The Author

The Author

Monday, 8 October 2018

2.THE MAN WHO SAT ON A HILL - PART 2

2.THE MAN WHO SAT ON A HILL - PART 2
(CONTINUATION)

As Henry followed the monk-like figure and wolf, he noticed that although it was still raining quite heavily, they were leaving no trail in the grass. Suppressing an urge to flee, Henry continued after the duo and quickened his pace so as to get closer to them.

However, each time he extended his stride and energetically increased his speed, he was unable to close the gap between himself and those he pursued.  After a short time the hooded figure stopped and turned to Henry Reaper and gestured for him to come closer.

The monk grabbed Henry by his arm and pulled him gently towards him. Pointing towards a slight dip in the hillside, he declared that within a sacred glade hidden behind the depression in the hill was an entrance to a secluded valley that had been undisturbed for centuries. This valley contained an ancient monastery that had escaped the destruction and dissolution conducted by Henry Tudor, known to history as King Henry VIII, and his conniving principle secretary and chief minister, Thomas Cromwell.

Unable to respond in a coherent manner, Henry Reaper gestured to the monk to continue towards the supposed opening in the hillside so that they may proceed to the lost monastery. The mist and damp atmosphere grew thicker and before Henry was able to draw more than a few breaths, they were standing in the bright sunlight at the head of a gentle valley dominated by a huge Romanesque monastic structure, with its gleaming towers stretching in to a cloudless sky. Various outbuildings were scattered about the complex and farm animals were abundant in the fields adjacent to the monastic complex.

Soon they were seated at a table within the scriptorium where the monk disclosed his name as Aethelwulf of Ockendon and that the monastery was the seat of a particular knowledge endowed on only a few selected clerics and churchmen. He went on to explain events that had happened during the reign of Henry Tudors father, also named Henry, who as the victor of the battle of Bosworth, had seized the throne from the Yorkist claimant, Richard Plantagenet on behalf of the Lancastrian contingent of the Royal family. After gaining the throne, Henry VII had instigated the exploration of the north Atlantic by Bristol based sailors, so as to search for the fabled north west passage and to satisfy the need for new and fresh cod fishing grounds.

Aethelwulf the monk then explained that during one of these expeditions, a number of Bristolian families were put ashore on the North American coast to the south of Newfoundland and that they helped to found a settlement that has since been hidden from history. The members of this settlement flourished, and in time after interbreeding with the local indigenous people, eventually made unexpected contact with surviving members of previous voyages from Europe. These earlier arrivals from the "old world" consisted of a contingent of Welsh monks who had fled from persecution inflicted by Anglo Norman barons who had plundered their estates and confiscated the monastic wealth for there own treasuries.

The welsh monks had travelled across the North Atlantic in small coracle like vessels and had survived the long and arduous journey by using the western isles, Iceland, Greenland and eventually the coast of Labrador and Newfoundland as stepping stones for obtaining fresh food and water. When they eventually made land fall on continental North America they were surprised to encounter the descendants of Norse explorers who had settled firstly in the more northern latitudes of Greenland and Newfoundland, and then abandoning there Vinland settlements had moved south to the more temperate climes of what was later to become New England.


Aethelwulf went on to disclosed that his ancestors were related to those who had settled in the lush forests and river valleys of the proto New England, and that he was a product of the mixing of the Welsh Monks, Norsemen, native indigenous inhabitants and Bristolians, who had come together to form a new community of nations in the new lands they now occupied.  In time, the religious faction from Wales came to control the community that flourished under there strict and religious administration.

Realising that there was no future for them unless they revoked their vow of celibacy, they took native maidens as wives and reproduced in numbers sufficient to maintain there dominance. The descendants of the adventurers from Bristol soon became the communities merchant class, trading prodigiously with the native inhabitants, and the Norse quickly established themselves in the vanguard as the protectors of the community by forming a militia to police and defend the settlement of "Ockendon".

Aethelwulf then explained that although the North American community had remained hidden from the other inhabitants of North America, and continued to flourish it the Kingdoms hidden location deep within the forested hills of Arcadia, the wish to return to their homeland in Europe eventually overcame the benefits of their local paradise, and a band of warriors and there kin folk returned to the ancient lands of Mercia to establish a new community in the Insular Isles of Britain.

The location remained hidden from the local inhabitants due to a mysterious power that emanated from a casket of relics that included a magnificent Dagger.The current leader of this Angelcynn commonwealth was Offa, who had taken his name from his illustrious ancestor and King of Mercia.

Drawing a deep breath, Aethelwulf then drew a jewel encrusted dagger from a hidden pocket in his habit, and placed it before Henry Reaper exclaiming that his and his worlds destiny would soon be revealed and that he was to take the dagger in his hands and hold it towards the sky.


To be continued...….    














Monday, 1 October 2018

1.THE MAN WHO SAT ON A HILL

1.THE MAN WHO SAT ON A HILL

Mist moved through the valley until it enveloped all it encountered, and as usual, a gentle drizzle filled the air.

The ground was becoming sodden, and drops of rainwater dripped from the abundant trees and bushes that scattered the landscape.
However, none of this prevented Henry G Reaper from sitting on the hill top as he did every day at the same spot overlooking the town below. As he surveyed the scene below his thoughts returned to that day many years ago when he first encountered the vision that had changed his life.

Although he was now approaching an age when he would no longer be able to climb to the summit of the hill, his memory of the events that day were still vivid in his mind, and he was soon deep in thought remembering that fateful day.

TIMES PAST

It was at least forty years ago that after a Saturday morning working in the towns mill as an apprentice weft threader, he had popped in to the Red Lion for half a pint of mild and a tuppenny bun. After his ale, bun and the appropriate ablutions, he took the church path out of town and started to climb the slopes of the steep passageway. Rain was falling gently but persistently and there was a light breeze.

He remembered that his hobnail boots clanked on the dry stone cobbles as he approached the church and as he glanced towards the graveyard he felt an unexplained chill and shiver down his spine. Although alarmed he quickly dismissed any feeling of  unease and continued his approach towards the stile and footpath that would take him through the church field, over the shallow but cold river Yabble by way of the antediluvian stone causeway, and on to the ancient wool packers trail that snaked up the hill and eventually down the other side on its way to the local port.

The area had become extremely wealthy during the middle ages due to the huge flocks of sheep that had wandered the hills and valleys throughout the county. The wool from the sheep was worth it weight in gold to the wealthy land owners who had ruthlessly thrown their tenants of their farms and small holdings so that the millions of sheep could wander the former yeomanry's agricultural strips of ridge and furrow and the peasants common pasture land and waste.

As Henry strode forward he was soon passing through the remnants of an abandoned village that disappeared as the villagers departed the land and the sheep took over the ancient fields. The tell tale depressions in the ground and the slightly raised level platforms of land reveal where the cottagers huts and buildings once stood, and slight linear depressions in the fields revealed where the village lanes ran throughout the settlement. Occasionally a wall of a crumbled village church would stand proud from the ground, standing testament to the earlier inhabitants of these bleak and windswept landscapes.

Henry continued along a sunken Holloway and was soon approaching the remains of an ancient cemetery. The graveyard had not been tended for centuries and most of the bodies had been exhumed and transferred to a charnel house when the land was ripped from the villagers grasp to make way for the flocks of sheep which miraculously turned the Lord of the Manors grass pastures and hill slopes to gold.

It was rumoured by many old-timers in the town below, that the ancient graveyard had included those who had perished during the numerous episodes of the Black Death or Plague that had ravished the country during the centuries that the village flourished. Indeed, an analysis of the soil would still show traces of the caustic lime that was spread over corpses that had perished from the Plague. These lime pits were often some way from an area of habitation, and this was why the graves were located further from the abandoned village than any other buildings.

Pausing a short while to glance back down the hill, Henry trudged upwards towards a small clump of trees that offered some shelter from the  rain that had started to fall more persistently. Henry was starting to notice that there was a chill in the air and for a moment a tingling sensation ran the length of his body, from head to toes, resulting in a shake of his head and the hunching of his shoulders. His hobnail boots were not waterproof and his feet were starting to feel uncomfortably wet due to a combination of leakage and sweat. The loose fitting boots were also rubbing against his toes and heels and a trickle of blood was mixing with the sweat and rain water to stain his linen socks a dark red. Sucking in his cheeks he began to breath heavily due to his quickened pace as he tried to reach the shelter of the copse before  the rain fell any harder.

Minutes later he was under the branches of a large Ash tree and washing the rain from his face with a handkerchief that he recovered from his waistcoat pocket. As he regained his composure he suddenly felt the presence of somebody or something behind him. Frozen to the spot and unable to move, his mind was flashing through various thoughts as to how he should react, because he was certain that an entity of some kind was behind his left shoulder. As if immobilised, he was at first unable to make his body respond to his brains signals. Moments later he spun his neck and head to his left and jumped back a stride as he turned to face the presence he sensed behind him.

Standing about three yards from him, only slightly obscured by the branches of a small conifer sapling, appeared to be the figures of a huge black wolf and a hooded figure with a shepherds crock in its left hand. Henry was startled by  the vision before him but as the blood began to flow back in to his limbs and his brain regain some composure, he reached out to the apparition exclaiming "who are you and where have you come from ?"

After a brief pause the entity responded by stating in a strongly accented speech that he was in the service of his lord Offa, King of the Mercian's, and that he was to lead Henry to his destiny and salvation..........

To be continued.....




 


























Thursday, 6 September 2018

CIDER WITH CANNEY - PART 1

CIDER WITH CANNEY - PART 1



The air was still and infused with the putrid smell if stale sweat and dry sick, and strewn about the room bodies twitched as they continued their cider induced slumber.

Newspapers partially covered the floor, the date 1983 prominent at the top of the red banner tabloids.

In North West London the early morning sun  started to penetrate the windows of the dingy ground floor apartment, and in the corner of the small room a record player continued to spin emitting an eerie screech as the blunt needle scraped the Bakelite base of the player.

Beside the record player were a couple of dozen empty litre bottles of strong cider together with scores of empty cider cans.

In the bathroom the toilet was overflowing with indescribable filth and tissue paper was scattered throughout the room, stuck to the walls, floor and ceiling.

Hanging from the light fitting was a soiled pair of boxer shorts that were embroidered in green with the initials MDC, and covered in thick puke.

On the floor of the room that was occupied by at least five inebriate sleeping and flatulating beasts was a electric kettle and dozens of cups and glasses lined with the residue of copious Irish coffees and southern comfort. The evidence lay beside the kettle with empty cartons of cream, cubes of brown sugar and empty bottles of Irish whiskey and southern comfort. Stale cigarette butts littered the room and the stench of stale tobacco was overwhelming.

The telephone began to ring and after a couple of minutes an overweight body of medium height began to slumber. In response to the incessant ringing the rotund figure rose to his feet and stumbled through the detritus and immobile bodies strewn about the room to answer the phone. As if injected with a dose of smelling salts the obese troglodyte threw down the phone and screamed out loud..

"Sue is on her way, we have to clear up !" .


The remainder of the occupants were quickly on there feet and struggling to clean the room of the nights boojar session.



To be continued......













Monday, 13 August 2018

ZOMBIE VERSUS SLOP BUCKET

ZOMBIE VERSUS SLOP BUCKET

Dr Winyard Washington Brown and Lord Loafington Barron have stunned the world by confirming the biggest mismatch in the history of the unlicensed sport of caged imbibing.

Dr Brown has chosen the Zombie as his alcoholic weapon and Lord Barron the Slop Bucket.

Due to the difference in size of the standard slop bucket and the regulation Zombie, Dr Brown will need to consume double the volume to obtain the title.

Dr Brown who obtained his title as Emeritus professor of Luther Vandross studies, and Lord Barron who is to be stripped of his ennoblement are unavailable for comment at this time but more will be divulged in due course after the event scheduled for 31August 2018.

Thursday, 14 June 2018

3."MITRE BOYS ON TOUR" - MIJA MISSION PATPOSSIBLE - PART 3

3. "MITRE BOYS ON TOUR" - MIJA MISSION PATPOSSIBLE - PART 3


Having completed their ablutions, the merry band of ageing mitorians decamped to the local hostelry and started to imbibe the local ales and imported ciders. It was not long before El Mac was engaged in a one way conversation with a doppelganger, but after fifteen minutes Nigel O relived the lookalike from his embarrassment, and returned El Mac to his seat.

After a swift couple of ales, they were joined by their female counterparts who quickly decided that it was time to depart for the local citadel and an appointment with battered Mediterranean cod, mushy peas, curry sauce, brown sauce, tomato sauce, chips and cheesy chips.

Sue quickly switched her apparel to that of a chauffeur and was soon ferrying the first batch of fish fiends to the allotted restaurant in the old town of Mija. As Big Jack,Lou,The Horse, Horsess and Don Pat rearranged the tables at least three times, the first pints of cider and lager were brought to the tables. Shortly Nigel O,Sue, El Mac and Sue the chauffeur arrived at the table, enabling the food to be ordered.

Ignoring the numerous mobile phone calls requesting Sue to pick up additional party goers and other regular users of the Don Pat Taxi service, the food was soon eaten and the drinks consumed. Sue quickly replaced her drivers cap upon her head, and was soon relaying members of the still sober "A Team" back towards their luxurious accommodation and the warmth and comfort of the adjacent bar that they had imbibed in earlier. A few hardy individuals decided to walk the short distance back to the bar and soon Big Jack and the Horse were striding out at an exuberant and jaunty pace, with Lou, Mags the Horsess, Nigel O and Sue O galloping lamely some fifty strides behind. Eventually, the marching band reached the Bar where they rejoined Don Pat, Sue and El Mac.  

With the wind now blowing a at gale force, the ensemble decided to be seated within the premises and after further shuffling and moving of tables all were seated and drinking their chosen tipple. At this stage Nigel O remembered that El Mac was still outside in the storm force winds, with his remaining hair threatening to create an ad hoc Bobby Charlton comb-over. Having collected Mac from the teeth of a gale, (but not of a comb), the serious drinking could begin, and another round was ordered.

Before long the weak willed women decided that it was time for bed and retreated to their apartments for sleep and a cup of tea. Big Jack, acting as Don Pats number two, accompanied the ladies to the entrance portal and after entering the appropriate digital code the external doors to the complex opened allowing the woman to enter. Having checked that they were within the sealed complex, Big Jack returned to the awaiting brethren.

As the palm trees outside the bar bent at an acute angle due to the increased intensity of the winds, Don Pat finished his two hundredth fag of the day, and explained that the bar was about to close, as it was not yet high season in this fashionable but somewhat dry resort. So after quickly consuming a further three pints each, we returned to our bijou accommodation to continue swilling on the wind swept balcony of Don Pats Penthouse gaff.

However, the atmospheric and bodily winds were making it difficult to stay seated and so with much ill feeling it was agreed to suspend proceedings and resume in the morning.   

To be continued.......














Tuesday, 12 June 2018

2."MITRE BOYS ON TOUR" - MIJA MISSION PATPOSSIBLE - PART 2

2. "MITRE BOYS ON TOUR" - MIJA MISSION PATPOSSIBLE - PART 2


After running the Madrid airport marathon for seniors, Senor Don Pat and his entourage boarded the minuscule aircraft for the onward journey to his hide-out in the sun.

The "A team" attempted to settle into their seats but were interrupted by Mac trying to stuff his oversized hand luggage into the overhead lockers. After assistance from the convivial but Hispanic speaking cabin crew, Mac attempted to stash his bag on his seat and sit on it. However, his lofty perch was soon spotted by the over enthusiastic cabin crew and soon a hand to hand struggle was enacted between, Nigel O, Mac and a squeaky speaking Spanish lady-boy.

After a minute of pushing and shoving the bag was placed at the feet of Nigel O, but this was considered inappropriate by the Spanish gestapo, and soon the bag was being manhandled from the plan to be placed in the hold with the other over sized bags. Whilst this commotion was taking place, the ground staff had systematically loaded and unloaded the hold luggage on three occasions, whilst conceivably looking for contraband in Macs underpants, but eventually with a swoosh of the hands and the muttering of adios, the hold was sealed and with the elastic bands fully wound up, the miniature aircraft taxied for take-off.

After ascending in to the sky over Madrid and taking in the sights of the local sewage plant, the plane was selling a selection of beverages as the entire plane queued to relieve themselves in the only bog, which was located at the rear of the plane adjacent to Mac and close to Lou and Sue O. Soon Lou was chatting up the only octogenarian Irish hippy onboard and was soon quarreling with Sue O over who would have the honour of holding him upright whilst he waited to expel the Guinness from his system.

 Eventually, with both of our heroins having pocketed his telephone number the balsa plane was approaching the welcoming tarmac of Malaga Airport. Cabin Crew to Cross Check bellowed the intercom as the cabin crew stared at each other trying to interpret the message. Finally the message was repeated in Latin, and the crew strapped themselves in to there seats for the landing procedure.

After taxing to a halt some hundred meters from the terminal, we awaited our release which was granted after a sweaty and uncomfortable wait. We levered our aching bodies from our seats and climbed down the steep steps in to the Andalusian sun. Passing through passport control without showing any identification, we were soon met by Manuel who was to drive us to our hideout.  After a short delay of approximately forty five minutes whilst the "puffing billy's" in our group smoked a couple of dozen fags each, we were bombing down the highway towards Calla Mija and our luxurious retreat. Pat and Sue had left us at the airport so as to collect their transport and were soon drawing up at our destination just as our own chariot arrived.

After allowing Mac to get out of the boot, we collected our baggage and decamped to the accommodation so as to ready our tired bodies for the heavy night of drinking that was ahead of us. After a couple of dumps we were ready.......

To be continued...









Wednesday, 30 May 2018

1."MITRE BOYS ON TOUR" - MIJA MISSION PATPOSSIBLE - PART 1

1."MITRE BOYS ON TOUR" - MIJA MISSION PATPOSSIBLE - PART 1


Out of the early morning mist a strange but familiar figure emerged from his lair and gestured towards the waiting taxi.  As the figure moved towards the vehicle it became apparent that the slow moving entity was Mitre legend Paul Mac, otherwise known as Mac. His small piece of luggage was soon placed in the vehicle and he greeted the Horse and Horsess who were already aboard the chariot.

Soon the trio and their Navajo chariot driver were approaching the gates of the mighty port known as Heathrow. After eagerly disembarking from the vehicle and discharging their debt to the Navajo navigator, they were soon sampling the comforting hot fluids available within the ports edifice. A short while later they were joined by the merry quartet of Big Jack, Lou, Nigel O and Sue, who had previously heartily feasted at the nearby Artimarti residence of the former Mitre publicans.

 A few moments later the Prince of Boojar- Pat Canney, and his partner Sue were within the seething port, and after melodious and heartfelt greetings the boisterous roustabouts were soon passing through passport control to await there transport to the southern imbibing fields of Andalusia.

Having boarded their chosen mode of transport, the ensemble settled in to a soothing slumber as the fortified aircraft ascended through the turbulent sky until reaching its cruising altitude.

 Our host was soon asleep and dreaming about cold pints of cider, large bottles of red wine and a thousand and one fags.

 No sooner than becoming sleepy and comfortable in their seats, the Mitorian band of brothers were landing at Madrid, and after a small delay were disembarking for the connecting flight to Malaga and onward transportation to the fabled imbibing settlement at Cala Mija.

It was at this point that Pat decided that it was time his training for the London Marathon was utilised, and was soon sprinting through the transit terminal towards our new embarkation point. As he sucked his belly in and puffed out his rosy cheeks, his supercharged legs began to propel his body  at tremendous speed to the astonishment of all assembled. Crowds soon gathered to line his swift progress along the aisle, passing the numbered gates until portal 73 was reached without a single bead of perspiration leaking from his Olympian body.

To be continued....