DRIVER CHARD IN TIME SLIP MYSTERY
Recent events at the headquarters of the Duck Flat Cap Society have left regulars of the hostelry somewhat bewildered and dumbfounded.
It all started last Tuesday evening when Driver Chard rose from his seat after a testy discussion with Raster Hurley regarding the length of Raster's shorts. Raster Hurley, formerly known as "Basher Hurley", had recently returned from a vacation in the Caribbean, and continued to clothe his ageing body in garments more suitable to the warmer climes of the West Indies.
As the cantankerous geriatric slipped from his stool he glanced at the former military hard man, and mumbled under his breath that he should go back to Barbados if he wanted to dress in such a discourteous manner.
His deeply creased neck creaked as Driver Chard swivelled his head towards the back door where he proposed to smoke a couple of cigarillos to calm his nerves.
As he approached the door he abruptly came to a halt as he stared at a wooden door beside the entrance to the pub garden. Driver Chard strained his aching brain as he tried to register a memory of the door, but to no avail.
Astonished by the sudden appearance of the door he strode forward and slowly turned the door knob and stepped through the orifice. Ahead of him was a dark tunnel with only an occasional candle to light the way. Creeping slowly along the dimly lit passage the geriatric acting president ran his right hand along the wall and suddenly paused as his hands stumbled across a large cold handle. Pushing the door attached to the handle released the partially open door hinge and the heavy barrier began to ease open.
Driver Chard
gradually squeezed his head around the opening portal and drew a deep
breath as he gazes upon the vista before him. As Chard pulled the rest
of his body through the partially open door way, his short neck was
straining to propel his stocky head from side to side as he tried to
take in the view before him. Driver Chard shut his eyes and wiped his hand
across his now slightly moist eyes.
Fully opening his eyes he now fully took in the scene before him, a rolling vista of undulating rain forest stretching in to the far distance, where snow capped mountains towered in to the bright blue firmament. The mountains appeared to curve in a great sweep across the horizon, and before them the lush rain forest rolled forward in a never ending verdant carpet of lush green trees.
Driver Chard strained to locate something or somebody familiar and soon noticed a pygmy lumbering forward approximately five hundred yards ahead. They were following a trail that seemed to be a permanent track through the rain forest. Driver Chard wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and proceeded after the diminutive pygmy.
Soon the pygmy and the following Chard were in a small clearing where he was joined by a large white man with as shaved head and a smaller overweight Arab. Moments later a string of naked ebony men , woman and children, tied together at their feet, hands and necks entered the opening.
Driver Chard strained his reddened eyes and noted that the large white man was talking in English to the Arabic gentleman who in turn conversed with the pygmy in an unknown language.
It soon sank in to the septuagenarian acting president of the Duck Flat Cap Society that he was in darkest Africa, and was witnessing the hand over of a posse of newly captured slaves. Shaken by this revelation the old man crouched in the undergrowth and felt the familiar warm trickle of urine dribble down his trouser legs as his bowels rumbled in his fluttering belly.
Soon the assembled group of slaves and their controllers were gone, and Driver Chard crawled slowly to where they had been conducting their sordid business. The ground was littered with paper, and crouching down to pick up a fallen document, straining to prevent the discharge of a feted stool, Driver Chard picked up a document that appeared to be bill of sale, and a copy of a newspaper that was the London Times.
Both documents were obviously new, and as the small grey haired driver studied the strap line of the paper, his teeth fell from his mouth as he noted the headline, "Fleet sales for the Black Sea and the Crimea to give the Russian bear a thrashing and relieve our Turkish allies ". Driver chard quickly diverted his eyes to the date, and he turned pale as he read 1853 at the head of the page. He scratched his head as his school boy history roused a memory that the UK abolished slavery in the 1830's due to the anti slavery movement headed by William Wilberforce, but was also aware that slavery continued until the present day through nefarious underhand trades, and indeed an Arab was present at the recently witnessed meeting, and the fallen paper receipt was indeed marked with a seal of the Sultanate of Zanzibar.
Driver Chard shivered at the recollection of the recently witnessed events and quickly backtracked retracing his steps back to the Duck and the year 2012. Soon he was back at the dark passage, and the dark wooden door that he had passed through a number of hours earlier.
His wrinkled hand grabbed the handle and thrust the door open. He fell through the portal with sweat running down his emaciated body, the smell of the sweat mixing with the stale urine staining his trousers and the stench of fear pervading his body. Driver Chard shut the door behind him and glanced ahead of him, immediately noticing he was back in the Duck and in the company of those he had left hours earlier.
"Chard", shouted Raster Hurley, "that was a quick piss, you were only gone two minutes". Chard stared at the pale faced ex military hard man and spat a flume of phlegm at him. Chard rumbled on for over two hours that he had journeyed back in time to the Crimean War and had witnessed a sale in the long abolished slave trade in deepest darkest Africa.
His ramblings continued, but the procrastination and imbibing sub committee of the Duck Flat Cap Society were familiar with the unfathomable behaviour of its acting Chairman and President, and ignored him completely.
Further investigations in to the astonishing garbled mumblings of Driver Chard will take place, and any further information gleaned will be reported in due course.
R.I.P JOHN CHARD 1933 - 2020
Recent events at the headquarters of the Duck Flat Cap Society have left regulars of the hostelry somewhat bewildered and dumbfounded.
It all started last Tuesday evening when Driver Chard rose from his seat after a testy discussion with Raster Hurley regarding the length of Raster's shorts. Raster Hurley, formerly known as "Basher Hurley", had recently returned from a vacation in the Caribbean, and continued to clothe his ageing body in garments more suitable to the warmer climes of the West Indies.
As the cantankerous geriatric slipped from his stool he glanced at the former military hard man, and mumbled under his breath that he should go back to Barbados if he wanted to dress in such a discourteous manner.
As he approached the door he abruptly came to a halt as he stared at a wooden door beside the entrance to the pub garden. Driver Chard strained his aching brain as he tried to register a memory of the door, but to no avail.
Astonished by the sudden appearance of the door he strode forward and slowly turned the door knob and stepped through the orifice. Ahead of him was a dark tunnel with only an occasional candle to light the way. Creeping slowly along the dimly lit passage the geriatric acting president ran his right hand along the wall and suddenly paused as his hands stumbled across a large cold handle. Pushing the door attached to the handle released the partially open door hinge and the heavy barrier began to ease open.
Fully opening his eyes he now fully took in the scene before him, a rolling vista of undulating rain forest stretching in to the far distance, where snow capped mountains towered in to the bright blue firmament. The mountains appeared to curve in a great sweep across the horizon, and before them the lush rain forest rolled forward in a never ending verdant carpet of lush green trees.
Driver Chard strained to locate something or somebody familiar and soon noticed a pygmy lumbering forward approximately five hundred yards ahead. They were following a trail that seemed to be a permanent track through the rain forest. Driver Chard wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and proceeded after the diminutive pygmy.
Soon the pygmy and the following Chard were in a small clearing where he was joined by a large white man with as shaved head and a smaller overweight Arab. Moments later a string of naked ebony men , woman and children, tied together at their feet, hands and necks entered the opening.
Driver Chard strained his reddened eyes and noted that the large white man was talking in English to the Arabic gentleman who in turn conversed with the pygmy in an unknown language.
It soon sank in to the septuagenarian acting president of the Duck Flat Cap Society that he was in darkest Africa, and was witnessing the hand over of a posse of newly captured slaves. Shaken by this revelation the old man crouched in the undergrowth and felt the familiar warm trickle of urine dribble down his trouser legs as his bowels rumbled in his fluttering belly.
Soon the assembled group of slaves and their controllers were gone, and Driver Chard crawled slowly to where they had been conducting their sordid business. The ground was littered with paper, and crouching down to pick up a fallen document, straining to prevent the discharge of a feted stool, Driver Chard picked up a document that appeared to be bill of sale, and a copy of a newspaper that was the London Times.
Both documents were obviously new, and as the small grey haired driver studied the strap line of the paper, his teeth fell from his mouth as he noted the headline, "Fleet sales for the Black Sea and the Crimea to give the Russian bear a thrashing and relieve our Turkish allies ". Driver chard quickly diverted his eyes to the date, and he turned pale as he read 1853 at the head of the page. He scratched his head as his school boy history roused a memory that the UK abolished slavery in the 1830's due to the anti slavery movement headed by William Wilberforce, but was also aware that slavery continued until the present day through nefarious underhand trades, and indeed an Arab was present at the recently witnessed meeting, and the fallen paper receipt was indeed marked with a seal of the Sultanate of Zanzibar.
Driver Chard shivered at the recollection of the recently witnessed events and quickly backtracked retracing his steps back to the Duck and the year 2012. Soon he was back at the dark passage, and the dark wooden door that he had passed through a number of hours earlier.
"Chard", shouted Raster Hurley, "that was a quick piss, you were only gone two minutes". Chard stared at the pale faced ex military hard man and spat a flume of phlegm at him. Chard rumbled on for over two hours that he had journeyed back in time to the Crimean War and had witnessed a sale in the long abolished slave trade in deepest darkest Africa.
His ramblings continued, but the procrastination and imbibing sub committee of the Duck Flat Cap Society were familiar with the unfathomable behaviour of its acting Chairman and President, and ignored him completely.
Further investigations in to the astonishing garbled mumblings of Driver Chard will take place, and any further information gleaned will be reported in due course.
R.I.P JOHN CHARD 1933 - 2020
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