magical, chance meetings as what you can read about in them Mills and Boon books. He weren’t in the least interested in me at all. He wouldn’t even ‘ave been anywhere near Brick Lane if it weren’t for someone up at Wimple Manor Estate spottin’ me rare plants and old trees in that photo and sendin’ Sir Stanley Wimple a letter about them.
What a fool I felt, sittin’ there at me table, red-eyed and with tears streamin’ rivers through me face powder – and Stan didn’t help much, neither.
‘That’s it, Aggie dear,’ he says, pattin’ me hand and toppin’ up me teacup at the same time. ‘You have a good cry. Getting things out of your system always helps.’
Set me off even more, that did, and I don’t know about getting’ things out me system, but I reckon I made everythin’ worse because out it came. Yes, everythin’! All as what I’ve written since finding this old dairy – exceptin’ the bit about me dream an’ feelings since first settin’ eyes on Stan. Well, I weren't honest enough to admit to 'im that I’d been smitten from the moment I set eyes on 'im. No, nor how I’d dashed off to make myself all presentable. Pride’s a terrible thing, see? At least, false-pride is and I’ll be the first to admit here as how I’d got me comeuppance for sure.
Still sniffin’ and snivellin’, I was when Stan says, ‘You go and dry your eyes, Aggie and when you come back I’ll be waiting for you in the garden. There’s something I’d like to see out there.’
Well, I did as he said. Tidied myself up but me heart weren’t in it. Even reckoned that after me outburst he’d be away over the wall and gone faster than smoke in a gale.
‘Aggie Skinner,’ I says, starin’ at myself in the bathroom mirror, ‘you are one daft old woman and ought to be ashamed of yourself.’
Ashamed I was, too. Almost wished the carpet would swallow me up, I did, and especially as I’d even told him all about seeing that wicked Doris Wimple having her assig-what's-it with that twisted swine, Councillor Percy Endaway, and him with ‘is ‘ands all over ‘er! Why, it made me shudder to think what Stan would think of me, being such a gossip, so it did. And about his employer’s wife, too.
‘Don’t you go worrying your head about Sir Stanley Wimple,’ Stan had said. ‘He’s not the old fool most people take him for.’
Well, perhaps he ain’t, but when this old fool finally stopped her snivellin’ she could hardly bring herself to look out into the garden to see if Stan really were still there.
He was, and standin’ there large as life examinin’ me apple trees and like they was somethin precious to be loved and cherished instead of being only weeks away from destruction by them ruddy council bulldozers. It was then as I made up me mind. Even if I had blown all me chances with Stan, I could at least save me lovely trees. Aye, and all me plants too. Even me forty good laying hens, if it came to that, on account there ain’t many places, or many neighbours, as what would put up with them let alone Bertie, me fine, big red crowin’ cock. Oh, but I’d miss ‘em all. That I would.
‘Courage, Aggie,’ I says and, fixin’ me mind on the practicals, marched out into the garden to tell Stan what I’d decided.
‘What was that, sorry?’ says Stan, when I’d finished me little speech offerin’ him everythin’, but before I could repeat myself he adds, ‘Get your coat, Aggie. I have an idea.’
Well, I done as he said and minutes later found myself near to runnin’ after him along Brick Lane and towards the most rickety-clickety old Land Rover as what you did ever see.
‘Jump in,’ says Stan, holdin’ the passenger door open and helpin’ me up into the most uncomfortable seat as I’ve ever sat in. Worse than Herbie Smith’s old sofa, it were, and that’s saying somethin’! Minutes later we was clatterin’ through town and with me hanging on to me digestives like never before in all me days cleanin’ up down the Station Road conventients – and you do have some things to clean up down there, I can tell you.
‘Where’re we going?’ I says, finally getting used to the swayin’, bumpin’ and a-rattlin’.
‘It’s a surprise,’ says Stan, and not a word more did he utter until he turned that contraption in through a pair of stone gateposts as what you could barely see for ivy, and onto a track with more potholes and grass growin’ up its middle than there is in Brick Lane since the factories all shut down.
‘Sorry about the bumps, Aggie, but I don’t want to be seen here if I can help it. This is a back entrance to the estate. There’s a cottage not far from here. An empty one. I’d like you to see it.’
Well, you can imagine what was going through me head then, can’t you? You’d have thought I’d learned me lesson, too, I’ll be bound?
Inside me head there was this little voice sayin’, ‘Calm down, Aggie. Don’t go getting yourself a dose of the excitables all over again or you’ll regret it.’ At the same time there was another voice sayin’, ‘Aggie, this could be the answer to your prayers and with Stan being some sort of trusted servant of Sir Stanley…?’
‘Here we are,’ says Stan, scrunchin’ and slitherin’ to a stop on a patch of wet leaves and beside the quaintest little house you did ever see and set at the edge of small area of woodland. All stone and thatch, it were, and with an oak front door as had them studs in and an old fashioned knob and latch. Lovely, it were, but odd, too. Old as it clearly was, there were somethin’ strangely new about it and like it didn’t really belong in its setting. Had me frownin’ a puzzle, so it did, until I realised. It were missin’ a garden. One as what matched it’s antiquated look.
‘It’s not long been completed,’ said Stan. ‘Moved here and reconstructed, stone by stone, and exactly as it was originally built. Would you like to see inside?’
Of course I wanted to, but me insides were jittering like a bag of jelly. There was somethin’ I had to know before I went and fell-head-over-heels in love for the second time in a day.
‘Stan,’ I says, ‘is this where you do aim to plant me garden or are you showin’ me a place as what’s comin’ up for rent?’
Just about to answer, he were, when the pair of us heard a vehicle approachin’ and from the opposite direction to what we’d come.
‘Quick,’ says Stan, ‘go in the cottage and keep out of sight. That sound’s like her Ladyship’s car.’
He weren’t wrong, neither. Seen ‘er plain as day, I could, and through the little window beside the front door as I peeped out. Sittin’ in the back of a fancy big white car like they do use for weddings, she were, as it pulled up outside. Didn’t get out, mind. Not her. Just winds down the window and says, in her plumy-posh voice, ‘Ah, skulkin’ out here, are you, Stanley? I thought you were supposed to lookin’ at those trees and plants? If you don’t get a move on you’ll be too late even to see them or haven’t you heard the local news?’
‘News?’ says Stan.
‘That’s what I said, you stupid man! Will Pump heard it and told me a few minutes ago. There’s a huge fire blazing in some house in Brick Lane and every chance the whole terrace will go up,’ says that wicked, adulterous Doris Wimple and suddenly begins to laugh.
Horrible to hear, that laugh were, and it hung in the air behind ‘er car as she sped away, bouncin’ over them potholes.
‘Oh, dear God alive!’ I cries, runnin’ out from me hidin’ place in all of a fluster. ‘Me kitties! Me poor little kitties!’
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 17, 2005 14:01:21 GMT 1
Part 7
To give credit where credit’s deserved, and for all he were a scruffildy-buck, Stan were a marvel over the next few hours, so he were. And what a tune he got out of that rickety-clickety old Land Rover as we sped back to Brick Lane. What with me in the state I were in. Worried sick, I were and we could see the smoke from miles away. Great clouds of the stuff, there was. As for the smell as we got close, that were somethin’ else, so it were.
Had to park nearly a quarter of a mile away, we did, on account of all the police, ambulances and fire engines and that’s without all them daft buggers as what ‘ad come to stand around and gawp. Everywhere they was, starin’ and pointin’ up the lane. Sayin’ as how it were a put up job and done to get folks as lived in Brick Lane out so the dozers could move in, they were, but I do doubt that. Couldn’t even see Endaway stoopin’ that low, I couldn’t, and that’s saying somethin’!
Somehow Stan managed to hold onto me as I forced a way through the crowd, desperate to try and reach me little house and to save me kitties. ‘Course, the police weren’t about to let anyone get too close, were they, not even us folks as what lived there? But at least I got close enough to see me house was safe for the time bein’. Herbie’s too, though there weren’t a sign of ‘im. Drinking up the Dog and Ferret, I thought, reckonin’ he was best out the way.
Mind you, it weren’t long before Holy Tone and Maggie-May Lovelace joined Stan and me. Both been down the town, they had, when the fire started but come rushin’ back when they heard. From where we all stood we could see as how Maggie-May’s house were gone. Didn’t even ‘ave a roof left, it didn’t, and to think she’d only polished ‘er knob and knocker a few hours before.
‘It ain’t fair,’ sobs Maggie-May, and clinging’to Stan for support.
‘It be a judgement of the Lord,’ says Holy Tone. ‘A purge on the sins of the flesh and the wickedness of women.’ And then off he goes in one of them funny states as what he do get into when bemoanin’ the creation of Eve. Started marchin’ through the crowd, he did, and pointin’ at folks as what he do reckon are doomed to suffer for their wrongdoin’.
‘Well,’ says Maggie-May, rallyin’, ‘he’s got a nerve to go pointin’ fingers at other folks, the things he do get up to. Into bondage and all sorts, he is. Why I wouldn’t be surprised if he ain’t got Archie Thoke tied up in his place?’
‘You ain’t serious, are you?’ says I, seein’ as how smoke were comin’ out of the tiles on Holy Tone’s roof. ‘If you are, then I reckon we’d better tell that policeman by there, I do. Aye, and about me kitties, just in case it do spread further down the row.’
It were then that Maggie-May suddenly puts her hand to 'her face and lets out this strangulated screech like as I never heard in all me life. Turned all colours, she did, and from bright red to white before startin’ to go down. It were Stan as caught her and lowered her gently before shoutin’ over to the policeman for help. Before he reached us though, Maggie-May pulls me down beside her and says, ‘Oh, God! Aggie, I forgot all about him! Still out cold he was and I couldn’t wake him when I went to town so…’
You mean Herbie were still in your house?’ says I, with this horrible, sick feeling comin’ over me as Maggie-May nods.
‘Yes… and… and that ain’t the worst of it… I locked him in the spare bedroom when I went shoppin’ because I couldn’t trust him not to help himelf to the contents of my drinks cabinet if he woke up while I was out… Oh, Aggie… I swear I didn’t mean him no harm… You don’t think they’ll arrest me, do you?’
Well, I didn’t know what to think, I didn’t, but at that minute the policeman comes over and accompanied by one of them paramedical folk. Between them and Stan they soon had Maggie-May back on her feet and over to one of the ambulances, saying as how she were sufferin’ from the shocks.
She weren’t the only one, neither, for a few moments later Archie Thoke comes staggerin’ and splutterin’ out of Holy Tone’s house. Wearing only his long johns and carryin’ half a bedstead, he were. Well, poor bugger had to, didn’t he, being as he were handcuffed to it?
Back beside me again, I reckon poor Stan didn’t know where to look never mind what to think, him bein’ sort of like normal folk. Not used to goings on like that, see? Not so them press fellows as what’d been rushin’ around asking questions and takin’ their wretched photos. Found myself feelin’ sorry for Archie, I did, when I seen them swoopin’ down on him and being as how I knew what it were like.
Just as well he were already a defrocked priest, else he’d have been in worse trouble than he already was – and that without it being his own fault, if Maggie-May were to be believed.
‘Stan,’ I says, ‘it looks like them firemen have got his thing well under control now and are just dampin’ things down so, if you’re game, let’s get ourselves down the lane behind the houses, over me back wall and into me house for a cuppa?’
He were game, all right. Glad to be away from all the goings on and, despite all the power being off, I found me little paraffin stove and brewed us the best cuppa we both reckon we’ve ever tasted. Sat there drinkin’ it and watching little Blackie-puss cleaning up her baby kitties, we did, and all surrounded by the stench of smoke and ashes. It were hard to believe that only poor Herbie’s house stood between mine and the extent of the fire, and Herbie, like as not, the only one to have paid the ultimate, like.
It were then, and for the second time in a day, that I found myself beginnin’ to cry. At least, this time it were just tears as what rolled down me face.
Stan wiped them away and ever so gentle he was, too, sayin’, ‘It looks like the smoke’s getting to your eyes, Aggie.’
‘Aye,’ I says, ‘but I can’t help sheddin’ a tear for poor Herbie. He were a drunken old beggar but…’ It were then that the strangest thing happened. For all me fears and worries, and despite everythin’ as had happened, suddenly I realised somethin’ as I’d been unaware of all me life. ‘Stan,’ I says, ‘I want to get out of here!’
‘Of course,’ says Stan. ‘Perhaps a bed & breakfast for a day or too and until the…’
‘No! I ain’t on about the smoke or the mess. I mean, I want to move. Get right away from the place and out the area, and for good! Start a new life on account I’ve never ‘ad a chance to leave home before. I want to find a little place of me own, see? Why, even the day me dear old Mam died she made me promise as how I’d look after her little house after she’d gone… Before that, it were always her I had to look after and… well, she wouldn’t even let me have a kitty to call me own, she wouldn’t!’
‘In that case,’ says Stan; ‘the sooner we settle our business concerning your trees and garden plants, the better.’
‘Plants!’ I says. ‘You can have the plants and trees you want! All I want in exchange is to rent that lovely little cottage you showed me today. Do you reckon Sir Stanley’d let me have it?’
Stan put on one of them thoughtful looks but finally shook ‘is head. ‘Aggie,’ he says, ‘that cottage isn’t for rent but there is a way it could be yours to live in for the rest of your life – and one where you could take all your kitties and chickens, too – but only if you’re willing.’
‘Willin’? What d'you mean by willin’, Stan?’ I says.
He sat there quiet for a moment, sort of awkward and uncomfortable, and as if he were tryin’ to find the right way to put somethin’ he didn’t reckon I’d take to kindly too.
‘Ever done any acting, Aggie?’ he says eventually. ‘Actin’?’ I says, wonderin' what that had to do with anything. ‘Well, I did once play Mary in me school's nativity play once but I were just a nipper then.’
Well, Stan ponders a bit more, he does, before finally takin’ the bull by the texicles, so to speak.
‘Sir Stanley,’ says Stan, ‘has set his heart on finding someone to play the part of an old ‘wise woman’ – a witch, if you like – at the museum. Whoever takes the job on gets to live in that cottage rent free and with a small salary besides.’
It were my turn to struggle for me words then, and a toss up as to whether it would be words or laughter as what’d reach me chops first. It were the laughter. Well, wouldn’t you have laughed in the circumstances and after all them witch-related goings on?
‘Oh, Aggie, that’s a grand ‘cackle’ you’ve got there, girl,’ says Stan, joining in. ‘Do I take it you fancy the role?’
‘Got nothin’ to lose, have I?’ I says, and the moment I did, I heard this little voice in the back of me head echoing ‘famous last words’ back at me, and I found myself thinkin’ again of poor Herbie…
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 17, 2005 14:03:29 GMT 1
Part 8There were only one fire engine outside in Brick Lane and the crowds had all dispersed by the time Stan stood up to leave. It were dark, too, but you’d never know it as the police or someone had organised them floodlights and yards and yards of that plastic tape to cordon off most of the Lane. There were policemen all over the place, and all, but that didn’t stop me standin’ on me tippy-toes on me doorstep and to give Stan a peck on the cheek. ‘There,’ I says, ‘that’s for being such a marvellous friend to me today, Stan.’ He had been too, promising to return the followin’ mornin’ and reckonin’ he’d be worried sick about me, stayin’ all on me own, what with the terrible happenings of the day. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I says, glowin’ inside to think that, short as the time were that he’d known me, he cared. ‘I must be ‘ere to look after me chucks and kitties – aye, and to start me packin’. You are sure as how Sir Stanley and her Ladyship will be agreeable to me having the cottage and everythin’?’ ‘You leave Sir Stanley to me,’ says Stan, ‘and as for her Ladyship, she’s off on some foreign trip tomorrow and besides, if she had her way there wouldn’t be a Folk Museum at all. She thinks the whole concept is nothin’ more than an old man’s folly!’ With that Stan gave me a reassuring hug and was off, wavin’ back as he went. So busy watchin’ him, I was, that I missed spottin’ the little figure strugglin’ towards me house and carryin’ a tatty suitcase and two bulging black bags. ‘Ere, Aggie,’ says Daisy Betts, reachin’ me doorstep, ‘you’re a dark un. Never told me as you’d got yourself a fancy-man?’ ‘Who says I ‘ave… and what’re you doin’ here, Daisy?’ ‘Well, I’d like to say as I heard about the fire and come to see if I could help but, fact is, me landlord has chucked me out… Oh, Aggie! What am I goin’ to do? All I got in the world after that miserable swine took me pay packet towards the back rent, is what’s in these bags! I ain’t even ‘ad a bite to eat all day.’ Well, what could I do but fetch her inside, light up me little paraffin stove again and cook us both a plate of scrambled eggs and boil water for more tea? Kept me mind from thinkin’ on poor Herbie, it did, as we sat there feedin’ our faces by candlelight and with Daisy settlin’ in like as what she owned the place. Weren’t short of makin’ plans for the both of us, neither, she weren’t. ‘You ain’t to going worryin’ over nothin’, Aggie,’ says Daisy Betts, ‘you and me’s gonna be just fine. Why, we’ll get a nice little council house up on the estate and, with that fifteen grand of yours we’ll soon have it furnished smashin’, we will, and be living like lords!’ ‘Is that so?’ I says. ‘And don’t you mean ‘livin’ like ladies’?’ ‘Lords or ladies; it’s all the same… Oh, Aggie, it’ll be such fun! I’ve still got me job and, with you retired now, you’ll be able to look after our home and have tea on for when I come home from work.’ ‘Is that so?’ I says again, wonderin’ how to put her straight, and that’s when I said the daffiest thing as ever I reckon Aggie Skinner have ever said in all her sixty-six years. ‘And what would you say if I told you as how I were plannin’ to get married and move away?’ Regretted it the moment the words was out, I did, and could have bitten me tongue off, but it were too late and no good trying to tell Daisy as how I were only jokin’ on account she’d swallowed it down whole. Moments later she were bawlin’ her eyes out and nigh on hysterical as to how she’d manage without me. Aye, and claimin’ me as her only friend. Now I know there is more of this written somewhere, so let's be having it. - Al
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Post by Just Jackie on Apr 17, 2005 21:39:54 GMT 1
I'll second that Al, I was just getting thoroughly engrossed in this when it ground to a halt. Come on Aunt Aggie. Find the rest of it please, it's very entertaining.
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